#and you might miss the one that is right in front of you

[yukioos]

LIKE A TATTOO

SUMMARY: hwang in-ho x wife reader // you came to the island with your husband to help him out with the new games. as you took a moment for yourself, reading a book in your shared bed, a fist knocked on your door. the guard escorted you to the observation room, where in-ho was. the two of you drink bourbon and make out, not paying much attention to the games.

AUTHORS NOTE: hi! this is my first squid game oneshot, i hope u like it! i’m still working on arcane ones so dw im not abandoning the requests. i’ll most likely start taking requests for squid game characters as well. might make a part 2 if people like this. this is 1.7k words

WARNINGS: not proofread, blood, guns, murder (players sabotaging n pushing each other in red light green light), making out, drinking

the frontman sat on a plush, luxurious seat in his private, sound-proof room. a player who won the game three years ago had come back to compete, supposedly to avenge all the people he lost. outside the window, the players were engaging in their first game; red light, green light, the first game.

he hadn’t had much time for himself as he was constantly busy overlooking the games and creating new ones. it was as if his work was perpetual, as if he was meant to be the frontman for the rest of his life. he later considered settling down with you, the love of his life. but he couldn’t leave the games behind, it was part of his life, of course. he was extremely against giving the role of the frontman to anyone, as there was no one he would expect to run the games properly and orderly.

you knew about his feelings about the games, and how he wanted to quit but he was terrified of being caught. of you being caught. it wasn’t that you personally killed any of the players, no, but you knew who was running it, knew him like the back of your hand. that made you an accomplice, and he was scared for your life, he didn’t want you to become too wrapped up in his troubles.

that, of course, was quickly dismissed as soon as you became his spouse. when he told you about his job, and how he needed to leave for a business trip, you asked if you could come with him. he hesitated, and it took him days to decide if it was safe enough for you to spend around two years there, with him. he needed to create new games to entertain the VIPs, so he could use some help from his creative wife, and you had been begging to see what his job was like ever since you married.

so you assisted him in creating designs for the games and a new addition in between games, the possibility to leave the games and split the money. however, this would be the first game you would watch. you were nervous, not sure what to expect, but your husband had secretly hoped you’d be impressed by the first game, and hopefully the next ones as well.

the emptiness on the couch saddened him. he wondered why he felt so uncomfortable alone, in the room where he had idly watched the games he ran. it was too quiet. but he missed your touch, the sound of your breathing, your pulse, and your heartbeat.

he tapped his finger against the armrest before slightly grinning. he clicked and held down a button on a stand, marked with a small, white square. he commanded, “bring my wife to the observation room.” he then grinned once he gained a reply, knowing someone had gotten the message.

you, on the other hand, were reading a book in your bedroom, bored out of your mind, as you didn’t know where your husband was. suddenly, a fist knocked hard on your door, three times. must’ve been a guard, as in-ho normally just walks into the room, as you both shared it.

you tilted your head slightly to the right, staring at the door before you placed a bookmark in between two pages. you wondered what it could be about. nothing important was happening today, right?

once you placed your hand on the cold doorknob and twisted it, you saw a tall worker in a pink jumpsuit standing in front of you. the square guard stated, “the frontman asked me to escort you to the observation room.” and stood still, eerily waiting for you to respond.

you mumbled, “um, okay,” then hesitated, as you stepped into your heels, “do you know why he asked me to go there?” he began walking, and you followed after him, heels clicking with every step you took.

the guard shook his head and walked a short distance, until he arrived in front of a bland, pink door. you shook in anticipation, giddy to see your husband again. the guard knocked his fist on the door, then after a couple of seconds, opened it and held the door open for you.

you bowed your head as a thank you and shot him a gentle smile. he bowed back and closed the door, causing you to turn around. you quickly noticed the room was padded, most likely a soundproof room. two doors were lining the sides of the walls, leading to a larger space, where your husband was watching a doll place her hand on something. he sat on the left side of the double seat, next to a coffee stand. a bright chandelier hung above him, lighting up the room.

did he invite you so you could watch the first game together?

he felt your stare on him and smirked to himself. he asked, without turning around, “are you going to come up and sit down, honey? wouldn’t want your legs to hurt from standing for so long.” he smiled once he heard you shudder from feeling nervous. he always knew what you felt like, even if you didn’t know yourself.

you slowly traveled to the spot next to him, looking at him up and down, eyeing his all-black outfit. you sat next to him, thighs touching as you noticed his black mask to conceal his identity. two glasses sat next to one another on the coffee table, a subtle reminder that he was always thinking about you. a bottle of bourbon was placed on the table next to the glasses, which your husband began to pour into the small glasses. he handed you yours first and stared at you for a moment.

you crumbled under his intimidating gaze, rarely having the ability to know what he was feeling. you wiped your lip with your index, asking, “do— do i have something on my face?” your eyebrows furrowed in worry, not wanting to look bad in front of such a handsome man.

he mumbled, “no,” and continued to eye you up and down, as if he wanted to memorize every part of your body. glancing at your lips for a moment too long, he placed his hand on your thigh, caressing the skin uncovered by stockings. he couldn’t help but stare at your plump lips, wanting his on yours for eternity.

in-ho wouldn’t stop staring at your lips, but of course, you noticed. you tried to hold your grin back, heart pumping as his staring made you nervous. maybe catching him off guard would make him stop staring.

so you gently placed your hand on the back of his neck, pulling him into the kiss, eliciting a groan out of the man. even as you heard people talking from the game, he moved his hand down to your ass and placed both of his hands there, picking you up and placing you on his lap, not breaking away from the kiss.

you giggled into the kiss and cradled his face, rubbing your thumb on his cheek. the kiss was slow and passionate, as if both of you were trying to savor how the other felt in your hands, falling apart just for one another.

even as you heard an unfamiliar robot-like girl speaking, and the sounds of many footsteps running, you continued to move your lips against his. he ran his hand along your back, wishing he could feel you more through your soft fur coat. but you slowed your movements down, wanting to watch the game he had worked so hard on.

you slowly pulled away from him, causing him to needily chase your lips, wanting more. he gripped your thigh with want, you let out a small whimper, almost inaudible. as you rubbed his chest, he stared at your soft eyes, looking up at him as if he hung the stars and created the universe. he had never felt more loved than he had with you.

as soon as you sat back down on the couch, in-ho swiftly brought your legs up to his lap, gently taking your black heels off, wanting you to feel comfortable. he smiled at you after he gently placed them on the ground near the coffee table. his touch tickled your thighs, gently rubbing up and down as he watched the games from the window.

you suddenly heard a gunshot, making your eyes go wide as you tucked your knees more into yourself than him. he noticed the small movement and rubbed your calves, attempting to soothe you and your nerves. multiple guns fired, and people laid on the ground, blood pooling around their bodies, trying to run away from the doll.

in-ho clicked a remote, playing the song ‘fly me to the moon,’ which went with a model, containing toy singers that moved on beat. as the doll exclaimed, ‘green light!’ then ‘red light!’ no one dared to move a muscle. a player began to shout out commands, and the whole group quickly formed into lines at the next green light.

as the doll yelled, ‘red light!’ the leader of each line would halt first, and the last person in the line would stop last, however, the doll couldn’t detect their movements. it was a smart idea, you had to give them credit. your husband seemed displeased, however, as his hands halted, keeping his hands steady on your thighs. he sighed in frustration, but now it was time to soothe him. you grabbed his hand and held it, rubbing your thumb on the back of his hand. he glanced at you and his eyes spoke for him, he wanted to say thank you, but was too frustrated to speak.

gunshots began to fire, due to players pushing one another, sabotaging each other, as humans were greedy and always wanted more. their own life was important to them, but they didn’t seem to care about taking the life of another, as it wasn’t theirs.

but in-ho unexpectedly turned to you and stated, “i’m participating in the games this time.”

your heart dropped.

[xhyjin]

next door neighbour dilfsukuna! who recently moved into the house nextdoor with his nephew yuji who had been orphaned. he was against all of it, he never planned on becoming the father of his brothers child but he was left with no choice and as much as he pretended, he loved that little boy too much to leave him for foster care.

next door neighbour dilfsukuna! who ignores you because he’s not here to chit chat and make himself known in the neighbourhood, he’s just here to raise his nephew/son in good and safe environment until he’s old enough to protect himself and he can get the hell out of this suburban hell. when you first knocked on his door as him and yuji were unpacking the boxes of their belongings, he almost slammed the door right back when you started introducing yourself like some missionary but when you mentioned baking brownies for them he snatched them and closed the door right back.

next door neighbour dilfsukuna! who thought of you as an annoying pest that he just couldn’t get rid of no matter how much raid he sprayed on you (ignored you) it seems like you were everywhere, in the grocery store, in the neighbourhood park, in front of yuji school, what are you doing there anyways? it’s not like you got a kid… he’s starting to believe your stalking him or something.

next door neighbour dilf sukuna! who discovers your yujis teacher, that explains why you were in front of the school every morning and during pick ups. he’s still going to ignore you though.

next door neighbour dilfsukuna! who will roll his eyes every time you ask for something, whether it be sugar or advice on fixing your leaky faucet. he’ll take it as an excuse to go inside your apartment to “fix” said leaky faucet, but he just wants to see if your place matches you, if you’re pretending to be all bubbly and sweet just because you’re yuji’s teacher. but when he walks into your kitchen and sees framed pictures of you and your students, stick-figure art with messy handwriting on your fridge, and messy alphabet letters on papers on your counter, he can’t help but smirk just because he finds it a tad bit cute how you keep your students’ stuff like a proud mother.

next door neighbour dilfsukuna! who always happens to just be there at the right time every time. you’re locked out of your house? he’s there with a smug comment about how “you’re helpless without him,” while busting your doorknob and letting you back inside. don’t worry, he’ll fix and replace that doorknob for you later. carrying groceries? he’s sitting on his front steps when he spots you and rushes over to carry your one bag of groceries that, mind you, were super light, but he’ll still mutter something about how weak you are. over time, you get so used to having him there and helping you with stuff that when he’s not around, you feel a weird knot in your stomach.

next door neighbour dilfsukuna! who, every time during pick-ups or drop-offs, is standing in front of his car with his arms crossed, watching yuji skip his way into your arms and greet you with a cheerful “hi, miss l/n.” oh, does his heart swell when he sees how excited yuji is to see you. yuji wouldn’t stop talking about you all weekend and kept begging to go next door to your house, but sukuna wouldn’t allow it. he might act like he’s too cool to care, but he’s incredibly supportive of yuji. every time, after all your students are in class and the parents are leaving, sukuna lingers until it’s just you and him, starting a small conversation about yuji’s latest achievements. “that kid’s a genius,” he’ll say, watching as yuji takes his seat, not even noticing he’s blushing with pride.

next door neighbour dilfsukuna! who, every weekend, invites his “buddies” over for loud barbecues, complete with laughter and music that keeps you awake all night. the next morning, he’s standing on your porch with a plate of leftover ribs, unapologetic and smirking when you complain about the noise. one day, while picking up yuji, he casually asks if you want to come to his barbecue. when you’re about to decline, explaining that you’re not comfortable meeting so many people at once, he quickly adds that it would just be him and you. gosh, is he excited when you sweetly say “okay” with a faint blush, but he keeps up his nonchalant act and says, “see you then.” as soon as his back is turned, he has the biggest smile on his face, his cheeks burning red. does he have feelings for you? absolutely.

next door neighbour dilfsukuna! who’s decided he’s no longer going to beat around the bush (not that he ever has since meeting you.) if you notice he has feelings for you, good. if not, he’s just going to keep up his subtle acts of “profession of love” until you do. at the barbecue, he’s decorated his backyard with fairy lights, faint music, and two steaks are already cooking on the grill. when he opens the door and sees you holding a tray of brownies, just like the first time you met, he has to stop himself from kissing you silly. how can you be so perfect? he lets you in and guides you to the backyard, where yuji is already waiting. you light up when you see your favorite student, and as sukuna works on the steaks, he watches you and yuji talk and play games. he starts imagining what life would be like with you. you already look like a family right now.

next door neighbour dilfsukuna! who realizes how fast his feelings are developing for you. he went from finding you annoying to seeing you everywhere he went, to now looking for you in every crowd and room. this was getting serious more than he liked to admit and sukuna is not a man to sit and wait. he’s going to ask you out, and if you reject him, that’s fine. he’ll go back to finding you annoying and everything else. but right now, he just needs to know the answer. he starts jogging shirtless every morning like clockwork to ease his mind about asking you out. when he catches you staring at him as you water your hydrangeas, he smirks like he planned the whole thing.

next door neighbour dilfsukuna! during one of his jogs, he’ll finally run up to you, stopping you dead in your tracks as you pretend you weren’t staring the whole time at his toned, muscular body that shined in the sun from his sweat. he’ll chuckle to himself, finding you so cute. but when he taps you on the back and teasingly calls you “miss l/n,” and you let out a groan, he’ll cut you off and say, “do you want to go for dinner on saturday? that’s if you’re not busy.” when your eyes go wide from how fast he was talking, you nod your head frantically. “i’m free,” you say, catching yourself and clearing your throat. “great, it’ll be a date then,” he’d say, not being able to hold himself back anymore as he pecks your cheek and runs off before you can say anything. but he knows you’re a blushing mess.

pt 2?

[entitled-fangirl]

The trail.

Jason Todd x reader

Summary: Bruce has to make sure, once and for all, that the man under that red mask is his son. There was one trail, leading right to a girl- the crime lord's girlfriend.

A/n: I JUST watched Under the Red Hood so I had to!

Masterlist

........................................................

Jason Todd is Red Hood.

Bruce's heart sank at the results on his computer. The blood was a complete match.

The guilt of the event five years ago flashed through his mind like a montage. The explosion. The blood. Jason's body in his arms.

So how…?

He had to move forward. 

This crook—his son—was becoming the biggest crime lord in Gotham, and he had let it happen.

He spent the next few days never away from the Bat Cave. He missed meetings at Wayne Industries. Called off dates. Anything that wasn't in the Cave in front of this computer. He didn't eat. Didn't sleep.

Until finally a trail appeared.

Just one.

An address.

…

He had sent Nightwing out in his place for the night to attempt to catch Red Hood.

It gave him time to follow this clue.

He dropped onto the fire escape of the address. By the looks of it through the window, it was a little apartment.

The window was locked. He craned his neck to see what the holdup was. Usually, he could break through the cheap locks these landlords put on them. But this one was bought by the renter and installed themselves. Smart kid.

But Bruce had built a gadget just for this. He placed it on the window and soon, he could open it with ease.

Was this breaking and entering? Perhaps. But for Jason- this law didn't feel so awful breaking. He'd do anything for him.

It was dark. Hard to see without a light on, but he couldn't move anything or Jason would know he was here when he got back.

He walked carefully through the living room. No pictures. No glaringly obvious decor of who lived here. Another wise choice on the kid's part.

That tile looked like it would creak. He avoided it.

He needed something. Anything. He need confirmation that his boy was still alive. Because that criminal was not his Jason.

Opening the bedroom door is risky. Jason might catch it later, but if Bruce is careful, he can adjust it back before he leaves. He braves it and twists the handle, opening the door so slowly it was hard to tell it was opening.

"Shit," he breathed.

In the bed laid a young woman. She was fast asleep, hair tousled against the pillow, clad in an oversized shirt and judging by the way her bare leg poked out from the heavy blanket- not much else.

It felt wrong, standing in the doorway like a creep.

He knew then that he couldn't stay any longer. He had to go. He had to go now.

He breathed out and did one final check, reaching out to the empty side of the bed.

Still fucking warm.

Dick had only made contact with Red Hood ten minutes ago.

He closed his eyes and forced a long, silent breath. Then he retreated his steps, careful to cover each one.

Hard to say if Bruce had found what he was looking for.

…

"Morning, sleepy girl," Jason mused as he sat on the bed. 

Y/n groaned and stretched, turning to the other side to avoid Jason's attempt to wake her.

He chuckled and grabbed her hips, pulling her down the bed to him. "C'mere. Gotta get up."

She groaned again, fighting against him with little effort. 

He picked her up off of the bed and into his lap, laughing again as she all but melted into a puddle against his chest. Her head tucked into his neck and there was no doubt she'd attempt to sleep again.

"Wait, baby," he tried. "I'll let ya sleep soon. Just need you up for a minute."

With his hands rubbed the sides of her hips and waist soothingly, she was slowly roused awake. Her eyes opened. "Jase… still dark outside-"

"I know," he cooed. "I know it is. Just need to check on you."

"'M fine," she drew out in a sleepy tone.

"Look at me. Let me see you."

With his gentle manhandling, she was pulled away just enough for him to look over. He looked over every inch of her in the dark. When he finally felt satisfied, he drew her back to him. "D'you get up in the night?"

She hummed a sleepy no which worried Jason more. "At all? Really think. I need you to be sure."

She rubbed her face against his shoulder. "I said I didn't."

He heaved a long sigh. "Didn't even wake up for a little bit while I was out?"

"What's wrong, Jase? You sound worried."

"'S nothing. Let's go back to bed, huh?" He laid her back down, laying beside her. She eventually cuddled into his side and fell asleep.

But Jason stayed awake.

…

The next evening, Batman stood outside of the apartment's door.

Once again, Red Hood was out and Nightwing on his tail. 

This would be Bruce's last chance.

Y/n sat on the couch, reading up on a newspaper. She always begged Jason to get the Gotham Gazette while he was out. 

Knock. Knock. Knock.

She froze.

Never, under any circumstances, answer that door, Jason had said. 

The door was locked. Surely that would keep whoever it was at bay.

Bruce wiggled the door and sighed. He hated doing this.

Jason had sworn before he left that he'd get better door and window locks, refusing to tell his girlfriend why they needed them.

With a simple skeleton key, he managed the door open. He stood there in the doorway- the Batman.

She stood up, newspaper abandoned on the table, her terrified eyes set on the intruder.

She knew about the Batman. She knew what Jason had said about him. She knew everything.

And she was frozen.

Batman stepped in with his hands up in an attempt to ease her mind. "You'll have to excuse the entrance. Need to be a little smarter on the locks, huh?" It was an attempted joke, albeit, a poor one.

She slowly bent at the knees, fingers grasping at the gun under the coffee table. She hurriedly aimed it at him, a scared look in her eyes. "You-You need to leave," she stuttered. "He'll gut you if he finds you here."

"So you admit he comes here?"

Damn it. She didn't mean to do that.

"I knew he did. Just need to ask you some questions. Just some honest information."

When he took a step closer, her hand holding the gun shook more. "Don't!" 

"I'm not going to hurt you, alright?" He tried to ease. He held a hand out. "Why don't you give me that."

She shook her head, adjusting her grip on it.

Bruce sighed and disarmed her without much of an effort. He managed to tear it from her hand, holding the other wrist in a tight grip. "Let's sit down," he spoke, void of emotion.

He gently forced her to sit on the couch. And once settled, he respectfully moved to the armchair next to it.

Jason's chair.

"Y/n, isn't it?" He asked.

"Bruce, isn't it?" She asked back.

Oh. So she knows.

He sighed and pulled down his cowl. "So he's told you everything, I'm assuming?"

"W-Who?" She played dumb. She was going against everything Jason said to do. 

"Always just tell them what they want," he had urged one night when he opened up about his past to her. "If ever," he spoke, cupping her cheeks. "If it ever comes to something like that, tell them whatever they want. I won't have you hurt on my account. Got it?"

"Y/n," Batman sighed. "Jason and I are not enemies. You and I aren't either."

"Don't believe you," she muttered.

"Jason is my son," he growled. The anger had finally risen in his chest and he had to force it back down. "Sorry." He rubbed his forehead. "I want to wring his neck and then take him back home and give him whatever he wants. It's just... it's complicated."

She watched the seemingly all put together Batman fall apart so easily in her living room. 

"You're a nice girl," he pointed out. "Surely Jason is still the boy that he was before. In some ways. I just… I came because…"

"Because he won't open up to you and you're hoping I will."

"Something like that."

Silence settled over them.

"Jason is kind," she finally said. "And Just. Noble. He always does the right thing-"

Bruce scoffed mockingly at that.

She frowned. "If you're going to mock me, then I can stay silent."

He shook his head with a sigh. "I'm sorry. Go on. Please."

She thought for a while. "He said something about… chemicals. Like… chemical vats but there was a name he used-"

"-Lazarus Pit?" He immediately questioned. His interest was peaked.

"Yeah. He didn't explain what it was but it raised him from the dead. I'm not a scientist or anything so I don't understand that kind of stuff."

"Did he mention Ra al Ghul by any chance?"

"Think so. Yeah."

"This is extremely helpful. You have no idea."

She sighed and leaned back in her chair. "I'm not gonna give you his plans for anything- if that's really what you came here for. He doesn't tell me that kind of stuff."

"Well, I'm not. Glad to know he's cautious. You need a better door lock, though."

"And a better window one as well, huh?" When Bruce flushed, she grinned. "Jason isn't dumb, you know. He had a suspicion when he got home. Just like he'll know you were here just now."

He shrugged. "Doesn't matter now. I have the information I need. Thank you." He stood and pulled his cowl back on, walking towards the door.

"Batman!" She urged. She took a deep breath and lowered her voice. "Bruce. Whatever all this is, please don't hurt him. I don't think I could live with myself if something happened."

"Neither could I. I've failed him enough. I won't do it again," he promised. He turned to leave, then paused. He dug something out of his belt and turned back to her. "Here."

She stepped to his side and took the thing in his hand.

Jason's Robin mask.

"I have to know one more thing." He hesitated to ask but knew he needed to. "Is he… safe? Happy?"

She held the mask to her chest. There was a comfort between the two. How Jason held them together and yet never more far apart. "He smiles. And laughs... sometimes."

"Good, good. You're good for him."

The door shut and silence filled the apartment as she was left alone one again.

Now on the coffee table laid the day's newspaper titled, 'Red Hood: Friend or Foe?' And on top was Jason's old mask.

She had a feeling this was just the first of many encounters with Batman.

.............................................................

[cherrixpie]

NEMESIS

part one of five

↬ you were supposed to steer clear of mattheo riddle. shame that he was just so intriguing.

↬ sfw; wc: 5.6k; cw: mentions of blood and death; tags: enemies to lovers; gryffindor!reader, muggleborn!reader

if you'd like to be added to the taglist, leave a comment! 💕

The minute Snape set foot in the defense against the dark arts classroom, all whispers and conversations between students fell silent. His cloak billowed out in his wake as he approached the front, glaring at any student who dared look up at him. His hard eyes wandered over the rows and narrowed when they reached the table you and Hermoine sat at, next to you two free seats. Harry and Ron were late, and you gnawed at your lower lip in worry. Their last subject had been divination, which neither you nor Hermoine had taken, and you hadn't seen them since breakfast. Judging by his scowl, Snape would skin them for being late.

When Snape walked up to the chalk board, turning his back to the class, Hermoine leaned over and breathed in your ear: “Nott and Riddle aren't here yet either.” She was right. As your gaze brushed over the Slytherins on the other side of the room, you spotted two empty seats next to Malfoy that were usually occupied by Theodore Nott and Mattheo Riddle. Not that you missed the two, but their absence made anxiety curl in your stomach. Could it be linked to Harry’s and Ron’s nonattendance?

“Eyes on front,” Snape’s voice bellowed through the classroom and you flinched, returning your focus to the lesson. But just as you pulled out your parchment, quill and ink to copy the notes from the chalk board, the door burst open and all heads turned in a singular motion. The four missing boys stood in the entrance, albeit standing in pairs demonstrating visible hostility.

All of them looked like they had just fought a rabid pack of grindelows. Hair disheveled, some of their noses bleeding, Riddle’s knuckles were leaking blood and a purple bruise formed on Harry’s right cheek, Ron’s face was littered in cuts. Nott looked the least brutalized out of all of them, and the most annoyed. Everyone was staring, you and Hermoine included. The four of them heaved as if they had ran all the way up here, and Ron held his book back with both hands that seemed to be dissolving in real time, his face as red with fury when Malfoys voice drawled through the room. “My, my, Weasley, that bag must've been worth more than your mum!”

Before Ron could throw an insult back at him, Snape’s voice cut through the room, almost shaking with ire. “You're late. Twenty points from Gryffindor. Sit down!”

“What?” Ron asked in indignation and Snape's lips curled. “But, Professor, they were just as late as-”

“Sit down, Weasley, before I take fifty points from your house,” said Snape coolly and Harry pulled Ron along the rows to your table. Riddle and Nott sat down on their seats, just as the two slumped down next to you. The commotion was silenced by one look from Snape who now proceeded to scribble down the effects of the counter-curse you would learn today. Half your attention on your notes, you leaned over to the boys, just like Hermoine, with a questioning look. “What the hell happened?”

“Riddle fucking happened,” spat Ron under his breath. “He-” Suddenly, he broke off and looked at Harry, as though it had just dawned on him that Harry might not like to share whatever Riddle had said or done. Harry rolled his eyes. “He started talking shit about my parents.”

“He did not,” whispered Hermoine in shock, though you weren't quite sure why she was so surprised. Harry and Riddle had gotten into fights before. One time, they were started by Riddle going on about Harry’s dead parents, the other because Harry provoked him using his parentage.

It was a tale as old as time, and though you thought it was objectively worse of Riddle to be insulting Harry’s parents than the other way around, it didn't change the fact that a brawl between the two was a near monthly occurrence, with their friends joining in. Sometimes, they were each backed up by all their male housemates of their grade (last year, the whole male seventh year population of Gryffindor and Slytherin had to do detention together and it certainly didn't warm them up to each other), sometimes it was just Ron and Nott, sometimes it was one v one.

Harry shrugged her indignation off, he seemed less furious than Ron who was positively shaking with rage. “Whatever. I was just stupid to go off again, I should know his tricks by now.” Ron looked like he wanted to reply something, but just then, a shadow loomed over you and Snape's voice drawled. “Do you want to share anything with the class, Potter?”

Neither of you four spoke, and Snape seemed to take it as an invitation to inflict further punishment upon you. His spiteful eyes trailed over the four of you as he sneered. “I think I will put an end to this chit chat. Potter, you go and sit with Mr. Malfoy. Hermoine, over there with Miss Parkinson; Weasley, with Mr. Nott and you,” his eyes glanced over you swiftly, “go sit with Mr. Riddle. Go.” You hastily stuffed your quill and parchment into your bag, smiled at Hermoine, who gave you a worried look, and walked over to Riddle with a hammering heart. With him. God protect you.

Mattheo Riddle lounged in his chair as if it were a throne, his posture a calculated mix of arrogance and nonchalance that made him look untouchable, even in disarray. The faint trickle of dried blood at his temple and the faint purpling of a bruise along his jawline should have diminished him, but instead, they only sharpened his edge. His tie hung loosely around his neck, the top buttons of his shirt undone, revealing a glimpse of pale skin marred by faint scars-trophies from fights he never seemed to avoid.

He didn't glance up as you approached, but the lazy, almost wolfish curve of his mouth suggested he knew you weee there. Something about the way his dark curls fell over his brow, paired with the faint metallic glint of the blood on his knuckles, made him seem both reckless and untamed, like a storm that brewed until it would inevitably destroy everything in its path.

Your anxiety only worsened when Riddle raised his head lazily and looked at your approaching figure. He had a cut on his nose that was still bleeding, and his eyes brushed over you with unmistakable disdain. Slowly, blood seeped down his hand and onto his parchment. You stared at the red dots as you stood in front of him, unsure what to do, frozen under his heavy stare. Until he scoffed and averted his eyes. “Merlin, you’re as slow as you are annoying. What's wrong, scared I'll bite? Don’t worry, sitting next to me won’t tarnish your perfect little Gryffindor reputation. Sit.”

Without a word, you finally managed to move your feet and rounded the table to sit down on the chair next to him with the utmost care, as if the slightest motion could tip him off. Was it riddiculous? Possibly. Were you keen on taking chances? No. You sat in silence as you got out your ink and quill and started scribbling on your parchment, head ducked over the paper and hair falling, thankfully, between the two of you like a curtain. A whole hour of sitting next to the ticking time bomb Mattheo Riddle. You were glad that your fingers weren't shaking as they flew over the parchment, leaving a trail of ink in their wake.

You couldn't have been more thankful for the silence, but Riddle seemed bored. You heard him shift in his chair, bounce his leg, and then, you heard his voice.

“Didn't think you Gryffindors scared so easily. Or is that just you?” Though you were sure he had noticed, Snape made no efforts to discipline Riddle for his insubordination. Of course not. But you knew, if you talked back at him, you would earn another ten points being taken from your house. And in any case, you weren't one to be provoked easily, and you weren't about to risk him hearing your voice shake, as it may have, if you'd opened your mouth. So you scribbled on in silence as Snape got up to demonstrate the wand movement.

“You're quiet for once,” whispered Riddle’s voice, closer than you expected, and you couldn't suppress the little flinch away from him. He chuckled darkly. “What happened?” he asked with the unmistakable sound of a predator circling its prey. “Lost your nerve, princess?”

When you looked up, away from him, your eyes met Hermoine who looked concerned. Barely moving, you shook your head and forced a smile upon your lips. This would be a long hour. You could tell from the tone in his voice that he would have his proper fun, would toy with you. Every instinct told you to fire back, but you called yourself to discipline. This was not the time. And if you would have been willing to start a fight, it would be highly unwise to take on Mattheo Riddle.

When Pansy Parkinson sniggered next to Hermoine, she averted her gaze and rolled her eyes, and you, too, looked back down onto the parchment. You should take notes on the wand movement. You would have, if it hadn't been for Riddle, leaning in once more. You were sure that, on the other side of the curtain, he was almost brushing your hair with his lips. It was silly, but his proximity made you blush. “Go on,” he prodded, “say something Gryffindor-y and self-righteous. Isn't that you speciality?”

“You will now pair up with your desk partners,” Snape’s voice sounded through the classroom, “and practice this jinx. If it has the intended effect, it should merely push your partner away a few feet. Finnigan, I would book an appointment in the hospital wing, I wouldn't trust Longbottom not to throw you out the window. If I see anyone taking advantage of this opportunity to right a perceived wrong,” he sneered, looking particularly at Harry and Ron who both scowled back, “they shall feel my wrath.”

Oh god. You had naively forgotten that this might happen. Let Riddle hex you? You should probably just hex yourself and be done with it. You sent him a quick glance as you rose from your seat and Snape piled up all desks at the wall to make space. If you hadn't known better, you could have thought that he was bored. But you saw the glint in his eyes as he met your gaze with his brown eyes. For a strange second, it flashed through your mind that he had surprisingly pretty eyes for- well, someone who's father was he-who-must-not-be-named.

“Try not to embarrass yourself,” he drawled mockingly and that irked you more than any of his comments had. You were very proud of your academic achievements, and you couldn't help but glare at the floor when you averted your eyes. You’d show him. Riddle whistled under his breath as you stood upright and raised your wand the proper way. “Look at you, all brave and noble, even in the face of the ‘Dark Lord’s Son’��

He was mocking you, and you found yourself wishing he'd just get in with hexing you instead. “If you're just going to yap all day, I'll do it first,” you said coolly, making him laugh. It was a strange sound, because you had never heard someone laugh so devoid of any warmth. Maybe nobody had ever taught him that laughs were supposed to signal happiness.

“Go on, sweetheart,” he said in a low voice. “Show me all about the ‘bravery’ you lot talk about.”

Gripping your wand tighter, you understood it as an encouragement to use the spell on him first. You could just say the incarnation. Just swing your wand. You could do it. “Discedo!” Your pronunciation was perfect, your aim was right, the movement of your wand mirrored Snape's as you concentrated hard. And, to your silent triumph, Riddle was nearly knocked off his feet as he was pushed back and stumbled a few feet, dangerously close to the fireplace. Just as described, you had done it correctly and for some strange reason, you awaited his praise.

Even more surprising was that you received it. “Nice one, princess,” Riddle called and walzed back to you with a lazy grin as if he hadn't just nearly crushed into a burning fire. If you thought about it, you weren't even sure he'd mind that. You'd watched him dislocate his arm in a brawl and crack it back in place without so much as a wince or a frown. Sometimes you thought he couldn't feel pain, but that was impossible. Maybe he liked it. It would suit him, you thought.

Over your spiraling thoughts, you nearly missed the almost gentle way he pulled his wand out of his pocket, much more tender than you had ever seen him regard a living being. You suppressed the urge to take a step back when he pointed it at you, determined not to show fear. Also, you were already in enough danger to smash into the wall behind you as it was. “Your friends seem worried,” Riddle grinned and you were momentarily distracted as you caught Harry’s frown and Hermoine's worried expression. Ron was too busy being pushed around the room by Nott who seemed bored out of his mind.

“Do you ever stop talking?” you snapped and were surprised by your own daring. “Just cast the damn jinx and get it over with!” Riddle raised his brows and you could have slapped yourself. Great idea, challenging him when he was pointing a wand at you and you were not allowed to use yours. Riddle seemed mostly amused, though, twirling his wand around in his hand as if he was contemplating something. Probably, how hard he would smash you into that wall. If Mattheo Riddle was good at one thing, it was cursing people.

Finally, he raised his hand, not even mouthing the spell, that show-off. You shielded yourself for the impact of the wall, but suddenly, a force, not unlike a giant hand or a strong gust of wind, pushed you, not backwards- but forward. Instead of crashing into the wall, you found yourself stumbling helplessly into the arms of Mattheo Riddle himself, who caught you, circled one arm around your waist and gave you the most innocent of expressions. “Oops, my bad, princess.”

For some reason, you blushed. Maybe because he was so close to you you could have wiped the dried blood off his face. Or maybe it was the hand on your waist, encircled by your arm, touching his. His hands felt larger than you had expected and he buried his fingers in your robes, crooking his head at you with a sly grin. No doubt, he was trying to measure your reaction, read it off your face in all damming detail. If it hadn't been the classroom, you would have looked like you were about to kiss. His relaxed smirk was infuriating. "Come on, princess, you know you can't resist me."

Shaking him off, you took a few steps back, legs tingling from the jinx. No way that hadn't been intentional. You should probably be angry, but you were more so glad you hadn't crashed into a wall. But just when you were about to raise your wand once more, Snape’s harsh “WANDS DOWN” had you retract. You all were dismissed with one wave of his hand and you hurried over to your book bag. You had never wanted to escape a room this quickly.

To your annoyance, Riddle leaned down for his bag right alongside you and you made haste to bring some distance between the two of you. Again, your caution seemed to be of his amusement, because he chuckled coolly. “What, afraid you’ll catch something? 'M not contagious.” Without an answer, you pushed past him, making a beeline towards the doors and were the first one out. Only when you had walked two corridors, you could take a moment to breathe out.

“You’re alive!” called Ron in mock surprise when you joined the others in the common room a few minutes later. Laughing, albeit weakly, you slumped down into the seat next to him by the fire. Harry and Hermoine looked up and Hermoine’s eyes scanned your form as if she was looking for signs of harm. “Blimey,” sighed Ron, “I thought for sure he'd jinx you into next week.”

“Me too,” you said, rubbing your temples. The frown on Hermoine's face deepened. “It's not funny,” she suddenly snapped, catching all of you by surprise with her fervor. “This could have ended badly! And what do we learn from that?” She asked sternly and Ron raised his hands in surrender. “No talking in class.”

“It's alright, Hermoine,” you said, smiling at her. It was touching how protective your friends were. “Riddle didn't do anything to me, did he? And I was part of that conversation, it's as much my fault as it is Ron's.”

“You should be worried about me, Hermoine!” Ron chimed in and rubbed his shoulder that seemed to be sore. “Do you have any idea into how many bookshelves and walls I crashed today? Nott’s a real piece of shit, I didn't even get to jinx him back!”

“Well, Pansy Parkinson didn't even have time to raise her wand at me,” said Hermoine with an air of superiority, and Ron rolled his eyes. “Well, she isn't much of an academic weapon, is she? Other than you.” Hermoine, who had just looked determined to snap at him once more, seemed somewhat dumbfounded by the sudden complement. To your surprise, she even seemed to blush a little in the dim light of the fireplace.

“Why was Riddle even looming over you like that?” Harry asked through the silence. “I mean… what were you talking about?” Ron and Hermoine, both a little red in the face, turned to look at you as well.

“He talked, I didn't,” you shrugged, for some reason feeling like you had to vindicate yourself. “He was a real chatterbox, I think he just wanted to get a rise out of me.” And he had, you suddenly realized. Damn.

“You handled yourself really well,” said Hermoine and Ron nodded in agreement. “Yeah,” he grinned, “If you could've only pushed Riddle a few feet further back, you'd have set him on fire, how cool would that have been?” He laughed at the idea and even Hermoine smiled a little.

“Wouldn't want to kick off his tragic backstory villain arc,” you grinned and Ron snorted. “Lost case, I'm telling you.”

Shaking your head with a small smile, you watched Ron combust with laughter. Both Harry and Hermoine chuckled, but mostly at Ron’s amusement over his own joke. After that, the conversation trailed off towards school work. Harry and Ron were indignant at Hermoine for already conceptualizing NEWT revision tables when it hadn't even snowed yet, with Ron promising her that he would not touch a textbook until they had beaten the Slytherins at the next quidditch game, the first of the season. When they started to bicker as usual, you started to drown their voices out and you gazed into the fire, lost in thought.

The first time you'd seen Mattheo Riddle had been on your first day in Hogwarts. You'd been scared and jumpy the whole time, the castle intimidated you, the magic astounded you, but at the same time, you felt like an outsider, unworthy of such a royal institution. When you'd been waiting for the hat to call your name, you'd been half expecting to be forgotten, a confirmation that you just weren't good enough. Your worries had been momentarily shunted to the back of your head when another name was called, “Riddle, Mattheo”, and a collective whisper, in its entirety as loud as a yell, had rolled over the hall.

At that point, you had never heard the name Riddle, nor had you the name Voldemort. Blissfully unaware, you'd never even heard of the wizarding war before, the dark times. The only time you'd been in touch with magic before was in diagon alley, but you'd met barely any wizards before. Maybe you had been the only student in the gaggle of them who didn't know what dark a legacy he carried.

What you did notice was more so the way he carried himself. Even at the young age of eleven, he had a kind of untouchable confidence about him. He seemed to be entirely detached from the nerves that coiled so prominently in your belly. Only regarding his fellow, whispering students and the professor with a defiant look, he planted the hat upon his head that disappeared almost in it's entirety inside it. In retrospective, you had wondered why the hat hadn't immediately shouted out Slytherin, seeing as Riddle was one through and through, and the house’s founder’s heir on top of that.

After a while - the whispers had turned into a steady, ever growing buzzing of curious and hostile voices. Safe to say you had been beyond confused and had leaned over to ask the girl next to you why everyone was reacting like this- the name had sounded utterly inoffensive to your innocent ears. But before you could ask her, the hat shouted out “SLYTHERIN” and the boy ripped it off abruptly to stomp over to the Slytherin table, glaring at anyone he passed. They whispered behind his back, and back then, you'd thought 'how can they do this? He hasn't done anything!’. You hated making people feel unwelcome. Of course, you'd learn that Riddle was an expert in that regard himself.

When you now thought back to that, you wondered wether he could have been saved from whatever pipeline he was currently diving into, getting into fights, supposedly even torturing people and, though you took those rumors with a grain of salt, even killing student’s pets. But maybe he'd always been as detached and dark as he was now. At your first Halloween feast in Hogwarts, the evening a troll had sent the school into a panic, he'd caught your eye. As students around him shrieked in fear and stumbled over their own feet trying to escape, he had been eating cake and watching the panicked students as if they were unconvincing extras in a mildly interesting stage play. He'd even grinned, shoving his hands into his pockets, as if it was all beneath him.

Then, in second year, everyone had assumed him to be Slytherin’s heir. It didn't seem to bother him very much, maybe he was even proud. Like all the muggleborns, you'd done your very best to steer clear of him, but your friendship to Harry made it harder since they were constantly at each other’s throats. You'd cried once when you overheard him tell his friends that “at least the monster had good taste”, you'd always wanted everyone to like you and though you had already accepted that some people simply wouldn't, it hurt that anyone could be reveling in the idea of you or your friends being attacked by a monster.

Not that he was any kinder to his own friends, or at least outwardly he wasn't. When Malfoy had gotten attacked by buckbeak in third year, he'd simply watched and laughed, something thirteen year old you found utterly disgusting, even though you detested Malfoy.

As unlikely as it sounded, fourth year was the first time you talked to him- or rather, bickered with him. When Harry had been fighting the Hungarian Horntail and you and Hermoine had been at the edge of your seats, frozen with fear and worry, the Slytherins had come along and Riddle had made a comment about how he would be far more entertained if the Tournament would have some death in it again. For a moment, you'd forgotten how scared you were of him.

Though you weren't what people would call “heroic” or “brave”, in spite of your house, you tended to lose your temper when it came to your friends. That day, you had, when you'd shot around to shriek at Riddle what the fuck was wrong with him, aghast how he could even say something like that. But just when Riddle's eyes flickered over you as if he'd just noticed you for the first time (he probably had), Harry got the egg and you were distracted from him. In spite of what he had said, though, when Harry turned up after the third task with Cedric's body, he'd been pale as a sheet as he stared down at the dead boy. Not so happy that a champion was dead now, after all.

Fifth year was when he started to pick on you. It was also the year he started getting into fights. Actual fights. Of course, there had been smaller brawls before, immature duels, but there was an edge to him when he returned to Hogwarts that year. He was more serious, and most importantly, more angry. A student laughing too loud was enough to set him off on a bad day, and once he was, there would be blood. A lot of it. It became a weekly occurrence to see him walking into classrooms with a bloodied shirt or nose, or cuts and bruises on his face and hands. Fifth year was when even some of the teachers started getting scared of him.

Other than any other year, Riddle had stayed in Hogwarts for the Holidays in sixth year. It only stood out to you because most people went home to see their families, wanting to be close in times of uncertainty. And because of that one morning, when you'd taken a walk around the black lake and spotted him, standing in the cold without so much as a cloak and staring into space with a distant expression. It was the first time in years he'd looked human, and you had found yourself staring until he turned his head and snapped at you.

In seventh year, you had been assigned to prefect patrols with each other for a few disastrous days. Each night, you'd stumbled into your common room, burned out from the stress it caused you to be near him. To be subjected to his cunning comments that drove you over the edge, with him having a front seat. It was probably good fun for him. Out of pure boredom, he had amused himself with you. And he'd won, kind of, when you begged McGonnagall to reassign you after a mere week, which she did. Maybe you had been imagining things, but he had been strangely more hostile to you since then, as if it had actually bothered him.

Now, in your eighth and final year, staring mindlessly into the flames, you found yourself wondering wether he'd ever had a chance to be anything else than he was right now. Or rather, anyone else. With him, you found yourself thinking of him as a thing rather than a person more often than you'd liked to admit. Maybe because he didn't seem very human. If the times and environments had been different, maybe he'd have been, too. But, you reminded yourself, he was still him, and you were still you.

Maybe some diety had listened to your tired sermon the previous night, or maybe it was mere coincidence. It could also be your stupidity. But the next day, you found yourself assigned detention with Riddle himself. You had to recognize that pulling your wand at Malfoy and him in full sight of any professor who might turn the corner was a little stupid, but the others somehow never got caught doing it. You, on the other hand…

You had been on your way to the library after dinner the next day, on your own since your friends were already on their way to the common room. Maybe some backup would’ve been good, but you were quite glad none of them heard the words that left Malfoy’s mouth when he passed you in the halls, talking loudly to Riddle. “Granger may be smart, but brains won't save her when the Dark Lord finally catches up to her.” Your head had shot up from the parchment you had been buried in and you stuffed it into your bag, accelerating your steps, a white hot anger stirring inside you. But Malfoy wasn't finished yet. “Honestly,” he drawled, gesticulating vaguely, “It'd be poetic, wouldn't it? The little mudblood trying to stand up to a Death Eater and getting exactly what she deserves.”

He didn't have the chance to say anything further, because your newly learned discedo jinx made him stumble backwards and knock into the wall. Before he could even realize what happened, you sent a silent disarming charm his way and his wand flew in another direction. You were momentarily stunned by your own skill as you watched Malfoy's face go red with anger, but when he leaped from the wall, you pointed your wand at his chest, rage burning inside you and wiping away any concerns about school rules that you followed so adamantly other days.

Malfoy opened his mouth, no doubt to insult you, but you got ahead of him. “You think saying something cruel makes you clever, Malfoy?” you spat at him. “You're really proud of being a terrible person, are you?” Malfoy broke out into a cackle that was silenced by your wand now pressing into his chest. You felt tempted to bombarda maxima his head off, and the fact that you did scared you a little, but it couldn't quell the fire in your chest.

“Wh- do something!” Draco hissed nervously at Riddle who was watching the scene, just like the small crowd that had assembled around you.

A wild laugh escaped you. “You fucking coward. Do you think saying stuff like that is funny? No wonder no one respects you!”

An utterly unexpected sound made both you and Malfoy freeze, though the latter didn't have much of a choice, with your wand still pointed at his chest. Riddle was laughing. Well, not really. It was more of a chuckle. His eyes were locked on you, shimmering with… intrigue? Aghast, you stared at him and your anger welled up once more. This was funny to him, yes? Well, if he didn't have anyone to stand up for, sucks for him. But your healthy dose of respect for Mattheo Riddle made you bite back the reply, merely purse your lips together and turn back to Malfoy, who seemed to have found his voice again.

“It's only a matter of time before the Dark Lord wipes out your little group of do-gooders,” he snarled in your face. “Should be quite the spectacle.”

“Crawl in a hole and die, Malfoy,” you growled, starting to feel a little stupid with your wand pointed at him purposelessly.

“Let's end this party here, princess, don't you think?”

His voice had you turn around slowly. Riddle's wand was pointed lazily at you, as if he were merely twirling it in his fingers. But you knew better. Every movement was deliberate. His wand was pointed at you on purpose. He exuded the aura of a calm before the storm, a small smile danced around his lips. He had this way of making everything into his entertainment. But you wouldn't lie, his wand and his eyes had a definite shiver run up your spine.

“What on earth is going on here?”

You shot around when Professor McGonnagall’s voice bellowed through the hallway and jumped back. The scene she saw was not ideal, with both Mattheo's and your wand pulled as if you were about to duel. Which was strictly forbidden in an uncontrolled environment like this. Not that you'd ever be stupid enough to duel Mattheo Riddle. When the Professor approached, you saw her heaving chest and dread filled your stomach, you wished desperately to be anywhere but here. It was important to you to be liked by teachers, especially McGonnagall, who you’d always looked up to.

“I don't want to believe this,” said Professor McGonnagall, enraged. “Miss y/n, Mr Riddle, detention.” She turned to you and wrinkled her nose. “This is disappointing. I would've expected better from you, especially.”

Mattheo knew he should have been groaning about the detention, but he was busy wondered why you didn't try to defend yourself. Try to tell McGonnagall how Malfoy had provoked you. A crowd of eyewitnesses could have confirmed the story, and McGonnagall surely wouldn't take kindly to threats against her favorite student. But when he looked back at you, the look on your face surprised him. You looked absolutely mortified, he wondered for a second if you would start to cry. But you merely lowered your head and pulled your wand away. McGonnagall gave you a sinister glare. By the look on your face, she could just as well have hit you with the cruciatus curse.

“Pathetic,” whispered Malfoy in his ear, but he couldn't quite agree. It was intriguing. Why did it matter so much to you what fucking McGonnagall thought? He realized, of course, that he was more indifferent of teacher’s perceptions of him than other students, but you looked as if you were facing the death penalty.

Seemingly unable to watch this trainwreck further, a Hufflepuff sixth year spoke up on your behalf. “Please, Professor, Malfoy said some awful things about Hermoine Granger.” Malfoy's grin faltered when McGonnagall looked at him, a wave of affirming murmurs confirming the story to her. “The detention will be extended to you as well, then,” she said coolly and strode off, still positively fuming. Mattheo wanted to catch you before you could slip away, though he wasn't sure what for. Maybe he could tease you, rile you up, that was always good fun. And more than that, he wanted to find out why you had reacted so strongly to McGonnagall’s words.

But you were gone, had made a break for it when McGonnagall had left, no trace of you left. When they kept walking, he drowned out Draco's rants as he thought back to your face when McGonnagall had caught you coming close to jinxing Malfoy (which he found to be hotter than he ever thought he would). There was quite the lioness hidden in you, when provoked. His previous quips at you had usually been met with faux indifference and even fear. Good to know even you, sweet, goody-two-shoes you had a darker side about you. He wouldn't deny that he felt tempted to see it again.

[reidphobic]

trying hard not to get into trouble (but i’ve got a war in my mind) - s. r.

in which your criminology professor is just too tempting. 3359 words.

switch!spencer x switch!fem reader, questionable age gap & power dynamic, mild exhibitionism, authority kink, brief choking, praise, semi-public sex, oral (f and m receiving), mild degradation, no use of y/n

Your bare thighs stick uncomfortably to the plastic lecture hall chair, and you shift in your seat. Still, you focus diligently on the lecture, or, more specifically, on your professor. Dr. Reid is your favourite kind of challenge, a man you can’t have, the kind who won’t compromise his morals no matter how much he wants you — or, thinks he won’t.

You don’t miss the way his gaze lingers on you just a second too long, flickers down to your chest before he catches himself. Toying with him is the highlight of your week, coming up with new ways to torture him, push his boundaries as far as you can before he snaps. The semester is drawing to a close, though, and you haven’t quite snared your pretty professor yet, so you’re having to resort to drastic measures.

It’s like he’s deliberately avoiding you, eyes sliding over you as if you’re not even there. You hope that means your barely-there outfit is working as intended. Dr. Reid refuses to call on you to answer a question, stuttering through his sentences and raking his hand through his unkempt curls. You wonder if they’re soft to the touch, if he likes having them pulled, if— Focus. You raise one hand, digging through your bag with the other. When his attention is finally on you, you spout off some stupid question that’s believable enough not to arouse suspicion; he sees right through it, though, knows the ruse.

Out of politeness, Dr. Reid keeps his focus on you as he speaks. His words come out rapid-fire as if he’s trying to escape you before you do any more damage. It only makes him stumble more, and his struggle is frankly adorable. His reaction as you wrap your lips around a cherry-flavoured sucker is audible, a hitch in his breath and a waver in his voice as you smile innocently around the candy. From then, he can’t take his eyes off you, watching your red-stained tongue lap at sticky sugar, fist clenching and unclenching at his side.

You’ve got him right where you want him.

Leaning back in your chair, you smirk slightly, wait to draw his attention. When he meets your gaze, you spread your legs, give him a deliberate eyeful of the tiny scrap of lace between them. At that, you physically see him snap, rail against the constraints of his moral compass, finally, gloriously give in. A thrill skitters up your spine as he stops in front of your desk. “See me after class,” he murmurs, jaw clenched.

“Yes, Professor,” you breathe, licking your lips as your thighs clench under the table.

You linger as your class lets out, carefully reapplying your lipgloss while you wait for the room to empty. When you’re finally alone, you approach his desk cautiously. “You wanted to see me, Professor Reid?” you say delicately, suddenly uncertain — you might just be in for the reprimand of your life, and that’s no fun for anyone.

“If you’ll just come with me to my office,” he says tightly, staring resolutely past you as he stands from his desk. Desire pools under your skin, your every nerve alive with tension as Dr. Reid lets you into his office. The sound of the lock clicking shut falls straight between your thighs — that’s when you know you’ve got him. You sit demurely in his armchair, legs crossed as he puts as much distance between the two of you as possible, standing across the room with his arms folded protectively across his chest. “I think we need to discuss your behaviour in my classroom.”

You smile. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about, Professor,” you say, putting on a wide-eyed, naive look you’re sure he won’t fall for. Unconsciously, he steps towards you. 

Dr. Reid’s gaze is unreadable. “Really? That little stunt with the sucker, I— I know what you’re doing, and it has to stop, okay?” he says, and, oh. He’s the one pleading with you.

It makes sense, once you think about it. You know he used to be an FBI agent; a dangerous, high-stress job like that, it’s no surprise he’d want to shut off, hand over the control, be taken care of, entrust his pleasure entirely to someone else. “Why would I stop?” you pout. He’s close enough now that you could reach out and touch him. “I’m having so.” You take Dr. Reid’s tie delicately between your fingers. “Much.” You pull him in gently. “Fun.” You tug sharply on his tie, hard enough that he stumbles, bracing his hands on the arms of your chair.

He lets out a shaky gasp, like he’s expecting you to unhinge your jaw and swallow him whole. “This is… The, uh…” He clears his throat. “The way you’re acting in my class is not appropriate, and it needs to stop,” he says. You’d almost call it firmly, if not for the near-imperceptible tremor in his voice.

You note that he hasn’t pulled away. “I don’t think you want me to stop, Professor,” you murmur. “I think you want me to stop teasing you, and you want me to give you what you want.” Your smile widens the longer he stays silent; searching for the words to refute you, but the lie won’t come. “Tell me what you want, Doctor Reid,” you purr.

“I can’t,” he breathes. “You aren’t… It’s not…”

“Look at me and tell me you don’t want this,” you breathe, catching his jaw so he can’t look away.

His mouth opens, but no words come out, speechless in a way you’ve never seen him. “I… I’m twenty years older than you.”

You grin. “And?”

“I’m your teacher,” he protests, nearly a whine, and oh, isn’t that a delicious sound.

“So?”

“So?” Dr. Reid repeats, incredulous. “I can’t… have sex with you in my office!” he hisses, low as if someone might be listening in.

Your grin only widens, and you pull him down towards you, so close that his breath skates across your lips. He twitches nervously, like you’re close to breaking him, like he’s this close to doing something he’ll regret. “But you want to,” you murmur, cupping his jaw and letting your fingers trace his cheekbone. “Tell me, Professor… When was the last time you had something just because you wanted it, hm?” He shudders, eyes fluttering closed. “I’ll take real good care of you, sir, I promise.”

With a strangled groan, he gives in. The kiss is sudden, harsh like he’s furious with you for pulling him in like this. Soft lips give way to sharp teeth, greedy tongues, slotting together like you were moulded for him. Your hand slides up into his hair, tangling in his curls as you kiss him harder. A moan slips from your lips when you pull away for air, and the sound seems to drive him well and truly into madness. His lips meet yours with a renewed hunger, resting a hand at your jaw when he breaks away.

Spencer (you’ve just had your tongue down his throat, for God’s sake, you’ve earned the right to call him by his first name) strokes his thumb over your bottom lip, gazing down at you with awe and disbelief written across his face. He sucks in a sharp breath when you close your lips around his thumb, lapping at it just like the sucker from earlier. “You’re trying to kill me,” he breathes.

Releasing his thumb with a slick pop, you laugh. “Is that what you think?” You stand up, press your body into his. Spencer nods warily. “You’d know. If I was trying to kill you, I’d do something like this,” you murmur, sliding your hand up his throat and pressing down softly. His eyes flutter closed in surrender, and a filthy, spit-slick grin spreads wide across your lips. “You like that? Good boy,” you say silkily, letting go of his throat as he nods. “You gonna let me take care of you, Professor?”

“Please,” Spencer gasps, and when you let your gaze wander away from his flushed face and down his body, your lips part softly at the sight of him straining against his pants. You dip your head to kiss his neck, wishing you could bruise, make him yours, but you restrain yourself.

Rough carpet grazes your knees as you sink to the floor, hands coming up to work his belt open. You kiss him through his pants, slide his zipper down with your teeth. Spencer whines, and the sound sends a pulse of arousal through you. “So needy, sir,” you croon, slowly pulling him free of his boxers. It’s probably the prettiest you’ve ever seen, thick and hard in your palm, drooling precum as you lean in to kiss the tip. The salt taste of him fills your mouth and you moan involuntarily, his hips twitching as you pump his cock slowly.

Hands thread into your hair, but the touch is gentle, reverent, born from need rather than demand. Not that you’d say no to his manhandling you, but you get the sense that’ll take some time. “If you want something, it’s polite to ask,” you tease, holding Spencer’s hips when he tries to fuck into your hand.

“Fuck, please,” he hisses, and the obscenity slides deliciously up your spine. “You’re so pretty, baby, look so gorgeous down there. I want you so badly, I just— please?” Spencer whines, and he sounds so sweetly pathetic that you take pity on him, wrap your lips around his head. The moan that falls from his lips is made of pure lust, and you shiver, arousal dripping between your thighs.

You suck and lick at him, eager and teasing, moaning as the taste of him fills your mouth. Spencer trembles with the effort of holding still, not fucking up into your mouth, and his hands unconsciously tighten in your hair. “You can be a little rougher, if you want,” you say, sliding your palms up his clothed thighs and taking him in your mouth again. You moan around him as his cock bumps the back of your throat, swallowing a gag with practiced ease.

Spencer’s hand curls into a fist in your hair, your stomach clenching in anticipation. The gentle sting when he tugs just a little buzzes under your skin, and you moan enthusiastically around him, hollowing your cheeks and taking him even deeper. “Fuck,” he whines, hips jerking forward until his cock bumps the back of your throat. Heat throbs between your legs as he twitches on your tongue, and you can tell from the sounds he’s making that he’s close. 

You double your efforts, pulling off to lick around his head and drip spit along his length. Arousal throbs in your belly, hips grinding down against nothing. Slowly, you take him all the way back in, moan low in your throat when he’s buried to the hilt. You trace your tongue across the vein throbbing on his underside, and Spencer lets out the sweetest, most desperate little whimper you’ve ever heard. “I- I’m gonna cum, you’re gonna make me cum, fuck, baby, oh, my God,” he gasps, needy and adoring.

His voice trembles as he begs, so soft you’re not sure he knows he’s speaking aloud, and the way he pleads your name, fuck. Time blurs around you, your head goes hazy, pleasure knotting itself deliciously around your insides. Spencer gives a strangled moan, a garbled sound that might be your name, and that’s all the warning you get. You swallow greedily as he spills on your tongue, twitching and moaning and praising you through short, gasping breaths.

He’s still twitching with the aftershocks as you pull off, kneeling to smile blithely up at him. Spencer’s eyes are wide, sparkling with adoration as he struggles for breath. “How was that, Professor?” you tease. “Do I get an A?”

He gives a groaning sort of laugh, pulls you to your feet. “You’re unbelievable,” he says, still gazing into your eyes. It’s disarming, and you get the distinct impression he can read what you’re thinking as plainly as if it were stamped on your forehead. “Come here, come on,” he adds, pulling at your hips and pressing your body into his. You’re almost shocked when he kisses you, hard and greedy and hungry, the most aggressive he’s been this entire time. He sanitises his damn desk three times in a class, for God’s sake — you’d half expected him to hand you a toothbrush when you stood from the floor.

And yet, he’s kissing you breathless, and his hands are tangled in your hair, and his body is pressed so close to yours that you can barely tell where you end and he begins. “Thank you,” he mutters against your lips. “That was incredible. You’re incredible. You’ve gotta let me— Come here, sit,” he says, guiding you to sit on his desk. You balance between scattered papers, an uncapped pen bleeding a black stain into your skirt. 

“Let you do what, Doctor?” you say, quiet and breathy, gazing up at Spencer with wide, adoring eyes.

Spencer smiles, and something warms in your chest at the sight. Long, delicate fingers trace along your thigh, push up your skirt until your panties are on full display. “Pretty,” he remarks, maddeningly casual. “Did you wear these for me?”

“Of course, sir. I don’t dress up for boys anymore.” You swallow, bite your lip. You decide to lay it on a little thicker. “See, I need a man.”

“Is that so?” Spencer murmurs, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your panties. Your heartbeat quickens, excitement throbbing between your legs as he drags them down. “Look at you, sweet girl. So wet. Is that all from sucking my dick?” he teases, and you shudder.

You don’t know where the sudden obscenity, sudden dominance came from, but it thrills you all the same. “Mhmm,” you murmur. “What are you gonna do about it?” Smirking, Spencer picks up your panties, lets them dangle from his fingertips, red lace starkly incongruous from the calm, studious background of his office.

After a beat, his grin turns wicked and he tucks them into his pocket. “Safekeeping,” he says, tucking a stray wisp of hair behind your ear. The movement is so tender that it stops you in your tracks, a shimmering thread of something more than simple desire stringing between you. His eyes glitter, and you know he feels it too. Then, long fingers start to work at the buttons of your blouse. “I want to see all of you,” Spencer says, bending his head to kiss your lace-clad breast as your shirt falls open.

His hand skates up your thigh, oh-so close to where you need it. “Please,” you breathe. “Please, sir. I need you.” Spencer draws his hand away and you whine pathetically, your bare thighs suddenly impossibly cold.

“Be patient, sweet girl,” he says, low and almost dangerous. A thrill skitters up your spine as he sinks to his knees, gazing intently at your dripping wet core. “Beautiful,” he mutters, so quietly you don’t even think he’s talking to you. His hands slide up to your thighs again, spreading them apart gently. “Are you gonna let me taste you, beautiful?”

You nod frantically, cunt fluttering at his words. He kisses the inside of your knee, works his way down your thigh. A brief, bright spark of pain flickers through you as Spencer sucks a bruise into your skin and you moan. A rush of incredibly gratifying heat washes over you when you realise he’s marking you; a hidden little secret lying just beneath your polished exterior. Spencer won’t be able to see anything else when he looks at you. 

He pulls away from his assault on your thighs to look up at you, doe-eyed. “Tell me you want this. Please. I need to hear you say it.” You shudder, closing your thighs around his head and threading a hand into his curls so he can’t drag himself any further away.

“Spencer,” you moan. His eyes blow wide at the sound of his name from your lips. “Please. I need you,” you breathe. “Need you to make me cum, sir, please. Haven’t I been good for you? Don’t I deserve it?” You bite your lip to muffle a scream when Spencer leans in, licks a broad, flat stripe along your soaked core.

He’s methodical, at first, and you know somehow that he’s carefully cataloguing your responses. His tongue flicks over your clit, slow at first and then faster, pressure mounting between your thighs. Spencer moans into you, shifts his hips, and you realise: he’s getting off on this. A jolt of arousal so strong you literally pulse against his mouth rips through you, and you feel his lips curve into a smirk.

Big, soft hands dig hard into your thighs, pulling you flush against him like he could bury himself in you. “You taste so good, baby,” he whines, pressing his tongue flat against your hole as you grind your hips forward. Pleasure curls under your skin, swelling and pressing against your organs, crowding your mind until you can’t think, can’t feel anything but him. Your toes curl in your shoes, stomach clenching as your orgasm builds and builds. Breaking away, Spencer presses tender little kisses to your inner thighs, licks soothingly over his bite mark. 

Just as you’re starting to whine at the loss, he wraps his lips around your swollen clit. Sudden, electric ecstasy shoots through your body when he sucks on your sensitive nerves and it’s all you can do not to scream his name for the entire campus to hear. “Oh, fuck,” you whine instead, rocking your hips in a frantic, desperate rhythm. “M’so close, sir, please— You gotta let me— fuck!” you gasp, cunt clenching as he slides two fingers into you. You’re so wet that it’s easy, a slick slide as he pumps his fingers in and out of you.

“Good girl,” he murmurs. “Look how well you take me,” he says, staring openly at the point his fingers disappear into your body, your greedy cunt parted around them as wet, obscene noises fill the room. He kisses your clit softly and your legs kick out. “You’re gonna look so pretty taking my dick, hm?”

Your mind goes blank, pleasure thudding sickly in your throat, humming in your ears. “I want it,” you whine. “God, I want you to fucking— mmm— bend me over this desk ‘n— fuck— make me all stupid for you. Oh, God, Spencer, m’so close!” you cry, tugging at his hair and writhing helplessly.

“Go on, pretty girl,” Spencer says, softly urging. “Cum for me.” He pumps his fingers, licks at your clit, gently coaxes you over the edge. Your hands white-knuckle the edge of the desk as pure pleasure washes over you. Your body slumps, weak and powerless against the weight of your orgasm ripping through you. Spencer doesn’t let up, smiling into you as you write above him, murmuring soft praises that fade into a low buzz against your pulse hammering in your ears.

Spencer’s lips and chin glisten with your arousal, still kneeling between your legs as you struggle back to your body. “That was… Shit, I don’t know if I’ll be able to stand,” you giggle, testing your weight as you shuffle off his desk. Spencer leans down to kiss you, and the taste of yourself on his lips is dizzying. Pouting, you glance up at the clock hanging over his door. “I have class.”

As much as he wants to, Spencer won’t tell you to cut class, and you both know it. “Would you like to, uh…” He clears his throat, adjusts his tie, and just like that, he’s back to the sweet, nervous academic you’re used to. “Continue this discussion later? I’ll— I’ll be here all day.”

Your lips stretch wide in a saccharine smile as you slowly button your shirt. “Why, Doctor Reid, are you asking me to meet you after hours? How scandalous,” you giggle, pressing a soft, near-chaste kiss against his lips. “I’ll be back at six.”

[ptergwen]

hiii

so this might me dirty but hear me out

It has gotten to me that mans come can meddle w the woman’s dna

so with this as an inspiration, and I know it’s kinda cliche but

stark!reader suddenly having spider senses or smh (not pregnancy)

oh and it’s for Tom Holland spider man

have an amazing dayy

a parker thing

ask box  |  taglist  |  blurb masterlist  |  main masterlist

w/c: ?

warnings: smut (p in v unprotected, lowkey dom!peter and reader), swearing

a/n: jump scare if you didn't see my post lmao i'm back y'all! i missed u guys and missed writing lots so i’ll be here from time to time again :) i had so much fun with this req thank you for the idea! much love to u all <3

you catch yourself dozing off and jerk your head up instinctively. one short, loud snore passes your lips as you do so, eyes opening wide. you blink your tired eyes a few times as you readjust to the harsh lighting.

ugh, you fell asleep in the lab, something you always chastise peter and your dad for doing. they're notorious for their long hours spent messing around with stark tech. you've lost count of how many times you've woken up to an empty spot in bed where your boyfriend should be, instead finding him fast asleep surrounded by cups of coffee and a delirious tony still on the grind.

tonight, you're the stark who's in the lab past their bedtime. you had the day to yourself and decided to use your free time to upgrade your suit. it had had a few hiccups during the team's last mission, so you wanted to work on it before the next one. what was supposed to be a few minor tweaks turned into a whole day of tweaking.

you scoff at yourself and wipe some drool that crusted onto your chin. oddly enough, you almost instantly refocus on the screen in front of you. it's been like this for most of the day. you're way more concentrated than usual for some reason, more aware. you figure it's because peter has been out on patrol and couldn't distract you.

"are you finished for the night, boss? you aren't usually here this late."

"i know, but i’m gonna stay a little longer. i’ll be done soon...i think."

friday dims the lights directly overhead so they aren't as harsh. you smile.

"thanks, fri."

you sit up in your seat, scooting in closer to the screen displaying your suit. you carefully look over the prototype and pick up a pen to write yourself some notes. when you go to put down the pen, it sticks to your palm. you shake your hand to try to get it off. it stays stuck.

"huh."

you use your other hand to pry the pen off of you.

"weird."

first you have heightened senses, now you're sticky. if you didn't have ordinary stark dna, you'd think you were part arachnid like peter.

you're not sure why, but you suddenly stand up and turn towards the main doors to the lab. they slide open a few seconds later. peter walks inside, spider suit on and mask off. he pads over to you with a soft smile.

"there you are. friday said i could find you down here."

peter pecks your lips and envelopes you in a hug. you sign contentedly, face nuzzled into his neck and arms winding around him.

"yeah, she's probably sick of me. i've been down here all day."

"you're really locked in, huh? how's the suit coming along?"

peter's fingers rub up and down your back ever so lightly. just the small touch practically sends shivers down your spine.

"good. fixed everything and double checked, then triple checked. started adding some new stuff, too."

"new features? like what?"

"you know the one i was telling you about..."

you trail off as peter's hands slide down to your ass. he pulls you in closer to himself, letting his hands rest there. you peek up at him, heart speeding up.

"go on, i’m listening."

peter gives your ass a gentle squeeze. it's an innocent gesture, really, but your senses are going crazy right now and you can't help but to get turned on. you always tease peter about how easily he's turned on. if this is what it feels like for him, now you understand.

"hm, i'm bored of talking about the suit. tell me about patrol."

"it was good! got a lot of action today. i mean, i guess that's not good 'cause that means there's more crime and stuff, but y'know. anyway..."

you stare at peter's lips, but don't listen to a word he's saying. it's the first time today you can't focus. he's pressed right up against you in his damned tight spider suit, and his hands are still on your ass, and you're so hypersensitive and hyper aware. all you can think about is how bad you need him.

"y/n? you okay?"

peter must have noticed you spacing out.

your gaze flicks between his eyes and lips before your own lips wordlessly capture his in a searing kiss. peter lets out a breathy chuckle, caught a bit off guard by your abruptness. he deepens the kiss for a moment, then pulls back with a look of amusement. you bite back a cheeky smile.

"horny."

peter's features form a smirk.

"i got you, baby."

he kisses you again. his tongue tangles with yours, a sigh passing your lips. peter lifts you up, grip becoming firmer on your ass. you wrap your legs around his waist. he kisses down your neck until he finds a spot he wants to mark. you tilt your head to the side so he has more access. peter's lips suck roughly on your skin, teeth nipping at it playfully. you let out a shaky breath.

peter presses one last kiss to what's sure to become a hickey to soothe it. you tilt his chin up towards you again, lips smashing into his, holding him in place by the back of his head. he carries you to the nearest table while your intertwined lips move desperately against each other's. you sneak a hand down to the bulge in his suit, earning a groan.

"one sec, lemme get this off."

peter sets you down on the table and quickly strips off his spider suit. you take your own clothes off and toss them aside, left only in your bra and panties. peter comes to stand between your legs. he slips your panties to the side, middle finger collecting your wetness as he kisses you again. his finger slides into you with ease and begins to pump. you moan into the kiss, tugging at his hair.

"already so wet, baby. don't even have to get you warmed up."

peter's finger curls inside you, cockiness evident in his tone and on his features. you tug on some hair at the nape of his neck.

"stop teasing, parker."

"can't take it when the roles are reversed, stark?"

something takes over you in that moment, the same something that's been coursing through your veins all day. you grab both of peter's hands and hold them in place above his head. your grip is tight around his wrists, too tight for him to break free of it. a noise almost like a growl escapes you.

"shut up and fuck me, or i’ll fuck you."

peter meets your wild eyes, his pupils equally as dilated.

"do it."

you promptly pull peter up to the table with you. you push him back so he lies down, pinning his arms down at his sides. his chest rises and falls, breathless.

"woah, what's gotten into you today? not that i’m complaining, but, woah."

"i know, right? i thought you were supposed to have super strength."

peter grabs you by your hips and sits up, seating you in his lap. you wiggle your hips in his grasp, but he digs his fingers into your sides so you can't move. peter's voice drops low.

"what was that?"

you breathe out a low laugh.

"nothing."

you dip your head down to press your forehead to peter's. he smiles, satisfied with your answer. you wrap your hand around his hard cock and stroke him. peter's lips ghost over yours, his breathing heavy.

"wanna feel you, y/n/n."

peter slides his hands up to your waist so you can move again. you smile knowingly. you slip off your panties before you reposition yourself, your legs on either side of him. you line up peter's cock with your entrance.

"wanna feel you too, pete."

you lower yourself down onto peter. you both let out little sighs and moans as he fills you up.

he always feels so good inside you, but this time is even better, even more intense.

you arch your back to find the right angle, shifting backwards a bit. once you're both comfortable, you begin to roll your hips. peter exhales a breath he was holding, lifting his hips up to help you out. your movements are slow, fluid. peter supports you by the small of your back, eyes hooded and lips parted for air.

"fuck, i'm not gonna last long."

"me neither."

he kisses you, softly but with so much passion. you let your eyes flutter closed and kiss back. you place your feet flat on the table for more stability and straighten your back, starting to bounce on his cock.

"y/n..."

peter's voice comes out almost like a whine. you chuckle at that.

"i know."

you grab onto peter's shoulders for more support as you move, up and down, back and forth. peter leaves sloppy kisses along the side of your neck. the once quiet lab is now filled with both of your moans and the sounds of your wetness every time his cock thrusts into you. you're both so close, and you can hardly hold out any longer.

peter grabs your hips to stop your movements. he takes over, thrusting up into you at the same delicious pace, only he's the one in control. you let out a series of short, high pitched moans, head thrown back as peter's cock hits the right spot in you over and over again.

"that's it, y/n/n. sound so pretty, baby."

peter half speaks and half groans. you reply with your own noise of content, squeezing yourself around his cock as you reach your high. peter is close to his.

"god, fuck."

he's panting. his thrusts speed up a bit until his hips stop moving altogether. he pushes deeper into you with one final moan, his cum filling you up, making you feel warm inside. you both recently agreed he could finish in you; it's a new level of intimacy.

"fuck, baby. woah."

you bury your face in peter's neck in response. you try to catch your breath, falling forward into his arms.

"oh my god, pete. that was..."

"yeah."

peter hugs your waist. he slowly pulls out of you, making you wince at the new emptiness.

"sorry."

he peppers tender kisses to the side of your head. you remove your face from his neck.

"it's okay."

you ruffle peter's hair with a tired smile. he kisses your cheek, smiling back. you give him another peck on his lips. you yawn, today's and tonight's activities catching up with you once again.

"aw, you tired?"

"mhm. you must be, too, spidey."

"exhausted. let's get cleaned up, then we'll go to bed?"

"sounds perfect."

peter helps you down from the table. you quickly step into your panties in case any cum leaks out of you. he picks his suit up off the floor.

"okay, that was insanely good. i mean, it always is, but something was different. i wonder what it was."

peter shimmies into his suit so his lower half is covered. you're putting on the rest of your clothes.

"i don't know, i’ve just been super on my shit today. really focused and stuff."

"explains why you were so locked in on your suit."

"that might just be a stark thing. actually, it's a parker thing too."

you poke peter's chest playfully. you collect some of your things from your work area, some miscellaneous supplies sticking to your palms as you do.

"why does this keep happening?"

peter watches curiously as you huff and shake paper clips off your palms.

"funny, that reminds me of when i first got my powers. took me a while to figure out how to control it, being sticky."

"uh huh. did you spill web fluid last time you were down here or something?"

"i don't think so, but it would have dissolved by now if i did. i haven't been in the lab for a couple days."

"oh. maybe it was someone else."

peter quirks a brow.

"i don't see any web fluid over there, y/n/n."

you turn to face peter.

"so why am i sticky?"

between this, your strength, and your heightened senses, peter puts it together. you have powers.

his spider powers.

"that might also be a parker thing. more specifically, a spider-man thing."

"you don't mean... no."

if peter is saying what you think he's saying, that confirms what you had thought earlier.

"uh, yeah."

peter crosses over to you. your eyebrows knit together.

"we must share some dna."

"but how? that wouldn't be possible unless we were, like, related... ew! please don't tell me we're fucking related!"

"baby, baby." peter laughs softly, taking one of your hands in his. "stop freaking out."

"you should be freaking out too! you were just inside me, peter, fucking me raw! you came in me!"

"exactly."

peter's voice is way too calm for your liking.

"exactly? what do you mean 'exactly'?"

"think about it. sperm is made up of dna."

"so what?"

"well, i wasn't born with this dna. it got mutated by the spider bite. so no, we're definitely not related."

you tentatively soften your gaze, allowing peter to lace his fingers through yours.

"since i got my powers from the mutation, i guess you got them too when i started finishing in you."

you gasp, a playful smile pulling at your lips.

"you mean you mutated my dna? you have radioactive cum?"

"something like that. you're not mad?"

you toy with peter's fingers, looping an arm around his neck.

"nah, it's kind of cool now that i know what it is. you're gonna have to teach me how to use the powers, though."

"of course." peter returns your smile. "now that you've got new powers, you gotta rebrand. maybe you could call yourself spider-woman."

"you'd like that, wouldn't you? come up with something more original."

peter's arms wrap around your middle, smile growing into a toothy grin.

"you could also use mrs. parker. it's gonna be your name someday, anyways."

you put your other arm around peter's neck with a laugh.

"mrs. parker, i like that."

(too lazy to use tags lmao)

[absurdthirst]

Amantes Unitum {Marcus Acacius x F!Reader x Lucilla}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 22.4k

Warnings: Vaginal sex, unprotected sex, oral sex (male and female receiving), promise of marriage, Roman politics, heart ache, infidelity (technically), public baths, mentions of orgies, flirting, wlw, threesome activities, fingering, breast play, face sitting, cock riding, development of feelings, treachery, imprisonment, death, grieving, arranged marriage

Comments: You have anticipated marrying Marcus Acacius since he was a young officer. The needs of Rome come before your own and you find yourself in a unique situation where your lover is married to the Empress of Rome to keep her safe from the madness of the Twin Emperors, Geta and Caracalla.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

**Follow @absurdthirst-writes and turn on notifications to stay up to date on all new fics.

|| MasterList || Marcus Acacius MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

“Marcus.” You moan, tilting your head as your lover moves above you. He’s pushing deep enough to shift you up the bed and you caress his back. “Amor.” He groans, kissing your exposed neck and he wants to spend every night in your bed. He plans to now that he has returned from war. He plans to ask your father for your hand. His amor. “You are so beautiful.” He murmurs against your skin, breathing you in.

“I missed you.” You whimper softly. “The months apart are too much. Take me with you.” It is a ridiculous request, but you would follow Marcus to the front line, into battle, if you could be with him every day. Your love for the quickly advancing in the ranks soldier, Marcus Acacius, might be considered foolish to some. As the daughter of a senator, you could have anyone, but you wanted him. You know he will be a general, but his status doesn’t matter to you. Just how wonderful he is.

"It's too dangerous, amor." Marcus shakes his head, not wanting you to be in that environment. He would love to have you with him every night in his tent but the mere thought of you being hurt is enough to make him shudder as he moves above you. "Your father would never forgive me if anything happened to you." He murmurs, kissing up to your jaw.

“Then when I am your wife.” You clench down around him as he rocks into you again. “We will spend every day you are home in bed. All day.” You promise. “I love you.”

Marcus groans at the confession, his heart pounding, and he knows he has to return to Rome in glory. That is the only way he can be with you, the only way you can be his. He shifts onto his elbow, his free hand sliding down your body to rub your clit. He wants you to fall apart for him. He wants to hear you cry out his name.

Being lovers for so long has given Marcus a very intimate knowledge of your body. Knowing exactly how to make you cry out in pleasure as he touches you. “Acacius!” You cry out as pleasure washes over you a few moments later.

Marcus loves the way you fall apart beneath him, his hand pulling away from your clit to cup your cheek. He presses his lips to yours with a low groan and rocks into you a little harder, faster as he seeks his own pleasure. "Fuck." He curses against your lips, his forehead pressing into yours as he thrusts one, two, three more times before he rips himself free from your cunt, his cock twitching as his hot seed spurts over your belly and the thatch of curls between your thighs.

You bite your lip, wishing that he could stay inside you, but you can’t risk a child. You already have to make sure that you drink your tea tonight, given to you by one of your servants to make sure you do not have a child before you are ready. “The great Marcus Acacius looks so wrecked when he cums.” You tease, caressing his cheek. “Amor.”

He tries to catch his breath, chuckling breathlessly as his orgasm rattles through his system. “One day you’ll be my wife. We will be together. I just need time to be worthy of you.” He murmurs, shifting to lay down beside you and he pulls you into his chest.

“You’re worthy now.” You insist, curling against his chest. “You will be promoted any day now and most of the men under your command already have families.”

Marcus sighs, "you know your father won't let me marry you. He wants you to be with a senator or someone with status. I am nobody. A boy who was brought to Rome to fight. To earn my freedom and climb the ranks in the army. I am doing that but I have no family coin. I have no property other than my home. I am nothing and I need to be something to have you." He murmurs and you shake your head, "you already have me." You promise but Marcus shifts to kiss your forehead, "I want all of you. I want you to be my wife. To have our children. To die knowing I spent my life loving you."

You hum softly, smiling as soon as you think about having his babies. Carrying them under your heart as you wait for him to return from another successful campaign. “That is what will happen.” You tell him, completely sure of your future together. “The gods will see it so.”

Marcus sighs, hoping you are right but the gods can be cruel. He closes his eyes and prays he doesn’t have to die without you being his wife. 

**** 

“Acacius.” You gasp when Marcus pushes into your home, your father is in the Senate but the servants will report your lover’s presence to him. Your brow furrows when you see how tense your lover is, his shoulders bunched. “I am to go to war again, my love. I- they have made me a General. The Emperors are young but they have been advised to give me this status. We can marry. As soon as I return.” He announces but he is worried he is being played a fool by the powers that be.

“Oh Marcus.” You reach up and caress his cheek. The unrest since the death of Commodus and Marcus’s former General, Maximus Meridius in the colosseum has set everyone one edge. Rumors were swirling that Lucilla had sent her son, Lucius away after power had been seized by the twins. No one had seen the boy in months. “I will wait for you and make plans.” You promise, leaning in to press your lips to his firmly despite the disapproving audience of your father’s servants.

He pulls you close, needing to feel you before he leaves. His men are packing their things and they are preparing to leave to conquer more land for Rome. “I love you.” He murmurs against your lips, “and I need you. Please, amor. One more time before I leave.” He pleads, his hand sliding down to squeeze your ass through your robes.

You turn your head towards the servants. “Leave us.” You command, knowing that they will have no choice but to obey you. Bowing their heads, they disappear and you grab Marcus’s hand to drag him towards the courtyard. It is cooler there and you want to make sure that you send your General off right.

Marcus lets you escort him through the villa until you are in the courtyard and he groans when you wrap your arms around him, pulling him close to press your lips to his. He responds immediately, sliding his tongue into your mouth, wanting to dominate you before he leaves you for gods know how long.

Moaning softly, you feel the determination in Marcus, knowing what he wants. Reaching up, you unpin the laurels that hold up your dress. Pushing back slightly to let the garment fall to the floor to leave you in your slippers.

His eyes trail along your form, darkening as he tries to memorize every detail to carry him through the long lonely nights of war. He is tenting his tunic but he steps closer to you and sinks down onto his knees, grabbing your thighs to drag you towards him. He wastes no time surging forward to press his nose between your thighs, breathing in your scent until his tongue slides through your folds.

“Acacius,” your gasp is quickly turned into a moan from the flick of his tongue across your clit. Marcus has never been shy about providing you pleasure and this is the last time you can be together before he leaves. Your fingers card through his hair, grinding your hips forward to give him more access to your cunt. “You are better than the women at the baths.” You praise breathlessly.

He doesn’t deny you pleasure in the baths. He loves that you are satisfied during his absence and he trusts that he has your heart. However, he is competitive and he wants to outshine those women. His tongue flicks until he sucks your clit into his mouth, loving how you moan loud enough for the servants to hear. Possessing you in the only way he can at this time.

You whimper his name, looking down and watching as a Roman general kneels down in front of you and feasts on your cunt. “Gods.” You moan loudly. “I wish to see this for the rest of my life.”

He groans in agreement against your cunt, sliding his tongue through your folds and his hand trails up your leg, lifting it up onto his shoulder so he can lap at more of your flesh.

Marcus devours your cunt, his tongue flicking over your clit and through your folds, Moving down to push inside your cunt while he holds onto your hips like he is afraid you would push away. You never would. "Maritus." you whimper, knowing that he will be your husband as soon as he comes back a victor in war.

His body shudders beneath you at the title, desperately wanting it and for you to be his uxor. He wants you to be his forever. His fingers dig into your flesh as he laps at you, his jaw aching as he widens it but he wants you to fall apart above him.

Your leg shakes and your knee threatens to buckle. Only kept upright by the broadness of Marcus's body and his strong frame keeping you fixed in place. "I- It's so good." you whine, rocking your hips forward again and your stomach lurches before you cry out in pleasure.

He loves how you shake above him when you cum, falling apart for him. He’s desperate as he works you through your high. His fingers squeeze your ass and he kisses your clit when it becomes too much for you. He watches you, resting his glistening chin on your belly and his hand slides down to your thigh.

​​“Take me.” You beg breathlessly, sinking down to your knees and reaching under his tunic to wrap your fingers around his cock. “Show me that I’m yours. Give me the strength to carry on in your absence.”

Marcus grabs your ass, lifting you to hover you over his cock. “Put me inside your cunt, amor.” He orders, your thighs on either side of his hips. “Take what you want. It’s yours. I’m yours.”

You shift slightly, reaching down and grasping his cock again to press against your entrance. “I love you.” You promise, pressing your lips to his as you feel him pull you down on his length.

He moans into your mouth, his tongue sliding against yours as you sink down onto his cock. You feel incredible and he wishes he could legally call you his. His hands squeeze your ass and he helps to rock you on top of his cock.

You are riding his cock on the ground of your courtyard and you don't care. The water from the fountain trickles nearby but it is not nearly loud enough to cover your moans. "Marcus." Your fingers push into his hair. "May the Gods keep you safe and return you to me."

He’s desperate as he ruts up into you, his fingers digging into your flesh as he takes you. He prays that it won’t be the last time but he doesn’t know when it comes to war. He could easily be struck down and left to rot on the battlefield. For now, he’s going to be greedy and have as much of you as possible. “I’ll fight with every breath I have to return to you.” He vows, kissing your neck.

“Yes.” You moan softly, holding him as close as you can get. “My general. My warrior, fighting for me.” You know that he could be lost and you would spend your entire life waiting for him to return. “Just you, never will I marry anyone but you.” You vow.

Marcus groans, knowing that might be an impossible promise but his heart pounds at hearing it. “Mine.” He growls, his cock twitching inside you as he scrapes his knees while thrusting up into you, his grip on your ass helping you rock on top of him.

Your coupling is fierce and passionate, both of you taking and giving all of yourselves to the other. Your gasps breathed into his mouth and you don’t care if the servants tell your father. You are Marcus’s and you will remain that way. “I love you.” Your strangled cry comes as your world shatters, body drowning in waves of pleasure as your cunt clamps down around him. “Stay inside.” You manage.

“Fuck. Are you sure?” Marcus grunts, not wanting to leave you with child while he is gone fighting. “Yes. Yes. It’s safe. I just bled.” You promise and he groans, his hips aching as he thrusts into you, his knees scratched up but he doesn’t care as he thrusts until he stills, his cock twitching as he paints your walls for the first time.

It feels perfect. The heat of his seed flooding your womb has you whimpering and for a moment; you wish that the gods will let you have his child even though you know it’s not possible. Not before you are married to him. Your father would be furious.

Marcus kisses you, wanting to possess all of you, but it’s not possible. He has to earn you. He has to become good enough for you. Even if it’s not you putting those perimeters in. “Amor.” He murmurs, caressing your back, “you must take the tea.”

“I will.” You promise, cupping both of his cheeks and kissing him softly on the lips. “Our children will never question their parentage.” You murmur. “I will carry your children as your uxor.” You kiss him again. “May the gods keep you safe.” You pull away and you take the ring on your index finger off and reach for his hand. “My love travels with you. This ring was given to me by Maximus when he was general of the Southern Legions, now it will be yours as you command your men.” You promise and put the ring on his pinkie. 

He looks down at the ring and his heart pounds. He wishes he could stay with you. Be your Maritus and spend his life with you but he can’t. He has duties, he has to earn you. He kisses you again, desperate and knowing this. Hold on the last time. He murmurs your name and holds you close until you hear footsteps and you scramble off of him, his cum dripping down your thigh but concealed by your robes.

Quickly flipping your top back up, you clip it into place with the pin and stand next to Marcus as your father comes out into the courtyard. “Acacius.” He hums. “It seems you are always in my home.”

Marcus stands straight, praying nothing is out of place and he nods to your father. “Senator.” He greets him and he hums, glancing between you and Acacius. “Shouldn’t you be preparing to leave for war.” He tilts his head and he nods, “yes, I came here to say goodbye to your daughter.” Your father nods, “very well. Say goodbye and be on your way. We are due to the palace to see the Emperors for a feast.” He raises his eyebrows at you and steps out the room, allowing you to say goodbye to Marcus.

“I would rather be going with you than feast with the emperors.” You promise him, reaching up to caress his cheek once more before you kiss him. “Fight hard and come home to me, General.”

Marcus nudges his nose against yours, “be good, amor, and I’ll be back before you know it. I’ll be yours. And you’ll be mine and nothing…no one will part us.” He vows, turning his head to kiss your palm before he lowers it from his face. He stares at you, wanting to commit your features to memory, knowing that’s what will carry him through the tough journey ahead. He nods and steps back, knowing that he has to leave or he never will. He bows his head, “I’ll be seeing you, uxor.” He promises and leaves your home, his stomach twisting with the desire to earn your hand.

**** 

Marcus is home. Your father had announced that the General would be honored in a series of games and feasts, making your heart pound in anticipation. He was coming home a hero. Finally worthy of your hand by his own imagined standards. It has been years since he was home for more than a week. Never enough time to marry or do more than spend a few hours wrapped up in one another. The twin emperors constantly sent him off to war in the name of Rome. Time has passed and still you have refused your father’s suggestions of finding a husband. There is only one man you want. You dress carefully and make sure that your father brings you to the parade to watch your future uxor receive his honors from the emperors.

Marcus waves to the crowd who scream and cheer, throwing tokens and flowers towards him, but he feels numb. War is brutal. War is vicious and he feels like a fraud for returning home in glory when so many men's beds are empty. The chariot stops and he waves to the crowd before he makes his way up the steps. The crowd cheers and he sees the emperors standing there waiting for him. He bows his head once he's there and he clasps his hands together while the golden laurel is placed on his head.

You watch, standing beside your father from the group of senators that have gathered. Pride bursting in your chest as the men whisper about Marcus’s accomplishments and his victories in the name of Rome.

The Emperors grin, clapping their hands, "now we feast!" They declare and Geta spins to face the group of senators. Marcus follows his gaze, his eyes widening at the sight of you standing there. You look as gorgeous as the day he left you standing in your courtyard. He murmurs your name, his eyes drifting to your father who bows his head to the accomplished general.

You smile, beaming as your father shows Marcus respect. “Father-“ you start and he sighs softly. “We will discuss your future later.” He reminds you. “Now is not the time. There is a feast planned and the emperors will be sorely upset if attention is not paid properly.”

Marcus is escorted to the feast without being able to approach you but he knows he will have an opportunity when the feast is in full swing. He will leave before the emperors begin their favored orgy. “To General Acacius!” Geta toasts and everyone raises their cups. You are a few seats down from Marcus who has been seated next to Lucilla. “To your safe return.” She adds and clinks her cup with Marcus’s.

You raise your cup in toast to honor Marcus, watching him with a yearning that makes your entire body ache. As soon as you can, you will whisk him away for a proper reunion. Lucilla leans in and murmurs to Marcus, but his eyes flicker towards you, making you nod slightly at him and smile.

Lucilla leans closer to Marcus and he stiffens a little at her proximity. “I need to speak with you, General.” She murmurs and Marcus frowns, his gaze trailing over to you as you sit beside your father looking even more beautiful than the day he left you to go to war. “Very well. We can speak.” He murmurs, “what do you wish to discuss, my lady?”

Lucilla takes a deep breath, her eyes darting towards the emperors before looking back at the brave and daring General. She had heard of his conquests for Rome and how fiercely loyal the men were becoming to him. It was good now that Maximus was gone and her life was in turmoil. “I fear that I am in grave danger, General.” She murmurs quietly, leaning in and laying her hand on his arm. “I need your help. I need you to marry me.”

Marcus frowns, glancing down at her hand before his eyes flick back up to hers. He is shocked at her request and he glances across the table to where you are seated next to your father. “I cannot. I am to marry another woman.” He murmurs, his dark eyes on her as her hand trembles. “The emperors wish to have me killed.” She whispers, “I need to take a husband. One who has power.” She confesses and Marcus nods, “let us speak in private. Later.”

You are curious to know what Lucilla is talking about with Marcus to put that frown on his face. His brows pinched together in concern. You take a sip of your wine and your attention is captured by the senator sitting next to you. “Your general must be eager to marry you.” Senator Graccus hums with a smirk on his face.

The feast is in full swing and soon the whores are being brought in for the emperors and their guests. “Escort me home, General.” Lucilla orders and Marcus glances at you before he nods, standing up and offering his arm. He can feel eyes on him as he escorts her through the crowd and soon he’s standing outside her courtyard. “What is this about, my lady?” He demands, his stomach twisting.

“Caracalla and Geta are suspicious of my influence over the senate.” She explains. “They are not satisfied by Lucius’ disappearance and have decided that I should be dealt with.” She shudders delicately. “The fact that they are my younger brothers does not mean much, and I need the protection of your rank.”

Marcus knows that Lucilla is the reason why the emperors haven’t taken out the senate to be dictators. They know she would tell the people of Rome about their crimes if the senate was removed. “I understand your dilemma, my lady, but I am to marry the woman I have promised my life to. She has waited years for my return. We were lovers before I left for war. I am hers, body and soul, and I cannot betray her.”

Lucilla sighs and walks towards the gate of her villa. The large, palatial home that seems more of a prison than a respite. “Then I am doomed.” She murmurs softly. “There is nothing I can offer you? Everything I have will be yours. My influence yours, my lands and coins, servants. I would willingly give them to you for the protection of your name.”

Marcus sighs, his heart torn and he thinks of you. “My mother was your tutor. I knew your father, I knew Maximus. You have been a constant in my life and I prayed to the gods for your son to be our next emperor. A fair and honest leader. That is not our fate. We must save Rome from the emperors. I fear their lust for power and hunger for land will never be satiated. I do not wish to see you dead.” He says, his shoulders slumping slightly as he knows what he must do, even if it’s against his heart.

There is a glimmer of hope as Lucilla turns towards you. “Yes?” She asks softly. “I know that I am asking much of you.” She murmurs your name, “has been awaiting your return to Rome with the eagerness of a new bride. I would not ask if it did not possibly mean the future of our people.” She turns towards the city, swallowing slightly. “Tell me what you are thinking, Acacius.” She begs. “Once my father and Maximus trusted you, and I trust you now. If there is something else that would save me, let me know.”

Marcus frowns, torn on what to do. He promised you that he’d marry you as soon as he returned from war. Yet he must protect Lucilla if he has to prevent Rome from suffering at the hands of the twins. “I- I will marry you, but I need her. I cannot live without her.”

Lucilla nods. “I understand, I would not wish to keep you apart.” She is somewhat resigned to the fact that she will never have a husband who loves her, but to have a man admit that he needs someone else stings her vanity slightly. “I will ask that she join my household, perhaps a companion?”

Marcus knows that you will not be satisfied with the arrangement and if you do not wish to follow him to her household, he will understand. It will kill him to let you go but he is being selfish by marrying Lucilla to save the Roman Empire. It’s a noble calling but one that breaks his heart because he cannot marry the woman he loves.

“Then you will do it?” Lucilla asks softly, wanting to make sure that they both understand. “I will.” Marcus agrees and she steps towards him and leans in, turning her head when he pulls back slightly to kiss his cheek. “Thank you.” She murmurs softly. “I would not ask if the situation was not dire and I will make sure that your lover knows that she is welcomed in your bed more than I.”

Marcus takes her hands in his hand, shakes his head. “I am doing this for Rome. Please accept my apologies, my lady, you are a beautiful woman but I will not be sharing your bed. I will only share my bed with the woman I love. She has waited many moons for my return and I owe her my body and my soul. You can have my name and my title, but the rest of me belongs to her.”

“You are an honorable man.” Her smile is slightly bittersweet and she squeezes his hands before she pulls away. “My wish is that the emperors will curb their excess and gluttony to become the leaders that Rome needs, but I do not see that happening. I hope that you know that I serve the people of Rome and sacrifice much for her.”

Marcus nods, “the Emperor’s are sick with both disease and greed for power. We must serve Rome for strength and honour“ Lucilla agrees and Marcus kisses the back of her hand before he bowels his head and leaves her villa. You must have returned from the feast by now so he makes his way through the city until he approaches your villa. Your father is likely still deep in his cups, but he slips to your room and knocks on your window, hoping you are still awake.

It had disturbed you when Marcus left the feast without a word to you, but you had been sent home by your father before the orgy began. Knowing that despite the knowledge you are not pure, you still have a reputation to maintain. You had been reading some scrolls to distract yourself, drinking a cup of wine when you hear someone outside your window. Making you smile as you stand and move to the curtains. “The conquering hero returns.” You murmur softly, smiling as he smirks. “Have you come to finally claim your prize?”

Marcus smiles up at you through your window and gestures for you to open it so he can climb into your room. Reminded of the times he would do that before he left to go to war. “What is my prize?” He teases, knowing he has to tell you the news but for a moment, he wants to pretend he’s returning to you.

You reach out and caress the decorative armor that covers his chest. “Me.” You hum. “However you want me.” You bite your lip and flutter your lashes up at him. “My father will have no problem accepting the lauded general as the man who marries his daughter.”

Marcus sighs, reaching for you to drag you into his armored chest. “Amor. I would marry you this second if we had a priest but I- I have a duty to Rome. You own me. Body and soul. Yet I find myself unable to give you my name.” You frown and he presses his forehead against yours so he doesn’t have to see your face when he says “Lucilla has asked me to be her husband.”

“What?” You frown and try to pull away but Marcus tightens his hold on you. “Why you? Why now?” You demand, starting to choke up as tears fill your eyes. Your love, your soulmate is going to marry Lucilla? After all the plans and working towards the future that you had both done? “Do you- you don’t want me to be your wife?”

Marcus shakes his head and your eyes widen, "no. No. I want you to be my wife more than anything. You know it's been my cause. What I have fought so hard for. But Amor, there is more than us. The Empire...she cannot be led into destruction by the emperors. Lucilla...we must find her son. The rightful heir. We must restore fairness and strength and honor to Rome. To do that, Lucilla must live and she is threatened by the emperors. She has no protector. She needs a husband and my status will protect her. If we are to be wed, if we want children...there has to be a Rome for them to grow up in. Otherwise, we are signing their death before they are even born."

“Children?” You choke out and pull away from him to rush back to your cup of wine. “You would have children with Lucilla, not me. She will be your wife, not me.” You chuckle unhappily and take a large gulp of your drink, wishing you had stayed at the feast.

Marcus shakes his head, cupping your cheeks, “I want to have children with you. I want you to be my wife but I can’t do that without protecting Rome from the emperors. We have no future if they are unrestrained.”

His words chill you, making you sigh as you pull away. “I understand.” You murmur, hating that your dreams are being crushed under the sandals of fate.

“I spoke to Lucilla about you. She said you can come live with us. As her companion but you’ll spend every night in my bed. I know I am asking you to love me from the shadows, to essentially be my whore, but I’ll make sure you are cared for. That you never want for anything.”

“Your whore.” You close your eyes and bite your lip. You had dreamed of being his wife, carrying his children and his name proudly. Now, you would be his whore. You had once told him that you would take him however you could have him. “My father would not be happy. He knows that we have been together, that I am not pure.”

“I will let you go. If you do not wish to accompany me in this journey but we have come so far. I love you. My heart is yours. Will always be yours. I need to do this. For Rome. For our future. It won’t be forever. Lucilla has promised a divorce once Lucius is found and the twins are defeated.”

You frown, hating the idea of being apart from him after so long. You step closer to him and reach up. His dark eyes are focused on you and you can tell that if you were to strike him, he would let you. Instead, you caress his cheek. “I have always been yours.” You remind him. “I played your whore since the first time I let you between my thighs and if that is how I have to keep you? Then I will be her companion.”

“You’ve never been my whore. You’re been my lover. My goddess. The one who owns every ounce of my form. I am yours, amor. In every way but name. And one day, my name will be yours too. I love you.” He vows, leaning in to kiss you softly. “I shall speak with your father. If he doesn’t allow it then I will understand. He wants what is best for you and you deserve a life where you are the lady of the house. Not a life spent in the shadows with me. I wish I could proclaim to Rome that you are mine and I am yours but I must serve the empire. I will marry Lucilla and, pray to gods, you will be by our side until we can be one.”

“I will do whatever I must to stay beside you.” You murmur softly, pressing into him and leaning closer to kiss his lips. “Now, take your spoils, General.”

Marcus feels wrong taking you without giving you his ring but he desperately needs you. Imagined this exact moment so many times when he was fighting to survive, aching after taking the lives of too many men to count. He surges forward to kiss you, groaning into your mouth as he slides his hands down to squeeze your ass.

This is the Marcus you have been eager to have back. The passionate one, the one that is desperate for you. Your own fingers start to tear at the ties to his armor, wanting it off of his frame so you can touch the man underneath the solid image. There has been a statue of Marcus placed close to your bathhouse and you often think of how much it looks like him but does not feel like him. He is soft and strong, not unyielding like the marble image of him.

He lets his armor drop and grabs it to set it on the floor, letting you work on removing his sandals, untying them and his wrappings until you are reaching for the hem of his tunic. “I am scarred. More than before.” He warns you, not wanting you to be upset by the injuries that are haunting his body.

“More of you to kiss.” You promise, believing that every scar on his body was proof that he fought to come home to you. “My general.” You slowly lift his tunic off his body and groan in arousal at the sight of him. Strong and soft, his cock is jutting out from his body, already hard and you tenderly caress the scar in his side. “Be more careful, amor.” You whisper, leaning down to kiss it gently. “You need to come home to me.”

Marcus wishes more than anything that he could claim you as his wife in this very second, but he has always struggled with his desire to do the right thing over his own desires. He must marry Lucilla to protect Rome otherwise his own selfishness or ultimately lead to the demise of everyone within the empire.“I have come home to you, my love. No matter what happens, remember that every part of me is yours. I carried your ring with me into battle and that is why I am still here today.”

You know that Marcus had visited the baths before the feast so you don’t hesitate to sink to your knees in front of him. The ring is still on his finger and you smirk as you reach out to grasp his cock and roll the foreskin back to reveal the leaking and neglected tip. “Then let me give you your reward for coming home to me.” You coo before you lean forward and wrap your lips around him.

His chest heaves when you take him into your mouth. Marcus has not been with a woman since he was in your bed. He has taken himself in hand and ensured his celibacy and dedication to you, imagining how sweet the feel of you will be after so long and he was right. “Fuck.” He pants, his chin resting on his chest as he watches you take what you want from him.

You hum in agreement, enjoying the salty, musky taste of him, the oils that had perfumed his bath mixing with his natural scent and you hollow your cheeks to take him deeper. Wanting him to unravel for you, to release all the tension and frustrations from your time apart on you. Reaching up, you grasp his ass and rock him forward into your mouth as you look up at him.

“Fuck. Your mouth. I’ve missed it more than anything. I’ve missed you, amor. Gods, you are my deity. I worship you.” He promises and moans your name, caressing your cheek.

You giggle slightly but you don’t pull away. Pressing deeper until your nose is buried in the wiry hair at the base of his cock. Swallowing around him again just to hear him groan your name before you slowly start to bob your head.

You’ve always been so damn good at this. Especially since you’ve only ever touched him. You know exactly what he wants because he was the one to show you. He watches you with dark eyes, groaning your name as you let him push down your throat with every thrust.

It’s sloppy, tears leaking out of your eyes and saliva running down your chin, but you don’t pull away. You want him to fuck your throat, to use you like he needs. He will make sure that you are pleasured, you have no doubt about that. He never leaves you unsatisfied.

He grunts, his cock twitching in your mouth as you sloppily take him into your mouth. It’s messy and he fucking loves it. Grabbing the back of your head, he keeps you still so he can rock into your mouth, your eyes on him and he groans your name. It doesn’t take long until he starts to spill down your throat.

The first time Marcus cums after returning from war, it seems like he never will stop. Rope after salty rope spills down your throat and pushes out of your mouth when you can’t swallow fast enough, making your cunt ache with anticipation as you drink him down.

He feels wrecked as you take all he can give. His eyes squeezed shut while your name tumbles from his lips. “Fuck. Amor, I need - come here.” He growls, grabbing your arms to pull you up from the floor after you release his cock and he presses his lips to yours, fingers searching for the pin that keeps your dress on your body.

You groan into the kiss, hands stroking his body as he unclips your dress and lets it fall to the floor. “Marcus.” You moan softly. “Take me to bed.”

He nods, his hands grabbing you to pull you close as he walks you backwards towards your bed. “I’ve missed you so much.” He murmurs, kissing your shoulder as he lowers you down onto the bed. Kneeling between your thighs, he presses kisses everywhere he can reach until he kisses down your chest to take your nipple into his mouth.

Your gasp is loud, fingers tangling into his hair and you arch up into his mouth. Offering yourself to him like you have every time you have been with him. “Acacius.” You whine, loving how he bites down and then soothes the pain with his tongue.

Marcus groans, kissing along your skin until he’s taking your other nipple into his mouth, biting down. He kisses down your stomach, pushing your thighs apart with his shoulders until he is settled between your thighs. “Gods I’ve missed this.” He confesses, inhaling your scent.

You moan softly. “I’ve missed your tongue between my thighs as well.” You tease, looking down at his eyes as his lashes flutter slightly. “Your cock, inside me.”

Marcus groans, loving how you press his cheeks between your thighs. He wastes no time sliding his tongue through your folds. He loves your taste, your tang as he samples the arousal he’s missed for so long. “Fuck, taste so good, amor.” He murmurs, diving back in to slide his tongue through your cunt.

Your own moan is loud and lusty, approving of the way the dives into you. Your lashes flutter but you want to watch him as he pleasures you. The women in the baths can’t compare to the eagerness of your lover as he devours your cunt. You had not been going for the past months, wanting to wait until your Marcus was home to cum again, so every swipe of his tongue quickly works you up.

Marcus’s fingers dig into your flesh as he laps at you. He groans as he pushes his tongue into your cunt. He loves how you moan his name and he’s dreamed of this so many times. He loves it. He loves you. He wants to do this for the rest of his life.

He laps at you and you feel the familiar knot starting to curl in your stomach. “Marcus.” You pant softly, reaching down and tugging his hair slightly to pull him back up to your clit. “I’m so close, amor.”

​​He needs you to fall apart for him. He wants to spend hours between your thighs, ruining you and claiming you after he’s been gone for so long. He moans into your flesh, his lips wrapping around your clit to push you over the edge.

The strong sucks to your sensitive flesh tips you over the edge and you feel your body lurch up as you cry out. Your cunt clenches around the two fingers he quickly pushed inside you and you soak them while you shatter.

When you cry out, he groans, his cock hardening against your bed as you soak his face. He works you through it, his hands caressing your hips, and he loves your sounds, your taste. So many memories brought back after so long away from you.

Marcus doesn’t pull away until you are shuddering and sobbing as you squeeze your thighs closed. “So good.” You urge him up to press your lips to his. “I love you, amor.”

He slides up your body, wasting no time in pressing his lips to yours. You don't care about the tang of your cum on his tongue as it slides into your mouth and his cock is hard, pressing against your thigh.

“Insatiable.” You grin against his mouth and reach between you to cup his cock. “I want you inside me.” You moan. “I just finished my bleed so I want you to fill me up. I’ll drink the tea, but I need you to claim me.”

Marcus knows he should say no. He shouldn’t risk you especially when he cannot take your hand like he desires but he also can’t deny you. He groans and takes himself in hand, shifting up until he notches himself at your entrance.

The first push of him inside you is always the best feeling in the world. “Oh Marcus.” You lift your legs onto his hips and wrap them around his waist. “Amor, I have missed this. Missed you everyday.”

He breathes you in, “I love you. I will always love you. I’m yours.” He vows, “thought of you every moment I was away. When I went on the battlefield, I fought to come back to you.”

You wrap your arms around him and pull him close, wanting his whole weight on you. “I will always be here for you. I want to be here for you. Your sanctuary.”

He loves how you feel under him as he rocks into you. “You will always be by my side.” He promises, “I love you.” He murmurs, kissing along your neck and he sighs, feeling like he’s returned home.

Every thrust is a proclamation of his love for you. You know Marcus is torn between his duty to Rome and his love for you. You cannot make him choose. “Amor.” You whisper, stroking his back as he moves over you. “My love. I am always yours. This life and the next.”

“I’ll give you all of me when Rome is free.” He vows, “and I’ll love you until the day I die.” He promises, his cock twitching inside you as he makes love to you. “I’d die for you.” He breathes into your mouth as he kisses you.

“Never have to die for me.” You know he would, though. He would do anything for you, just like you would do anything for him. You are, you are giving up your vision of the future because you know he needs to do this. Rocking your hips up to meet his thrusts, you kiss him back fiercely, moaning into his mouth.

He wants to feel you cum around his cock again and his hand slides down your side until he’s gripping your thigh. He loves how you moan when he adjusts your leg so he sinks deeper into you.

“Acacius.” You gasp when he presses against something inside you. “There, just like that.” You beg, your nails starting to dig into his shoulders. If you leave half moons embedded into his skin, you will be proud to see the marks on him.

He would wear your mark everywhere, show all of Rome that he is yours, but he has a duty to fulfil. He groans and thrusts into you a little faster, wanting to hear you cry out his name. He focuses on that spot, rocking into you. “Cum for me, amor. I want to feel it.”

You whine his name, your body reacting to his demand. Eyes closing as he rocks you closer until you are sobbing out his name and your cunt clenches around his cock.

“Fuck.” He curses at the way you soak him, squeezing his cock like a goddamn vice. He shifts his knees, grabbing your other thigh to push it back and he lifts your calves over his shoulders. Sinking deeper into you, his jaw is clenched and he wants you to fall apart one more time before he cums.

All you can do is take him. He has you pinned down as his hips start to drive harshly forward. Hammering into you at the perfect angle to have your toes curl as you squeal.

His eyes are focused on you, the way you throw your head back, and he growls, wanting to possess you. He thrusts into you over and over, your cunt squelching as you take what he gives you. “That’s it, amor. Fuck, you feel so good.”

You can’t even talk, just moan as he drives into your body. Rocketing you higher as you cling to him. He’s determine to see you cum again, not stopping until you are seizing up underneath him again and screaming. “Marcus!”

You cum for him again, your juices hitting his stomach as you convulse beneath him. He grunts, nostrils flaring as he rocks into you, and it only takes a few thrusts for him to bury himself deep. Your cunt is squelching as he paints your walls with his seed, uncaring if it takes. You belong to him.

**** 

“You want me to be present?” You frown slightly and look past Marcus to see Lucilla watching, her hands twisted together and her eyes showing how worried she is. Marcus had insisted you come with him to the estate but you had imagined they would speak their vows in private with other witnesses beside his lover.

“I need you to be there.” He pleads, his hands finding yours to squeeze them. Lucilla understands that you are the woman he loves and she doesn’t need Marcus’s love, she just needs his status and protection. You bite your lip, knowing it will not be easy to stand by and watch your lover marry another woman after you’ve dreamed of being his uxor. You nod, “okay” you murmur reluctantly and Marcus brings your hand up to kiss it. “Thank you, amor.”

You can tell that Lucilla is uncomfortable, several senators gathered to watch Marcus and the former emperor’s daughter marry. You nod respectfully to the general and move over to where your father is standing, looking less than pleased but resolute. He had initially disagreed with the idea of you becoming Lucilla’s companion, but you had reminded your father that you would simply do as you wished without his permission if needed. In the end, he had begrudgingly given his approval, though you know he is unhappy.

Marcus takes Lucilla's hands in his, his palms a little sweaty but she doesn't seem to care. She offers him a soft smile and he relaxes a little. The priest begins to speak but Marcus keeps his gaze fixed on his new wife, knowing that he wants to look at you. He manages to speak his vows while Lucilla squeezes his hands and soon, the priest declares them maritus and uxor. Marcus leans in to press a soft kiss to Lucilla's lips for the crowd and he lowers his hands from hers, his stomach twisting with the uncertainty of the future.

You manage to not cry during the ceremony, keeping your head held high and an almost pleased expression on your face even as your heart breaks. You know why he is doing this, but it is still hard to watch your lover marry another woman.

The feast begins soon after the marriage contract is signed and Marcus wants to find you, pull you close and reassure you that this is just the beginning. He can't though, he has to put up with the pretense and he is seated beside Lucilla, sipping his cup when the music stops. "Ah, General. Lucilla. Congratulations are in order." Geta grins and claps as he strides into the room unannounced, followed by Caracalla who has his monkey on his shoulder.

You frown at the appearance of the emperors, hiding your disgruntled expression behind your cup. They are the reason that you are unable to be married to Marcus now. Why this feast is for him and Lucilla.

Caracalla grins, gesturing for a cup of wine which is promptly placed in his hand. He steps towards Marcus and Lucilla. "Congratulations to the happy couple. Such a sudden wedding but my brother and I love romance and you two...well, two of the powerful figures in the empire. Apart from me and my brother of course." Geta grins, raising his glass, "to the happy couple. May their marriage be without complications." The emperor's eyes flick over to you.

You look away from the emperor, aware that the rumors of your relationship with Marcus have been often whispered about since the announcement that he would marry. You lift your cup. “To the happy couple.” You parrot softly, turning back to meet his gaze steadily.

“Senator Brutus,” Geta smirks at you before cutting his eyes over to your father. “Does this mean that your daughter is finally willing to consider a marriage match?” He asks before tilting his head towards Marcus. “The senator’s daughter was most stubborn about not marrying yet.” He explains, like everyone in the room isn’t aware of the reasons why you had waited.

Your father clears his throat, “perhaps but she has been asked to be a companion for the lovely bride.” Your father gestures to Lucilla. “She will remain in this home until she finds her match. She is my only daughter and I want her to marry for love.” He says and Caracalla scoffs, aware that the General is getting to have his cake and eat it.

You act like you are not being discussed and take a sip of your wine, leaning over to whisper to Graccus. “The senate is convening soon, I hope?” You murmur.

Your father nods, “yes. We have spoken to everyone we trust.” He whispers as the emperors walk over to Marcus and Lucilla to offer their congratulations. Marcus offers them a stiff smile and bows his head, “emperors. Thank you for gracing our marriage with your divine presence.” He says stiffly and Lucilla places her hand on his arm, “it is an honor. We thank you and you are welcome to whatever you want from our table.”

Geta hums, arching a brow and smirks at Marcus. “I seriously doubt that the General would appreciate what I would wish to have from this table.” He jokes.

Marcus clenches his jaw but offers a stiff smile while Lucilla squeezes his bicep. “And what do you wish to have from this table, Caesar?” Marcus inquires despite knowing he won’t like the answer.

Turning towards you, he points dramatically. “Her.” The room goes completely silent until the emperor starts to giggle like he’s said something hilarious. Others around the room start to chuckle quietly so they don’t offend the temperamental ruler.

Marcus inhales deeply, trying to refrain from standing up and wrapping his hands around the throat of the impertinent ruler. Instead, he chuckles, and tilts his head, “she is her own person. She can decide who she wants but I think you’ll find that she is unsuited to someone of your stature. You should have a princess or an empress.”

You hum in agreement. “You would find that I am boring, Caesar.” You admit. “I often sleep early in the evening and rise before the sun breaks over the horizon.” You know that the emperors prefer to keep late hours and are never awake before noon.

Caracalla smirks, “my brother needs someone who will force him to keep a more reasonable schedule. Perhaps having an early bird as his partner would make him a better Caesar.” Marcus’s eyes flick between you and the emperors, his heart beating and Lucilla squeezes his bicep again to keep him quiet.

You say nothing, just smile blandly at the emperors until Geta begins to laugh again. “I am teasing!” He cackles, clapping his hands together once before he snatches a cup of wine off the table, not caring whose it is. “You are far too mature to be my partner.” He snorts. “Or perhaps I am too merry?”

Marcus exhales shakily while Lucilla giggles, squeezing him to remind him to laugh, and he offers the emperors a stiff smile. Your father chuckles awkwardly and you giggle, pretending to be amused. “You are far too good for a woman like me.” You promise and Marcus wants to scoff but the stiff smile remains on his face.

“That I am.” Geta agrees haughtily and then decides that he is done amusing himself with your situation and drifts off. You breathe a sigh of relief and glance over at Marcus for a moment and look away guiltily when you find Lucilla watching you.

Marcus wants to go to you but he knows he can't. He looks at Lucilla whose eyes flick to him and she reaches for her cup of wine to take a sip. Marcus sighs, knowing that he has to fulfill his duty but he truly wishes you were sat beside him as his wife. "Let us celebrate the happy couple!" Geta cries, slapping his hand on the table and the gathering becomes rowdier.

You watch the scene, heart aching and yet you do not leave. You do not wish to give anyone a reason to gossip. You sip your wine and watch as the emperors get drunk and start to plot when you can politely leave.

Marcus is unsure about the wedding night, hoping Lucilla doesn’t want him to bed her. He sips his wine, trying to not get drunk and feel sorry for himself even though he put himself in this position. He sees you stand, making your way out into the courtyard and he can’t stop himself from standing up and following you.

Walking out into the gardens calms you, taking in the lush scenery and fresh air. The emperors have demanded that excess wine be brought in and essentially an orgy has begun.

Marcus approaches you once you are outside and he fiddles with the ring on his pinky. Your ring that you gave him before he left for war. “Amor.” He murmurs, “are you okay?”

You turn to see Marcus coming towards you, his expression cautious and you give him a small smile. “I will be.” You don’t brush aside his concern. “It has been an interesting day.”

Marcus sighs, “you’re not wrong there.” He steps closer to you, reaching out to caress the back of your arm. “I’m sorry you’ve had to watch this. Be present for this.” He murmurs, knowing he would have a hard time watching you marry another man.

“I know you are doing this for Rome.” You murmur, looking into his eyes. “I am jealous that she has your name.” You admit quietly. “The honor of being General Marcus Acacius’s wife, but I know that she doesn’t have your heart, your love.”

Marcus shakes his head, uncaring as he steps closer to cup your cheek. “She will only have my name. She will never have my soul, my heart, my body. That belongs to you. Always.” He vows, wishing he could give you more than that. “I wish it was you.”

“Are you sleeping with her tonight?” You ask softly, unsure if you want to hear the answer. “No.” You twist your head to find Lucilla standing on the edge of the courtyard. “He will be in your bed, your rooms have been set up. There is a secret passage that connects them so even the servants will not know.”

Marcus feels guilty for not being a true husband to Lucilla but he is doing this for her, to save her life. Not because he loves her. He nods, “I wish to have her in my bed tonight.” He says, gesturing to you.

You doubt Marcus sees it, but there is a flash of disappointment on Lucilla’s face before she smiles and nods. “Of course, maritus.” She hums softly. “Perhaps you are ready to leave the celebration? It is starting to become an orgy.”

Marcus nods, knowing you will not want to be present for that. “Yes, shall we retire?” He asks Lucilla, “we can tell people we wish to consummate our marriage in private.” He says, holding his arm out for her, “and my amor can retreat to her room.”

You fall back behind the couple, admiring your lover’s strong back and you understand completely why Lucilla Euler chose Marcus as her protector. You follow them back into the hall and yawn discreetly to give the impression that you are tired.

Marcus winces at the sight of the whores being brought in, your father and the other senators missing from the crowd now that the debauchery is beginning. Marcus strides over to the emperors with Lucilla on his arm, a forced smile on his face, “we are retiring. I have waited all day for my uxor.” The emperors turn their faces from the men and women kissing them to look at the general. “Of course. Of course. I hope you know you will struggle to fill her womb. She is old.” Geta says cruelly and Caracalla laughs, “yes. Good luck, Acacius.” Marcus clenches his jaw, hating how cruel the brothers are, but he doesn’t react, knowing that nothing good can come of it. “Come on, uxor. Let us retire.” He says, guiding her through the hall.

“You could still bear a child if you wish.” You murmur to your lover’s wife as he guides her away from the revelry behind you. “Perhaps you should find yourself a lover?”

Lucilla shakes her head, “I do not wish to be with child. They would only be a target for the emperors. I simply wish to find my son. Marcus can help me with that.” She says and you look at your lover who nods, “we will find him. He is the true emperor.” He whispers, knowing even breathing those words means treason.

Lucilla’s villa is larger than your father’s, her position and wealth unable to be undermined by the emperors - for now. You know that one of the reasons she has sought a marriage with Marcus was to be able to keep the things her father had given her. You seem to walk across the ends of the earth before you come to a set of doors. Lucilla pauses and turns back towards you. “This is to be your room.” She opens the door to reveal a luxuriously appointed room. “Come I will show you the passage.”

Marcus watches you as you enter the room, eyes wide at the luxury of the gold and garnet. He wanted you to be comfortable here, requesting Lucilla give you a beautiful space since you are sacrificing your security and your love for her protection. "It is gorgeous." You exhale and Marcus hums in agreement but he's not thinking about the room. Lucilla sees his gaze and smiles sadly, knowing she is the reason why tonight is not a celebration for you and Marcus. "I shall leave you." She says, making her way to the secret passage to go into the room next door.

You watch as the door slides shut with fascination but then you are distracted by Marcus coming behind you and wrapping his hands around your waist. “Amor.” He hums against your neck, making you shiver. “I love you, Acacius.”

He presses a soft kiss to your pulse, wishing tonight he could claim you as his wife, put his seed in you and watch you grow his child. He cannot. He will not make you his whore. "I love you." He whispers, breathing you in. "I will never be able to repay your selflessness. I would have never been able to watch you marry another."

You tilt your head and lean back against his broad chest. “It was difficult, but I am in your arms right now.” You point out, turning and wrapping your arms around his neck. “Now, I want you to make love to me. Show me how you feel.”

He leans in to nudge his nose against yours, his lips soon meeting yours as he walks you backwards to the bed. Lucilla lays in bed as she listens to your moan echoing down the passageway between the rooms and she wipes away the tear from her eye. She wants to be loved, to be protected, but she has married a man who wants another and she has to live with that. At least she will live.

**** 

Steam rises from the perfumed water as you sit and relax. Last night Marcus was vigorous and had pushed you beyond the normal bouts of sex. You ache deliciously and hum as you lean back and close your eyes. “More wine?” The question makes you open your eyes again, finding Lucilla standing on the edge of the baths, her dress out of place, but her hair is unadorned, like she had been coming to bathe herself. She nods to the cup on the ledge. “You seem to have drunk all yours.” She had been polite, kind even, but you have noticed that she seems sad and lonely. “Only if you pour yourself a cup and join me.” You offer, sitting up to make room for her in the deep water.

She smiles, appreciating you inviting her when you have been keeping to your room with Marcus every night for the past few months. She cannot lie. She has been lonely despite gaining a husband on paper. She reaches for the jug of wine, pouring you another cup and taking one for herself. She looks to her handmaid who comes forward to unclip her dress, helping it fall from her body so she can step into the bath.

Lucilla is gorgeous. You don’t look away, appreciating her form as she steps into the bath and groans at the heat. She is holding the cups and you reach out to steady her waist so she doesn’t slip as she joins you. “This is such a luxury.” You hum. “Normally I have to go to the public baths for conversation, but you and I can get better acquainted.”

Lucilla smiles, “I know. I am pleased that we can get to know each other more in private. I would like to know why my husband is so in love with you.” She offers you a wink, wanting you to know she’s being playful and not resentful. She hands you the cup and you take it while her handmaid leaves the baths to prepare the linens for Lucilla.

“We have been in love since he first became an officer.” You admit, smiling softly at the memory. “There was a feast and he found me in the courtyard because I was bored. I was reading instead of feasting.”

Lucilla chuckles, “you sound like me. I would sit in the gardens and read instead of attending the feasts my father held in honor of many people who have since died.” She sighs, her eyes full of memories and she takes a sip of wine. “I know you planned to marry Marcus. It was never my plan to take him from you but the emperors…they are wanting my blood.”

“I understand.” You bite your lip, watching as she looks down at her wine. “Are you disappointed he has not visited your bed? Even if you married him for safety?” You would understand if she was. Marcus is handsome, kind, loyal and has honor, rare traits in a Roman man these days.

“I’d be a fool to not see how handsome he is. He’s capable. He’s strong, and he’s loyal. I wouldn’t be a woman if I didn’t imagine him in my bed but he belongs to you in all ways but name. I am not the woman he desires and I would never demand it when I am taking away your Maritus for my own gain.” She confesses, glancing across the bath to avoid looking at you as she admits her deepest thoughts.

You hum, watching her for a moment and take a sip of your wine. “Have you ever had a woman as a lover?” You ask boldly, unsure because you have never seen her at an orgy or at the baths. Not that you attended many orgies.

She flusters, shaking her head, “no. Never. My brother - Commodus - he would’ve never allowed it. He was very…possessive over me.” She murmurs, knowing her brother would’ve killed anyone who touched her. “And Maximus was the love of my life. I wanted him to be my Maritus but we were not destined for each other.” She feels her chest tighten but there’s nothing else she can say.

“Amor, your maid told me you were-“ you twist your head to see Marcus stopped dead, slightly frozen as he stands completely nude. He had obviously sought to join you in the baths and is surprised by the presence of his uxor. You smile, glancing at Lucilla to find her staring at her wine intently and you bite your lip. “Amor, pour yourself a cup of wine and join us.” You beckon, sitting up so he can see your bare breasts. “We were just having the most interesting discussion.” You hum, smirking slightly.

Marcus isn't ashamed of his form but he does feel a little awkward standing naked before his uxor while his eyes take in the sight of your bare tits. He nods, reaching for a cup and filling it from the jug of wine. After taking a gulp, he steps into the water, noticing how Lucilla still doesn't look at him, and takes a seat next to you. He groans at the heat of the water on his constantly sore body.

You hum, reaching under the water to squeeze his thigh, signaling for him to listen before he reacts. “Your uxor and I were just getting better acquainted.” You inform Marcus. “Poor Lucilla, she has been twisting at the whims of the men in her life.” You shoot her a soft smile. “She hasn’t even had the pleasure of having a woman as a lover.” You take a sip of your wine and look at Marcus. “And now, we deny her the very man she is married to.”

Marcus frowns, looking over at Lucilla who averts her gaze from his chest. “She knows the arrangement. My body belongs to you, amor.” He says a little incredulously. “I know, Marcus, but Lucilla needs pleasure like everyone else. I wish to give it to her.” You explain and Marcus frowns, “do you want me to-?” He asks and you shake your head, “no. No. Not you. Me.” You declare and Lucilla’s head jerks up while Marcus’s eyes widen, “are you- are you certain?”

“I am.” You look over at Lucilla and lift a brow. “As long as your uxor doesn’t mind my touch.” You add softly, wanting her to have the power to reject your offer if she wishes. “Do you, Lucilla? Do you want to have me touch you, show you what it is like to have a woman between your thighs?”

Lucilla looks over at Marcus who stares back for a moment until he nods, giving her and you permission to do this if that is her wish. She bites her lip as her eyes flick back to you, “I want - yes. Show me.” She whispers, almost afraid to say the words out loud but she desperately wants it.

You smile, setting your cup down and leaning closer. Marcus shifts slowly, putting himself between the two of you so he can watch. “I have visited the baths many times while Marcus is away on campaign.” You explain, feeling his hand slide up your back and his large hand cup the back of your neck. Applying a little pressure to guide you forward. “He did not deny me pleasure and I know that wishes he had been able to watch.”

He has definitely imagined you while you're seeking pleasure in the baths, especially when he had his cock in his fist while he was away fighting. Lucilla licks her lips, gasping when Marcus's hand finds her neck, leaning her towards you, and his eyes darken as he watches the two women in his life come closer until their lips meet.

You reach out to hold onto Lucilla’s shoulder. “You really are beautiful.” You murmur, moving to start the kiss softly. Wanting her to relax against your lips and open up.

She inhales sharply, her stomach twisting with lust, and she surges forward to press her lips to yours. "You are both beautiful." Marcus murmurs, his cock twitching as he watches you react to her eager kiss. Your tongue playfully slides along her lower lip and she opens her mouth without hesitation.

Your cunt clenches in pleasure and your hand slides down from her shoulder to cup one breast. Enjoying the way she gasps at the feel of another’s touch, her nipple hardening against your palm while you kiss each other.

Marcus lowers his hands from the back of the women's necks to slide down, one hand on Lucilla's back, the other squeezing your ass as you lean forward. Her hands come up to grip your shoulders, enjoying your soft skin and moaning when you pinch her nipple.

You pull away from her kiss, smirking slightly as she chases your lips, but you turn your head and kiss along her jaw. “Watch your maritus.” You order her softly. “His eyes are dark, aren’t they?”

Lucilla nods as she looks at Marcus, his eyes hungry and eager. Something she only ever saw in Maximus's eyes. "My amor will take care of you. Let her show you how good she can be." He orders and Lucilla's eyes close when you kiss her neck, tilting her head to give you more access.

Your lips and teeth map her skin, loving how she gasps when you nip lightly. Moving down her chest until you are kissing the tip of her breast before pulling her nipple into your mouth while continuing to pinch the other one in your hand.

"Gods above." She moans, her hand caressing your cheek and Marcus smirks, sliding his hand up to cup your breast, pinching your nipple. You moan around her flesh and Marcus continues to harden at the beauty before him.

You know Marcus is enjoying watching. He has talked many times of visiting the baths with you, but it has never happened. Now you get to explore his uxor’s body and give her pleasure while he watches. You bite down gently and then pull sharply on it, making her whimper and her nails dig into your shoulders while you suckle.

She is lost in the touch since it's been so long since anyone touched her with this much care. You make her gasp and moan until her cunt is aching, needing more from you. Marcus caresses your back until he's cupping your neck to pull you back, still in charge. "She wants more, amor. Show her your mouth, show her how talented your tongue is." He orders, wanting to watch it.

Humming, you lick your lips in anticipation. “Sit on the edge of the bath.” You let go of her breast and guide her back to the edge. “Spread your legs wide and watch me.”

Marcus copies you, licking his lips as Lucilla nods, shifting out of the water to sit on the edge. Her cheeks flush as she spreads her thighs, exposing the thatch of curls between them while her heart thumps in anticipation.

“Very pretty.” You coo as you wade through the water to settle between her thighs. You urge her to slide to the edge and lean in to kiss her thigh.

Lucilla inhales sharply as you kiss her skin. She hasn't been touched like this in so long. Her chest heaves when you kiss higher and Marcus shifts closer, his hand caressing your back as he watches with rapture.

You hum, eyes flickering up to watch her face as you slowly lick into her folds. You have enjoyed the pleasures of other women, both giving and receiving in the baths and you want to share this with her. Marcus groans so loudly that it almost covers up Lucilla’s gasp of pleasure and you smirk slightly as you carve a path with your tongue through her sex.

Marcus watches in fascination, his dark eyes flicking between you and Lucilla as you sample her sex. His uxor tilts her head back, her eyes fluttering closed and he grunts, "keep your eyes on her. Watch her pleasure you."

His tone is commanding, Lucilla’s eyes popping open and she moans softly. You can tell she likes that Marcus had ordered her around and you know that you always enjoy it as well. Flicking your tongue over her clit makes her grab your shoulder and her hips rock forward, eager for more. You hum into her folds, obsessed with the taste of your lover’s wife.

Marcus groans, reaching down to squeeze his hard cock. You reach for his hand, dragging it away from his length and he grunts but you bring his hand to Lucilla's breast. He follows your silent order, squeezing her flesh and she moans, her back arching into his palm.

Your hands squeeze her hips, reaching back and holding her ass as you continue to devour her. Your own cunt aches with need but you ignore that. Wanting Lucilla to cry out and cum for you. Sucking her clit into your mouth, you watch your lover touch his wife for the first time.

Marcus is aching and he slides his free hand down your back, "let me fuck you, amor." He murmurs his request, needing you to experience pleasure too.

You pull away from Lucille’s clit, making her whine softly in protest. “Do you want to watch your maritus fuck me?” You ask her, not wanting her to be hurt if it is too much.

Lucilla nods, knowing she’s imagined how Marcus looks when he falls apart more times than she cares to admit. He is a handsome man and she has gotten lost in thoughts of him taking her as his wife physically. “Fuck her.” She orders Marcus who nods, groaning as he grips his cock and caresses your ass with his other hand. It doesn’t take long for him to notch himself at your entrance, pushing into you so you cry out into Lucilla’s cunt.

Marcus pushes deep inside you, throbbing already from how excited he is. He kisses along your shoulder as he grinds deep and you know he is watching you closely. “Gorgeous.” He groans, unable to believe that you are feasting on his uxor’s cunt while he fucks you. You groan in agreement, sliding your hand around to push two fingers deep into Lucilla’s cunt and are rewarded by her immediately clamping down on them.

Her cry echoes through the marbled walls, making Marcus twitch inside you. His hands reach around to squeeze your tits as you moan into Lucilla’s folds, working her through it with soft pumps of your digits. “Beautiful.” Marcus murmurs, “both of you. So fucking beautiful.”

She’s beautiful, head tilted back as she rides out her pleasure, she looks like a goddess. Lucilla has always been beautiful to you, but she’s breathtaking right now. You clench down around Marcus and make him hiss because of how tight you get. Slowly pulling away from her engorged folds and licking your lips when she gasps as the pleasure becomes too much.

Marcus watches Lucilla try to catch her breath and he chuckles, leaning down to kiss your shoulder. “You have wrecked her, amor.” He smirks and starts to rock into you again. Lucilla watches as her legs dangle in the water.

“She is lovely to wreck.” You pant, twisting your head and looking back into your lover’s eyes. “Taste her from my lips.” You demand, reaching up to drag his mouth to yours for a passionate kiss.

Marcus groans, his tongue sliding against yours as he pauses his rocking into your cunt. You moan, cupping his cheek, and Lucilla watches in fascination. “Make her cum.” She orders Marcus with eyes wide.

You know Marcus has no issue following that particular order. His hands pull you back against his chest and he cups your tits, squeezing them as he starts to thrust into you with sharp snaps of his hips.

He grunts, jaw clenched in concentration as he rocks into you. He loves how you cry out, your cheek resting on Lucilla’s thigh and she strokes your cheek, “tell me how he feels.”

You moan softly, nuzzling into her touch. “His cock is thick. From the first time that he took my purity, he feels like he’s going to split me open.” You pant out breathlessly. “The ridges of his cock scrap my cunt perfectly, making it feel like the best and most maddening sensation in the world. It’s addictive.”

Lucilla moans, imagining how that feels. She knows she is unable to conceive a child for her Maritus. She has not bled in many years. “I want him to pleasure you. Make you feel as good as you made me feel.”

Marcus grunts. “I will.” He vows, pinching your nipples and tugging on them to make you whine his name. Lucilla strokes your cheek. “Cum for your lover.” She encourages softly.

You can’t deny her and Marcus groans your name when you clamp down on his cock. Your cry echoing like Lucilla’s in the marbled room and Marcus hisses at the way you grip his cock in your walls.

Pleasure floods your body, nearly blacking everything out but the way your cunt feels pulsing around his cock. Your fingers dig into Lucilla’s thighs and you moan. “Marcus, fuck her.” You beg softly. “Fill her up. You can’t - you can’t fill me up now but you can let her drip your seed.”

Marcus's eyes widen and he caresses your back, "are you sure?" He asks, knowing that he promised you his body would be yours. His heart is yours. You nod, "yes. Fuck her. She wants it. I want to see it." You plead and he pulls out of you, looking at Lucilla. "Are you certain, uxor?" He asks, reaching down to squeeze his cock.

She looks stunned as she bites her lip. “I- I would- I have imagined you in my bed but I do not wish to cause any more harm.” She confesses and you smile, reaching up to cup her cheek. “We will explore this new part of our lives together.” You promise before turning back to Marcus. “You know how I love you. It will not change that.”

Marcus nods, shuffling closer, and he wishes to please both you and Lucilla. He slides the head of his cock through her folds and she moans. It's been so long since a man touched her like this. He hisses as he starts to push into her, your hand caressing his back.

You watch, fascinated by the way Lucilla’s jaw drops and her head rolls back in complete bliss as Marcus fills her. Glancing down to watch his cock inch into her cunt, not feeling betrayed or jealous. You know that Marcus loves you, and it’s intoxicating to see him from this perspective. “How does he feel?” You caress her side as he bottoms out.

Lucilla's chest heaves until she lifts her head to look at you, "thick. He's stretching me out. It's been so long." She confesses and Marcus groans, reaching for you to drag your lips to his when he starts to rock into his uxor.

You groan against his lips, opening up for him to slide his tongue into your mouth. Participating in the act between husband and wife and you reach up to cup Lucilla’s breast again. You break away from Marcus’s mouth and turn to his uxor, wanting a kiss from her as well.

Lucilla presses her lips to yours, tongue sliding against yours as she moans, loving how Marcus stretches her out. “Amor.” Marcus groans, his hand sliding down to cup your cunt, his fingers finding your clit as he rocks into his uxor.

“Marcus.” You moan into Lucilla’s mouth. He can pleasure two women at the same time. You roll your hips down into his hand and cling to his uxor.

He wants to hear you moan too, his fingers working your clit like he knows how and Lucilla slides her hand to cup your breast, pinching your nipple while Marcus rubs your clit while rocking into Lucilla with precise thrusts.

“Perfect.” You gasp out, eyes slipping closed as you continue to kiss Marcus’s wife as he fucks her. “Touch her like you are touching me.” You order your lover, wanting her to cum on his cock so he can feel it.

Marcus groans, nodding as he rubs your clit while he pushes into Lucilla. He wants to see her cum. She’s sacrificed so much for the empire. She deserves some pleasure. “Fuck. I need you to cum for me.” He groans, his other hand finding her clit to rub with his thumb.

He’s talking to both of you. Marcus rocketing you both towards orgasm as he works you up on his fingers. You kiss Lucilla again, smirking against her lips. “Cum, lover.” You order softly. “Your maritus wishes to feel it.” Your stomach pulls tight and you gasp when he strokes your clit again. “Cum with me.”

Lucilla can't hold back and she cries into your mouth when she falls apart, clamping down around his cock and Marcus hisses, his fingers working your clit while his other hand keeps her shaking through her orgasm. "Cum for me, amor." He growls, needing to see you cum before he fills Lucilla up.

His gruff order is issued through clenched teeth, telling you that he is barely holding back. Both of them are so gorgeous and you cry out in pleasure as you come apart.

He watches you fall apart, leaning into Lucilla and he groans, pulling his hand away from you to grab Lucilla’s thigh, keeping her still as he pushes deep. It takes one thrust for him to fall apart, spilling inside his uxor for the first time and painting her walls with a deep groan.

You watch both of their eyes flutter shut, Lucille moaning as the heat of Marcus’s seed floods her womb. “It feels good, doesn’t it?” You hum, reaching out to caress them both as they come down from their pleasure.

Lucilla nods, feeling breathless as she watches Marcus as he pulls out of her to watch his cum drip from her cunt. He leans in to kiss you, “I love you.” He murmurs and leans in to kiss Lucilla. The two women in his life have just come together. Literally.

**** 

“Fuck, you look so pretty like this.” You hum around his cock, preening at his praises as he strokes your cheek. Lashes fluttering and you moan again when Lucilla commands your attention with the flick of her tongue against your clit. 

It’s been months since that day in the baths. The affection and physical attachment between the three of you growing beyond what you could ever imagine. Lucilla often joins you, the three of you sleeping together in the large bed that you had previously shared with Marcus.

Lucilla laps at you, her hands squeezing your hips, and you moan around Marcus's cock as he watches you with dark eyes. The pleasure has been more than any of you could imagine. Lucilla married Marcus for protection but she has gained more than security, she has gained lovers. "Gods, you are both so beautiful to watch." Marcus murmurs, twitching in your mouth.

Looking up at Marcus, you love the intense, lustful expression on his face as he watches the two of you. His love for you has not diminished, but his love for Lucilla has grown, as has your own. The couple have been to many events in Rome where comments have been made about their bond and you just smile and agree, the secret touches of affection between you and the other woman seen as just the relationship of companions. Your cheeks hollow and you pull back to roll your tongue over the sensitive head of his cock.

He groans, caressing your cheek again, and Lucilla feasts on you. The pleasure ping ponging from each participant as you devour and be devoured. Marcus watches in rapture, brow furrowed as his cock twitches in your mouth. “Amor. I- close.” He chokes, wanting to warn you and Lucilla pulls back from you to look up at Marcus. “Cum for her, Maritus. Cum for us.”

You pull him deeper into your mouth as he rocks his hips with a broken groan. His fingers hook around your chin and he looks down. His dark eyes flickering back and forth from your face and the sight of Lucilla settled between your thighs. “I love you both.” He grunts, right as he starts to spill down your throat.

Lucilla loves watching him fall apart and she wants to hear and feel you. Her tongue pushing into your cunt as her fingers dig into your ass, pushing it apart so she can get deeper while you swallow everything Marcus gives you.

Swallowing while you are moaning is hard but you manage. “Fuck.” Marcus pulls his softening cock out of your mouth and you moan Lucilla’s name, reaching down and tangling your fingers into her now messy hair.

Marcus shifts, coming to kneel next to where Lucilla is sliding her tongue and he slides his hand down her back to push two fingers into her dripping cunt while his other hand cups the breast until he pinches your nipple. “My beautiful girls.” He coos, loving how you moan Lucilla’s name.

“I’m so close.” You gasp out, close to shaking apart for them. “So good, you are so good, Lucilla!” You end her name with a squeal of pleasure as you start to cum.

Marcus watches you cum, his hand caressing your skin and he groans when Lucilla clenches around his fingers. “That’s it, uxor. Take your pleasure.” He orders when she pulls away from your cunt and moans his name.

You sit up, twisting your body so you can kiss Lucilla. Wanting to taste yourself from her lips and you flick your tongue against hers before moving down to wrap your lips around her nipple.

Lucilla feels surrounded by you and Marcus as you both touch her. Her capacity to experience pleasure has been brought to new heights since she started sharing your bed. “Gods.” She moans, rocking her hips back onto Marcus’s fingers.

You bite down gently on her nipple and then switch over to her other breast. Knowing how much she loves attention being paid to her breasts. “Cum for your maritus.” You order, winking at her before latching on again.

Lucilla moans, worked up from making you cum on her tongue and Marcus knows exactly how to curl his fingers to push her over the edge. It doesn’t take long when combined with your hot mouth on her nipple and she cries out. Her back arching as she clamps down on Marcus’s thick digits.

She’s gorgeous, you love seeing Lucilla cum. You love the blissed out look on her face. “Beautiful.” Marcus groans, leaning down and kissing her as she continues to shake on his fingers.

You kiss up her chest until you approach her mouth and Marcus turns his head to kiss you again, his heart pounding at how his life has changed since agreeing to marry Lucilla. He doesn’t realize how much until his servant informs him the next morning that he’s been summoned to the palace. “I must go, amor.” You cling to his tunic, “what do they have planned for you?” You whisper and Lucilla stands off to the side, her hands wrung together. “If I don’t go…well, there’s no choice.” He murmurs, leaning in to kiss your forehead as he gently pushes you away. He nods at Lucilla and follows the guards to the chariot to discover his latest fate.

Watching as Marcus is escorted away, you grip Lucilla’s hand tightly. “Why do they want him?” You ask, nervous. “They have decided to use him to expand their holdings.” She knows that the twin emperors will send Marcus away, using her to weld the might of his army for Rome.

**** 

“General, ah you are alive. We thought you had drowned in cunt juices.” Geta chuckles, “between your amor and your uxor, we are certain you’ve been a busy man.” Marcus clenches his jaw at their crassness but there’s nothing he can say so he chuckles and nods, bowing his head, “emperors.” He murmurs and the twins grin, clapping their hands. “We wish for you to take Numidia.” Caracalla declares and Marcus internally sighs, knowing that their quest will result in more Roman ruin and deaths. “Of course, Caesar.” He bows his head and Geta grins, “you will leave at once.” Marcus nods again, bowing before he leaves the hall, his jaw clenched in fury but he must fight for Rome. For Lucilla. For you.

You both wait uneasily for Marcus to come home. Sitting together and having some wine as you chat about milder topics. Trying to distract yourselves from the worry. “Did you ever wish to have more children?” You ask, curious about her wants as a mother.

Lucilla smiles softly, “when I was with Maximus…I wanted to marry him, have his children, and my father would’ve given us permission to marry but my brother…he was power hungry. He wanted to be emperor at any cost and he had killed my first husband…any dreams of children and a happy marriage died with him. I prayed for Lucius and I had to let him go to keep him alive. I pray to the gods that he is safe and happy. Do you wish to have children with Marcus?” She asks softly, squeezing your hand.

“I would love to have children with Marcus.” You admit softly. “But I do not think that will happen, if I am honest.” You squeeze her hand back. “Eventually my father will want me to marry another senator or someone he wants to influence using my cunt.”

Lucilla sighs, "I took the man you love from you. You have shown me pleasure like I've never known. I do not wish to keep you and Marcus hostage forever. As soon as Rome is free, so will he be. I will request a divorce. You will be able to marry and have children. I pray that time comes sooner rather than later."

Shaking your head, you smile at the woman. “Marcus has fallen in love with you.” You have never shied away from being honest. “As have I. The words we say in bed and now have meaning to us.” You bite your lip. “Should you divorce Marcus, so that I may marry him, I hope that you will still stay with us in our current situation.”

Lucilla feels her heart pound, her free hand coming up to cup your cheek, “I would be honored to remain in your household. I’d be honored to help you raise your children.” She smiles softly, “and I love you. Both of you.”

You’re relieved that she feels the same way, leaning in and pressing your lips to his. “Then when we can, we will help you restore Rome to the dream your father and your Maximus had.” Your promise. “Together.”

“Together.” She murmurs, caressing your cheek and soon you hear the servants announce that Marcus has returned. He strides through the halls until he finds you and Lucilla. “What happened?” The older woman asks and Marcus sighs, “they wish to send me to war once again.”

You bite your lip, standing and rushing over to him. “Where?” You demand. “Numidia.” You gasp, knowing that the free city will be difficult to battle. “You must not.” Marcus shakes his head. “I have to, to protect you and Lucilla.” He murmurs, caressing your cheek. “I will return to you both.”

Lucilla closes her eyes, knowing she must be strong for you as Marcus prepares to leave once more. Her hand finds your waist, “he will return to you. To us.” She promises and nods at Marcus.

“Take us,” you beg softly, reaching up and unclipping your dress. “One last time before you go.”

Marcus nods, grabbing your waist to pull you closer, his lips immediately finding yours as Lucilla reaches for his tunic, wanting to expose his body to her hungry eyes.

You don’t care that you are in the courtyard. Perhaps it is fitting since the last time he had taken you before he went to war he had taken you in the courtyard of your father’s villa. Your hands reach for Lucilla’s dress, wanting her to be just as naked as you are. This is for all of you.

Lucilla groans, caressing your side as her robes fall to the marbled floor. Marcus kisses her after pulling his face away from yours. “I’ll miss you both.” He murmurs, grabbing Lucilla so he’s holding you both.

“We will miss you.” You promise, kissing down the side of his neck and reaching down to wrap your hand around his cock to start pumping him.

Marcus groans at the feel of you gripping his cock and Lucilla leans in to kiss his jaw, her hand caressing his chest. Any of the servants could walk in and catch you but none of you care. You want to enjoy the General before he leaves to fight another useless war.

Lucilla kisses behind his ear and he turns towards her mouth and captures it in a passionate kiss, his free hand pulling her close to him as well. “My uxor.” He breathes quietly. “You will keep my other love safe, as well as yourself.” He orders quietly. “Do not risk yourself while I am gone.”

“I promise. We will be safe. I will not speak to Graccus until you return. We will put our plan into action then. Spread word to your men and we will make the emperors pay.” Lucilla murmurs and Marcus groans, his hands sliding up to squeeze a breast on each woman.

You hum, knowing that they have been plotting but they have not included you for now because of your father. Not sure how he would vote, you understand their reasoning. Now you squeeze his cock and smirk. “Fuck your uxor and then me.” You order. “It is safe and I want you to finish inside me again.”

“Bed. I want you both in the bed.” He grabs your hand from his cock and wraps his arm around Lucilla’s waist, dragging you both naked down the hall to the bedchamber you share. No servants cross your path but they will see the clothes left behind and hear your giggles. They are aware of the arrangement but they are all too well paid to discuss it. When you’re inside the room, Marcus lets go of the women, “on the bed. Both of you. I want to fuck both of you.”

Both you and Lucilla smirk, sitting down on the edge of the bed side by side and Marcus shakes his head. “Not like that.” He grunts, licking his lips. “I want you both closer so I can switch between your cunts.”

Lucilla frowns, “how do you want us?” She asks and you smirk, knowing what he wants. You’ve seen the drawings on the brothel walls. You shift to kneel, “get on top of me. I can take it.” You say and Lucilla bites her lip but nods, shifting to straddle you, her weight on top of yours and your legs spread to display your dripping cunt to Marcus.

Marcus groans. “Fuck, both of you are so pretty. Beautiful cunts that feel so good.” He wraps his hand around his cock. “If I had time, I would have each of you sit on my face while the other is on my cock.”

“When you return.” Lucilla promises breathlessly and leans down to kiss your neck. Marcus grips his hard cock, pumping himself as he shuffles closer until he’s pushing into Lucilla. He groans her name and slides his hand along your thigh, admiring how you are below her and your bodies almost become one.

You can feel his thrusts into Lucilla, The motion rocking you forward beneath him and your ass pushes up to press against her clit. “Grind down on me.” You order breathlessly, wanting to feel how wet she is.

Lucilla moans, grinding down onto you, and Marcus slides his hand higher until he’s pushing two thick digits into you while he fucks Lucilla. She moans and he grunts, watching both women below him until he pulls out of Lucilla and withdraws his fingers so he can push into you.

“Marcus.” You gasp out his name and squirm under Lucilla. “Too bad you do not have two cock to fuck us both at the same time.” You have seen women take more than one cock at a time so it is unfair that men cannot pleasure multiple women with a cock at the same time.

Marcus groans, wishing he could fuck both of you at the same time. He hisses when you squeeze his cock inside you and he caresses Lucilla's ass. He squeezes her flesh and she leans down to kiss your shoulder.

“He is still so thick inside me.” You pant. “No matter how many times he fucks me. Is it the same for you, Luc?” You hear your lover giggle. “It is.” She praises, looking back at Marcus over her shoulder. “It is good our General has a hearty appetite to satisfy us both.”

Marcus chuckles, "it is because I am granted the gift of two incredible cunts to fuck." He slaps Lucilla's ass and she giggles, grinding her clit onto your ass and Marcus thrusts a little harder into you until he pulls out and pushes back into Lucilla.

You miss the feeling of him inside you, but Lucilla’s moan makes up for it. You groan softly, your cunt clenching around nothing as he rocks into her above you.

Marcus groans, watching Lucilla's hole flutter and he pulls out of you, pushing into her for a moment before he pushes back into you. He continues that, thrusting into each woman one thrust then switching.

You whimper, loving how he is just spearing into both of you over and over again. “You will miss this.” You tell him breathlessly. “Cunts to fuck whenever you want.” You know Marcus will not fuck one of the whores while he is gone. He did not before his marriage to Lucilla and he would not now.

He groans, “my hand will have to suffice during my absence but I want you both to enjoy yourselves.” He demands, thrusting hard into Lucilla who cries out until he repeats the motion as he pushes into you. “Will miss you both so fucking much.”

“Love you.” You gasp and Lucilla moans in agreement. “I love you Acacius.” She hums and kisses your shoulder. “And I love you. I have been blessed by the gods with both of you.”

Marcus wants to hear both women cum. He wants to feel it before he's sent away for gods know how long. He pushes into Lucilla, making her cry out in bliss and Marcus pants, sweat beading on his brow.

“Cum for Marcus.” You beg Lucilla. “You know you want to remind him of what he fights for. He will fight to come home to your cunt. To your lips, your heart.”

Marcus pushes into his uxor, wanting to hear and feel her cum around him. Wanting to carry that memory with him into battle. His cock twitches as her walls start to flutter and his jaw is clenched as he fucks her harder, her body bouncing above yours.

You wish you were on your back, embracing Lucilla. Kissing and coaxing her to cum because you know she is on the cusp. You grind your ass up, feeling her clit rub against your skin. “Cum for your maritus.”

Lucilla takes orders well and she falls apart, her jaw dropping as she cums, shaking above you and Marcus groans at the way she clamps down on his cock. He hisses and pushes deep, his cock twitching as he fills her up with his hot seed.

You hear the groan Marcus gives and you know that he’s cum, a little disappointed that he had fallen apart so quickly but you can’t deny him his pleasure. You turn your head and watch both of them. “Beautiful.” You coo.

Marcus works Lucilla through it, his cum pushed out and a little drops onto your ass but he’s still hard. His eyebrows raise and he chuckles, “don’t worry, amor. You’ll cum on my cock too.” He promises as he pulls out of Lucilla to push his still throbbing length into your cunt.

“Oh gods.” Your head drops down between your shoulders. It’s not often that Marcus stays hard after cumming, but right now it’s perfect. A last time for each of you before he leaves to fight another war. “You want to fill up your wife and your lover, don’t you? Have us drip your cum when we go to lick each other’s cunts?”

“Fuck.” Marcus hisses, his chest heaving as he imagines you and Lucilla lapping his seed from your cunts. “Yes. Yes. Fuck. That sounds like a gorgeous sight. Something the gods would be envious of.” He confesses and twitches inside you.

You shiver. “Then you must come home so we can do this again and again.” You hum. “Perhaps when Lucilla rules, she can make us all married to each other.” You pose breathlessly.

Marcus nods, “my uxors.” He murmurs in awe at the very thought of getting to keep both of you. To belong to both of you. “Yes. Yes. I would.” Lucilla promises and caresses your cheek as she hovers above you. Marcus pushes into you, needing you to cum and you gasp when Lucilla shifts her weight onto one hand so she can slide her hand down your stomach until she’s rubbing your clit.

“Gods.” You whimper, closing your eyes and praying that Marcus is returned to you safely. You know that Lucilla will keep you company and you know that you have come to love her, but your heart will not be complete without him beside you. “Marcus, Lucilla!” You choke out a cry as your cunt clamps down around his throbbing cock.

Marcus loves how you clamp down on his cock. The woman he’s loved for so many years is below the woman he’s come to love recently. It’s more than he can handle and it only takes a few thrusts for him to cum again, pushing deep with your permission to start to paint your walls with his hot seed.

You whine in pleasure, loving how he fills you. Knowing that your cunt will be creamy with his seed and you will drip him for hours. “I love you.” You promise. “Until the gods take me.”

“I love you. Both of you.” Marcus vows, leaning down to kiss Lucilla’s shoulder. “I’ll fight to come home to you. That’s my quest. Not to get some fucking land for them. But to come home to my girls.” He smiles and grunts as he starts to soften inside you. “I need to prepare for my departure.” He sighs as he pulls out of you and shifts to lay down on the bed beside Lucilla.

Lucilla rolls off of you and over Marcus to snuggle into his side and you turn to press against him. “In a moment.” You lean in and kiss him softly. “The army will wait for their general.”

Marcus wraps his arms around you both, breathing you in, and he knows it will be painful to leave you both here with the emperors at large but there’s nothing he can do. He must fight. **** 

“We will pray for you every day.” Lucilla vows and Marcus nods, cupping her cheek while he has his arm around your waist. “Come home to us, Maritus.” You plead and he leans in to softly kiss Lucilla before he turns to kiss you. “I’ll come home to you.” He promises even though his fate is up to the gods. You and Lucilla have tears in your eyes as you hold each other close while watching Marcus prepare his horse for his departure. When he swings his leg over, he settles in and blows a kiss to you both. You watch as he rides off down the cobbled street to the gates, leaving once again for a useless war.

Marcus is gone for two months. You feel an unease like you never have before, worry manifesting in a souring of your stomach. Even Lucilla tries to keep herself busy but is often sitting in the courtyard where the three of you spent so much time.

Marcus is exhausted when he returns from war. He wants to return to the villa and collapse in bed with you and Lucilla. Yet he can’t. He must clean up and meet with the emperors. Have a feast and celebrate his victory. The word sits heavy on his tongue knowing how many were killed because of his orders. He waves to the crowd, dressing in his finery to meet the emperors and accept their false praises. He looks at the adoring crowd, hating the cheers as he makes his way up the steps to meet with Geta and Caracalla.

You stand in the crowd, wanting to see Marcus. To put eyes on him. The messenger he had sent to let you know of his return had eased your worry, but still you needed to see for yourself. Lucilla had stayed home, so you had traveled to the city to see him alone, although you could not welcome him as your husband.

Marcus bows his head as the golden laurel is placed on his head. He thanks the emperors who grin and wave at the crowds. "Now, we feast!" Caracalla cheers, stroking the monkey sitting on his shoulder and Marcus nods, "of course, Caesar." He follows them from the steps of their palace but he is eager to return home.

When Marcus disappears into the palace, you depart for home. Unable to travel fast right now due to your nerves and how racing on the back of your horse makes you feel. Taking an hour to reach the villa that you have come to think of as home instead of your father’s estate in the city.

Marcus eats and drinks a little to keep up appearances and when the orgy is getting started, he bows to the emperors and takes his leave. “Enjoy fucking your uxor and lover, General. I’m sure they have missed having a cock instead of each other’s tongues.” Geta chuckles and Marcus rocks his jaw but nods, bowing once again as he leaves the palace. His cloak flares behind him as he makes his way through the streets to ride to the villa he has come to call home. The guards let him in and he’s swinging his leg over the stallion, handing the reins to his hand and he strides into the villa. He walks through the halls until he finds Lucilla and you sitting in candlelight. “My ladies.” He greets you with a cheeky smile after he lowers the hood of his cloak.

“Acacius.” Lucilla smiles, a soft, dreamy smile as she looks towards her husband. You hum as you stand and both of you walk towards him. You recognize the look in his eye, so does Lucilla. She takes his hand. “Come.” She urges. “Let me feed you.”

Marcus sighs as he takes her hand, followed by as you make your way to the room you share with his uxor. You all enter the room and you reach up to unclip his cloak, the heavy fabric falling to the floor and Marcus sighs in relief as the weight of the war is lifted off his shoulders. He reaches for you and Lucilla, pulling you both close to breathe you in.

He has new scars. You caress his cheek gently and lean in to kiss them. Wanting him to know that it’s alright. He’s home with the two of you. Home where he belongs. “Let us take care of you.” You coo. “Be a respite from war.”

Marcus nods, unable to physically do much when he’s been so tense, using every ounce of determination and strength to ensure his return home to you both. It doesn’t take long for you to strip him down and he is already hard. It’s been too long with his own touch to satisfy when the nights became lonely. He sighs and lays down on the bed, watching as Lucilla unpins her robes.

“Your uxor has missed you.” You hum, watching his eyes light up when her tits are revealed. “Just as much as I have. And I have missed you every moment of every day.” You kneel down to help her with her sandals so she is completely nude.

Marcus watches in rapture, fascinated still by the way you have fully accepted and fallen in love with Lucilla. He smiles as his uxor comes to kneel on the bed beside him while you work on removing your clothes. He is hard and he beckons her forward, reaching up to squeeze her breast. "I want you to sit on my face or my cock, uxor. You choose between you."

“Let your lover have your cock.” She leans down and smirks as she kisses his lips. “I have missed the talent of your tongue and your nose pressed against my clit.” She hums. “The rasp of your beard on the inside of my thighs.”

He groans, watching as she kneels, straddling his chest, and his hands find her hips, dragging her closer so she is hovering over his mouth. He groans at the heady scent of her arousal, somehow already wet for him, and he slides his tongue through her folds, groaning and his fingers gripping her flesh

You have to just watch for a moment, his cock is hard against his stomach and it twitches at the first lick. His groan is muffled by her folds, but her sounds are loud enough for both of them. “So beautiful.” You praise. “I have missed this sight.” You finish peeling off your clothes and kneel on the bed, wrapping your hand around his cock and lowering your head to take him into your mouth.

Marcus groans into Lucilla’s flesh, his fingers dig into her hips and he hisses when you take him deeper into your mouth. He loves it. How you eagerly take him and he sucks on Lucilla’s clit as her hands cover his.

He has obviously visited the baths before riding into Rome in victory. The musky, earthy taste of him is clean and addictive, making you hollow your cheeks as you suck his cock. “Your mouth is amazing, but I am sure he would prefer your cunt.” Lucilla moans.

Marcus grunts into her flesh in agreement and you giggle, shifting to straddle him. You grip his cock and it’s mere seconds until you are sinking down onto his cock with a loud moan of his name. He twitches inside you, his groan smothered by Lucilla’s cunt and she moans at the vibrations.

You brace your hands on his chest. Taking a moment to grind down on him and adjust to having that thick cock inside you again. Lucilla’s fingers aren’t nearly as thick and they don’t reach where his cock manages to touch. He feels like he’s in your womb.

Marcus groans when you start to move on top of him. It’s intoxicating and Lucilla loves seeing the pleasure on your face. She leans forward to press her lips to yours, her hands squeezing your tits as she grinds down onto Marcus’s tongue.

This room has seen so much pleasure. The walls absorb it along with your latest moan into her mouth. You bounce on Marcus’s cock, determined to cum all over it as you ride.

Marcus loves how you and Lucilla shamelessly use his body for your pleasure, rocking back and forth on his tongue and his cock. He twitches inside you as he pushes his tongue deep into Lucilla, desperate to get as much of you both as possible.

You moan as you bounce on his cock, rolling your hips and leaning into the kiss. Absorbing her sounds as she rocks her hips over his tongue.

Marcus can do nothing but lay beneath you. His lover and his uxor. His hands caressing Lucilla as he tongue fucks her and she slides her tongue against yours.

You love this. You love how the three of you have come together. The thought of giving either one of them up tears you to pieces and you know that you will fight to keep them. You break away from Lucilla’s kiss on a moan. “Gonna cum.” You pant out, rocking furiously on his cock as you gallop towards pleasure.

He feels your walls flutter around his cock and Lucilla cries out when he slides his tongue up and sucks her clit between his lips. “Fuck!” She curses, her forehead pressing against your sternum as you grind down and clamp down on Marcus’s cock. “Shit, amor.” You moan, soaking his cock at the same time Lucilla falls apart, soaking his face.

He groans beneath you. His cock pulsing and he’s been so long without the feel of your cunt around his cock that he cannot hold back. Thrusting up, he prays to the gods that your fertile time is not now as he paints your womb with his seed.

Your lover pants against Lucilla’s flesh and his uxor kisses up your chest until her lips press against yours. Her tongue slides into your mouth as you both ride your orgasms and Marcus enjoys the weight of you both as he softens inside you.

Eventually, Lucilla swings her leg over Marcus’s body and you lean forward to taste her from his lips. “I love you.” You coo softly, Moving to the side so that his uxor could kiss him as well.

Marcus sighs as he relaxes into the sheets, enjoying the relaxation and the lack of awareness. When he’s away, he’s constantly on guard, even with his own men, in case they have been influenced by the emperors.

“I’ll get some wine.” You want to give Marcus and Lucilla a moment, you know they have things to discuss, so you pull off your lover’s cock and reach for a wrapper to go get some wine and snacks.

Marcus sits up, uncaring of his nudity and Lucilla settles beside him, curling into his side. “I have spoken to several senators in private. They agree with us that the emperors are ruining Rome.” She reveals and Marcus nods, caressing her side, “I have an army loyal to me. They are sailing for Rome. They will be here in ten days. We have ten days to put this plan into action.” Marcus declares and Lucilla nods, “the games begin tomorrow. We will attend and plan in the shadows.”

Bringing back a jug of wine, you are followed by a servant bringing a tray of food. “We return.” You call out loudly so they can pause any sensitive conversations so the servants do not hear. “I bring wine and sustenance for the general and his lady.” Everyone in the house knows of your dealings, but you always defer to them around the help.

Marcus shifts to sit up, a robe draped over him as Lucilla wraps her own around her waist. They both watch you enter the room with the servant trailing behind you and Marcus watches you with dark eyes. He has to save Rome. For you and for everyone in it.

After depositing the tray on the table, you dismiss the woman with a smile and nod before you pour up the cups of wine yourself. “Did you have a good chat?” You ask as you bring the wine over to your lovers. Looking over your shoulder, you make sure that there are no servants lurking. “My father will not commit until the odds are in your favor.” You admit quietly, having felt the Senator out cautiously. “But he will commit.” You hate that he plays sides, but it’s how most of the senate keeps what little power they have against the emperors.

Marcus nods in understanding, “my army rides for Rome. Men loyal to me. They will fight in my name against the emperors. They arrive in ten days.” Marcus assures you and Lucilla who takes the cup of wine, taking a nervous sip. 

**** 

“Marcus.” Lucilla gasps, reaching for his hand, “it’s Lucius. He’s - he’s fighting in the games.” Lucilla chokes after you have returned to the villa after watching the opening games.

“Your son?” Dread curdles in your stomach. You know how much Lucilla has missed Lucius, how she yearns to have him back. “Are you sure?” Marcus asks in astonishment. The man she is talking about is a slave that he had brought back from his conquest, a man who had stared at him in defiance. He hadn’t recognized the boy from so many years ago.

She nods, “I know my son.” She reaches for Marcus’s hand. “He’s in the games. I need to protect him. Acacius. Help him.” She pleads, her hands trembling and you rub her back in comfort. He brings up the fact that the army is on their way, but she is afraid he will not survive until then. Marcus swallows, knowing what he must do. He nods, bringing her hand to his to kiss the back of it.

Your heart aches because you know the danger that he will face. “I will get him out of the city.” He promises her softly, turning and pulling you into his arms. “I have to, amor.” He murmurs, wanting you to understand. “You must be careful, Acacius.” you murmur softly, knowing it will be dangerous. 

Marcus kisses your forehead, “I’ll be safe. I will make sure he lives and we will all be free.” He vows, knowing that his life is in danger now. Both because of Lucius and the emperors. Lucilla feels beside herself, knowing her son lives and he can be emperor. Fulfil the role he was destined for. Marcus and Lucilla get to work the next day, meeting with senators to prepare for the coup under the nose of the emperors

Spending the night alone for the first time in forever, you worry about your lover and his uxor, not sleeping a wink. Exhausted, you rise from the lonely bed when the sun rises and once again pray to the gods. There has been no word, but you know that can be a good thing. You try to keep up appearances, but you are nervous. You will attend the games as normal. Dressing carefully for the games and making your presence known. Wanting to assist however you can.

Lucilla looks up as you walk onto the balcony, Marcus not beside her. Her hands chained to the chair she’s sitting in. Her expression, her eyes are devastated and you inhale sharply, knowing this meant the coup failed. They were discovered. The emperors beckon you to sit next to Lucilla, and the guards come forward. Your eyes widen as they grab your wrists, chains clanking around them despite your initial struggle and tears start to sting in your eyes knowing your fate has been sealed. The announcer introduces the gladiators and then your breath leaves your body when they say his name. “General Marcus Acacius!” The crowd cheers and you whisper “no” as Marcus swings his sword, entering the arena.

“My my, your lovers have really disappointed us.” Geta tuts as he smirks at you. “How they have betrayed Rome, and more importantly - us.” You shake your head. “He wouldn’t. They wouldn’t.” You protest. “They love Rome more than anything.”

“They love Rome more than they love us and we can’t have that.” Caracalla answers with a smirk, “and we can’t have traitors in our midst.” Marcus bows his head after placing his sword on his chest, signaling his felty to Rome and he nods to the men fighting him, knowing he will have to kill them. It doesn’t take long for him to cut them down in brutal battle, blood soaking the sand as his chest heaves, knowing he won’t survive this fight but he sent word to his men, praying they arrive and fulfil his order to retake Rome from the emperors and their army.

You have watched in horror, fingers curled around the arm rest of the chair and you are near tears. Another name is announced and Lucilla gasps, making your heart sink. Lucius comes through the gates at the end of the arena, his face hard and determined. “Please don’t.” You beg the emperors. “The general is no use to you dead.”

“We can promote a general. We cannot promote a coup.” Geta replies, cup of wine in hand as Caracalla gleefully claps, watching Lucius be feral and vicious as he battles with a reluctant Marcus.

“Marcus.” You whimper, clenching your fists together and praying to the gods that some miracle prevents one of them from killing the other. “Please, do not do this.” You beg. “That is- you do not know who that is.”

Geta scoffs and ignores you as the crowd begins to cheer when Lucius steps closer to Marcus. The General reluctantly swings his sword to block the blows, trying to talk sense into his uxor’s son, but he has a fury in his eyes like he’s never seen. He wants blood. You can see Marcus talking to him but you can’t hear what’s being said over the roar of the crowd and your own pounding heart. Marcus grunts as he shoves Lucius back, continuing to talk to him, and finally, it appears his message gets through when Marcus is kneeling on the ground, his hand up and sword laying in the sand. Lucius stares at the older man, realizing who the enemy is, and he doesn’t raise his sword to kill the man who took his love, his wife. He swallows harshly and watches while the emperors scream to kill the General.

“No!” Your scream cracks your voice as you shout out, unable to stop the multiple arrows piercing Marcus’s body and you hear a howling sound as you watch his body fall to the ground, his eyes open. The sound is coming from you. Pain and anguish ripping through your body like you’ve never experienced before.

Lucilla has tears running down her cheeks as she stares at Marcus laying on the ground. Your screams echoing around the colosseum and the guards grab you, dragging you chained from the balcony but the citizens of Rome hear your anguish cries echoing through the stands.

“Murders! You murdered him! You murdered him!” You are screaming as you are being dragged out of sight, fighting to stay, needing to stay to see Marcus’s body. No one in the stands cheers the death of the general.

**** 

Lucilla kneels beside Marcus, his body laid out for his funeral, and she cries silently as she says her goodbyes to the man she’s come to love deeply. When you enter the room, she looks up and beckons you over. You’ve been inconsolable. Barely able to make it out of bed and she understands but she has to continue fighting for Lucius. She shifts as you kneel next to Marcus, tears already gathering in your eyes, “he loved you with every bone in his body.” She says softly, reaching for your hand to bring in on top of Marcus’s, sandwiching your hands together with hers.

“He loved you as well.” Your voice is hoarse, barely a whisper and your eyes feel heavy and gritty from your grief. “Lucilla-“ you choke up, hating how cold your lover feels. His life is gone, his warmth bled dry by the emperors. “They must die.” You hiss.

Lucilla nods, letting go of your hand and she looks down at the ring on Marcus’s hand. “Take it. It’s yours.” She says. You shake your head, “no it’s not. Take it and give it to Lucius. He is the only one that can save us now. Go to him.” Lucilla nods, sliding the ring onto her ring and she kisses Marcus’s hand once more, “we will avenge you.” She vows to him and looks at you, “we will have the Rome he wanted.”

You nod, unsure of what to tell her right now, but you know you need that future for Rome, for yourself. Lucilla rushes away and you are left with the body of your lover. “I have news.” You whisper softly, leaning down and caressing his cheeks. His eyes are now closed and he looks peaceful, although you know he is not merely sleeping. “I will tell you when everything is settled.” Leaning in, you give Marcus one last kiss. “Forever my love, that is how long I will love you.”

Lucilla watches her son as he looks down at the ring on his finger. His father’s ring. She nods and offers him a soft smile as he looks at her with determination. He will ensure that Marcus and Maximus did not die in vain. He will avenge them and secure Rome once again for everyone. For all. Forever.

You don’t know how long you sit with Marcus’s body. You lose track of time until the door opens. “Leave me.” You order without even looking to see who it is. Hands grab your arms and you cry out as you are one again dragged away from your lover. “What is the meaning of this?” You demand as the praetorian guards cart you off.

Lucilla is silently praying to the gods as she is tied to the platform, the senators surrounding her. Your father is not among them. She’s grateful you aren’t here but she hears your cry as you’re dragged into the emperor’s balcony. Caracalla giggling with his monkey on his shoulder as he watches Lucius enter the colosseum with his jaw clenched in determination.

“Lucilla!” You shout out her name as the crowd goes to thundering from the stands, but you know she hears you. “I love you!”

Lucilla has tears on her cheeks but she refuses to show she’s scared. She is tied to the platform and the senators cry and scream but she hears you. She looks up at you and mouths ‘I love you’ just as Lucius enters the arena to see his mother tied up. He fights to get to her but it’s too late and Macrinus grabs the bow, firing the arrow that pierces her heart. You sob, knowing you’ve lost the ones to love to his brutality and thirst for power. You sob and he kills Caracalla without a moment's thought while Lucius fights.

You shiver, knowing that you are next in this brutal conquest of Rome. This has been a coup that the emperors could never have imagined and you scream as Lucius seems to falter.

Macrinus turns towards you, his eyes narrowed and you tug on the chains that keep you bound but the man has bigger issues when Lucius turns his gaze on the balcony and rushes towards you and Macrinus. “Fuck.” The man curses and looks at the guard, “do not let her go.” He orders before he runs off the balcony just as Lucius climbs up. He growls at the guard who holds the key for you and he pulls the knife out to rush the guard. The man is no match and Lucius puts his blade into his chest, grabbing the key to free you. His hands are steady as he unlocks you from the shackles, “go. Go save Rome.” You order and he nods, running off to follow Macrinus.

You make your way to the sands, needing to touch Lucilla again. Sobbing as you make your way through the crowds to the display she had been tied to. You work the ropes to lay her body down and you caress her cheek. “I am so sorry, amor.”

****

Lucius pants as he defeats Macrinus, the army ready to fight alongside him to destroy those who dare to take Rome for their own. It's days later that Lucius is named Emperor. His rightful place but he places power back in the hands of the senate. "You must take a wife, Caesar. You must continue your line." Your father says to the young man, "my daughter can be your wife. She has lost so much, as have you. She will understand your pain and she will not ask for more than you are willing to give."

Lucius frowns slightly, but he doesn’t say no. “Have your daughter brought to me to talk.” He decides, unsure of who this daughter is, but the Senator in question is a powerful man.

Lucius looks up when you are brought into his chambers, your hands wringing together, and he frowns, “your father sent you. Tell me why.” He orders, twisting the ring his mother gave him as he stands.

You snort, your eyes falling to the ring that you had given Marcus. Now on this emperor’s hand. “Because my father wishes to have me married off before it is discovered that I am carrying Marcus Acacius’s child.” You admit honestly, reaching down and holding your stomach protectively.

Lucius nods in understanding, having heard you were Acacius’s lover. And his mother’s. “Then we will marry.” He declares, “I do not wish to find an uxor who simpers and wants a love story. I need a practical woman who wants protection and companionship. I need an advisor, a confidant. Can you be that for me? Your child will be protected.” He vows, “they will be our child.”

You frown slightly, surprised that he would want that kind of life. It’s a good deal for you and you’d be a fool not to take it. “I could.” You agree after a moment. “If that is what you want. I loved your mother and her maritus.” You admit that freely. “I would never be disloyal to her son, in any way.”

Lucius is aware of the relationship you shared with his mother and her Maritus. He had discovered how Marcus has protected his mother from a few senators he trusted and he wants to honor the man who kept his mother safe until his last breath. If he can do that by protecting his child, he will do so. “That’s what I want. I want to honor my mother and Acacius. I can do that by honoring you and the child in your belly.” Lucius declares and you nod, “I accept. If you wish to take me as your uxor.” Lucius slides the ring from his pinky, walking towards you to slide the ring onto your finger. “This is yours now. My empress.” Lucius offers you a sad smile that you return, nodding in understanding. 

**** 

“Marcus! Slow down!” You call out to your son. He’s seven and the image of his father but no one in Rome says a word about the truth that the emperor is not his father. Lucius has declared the boy as his heir and you are the empress. You glance down at the ring on your hand before looking towards the sky and you think of Marcus and Lucilla. You pray they are in the Elysian Fields together. “He is so much like you.” You whisper, closing your eyes as the breeze curls around you and you feel Marcus is with you. You swear you hear him say your name but the wind carries it away. “Mama!” Your son calls and you smile, walking towards him and Lucius who is holding his hand out for you. You never got your happy ending with Marcus but this will do until you see him again.

[dragon-creates]

Funnybunny Week 2025

Prompt: Alternate Universe

AU: Wonderland Swap AU by @endomentendo @snoopy7c7 and me!

AO3

There was a warm stinging on her right eye, a liquid pouring down her cheek. The wind was cutting through her like stinging eyes, the rain only making the pain more amplified. She had to keep going, she had to reach…who was she trying to reach again?

It hurt to move.

Why was she running through the forest?

It hurt to speak.

Who attacked her?

It hurt to breathe.

What was her name…

She collapsed, the pain and exhaustion finally catching up to her. Right in front of a little cottage.

.

.

.

Jax grunted as the thunder woke him up for the umpteenth time. Was it truly too much to ask for some sleep, especially since it would be his day off tomorrow. He liked to use those days to catch up on some work. And if there wasn’t any to catch up on, he’d create some of his own. Many called the white rabbit a workaholic, he liked to think of it as staying ahead one step at a time. 

He jumped when lightning cracked, growling as he finally got up. If he couldn’t sleep, he might as well have a spot of tea until the worst of the storm went away. Jax went downstairs and into the kitchen, filling up the kettle and putting it on the stove. He sighed as he waited for it to boil, taking a moment to go into the living room and over to the curtains - might as well see the ruckus that kept him away.

He drew back the curtains, peering at the forest in front of him - grimacing. While the forest held the paths to every place he needed to go, it also held the path to go into the amnesia forest. He was thankful for the signs and his own sense of direction. Everyone knows that once you step foot into the amnesia forest, you forget why you went in and the person you were beforehand. 

However, the sleep began to fade away when he noticed a figure collapsed right outside the forest and near his cottage. He gasped when he saw blood on her body. 

Jax quickly grabbed a blanket from the sofa, rushing outside. For the first time he was like most of the others in this world, losing common sense and rushing into madness. He didn’t care, someone needed his help.

He ran over to the girl, lifting her up. The blood was coming from her eye, torn out of its socket. She needed help and fast. He wrapped the blanket around her and scooped her up, carrying back into his cottage. 

Shutting the door behind him, he trekked up the stairs, carrying the precious cargo in his arms. Once in his room he laid her on top of his bed, her bloody eye was looking worse and her wet clothes would cause her to freeze to death. It was too stormy to take her to the town’s doctor, so he would have to dress the wound as best he could and take her when the storm cleared in the morning. 

He took out his medical supplies from the cupboards in the hall, sitting on the side of the bed as he cleaned and dressed the wound, pressing gauze to the missing bleeding eye. Then came the hard part, to get her into warm clothes.

Taking hold of her wet nightgown, he squeezed his eyes shut and removed it off her figure, taking a giant robe next to him and wrapped it around her body. He made sure she was covered before tying the belt and sliding her arms through the sleeves. Jax sighed in relief once the deed was done.

He lifted the blankets, placing her under them as he tucked the girl in. He sat by her side, watching her chest rise and fall with shaking breathing. Where did she come from? And who wanted to hurt her so badly?

.

.

.

She stirred when sunlight hit eyes, fluttering them open. The first thing she noticed was the painful stabbing ache throughout body, specifically her eye. The next was the memories of the night before, being out in the cold and wet. Not it was justified by the warm, soft robe and blankets she was wrapped up in. 

She tried to sit up, only for the pain to shoot through her nerves making her let out a strangled gasp. 

“Easy, easy!” A white rabbit appeared in front of her, setting down a tray on her dresser as he rushed over to her. “You were in really bad shape when I found you, and your injuries aren’t fully healed. We’ll need to take you to the doctor’s later to take a proper look at your eye.”

On the tray was a plate with a croissant and a cup of hot tea. It smelled good. The rabbit propped her up on some pillows before handing the tea to her, the girl held the cup carefully as she took a tiny sip, “Where am I?”

“In my cottage, just outside the forest,” Jax told her. “What were you doing out there in the middle of the storm last night?”

The girl blinked, trying to find the reason, “I…I’m not sure. I can’t even remember going in there.”

Jax’s brows furrowed with concern, “Can you tell me your name?”

“My name? My name is…is…” the girl’s stomach dropped in dread. “Oh gods! What’s my name? Who am I? Why can’t I remember anything about my life?!

Jax quickly grasped the girl’s hands before she accidentally hurt herself, “Hey, hey it’s okay. Hold onto me and breathe. See, breathe with me.”

Tears were streaming down her cheeks, but she tried her best to copy him. She was still shaking, but her breathing was even, “I don’t know who I am.”

Jax didn’t know what to say, other than, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your doing,” the girl sniffed. “But I have nowhere to go if I don’t remember anything. I don’t even remember if I have a family. Where do I go?”

The rabbit felt his heart twist for her. Never before had he seen someone look so terrified, so lonely. Where would she go after helping her? Would she be even more lonely and scared? How could he just not think about someone going out there without anywhere to go?...well, he could think of one place, “Once we come back from the doctor’s, we can set up a room for you here. If you want to, of course.”

Pomni looked up at him with wide eyes, “What?! I can’t impose-”

“You’re not imposing,” Jax told her. “I don’t want you to be out there with nowhere to go, it’s not right. But I’ll need help around here once you’re healed, I can cook and get things for you but I hope that you can help around with chores here.”

“Yes of course!” Pomni nodded. “I’ll help out as much as I can.”

Jax felt something stir seeing her determination come forward, it was cute, “Just make sure to take it easy. Remember, this will be your home so don’t overwork yourself. And I’ll need something to call you.”

“Right,” Pomni pressed her finger to her lips in thought. “What should my name be?” She pondered for a moment, “Well, maybe we should stick with something simple like…Penny, Penny Ann!”

“Penny hmm?” Jax smiled as the name rolled off his tongue. “It’s pretty.”

“Maybe it’s a gut feeling, but I feel like my name begins with a P,” she huffed a laugh. “Weird, huh?”

Jax chuckled, “Darling, I am friends with a mad ragdoll obsessed with tea parties and a cheshire pile of ribbons who’s determined to make me rip my ears out when talking to her. There’s nothing ridiculous with speculating your name.”

Penny Ann giggled, it sounded like music, “Penny Ann it is, and you are?”

Jax wanted to smack himself, the entire time he didn’t even bother to tell her his name, “I’m Jax, the timekeeper for the red queen.”

There was something nagging at the back of Penny Ann’s mind at the mention of the queen, but she ignored it for now. Her mind was already heavy enough with everything that happened, “Nice to meet you Jax.”

The white rabbit smiled warmly, “Nice to meet you too Penny Ann.”

[dreamauri]

♪ — 𝗠𝗜𝗗𝗡𝗜𝗚𝗛𝗧, 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗦𝗧𝗔𝗥𝗦 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗬𝗢𝗨 - two mafia! charles leclerc x fem! reader ( angst ) series summary . . . after preparing your whole life to be married off to a mafia boss, you now have the difficult task of figuring out your new marriage and life, ensuring they don't turn out to be miserable.

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II, Good Morning Starshine . . . It’s hard to shake the feeling of stepping into a game where the rules are still unclear. The house is vast, echoing with unspoken histories, and each step feels like a quiet negotiation with the space( 1.4k words ) content warning . . . ( x )

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The sunlight filters through the curtains, spilling warm streaks of gold across the grand room. You blink against the light, sitting up slowly, only to glance down at the mess beside you. Charles lies sprawled on the bed, soft snores escaping his lips, his hair a wild mess against the pillow. The sight tugs at something soft inside you, and you almost smile before his hand darts out, wrapping lazily around your arm.

“Don’t,” he mutters, voice thick with sleep, pulling you back toward the warmth of his chest.

You pause, torn between staying and slipping away to explore. The pull of the house wins out. You gently try to pry his grip loose, only for him to groan in protest and tug you back again. He huffs, burying his face in your shoulder like it’s the most natural thing in the world. You can feel him take a long, deliberate inhale.

“Are you selling me?” You ask. The Monegasque simply answers with a nod in his sleepy stat, taking another deep wiff..

“Stop sniffing me, Charles,” you murmur, your voice low but amused. “I already smell like you, don’t make it weirder.”

His response is a half-awake grumble and a tightening of his grip. It’s only when his breathing slows again—deep, steady, unmistakably asleep—that you seize the chance to slip away.

The house is silent as you step into the hallway, pulling the robe around you more snugly. Each step echoes faintly in the vast space, the sheer size of it almost overwhelming. But you’re not just wandering aimlessly; no, this is reconnaissance. Every hidden security camera, every discreetly reinforced window, even the strange, too-perfect panel on the wall that might be a trap door—you catalog it all. A mental map starts forming, weak points and retreat routes tucked neatly into the back of your mind.

Your fingers trail lightly along the railing as you approach the grand staircase. A quick mental calculation tells you this would be a good spot to stage a diversion—or a disaster. You glance back down the hallway, your thoughts flickering to Charles. 

There’s a fine line between settling in and claiming territory, but you’ve never been one to play passive.

The sharp chime of the doorbell pulls you from your thoughts. You make your way to the grand double doors, tying the waist string of your robe as you go. When you open the door, you’re greeted by a few maid being ushered in by your younger brother. The women don’t waste anytime going into the kitchen to start on breakfast, leaving to give Kimi an empty look.

“You don’t miss me?” He asks, giving you his weirdly cheerful smiles.

“Not yet,” you sigh.

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Breakfast is already spread out on the dining table when you join them. Charles sits at the head, his sharp eyes darting between you and Kimi, his confusion obvious but unspoken. You take the seat to Charles’s right, and Kimi settles beside you—not in front of you, which you note amused. Id he want to sit beside you, or keep away from Charles. The maids quietly move around the room, serving freshly baked bread and perfectly folded omelettes, the kind of luxury that still feels a little too much.

Midway through comseing the meal, Arthur makes his entrance. He strides in, his shirt slightly wrinkled, running a hand through his hair as he mumbles an apology. “Sorry for being late,” he says, taking the seat across from you, next to Charles.

The quiet tension in the room is almost amusing. You can feel Kimi glancing at you from the corner of his eye, his usual bluntness barely contained. Charles sips his coffee, looking like he’s waiting for a shoe to drop. 

When breakfast wraps up, Kimi stands to leave, ushering the maids out ahead of him. As he reaches the door, you catch him by the arm, pulling him aside. “We’ll talk soon,” you say softly, just loud enough for him to hear. “Don’t worry so much.”

“Are you sure you’re safe here?” His voice is low, edged with concern, his words aimed at you but not subtle enough to escape Charles’s notice.

You tilt your head, your fingers tapping the edge of your mug thoughtfully. “Kimi,” you start, your voice calm but firm, “I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. And you—you need to focus on our family’s future. One of us has to be there.”

He doesn’t respond right away. Instead, his jaw tightens. You know he wants to argue, to remind you of all the reasons he doesn’t trust this arrangement. But he couldn’t do anything.

He looks at you for a moment, his expression unreadable, before nodding.

You watch him from a few steps away, arms crossed loosely over your chest, a small smirk tugging at your lips. He’s so polite, your little brother. Too polite for this world. But as the last of the maids begins to step out, you catch sight of Mary. She’s younger, probably around Kimi’s age, with wide eyes that dart between you and the exit like she’s afraid she’s forgotten something important.

“Mary,” you call, your voice steady but not harsh. She freezes mid-step, turning back to you.

“Yes, Madame?”

“You always wanted to live in Monaco, didn’t you?” You wave her over casually, as though you hadn’t just thrown her entire morning into question.

Her cheeks flush pink, and her lips part in surprise. She nods quickly, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her apron. “Yes, Madame.”

You tilt your head toward your side. “Stay.”

Mary’s eyes flick to Kimi for a moment, as if asking for permission, but he just shrugs with an easygoing grin. “Looks like you’ve got a new boss, Mary,” he jokes lightly, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

Mary nods again, the nervousness on her face shifting into something closer to excitement. She takes a few steps back toward you, standing quietly at your side, as though waiting for her next instruction.

After breakfast, the air in the room shifts—less familial, more businesslike. Charles leads you to the sitting room, where Arthur waits, hands clasped behind his back, his blondish hair catching the sunlight streaming through the tall windows. He looks every inch the younger version of his brother, though there’s a calmness in his demeanor that Charles’s sharper edges lack.

Charles doesn’t bother with small talk. “Arthur will be your right hand in every operation,” he says, his tone leaving no room for debate. “If there’s something you need to know, he’ll provide it. And if there’s a decision to be made, he’ll be by your side.”

Arthur nods once, his gaze settling on you with quiet amusement, though it’s clear he’s sizing you up. You meet his steady stare with one of your own, calm and unflinching. You’ve been through enough to know this moment isn’t about him—it’s about you.

“I look forward to seeing what you bring to the table, Arthur,” you say, your tone measured, yet carrying the weight of someone who’s already decided she belongs here.

Arthur’s lips twitch into the faintest hint of a smile, and he inclines his head slightly. “Likewise,” he replies, his voice as smooth and even as his demeanor.

Charles watches the exchange with a tight smile, pleased with the unspoken agreement between the two of you. His confidence in your ability to step into this role is as unshakable as the foundation of the villa itself, and the weight of it presses down on you just a little. But you don’t let it show.

As Charles moves to take his leave, Arthur shifts slightly, his stance still relaxed but more personal now. “So,” he starts, his voice light yet curious, “any idea what you’ll do today?”

Your gaze sweeps the room, landing on the grand yet cluttered surroundings. A house this big carries more than just history—it carries the weight of someone else’s preferences, someone else’s life. That wouldn’t do. You gesture vaguely around you. “This place needs to be cleaned up. A fresh start.”

Arthur follows your line of sight, nodding in agreement. “Makes sense. I’ll hang around,” he says easily, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Call for me if you need anything.”

There’s no condescension in his tone, no questioning of your authority, just a simple, straightforward offer. It’s almost refreshing.

“Don’t go too far,” you reply, half a warning, half a tease.

Arthur smirks, giving you a small salute before stepping back, leaving you to start shaping the villa—and your role in this world—on your terms.

[raayllum]

Right in front of our faces

So I've been thinking about self-eating a lot. Not only because it's weirdly on brand with everything in Claudia's arc (drinking her own blood, treating her own body basically as dark magic parts just for other people's metaphorical consumption, at least in her head, rather than for her own desires) but also because... Why, y'know? Why have this be a thing, why reserve it for the third arc, an arc wherein with the Archdragons gone Aaravos' main goal will be to dismantle the Cosmic Council?

In some ways, I think I was so focused on Aaravos' side of things—the easiest way to get revenge on the Stars (since they don't care about the destruction of their creation, not really, according to him) would be to kill them but he, for whatever reason, cannot do that—that I was missing the obvious other side of things.

Aaravos asks in 7x08, "Are you watching?" but wouldn't it be really bad for him if they were? What is stopping the Cosmic Council from transporting Aaravos to the same place they took Leola and permanently killing him, since permanently killing a Startouch elf is something we know the Cosmic Council, uniquely, can do? He couldn't stop them before when he was more powerful than he is now as a 'Fallen' Star.

Aaravos' plan hinges on eventually getting the Stars' attention, and they are presumably still at their full power, just no longer involved with Xadia. He is seemingly never concerned, even when making the choice to live and plot against them, that the Stars would just kill him the way they did with Leola.

Or maybe, perhaps, he already has a reason that they can't.

As he collapses in tears at Leola's trial, Aaravos' chest star is complete and right side up. After, presumably, 100 years of weeping, his star is inverted and the centre piece is missing when the Merciful One comes to see him.

The reason I brought up self-eating is because we see it's used as a form of chasing immortality, even beyond what Kim'Dael does. I've long speculated that Aaravos purposefully carved out his chest piece, whether to place it in something or to help create dark magic. He may not have done anything with it, even if it was on purpose, but I wonder... if he ate it, in order to ensure that the Cosmic Council couldn't kill him.

This is especially noteworthy since from what we see of Leola's trial, her destructive glow begins in her chest star and then spreads to her fingers, and the destruction of Aaravos' mortal form is radically different.

This doesn't really make sense. Leola was destroyed while in her mortal form, given that moments before she'd been living and interacting with things on earth, just like her father. Aaravos' destruction stems from the bite mark at first, but then begins elsewhere that's entirely separate (the foot) and never broaches the hands. Leola becomes entirely light, while Aaravos' body seems to be shattered, and does bear a striking resemblance to how dark!Callum crumbles in the 2x08 dark magic nightmares.

Furthermore, when Leola is killed and her star energy is sent down (for lack of a better description), we do see a symbol of a star being inverted, despite that not being a part of her character design.

We also know that Aaravos' body being destroyed differently in 7x09 isn't due to dark magic use, at least not in terms of his body. As of season seven, he hadn't done any dark magic in his new body, which is a soft reset. However, we also know that dark magic affects your soul/spirit (6x06) which would, presumably, be the same no matter the body in this case. Therefore, the reason Aaravos' body might've crumbled (beyond differences in execution style) might be because of the dark magic he's used that created a permanent hole in his spirit/self, and one that Leola, of course did not have.

I also think some of this in my head is connecting to the ideas of sacrifice. Other characters, especially parents, can sacrifice themselves in TDP canon in hopes of a better future for their children / the next generation (the three queens, the archdragons, Harrow, etc). Aaravos divorcing himself from the ability to sacrifice himself, especially after thousands of years with no daughter to speak of (until Claudia, but on her in a second), purposefully robs himself from the ability to make a meaningful contribution to the cycle. Death, permanent death, provides meaning and consequence, both things he's seemingly devoid of.

Sacrificing his ability to die (his heart) and at least, in theory, reunite with his daughter / no longer exist without her to ensure he can 'avenge' her is a hell of a thing, after all. And on a certain level, that seems like his endgame goal regardless. Even if all the above speculation is untrue and wily, unless he can execute himself, in destroying/killing (?) all the other Startouch elves, he will be alone and eternal... forever, with no way out, carrying only the pain of his child's death and withering satisfaction at punishing her murderers, unless he decided to eventually change.

Like I said: a hell of a thing.

[notlhecxzsa]

Down The Caliginous Road - A.H

Summary: Finally working for Agatha Harkness is a whole lot of conversation to be talked about, but finally working with Agatha Harkness is another conversation you weren't ready to speak up about. Maybe, it's because of how much she confuses you, or maybe it's just because of how much of your time seemed to be so consumed by her. What's wrong with her? You didn't know. But, one thing's for sure, she's something else than what those sleazy tabloids pictured her to be.

Author's Note: Ahhhh, here comes the 2nd part of CEO!Agatha, hope you'll enjoy it! It's starting to become more... of a rabbit hole (I'm TRYING my best), dark fics aren't my pursuits in writing. 5,5k words.

Warnings: Mean!Agatha, Red flag!Agatha but is really a Green flag, Simp! Agatha ahhhh, Buff!Tall!Agatha (enough to manhandle you and break your bones), Sexual Innuendos, cursing. (Tell me if I missed something)

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3rd Person's POV:

"Come in." Agatha called out through the room when she heard a knock.

Waking up today, it felt like her responsibilities were taken off of her shoulder, as if she was floating in cloud nine. She didn't know whether it was because of waking up on the right side of the bed or maybe it was because of the message she received from Wanda.

Ms. Y/L/N just emailed back. Gosh, I'm over the moon that she accepted. I almost thought she wouldn't since it's been three days already. Be good, Agatha, or you'd lose two people. Yes, two means that includes me.

She didn't even know why she was smiling so much that time, but maybe it's just because she knows she'll get less of Wanda's earful scolding here and there.

Though, there was a certain disappointment that haunted her insides. Hoping for a certain message to come through and pop up, but received none. Of course, Y/n won't be able to message her, she didn't know her personal email—especially her number.

What could she expect? She could only hope that Y/n liked the laptop she gifted and that she didn't had to borrow from anyone anymore. She could just only imagine what the girl's reaction was, almost giggling like a high school girl at the thought.

"Hey..." Wanda went inside the room, rummaging through her bag without looking up at Agatha, missing the smile that immediately turned down from the older woman's face. "Here's the papers you need for Ms. Y/L/N. Are you sure you don't want me to fill her in?" Curiously meeting her boss's gaze, she finally caught something unusual on Agatha's face.

"Thank you, Maximoff. And yeah, I got it, don't worry." Giving her a tight lipped smile, Wanda's eyes narrowed as Agatha kept the envelope on one of the drawers underneath her desk.

"Well, I hope you don't scare her off on the first day." Crossing her arms, Wanda took a seat on the chair in front of Agatha's desk.

The same chair that Agatha's eyes would unconsciously stare at as she thought of you.

"You're over exaggerating everything, Wanda." The roll of her eyes didn't go unnoticed by Wanda, just as the faint curl of her lips.

The usual annoyance that would lace through her tone was absent, only playfulness and something that Wanda couldn't pinpoint. "You seem... a little vibrant today. Did you fire someone that I didn't know?" Wanda blurted out, watching as Agatha's gaze snapped at her with a frown, a frown that is not too deep for Wanda's liking.

"Now, you're over analyzing things. Maybe you're the one who might be feeling a little different today." Agatha bites back before focusing her attention on the laptop in front of her.

Frowning, Wanda acted as if she was offended at the assumption. "Hey! I'm not-" Wanda was cut off by the sudden knock on the door, making Agatha let out a small chuckle with a shake of her head.

"Come in." Wanda only rolled her eyes while looking at the window, anticipating what would come out.

One of the employees peeked her head inside, seeing the two women in the room before also letting her whole body in. "A woman is requesting to see you, Ms. Harkness. She seemed persistent and said that she has something important to discuss..." Wanda frowned and looked back at Agatha.

"God, it's too early for another scandalous scene. What did you do this time, Agatha." Wanda didn't only ask but demanded a question.

Agatha who was wearing a stoic expression, visibly not caring as she looked back down on her laptop, continuing on what she was doing. "Who is it?" She asked.

The woman looked behind her, peeking her head on the other side of the door, getting the name of the girl behind her, making Agatha's eyes roll in annoyance. Nodding, she turned to put her attention back on her boss. "Y/n Y/l/n, Ms. Harkness."

Wanda surely didn't miss the way that Agatha's head almost broke with how fast she looked back up at the woman, almost making the whole floor rumble with how fast she stood up. "Invite her in, now." Slowly, a curl on Wanda's side of the lips formed on her face, gears seemed to finally be running inside her head.

She watched as Agatha anticipated, staring at the door with an expression she hadn't seen before. Her eyes help a glint that sprinkles a curiosity in Wanda's insides.

Soon enough, the same girl from four days ago, clad in some simple jeans with a coat that seemed to be her only protector from the gloomy weather of the city of Westview. Her flats paddled towards the woman whose eyes seemed to have the ability to brighten up the day with how her eyes gleamed up.

"Ms. Y/l/n, glad to see you here." Agatha greeted, wearing an unusual smile that made Wanda smirk knowingly. Agatha could only hope it didn't sound as if she was already expecting the girl to come.

"Good morning, Ms. Harkness..." Continuing her walk towards the woman with her gaze glued to hers, Agatha cursed mentally, only then realizing how big her office is—only then, hating how big it is. "Oh!" Almost coming out as a quiet yelp, Y/n stopped walking, turning to the other woman in the room who stood up.

"Ms. Maximoff, I'm sorry, I didn't- I didn't see you, Good morning." Bowing her head, she looked between the two women, her cheeks heating up as her heart started beating loudly, almost fearing that a couple pair of ear might hear it. "I'm so sorry, did I interrupt something?- Oh god... I'm really sorry..." Her feet moving slowly back to the door, as if attempting to carefully escape a horror room with her eyes wide and still stammering.

"Hey, no, no-" Agatha didn't know if she should be thankful that Wanda cut her off or pissed that she did. At least, they won't have the chance to hear her almost desperate tone.

"No, sweetheart, it's fine, we're done here anyways. Come, sit here." Y/n looked at both of the woman, cautiously walking further back inside the room.

Cheeks are still flush, while her hands gripped at the handle of a paper bag that she was holding. "I-I'm really sorry, I should've- I didn't..." She stammered while taking a seat, regretting it as she suddenly felt more nervous as both of the women seemed to overtowered her with their height.

"Don't worry, darling." Offering her hand, Wanda smiled at the girl who took it and shook their hand. "Nice to see you again..." Turning back to Agatha, missing the way that the older woman had unconsciously swallowed roughly while gazing at their hands that are entwined. "Agatha." Bowing her head slightly towards the older woman who did the same, offering a silent farewell.

"Thank you, Ms. Maximoff." Agatha said.

"I'll be outside if you need me." Wanda said before turning back to the girl and gave her a smile, receiving a coy smile in return.

"See you around, Ms. Y/l/n." Wanda said before she started walking.

"Just Y/n." Y/n offered, nodding her subconsciously.

"We often use professionalism around her, Ms. Y/l/n." After missing a certain small frown on Agatha's forehead, she heard the older woman suddenly talk.

Now, not noticing the smirk on the red head's face, as Wanda shook her head, finally getting the answers she needed for a certain curiosity that ran miles in her head.

As soon as the other woman took her exit, Agatha sighed, as if grateful to be left alone. Sitting down, she looked back at the girl who was already looking at her with the same coy smile. "Well?"

"The laptop..." Y/n started, not knowing how to form the things she wanted to say.

Agatha raised an eyebrow, the same small smile playing on her face. "Which I hope you liked." She filled in immediately, her smile now becoming more visible.

"So, it really is for me then?" The sudden amused expression from Agatha's face made the girl nervous as she almost flinched from her seat, jumping it to ramble. "I love it! I mean, thank you, really. I just- it was... I didn't... I didn't expect you to buy me one- it's too much, and it's- it's so much, I thought you might've put the wrong address..." Shrugging as she trailed off, carefully scanning the older woman's face who seemed to be looking so... entertained.

"Hmm, if I did, one thing's for sure is that I put the right name. Y/n Y/l/n, that's your name, right, honey?" Blush seemed to be creeping up again as she looked down, hoping to hide it.

"Thank you, really..." Looking back up, Agatha had never seen something so... genuine—so pure. She was stuck between wanting to ruin it or take care of it. "I don't know how to repay you—I mean, I could, but it might take me months, that laptop must've cost you a fortune." Y/n rambled and all Agatha could think is how adorable she looked, but she would never admit that.

"A number that comes back to my bank account per minute, don't mind it, okay? It's for you, use it. I expect no payment. Thought of it as the company's welcoming gift." Agatha playfully moved her eyebrows, almost cringing herself with how she was acting and trying to reassure the girl in front of her.

Y/n wondered if it's only her or did Agatha also gave the others something like that. "Oh, so your company gives away... laptops?" Y/n asked curiously, Agatha chuckled before answering.

"No, no. It's from me, Y/n. I gave it to you because I wanted to. Now, enough questions, sweetheart." Agatha directly confessed, only leaving the girl in front of her wanting more answers.

Another wishful thinking formed inside the girl, for her to be the only one that Agatha had given something like that, but she would never come close to accepting that she thought of something like that.

"Oh, I- uh..." Holding up the paper bag that contrasted the aesthetic around her. "I was gonna message you personally but I didn't think it was enough. I baked you cookies last night, I hope you'll like them." Standing up to give the bag to the older woman who accepted it with so much ease.

"Oh wow, honey. You didn't have to, really." Standing till by the table, she watched as the woman took a peek of what is inside, her legs almost trembling with how nervous she was.

"They look delicious! Oh god, they smell so good too! I can't wait to try it, sweetheart." Again, she wondered if the air-conditioning inside the office was shut off or is it just her.

"I know it's not enough- but I could bake you some more if you would like." Y/n rambled once again, stammering as she did so.

Agatha looked up, smiling as an idea popped inside her head. "It is more than enough!" Putting the paper bag aside, she stood up, circling around the table to walk towards the girl. "I don't usually eat sweets, but I know I'll love them."

"Oh- I'm sorry, I didn't- I didn't know." Y/n blurted out, her heart seemed to be beating more faster as the woman came close to her.

"You couldn't have known, but how about you accompany me for breakfast?" Agatha blurted out, noticing the way Y/n's eyes widen and her motor thinking seemed to stop for a moment.

"Breakfast?... Like, eat... out?" Seeming like a lost child, she asked.

What boss would invite a person who hasn't started working for her yet to eat out?

"Yeah! I know a delicious diner at the corner down the street." Seeing the confused expression that the girl was wearing. "Think of it as a business meeting..." Shrugging, Agatha put up an unbothered face as if she did not just practically ask the girl out.

"I also have to fill you in with the job, anyways..."

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Y/n's POV:

"How was it?" I looked up to see Agatha looking at me, a smile on her face that almost hid behind the lid of her cup of coffee.

"It's good." I said, grinning at her to show just how much I loved the latte I ordered. "How much was it?" I asked, putting down the cup before turning to rummage my bag for my wallet.

"It's on me, don't worry. You should try that cupcake, it's the best one they have here." She said, pointing at the cupcake she brought to the table, the same on she also has.

I frowned, noticing how she tried to change the subject. "What? No, I can't let you do that, Ms. Harkness-" I was cut off when she spoke so suddenly, putting down her own cup, flatting her hands beside it, almost close to my hand.

"Agatha. It's fine, really. Don't worry about it." She smiled at me, leaving no room for an argument but I kept staring at her, confused but feeling a certain coil in my stomach.

As soon as we walked inside, I noticed how her hands stayed around my back, and with so much persistence from her, I let her hold my bag as we walked through the busy highway of the big city of Westview. She told me to find is a seat while she ordered for the both of us, not even giving me my bag as she did so. Keeping it in her hold.

"I thought you said you guys keep the professionalism around?" Settling back on my seat, I look at her, my eyes narrowing as I do so.

I noticed how her tounge pushed on the side of her inner cheek, a smirk visible in her face as she tempted what to tell me. Sipping on my coffee to hide my sly smile which I doubt she couldn't see.

"Did I say it applies to the boss?" She replied.

I rolled my eyes at her, regretting it as soon as I did it and I watched her face as I pursed my lips, not knowing whether to laugh at my own stupidity or start saying sorry. "Did you just rolled your eyes at me?" Playfulness was lacing through her voice, but it didn't stop the way my heart started beating so loudly inside my chest.

Not knowing if it's because of the action I made or the way she was looking at me.

"Sorry-" Cutting myself off with a short airy giggle as I put a hand overy mouth to stop myself, only for her to grin more widely at me while raising her eyebrows in what I hope is an expression of amusement. "I didn't- sorry, I didn't mean to, I'm really sorry." I rambled, it stopped as soon as her hands went clasped with mine, encasing it with her bigger hand.

"It's fine, Y/n. Careful though, I might give you something more interesting to roll your eyes on." Words seemed to got caught up in my throat as I look at her with eyebrows blown and cheeks flushed.

"S-sorry?" She only laughed, pulling away but leaned into the desk, our face would touch if I were to do the same.

God, since when did they started making such small tables like this.

"I would like to know more about you." There was a moment of silence, not knowing what to say as I look at her like a deer in headlights.

"There's... not much to know about me." Shrugging, I held the cup with both of my hands, grateful for the warmth it brings to me. Looking away, her gaze felt like it was burning holes into mine.

"You said in your application you're interested in English literature? Tell me was it Charlotte Bront, Jane Austen or Thomas Hardy, who made you fall in love with literature?" She asked, as if it was the most interesting thing in the world, once again, I found myself answering.

"Hardy." I replied, my shoulder finally becoming less tense.

"I would've guessed Jane Austen." Shrugging she soft lips turned up a little before taking a sip of her coffee. "What are your plans for after you graduate?" She rounded with another question.

"I'm just trying to get through my finals." I answered truthfully, finally getting more comfortable.

"And then?" Warmth spread through my whole body, hearing her asked so fondly, gentleness visible in her voice.

"Well..." Leaning towards the table where I put an elbow on and used it as a stand as I put my head on my hand. "I really love working, so I'll find a permanent work that fits me well. I would like to take masters also, but I know that would cost me much, I'll probably just... work and save up for it." I rambled, her eyes stayed on me, almost making me feel conscious with how much attention she seemed to be giving me.

"Well, you'll be working in my company, you can always continue if you want." She offered as if she was just letting me sleep in her office.

Frowning, I almost let out a giggle, finding her ridiculous. "I wouldn't fit in there..." I started, almost regretting it with the look she gave me, frowning so deep as her eyes seemed to be shooting lasers into my whole face.

"I wasn't even really expecting that... you'll take me in." I confessed, looking down at my latte, not knowing what to do with how she was looking at me as if I just offended her in so many ways, as if I just robbed her of millions. "I mean, look at me..." Looking back up as I moved my shoulders, smiling as I try to lift up the mood that seemed to gloom.

"I am." She said, with voice so low as if it was only for my ears to hear.

Now, her eyes holding a certain look I couldn't seem to fathom as her gaze soften, making it more comfortable for me too look back in the. Never did I once wished to see or hear what the others thought of until now.

"I bet you $20, she's interested in you!"

"Miya, stop. That's impossible."

"Doesn't mean it can't happen. I mean, look! She just gifted you a laptop! You haven't even started working for her and what? She bough you a laptop just because she wants you to answer the application?"

"Miya, I swear to god. You're over exaggerating everything right now. Do you see me? We're so... far from each other."

"Hmmm, whatever, the deal still stands, just wait for it."

I was snapped out of the memory I recalled with Miya the night before, mentally cursing myself for even remembering that much. God, don't get my hopes too high.

"So... you're romantic?" She suddenly asked, ignoring how we just satred at each other for several minutes that felt like hours, and did I just noticed how blue her eyes were.

Clearing my throat, I answered. "I grew up with my Mom, she's an incurable romantic. Guess I got it from her..." Giggling, I rolled my eyes at the thought. "Though, I never really... explored that much." I added, coyly smiling up at her.

There was an expression that caught in her face for a moment, I almost didn't catch it but the gleam in her face was gone, momentarily before she smiled. A smile that seemed forced, but I took a bite of the cupcake, not minding too much about it.

Moaning at the taste, I look back at her, only to find her gazing at my lips with her own that is gaping a little. "God, you're right! This is so good." I expressed.

"I'll walk you out." Stopping mid bite, I gaze at her confusedly before my head followed the way she stood up abruptly, so I followed, almost running as I tried to catch up to her.

Her sudden action brought so much confusion inside my head, my heart started beating loud as I called out her name.

"Agatha." I called out for the third time, only then she turned back to me, almost hesitant to do so.

"You should steer clear of me." She said out of nowhere, looking down me. The weather seemed to be getting more colder at each passing moment.

"What does that even mean? What happened? Did I said something-" I started rambling, getting nervous at the distant look she's giving be, but still looking straight to my eyes, betraying what she was trying to show.

"Do you even deal with girls?" She asked. I didn't know if it was for me or for herself.

"What? I don't- I don't understand. I-" Suddenly both of her hands was wrapped around me when I attempted to follow her again, a sudden fear creeping up inside me at the thought of disappointing her in anyway.

"Watch it!" She yelled with sudden dominance that I almost cowered, the bike that passed through us, which almost collided with me stopped and started apologizing.

"Dickhead, fuck people these days!" She said, and my hand immediately went to her biceps, holding onto her as if I feared she would do something. And I did.

Her head snapped to me, and I looked up at her with eyes that pleaded for her to no do anything. Once again, something crossed her eyes as her face relaxed. Our face are so close to each other that I could feel her breath fanning ever so slightly on my face while her arms stayed connected around my waist protectively.

Her mouth agaped as her eyes stared into my lips. Before I knew it, she was pulling away from me and backed away a little. "I'll see you at work, Ms. Y/l/n." With that, she was gone, leaving me with an empty feeling floating around my chest.

So much for filling me in about work.

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2nd Person's POV:

Monday. You started working for them. Grateful for the asynchronous class schedule you have at the University, the same one that—suprisingly, your boss owns. This week, is your turn to do modules and online classes in the morning, while next week is face to face. It goes on like that.

You didn't even bother eating breakfast, not even taking medicine for the cold you might have caught last night, only focusing on dressing well. Not for anyone, of course, just... for yourself... to fit in.

Wanda Maximoff, the kind person that she is, filled you in with everything that your boss might have forgotten last week. The same boss who sent you that new book of your favorite author in hardcopies and first editions.

As much as it frustrates you to receive such treatment towards her—confuses you, even. You couldn't help but think about her when the night rolls on and the moon's light seeped through your curtains.

Everything around you seemed to be in order, the people, no mess around, you almost thought that you might be the only trash left in the room. You haven't seen this part of the building, but it seems like this is where most of the works are done.

Receiving a lot of good expressions and comforting welcome was not what you expected, but grateful to have received them. But, still, nothing could calm the nerves from seeing the same pair of blue eyes that hunted you in the middle of your sleep.

Maybe, you'd be more lucky today and won't cross paths with her, you thought.

But, as everyone stood up straight, facing the same door you went in earlier, the sound of chairs squeeking and rolling on the floor, you did the same. Remembering what Wanda told you earlier.

"Ms. Harkness often walk pass this room to get to her office. To check the people and all. The guys would consider themselves lucky if Agatha is lazy enough to walk through here."

Of course, since when did luck stuck with you.

As soon as the door opened and a tall figure clad in a dark colored suit came out, a wave of greetings came showered the atmosphere. But, all you could seem to muster is a mumble as you stared at the woman, not sure if you wanted to hide or get her attention on you.

As walked throught the hallway, picking conversation with people, criticizing their works and almost scolding some. It seemed to be years but the people around you started getting back to work, sitting in their designated seats and stalls and continuing what they were doing.

As you were about to do the same, your name was called. Only then did you remembered that you'll be returning something from her.

Turning and looking up, the first you noticed was the visible smirk on her face, it wasn't there when she came in. You almost thought that it was reserved for only you.

"Ahhh, Y/n." So much for professionalism around her.

"Y/l/n. Good morning, Ms. Harkness." You didn't even know where that courage came from. You felt pair of eyes from the people that are near you looking at you, but you couldn't turn away from her gazing ones. You felt glued.

"Hmm..." Her eyes circled your stall, narrowing with meaning behind that you couldn't seem to figure out what, then she smiled at you—mischievously. "Did Maximoff forgot to tell you that you're gonna be my assistant?—Personal Assistant." She asked, walking a little more towards you.

"She-..." You head curved a little to follow her eyes. "She did, Ms. H-Harkness." You stammered, almost cursing yourself mentally, wondering how pathetic you might've looked.

"Then, who told you you'll be working in this area?" She pushed even more.

"She... uhm... she did...?" You blurted out, not knowing what to do, almost fearing that you've done something wrong or missed something from earlier.

"Oh, so change of plans that I didn't know?" Agatha only received a confused coy glance from you, making her roll her eyes as she turned on her heels, ready to take off. "Bring your things and follow me in the office..." Looking at you one last time, she muttered. "Y/n."

As soon as she strides with lengths that would be considered as a jog to you, you scrambled and followed her, taking a mental note to check what you left later.

It was silent as she lead you to a couple of more hallways before a pair of big doors welcomed you—Agatha opening the door for you to come inside, making her almost roll her eyes with how her movements seemed to be automatic.

She could only hope that deep down nobody had seen that, not even from the security footage.

"Maximoff never told me that you'll be working for her or with her. Your little office back there? No use." You didn't know what to do as she moved with grace around the room, taking out her coat and putting it on one of the expensive looking racks next to the big doors.

As she talked, she moved to the cabinet that looked so fragile and beautiful. You thought she was going to get some water, but soon regretted it as you watch her pour an alcohol which you couldn't name over the glass. "You will be working for me and only with me." As soon as the her eyes was set on you, it felt like a glue once again as she walked passed you, leaving you in the middle of the room, clutching you bag as she took her seat on the big office table, where she was days ago.

"You are mine to work for. That means, you'll stay here." Her point finger bumped on her table.

"..." She watched as you looked around, confused gaze as your eyes wandered around while she sipped on her whiskey that she had caught you eyeing earlier but made no comments about. "Where exactly... Ms. Hakrness?" Looking back at her, you wished the ground would eat you or just randomly get thrown out of the building.

"Wherever you want, Y/n." Once again, she received the same questioning gaze, almost making her laugh—not even sure if it's because of how adorable you looked or how much it entertains her, maybe both, she couldn't find it in her to choose.

"Sit down, you'll get tired standing there all day." She demanded.

"But, there's... there's not an office table here other than... yours." Yoe hesitated as you carefully walk and took a seat in front of her.

"There's a comfortable sofa right there..." Her head pointed out to the sofa. Not something that workers should be working at, especially not in some kind of sacred company like hers. You made a face that almost looked offended... surprised? Agatha couldn't figure out but it made something in her flutter as her gaze soften, her smirk now less sharp.

"You could work right there, in that chair you're sitting on, or..." You head turned to look at her in question. "Here." Her head bent down to motion beneath her.

"That's not possible, Ms. Harkness. " Thinking that you got what she was pertaining she laughed, only for it to stop at the next word you said. "I won't be taking your seat from you, that's not... ethical." The look of amusement she gave you told you enough that you were wrong.

"That's one thing we could do, but I was talking about my lap, honey." She sipped on her whiskey as if what she said was a normal thing.

"That... that's even more inappropriate!" You couldn't help the high pitched tone you let out as you tried to hide your blush away.

Did your boss just offered you to sit on her lap to work? You'll be questioning your existence this day later, that's for sure.

"Not when I say so." Shrugging, she started opening her laptop. "Now, how about you fetch me some more ice and refill my drink?" She started, not even glancing at you, which took her almost all of her energy not to.

"That's... alcohol. You shouldn't drink alcohol this early morning, Ms. Harkness." Blurting out, Agatha couldn't help but stop what she was doing, looking up as she narrowed her eyes at the girl who immediately averted her gaze to the alcohol in front of the older woman. "It's not healthy... and definitely not good for you—especially in the morning."

"Hmmm, then what do you think I should drink?" Agatha asked, a certain softness and a playful tone in her voice. This is the first time she's had someone to tell her something like this. Not that anyone has ever tried to. Or will she let anyone try.

Something about one of the habits she's grown used to, even knowing how bad it is for her.

She immediately caught the younger girl's gaze. Something inside those pairs of eyes that seemed to calm the raging storm inside of Agatha. Her insides fluttered, immediately thinking that maybe it was the alcohol doing "bad" things in her stomach, but she knew better.

Standing up, Y/n smiled at Agatha, an idea coming up to her mind. "Let me bring you something good and healthy to drink then, Ms. Harkness." With that, she turned on her heels, ready to leave the room with a mission.

"What- Wait, no." Y/n's steps haltered as she turned to face the voice. For a moment, they were just looking at each other as Y/n waited on what her boss will say. "Here..." Taking out a black card, Agatha motioned for Y/n to take it. "Use this."

Looking at the card, Y/n looked back up at Agatha, "The coffee on my first day is one me, don't worry, Ms. Harkness. It's all I can pay for the treat you gave last time." Y/n explained, ready to turn on her heels but stopped when she saw Agatha started walking towards her.

"No. Take this. It's the company's card. Besides, you don't have to pay me back for everything that I gave you..." Agatha trailed off before a thought came running in her mind. "I mean, unless you give me those cookies again. I would accept those."

She could only remember how she devoured those box of cookies in just a day, only eating the thing from breakfast to dinner—the only cookies she'd pair with her whisker and wine.

"Uh... I-" Agatha took Y/n's hand, putting the card inside it before going back to her seat. Looking down at the card, Y/n read the name written on it. Agatha Harkness. "Ms. Harkness, I think it's not the company's card-" Y/n started, only to be cut off.

"Huh? What? No, I can't hear you, now go fetch me those healthy drinks you're saying and get yourself one too." Opening her mouth, but no words came out, leaving her to decide that it's finally time to leave and go get the food for her boss before Agatha could decide to cut her paycheck for the lack of time she's worked on at her first day.

"I'll get back quickly, Ms. Harkness, don't worry." The small soft voice piqued around the room, but Agatha's gaze stayed on the empty space on her computer.

"Hmm, that, you should." Whispering into the nothingness, Agatha's head turned to look at the door just in time as it shut close. Her mind whirling in her deepest thought, only thinking of the certain pair of eyes she'd gladly look at for forever.

And, into the air, she whispered.

"Flung out of space..."

°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~

Author's Note: Ahhhhhh, I love this type of Agatha. A soft tease who's dark but softie for her girl (GIVE ME AN OLDER WOMAN LIKE THIS, PLS) I hope you guys liked this! And, Yes, that's a Carol reference at the end! (⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠)⁠♡

[melankkholy]

what size does love wear? (part 1)

✎ The lights, the podium, and the spotlight are all yours. As an upstart model, your life went by pleasantly with the girls, but maybe you were too dim to realize that you were living in an illusion. Could Leon, the one and only rockstar of the hearts, be the man you were waiting for in a milieu full of counterfeit people, or are you too much of a hopeless romantic?

cw: NO MINORS AND I MEAN IT WHEN I SAY IT, messy messy messy, drugz, fem! model reader, family drama aka daddy and mommy issues, very uncanny and might be disturbing for some people idek, vom!ting and possibly or (implied eating disorders), p in v, oral (fem! receiving) praises, reader is going thru some shii, MDNI, that's all i can come up with, but please let me know if i missed something very vital, and find the song lyrics:3

It all unfolds that night at a soirée to which you were invited in the most gingerbread-like language.

You don’t have a clue how fat cats hang out at such a lavish icebreaker. That these people took you in very recently, right after your meteoric rise to superstardom, and with a wham bang. You didn’t quite make it onto the Hollywood Walk of Fame with all those big golds and jet-set stars, sure, but your killer legs, waist, and pretty tits promised you a chance to eavesdrop a wee bit on Victoria’s secret. Well, who knows? Maybe one day, even without any formal studies in acting, you could star as an aspiring actor in some movie and kiss the handsome and beefcake famous guys. You could be the next lead in a new goofy movie like Fifty Shades of Grey. Hollywood is full of pretty model casts these days, anyway. 

So many possibilities. 

Mostly with your height, physique, and poise, which would make most men who can’t be more than 5 feet and 7 inches tall (barely) outclass them in every way (never mind the grandfatherly inheritance that your mother inherited from whomever-whatever-who-cares and your surname that unexpectedly gained a notoriety, even your daddy abruptly switched to your mother’s maiden name on paper), you’re the size perfection angel of the runways. Precious, precious you. 

A happy family tableau with your mother, who doesn’t listen to your advice to break up with that man, who happens to be your father, and he has a mania for alcohol and the girls younger than him of late. 

The only vestige of this particular and domestic picture is you here, dressed in the elegance of a collectible piece from a costly collection of so-and-so, to the party you were summoned to. 

“It tastes like shit.” 

Claire’s whining in front of you, idly brandishing a hurricane glass full of bubbly as pale pink and powdery as her rosy cheeks. Thankful for the leverage of your elbows on the bistro table between you, you lift your chin, planted in the inner cushions of your joined palms, and give her a passing glance. Then your starry eyes drift back to the human orgy you’ve been tracking since the moment you stepped in the venue. 

A myriad of eminent names. How exciting to be able to see their imperfect skin up close under the veneer of make-up. Turns out there is a huge Photoshop business going on in this particular circus. 

Still, it’s hard not to get caught up in the allure of their luster. Thinking about how you were unanticipatedly plunged into a world of gold and silver, of all the thesauri that connote the existence of riches, you should absolutely bask in it—if they’ll let you. 

“You’ve had too much to drink.” Jill gives Claire a little mouth joke from beside her, which elicits a muttered snort from Claire. 

“What else was I supposed to do?” 

“Dunno. Maybe snort a line or two. Together.” 

“You could’ve told me from the start, Valentine.” Claire rolls her eyes and surveys you with her big blue lenses. 

“Hey, you.” 

You look up at Claire, a giddy smile lacing your lips. 

“Huh?” 

“Get in the back room. Jill, you and I are getting the motherfucking sniff on some good coke.” 

Coke. Oh, great. 

The hot “sport” of your demographic. Once your wacky mom’s, too. 

The poison you swore you’d never put your mouth (actually your nose) on, or the antidote to survival, as your father would call it. 

A silly little girl’s dumbest and greatest fear. 

But you’re too much of a sucker to risk losing a high-profile group of friends like Jill and Claire, the only two girls you respect in this game of whatever. Just reject them, and in a fraction of a second, you’ll be all alone, and people here would pulverize you raw. 

So without saying a word, you tag along behind them on a whim, as if cocaine is your passion. Since your friends are here, you just came to kick it.

The proverbial back room turns out to be really far back. 

The smell of weed is tangy and mixed with other substances you can’t name the second you walk in. The scent of perfume adds a different festivity. Leaves a seductive melody and holds promises to give you airborne wings. 

This must be the precise definition of getting wasted. 

A few familiar faces greet you, occasionally stopping your group of three to take a quick photo—a social media travesty, for a photo that implies that the girl who wrapped her arms around you in nylon hugs with her platinum blonde and padded lips, whom you haven’t even said a word to yet, is a hoot on your social media account. Is it worth it? 

Hell, maybe. 

Followers are everything, even for you. 

Chris, ass up, nose to nose in the coarse dust strewn on the glass surface table of the Boeing 707, straightens up as three pairs of heels materialize in front of him, oozing through the see-through transparency of the glass table. 

“You’d be a great big brother if you didn’t always finish the best one ahead of us.” 

“I’m always a big and great brother.” Chris Redfield, big and virile, stretches up in front of your eyes and wipes his nose with the back of his sleeve like a credit card sliding horizontally and smoothly through a POS machine. 

Just like a goddamned joke. 

In flesh and blood, Chris Redfield, the lead guitarist—a member of the very band you’ve been a diehard fan of since you were a teenager and whose songs have lulled you into slumber—is in front of you. Yes, you really were sleeping with rock music playing in the background. 

His pupils are vacant. Like his cranium. 

“You all look like those three girls from that cartoon where a professor accidentally creates three special strong girls—ahhh—what was the name again?” 

“Powerpuff Girls?” Jill interjects at Chris’ reference with a wan grin, leaning her leg over the glass tilt table. Claire also crouches in front of her and clasps onto Jill’s knees. Almost as if she’s biding her time to eat her out. She might do that. Later.

“Yeah!” Chris snaps his fingers. 

“Uh, I...” You spring forward to introduce yourself before the conversation drifts. Girls are already nose-dipping in the dusty spill on the table, and you stick your hand out to Chris. 

Surprisingly, he accepts the handshake straight away. In the course of these formal introductions, whenever you were to extend your hand to someone, they’d be looking you over from head to toe like you were a little bit of a poseur. Ironically, Chris welcomes you with a genuine smile. It seems modesty hasn’t kicked the bucket. 

You’re being all polite, handing Chris your name, and then—cue dramatic music—someone crashes through the pivot door like it’s a Hollywood blockbuster. 

Every head turns in the cumulative direction of the sound, all but assured by the door’s dramatic swoosh, all collectively. 

Turns out it’s none other than Leon Kennedy, the finest and equally “big-time rockin’ rock star of the twentieth generation,” as they say. 

“His ass again?” Claire pipes up from where she’s sitting. She’s not a big fan of Leon. She has her reasons. In the interest of brevity, Claire and Leon had, in fact, dated in the interim. Once upon a time, there was a ship named Cleon, a name the adoring admirers nicknamed their own ship name in all corners of the tabloids. 

While you can understand how ticked off she is, you might as well not do it at all. There is, at last, a deck of cards in front of you that you may see for the first and last time in your life. In fact, he is even moving towards you with his own confident steps. 

For you, it’s a moment of blimey, but for him it’s as natural and insignificant as the instinct to pee when he’s drunk too much stuff. 

“Hi there.” 

Now you can understand people amplifying at the mere sound of a certain voice and, if necessary, wetting their pants, pussies, and dicks—Leon isn’t the pickiest about it, really. Now everything makes total sense. He must be getting laid as much as he’s making money with his mouth. 

And he is. Add a pinch of that buzzing singing voice to a muscular body, a tall stature, and money in swollen pockets, and Leon gets what he wants in a jiffy. Kiss his ass if you will. 

“There’s my cutest groupie.” Leon waves at Claire, heading for a fall. 

Claire draws her middle finger at him and bites back a repartee. 

Not a single name he doesn’t speak in the narrow circle of this social outlet. Then he sees you, and the wheel of fortune takes a reversal. 

A newfangled face, delicate facial expressions, and striking beauty. Clearly, you’re the precious neophyte around here. 

The art of the soft soap in the eccentric azure of his eyes is hard to miss. A depth to be dug into with picks and shovels. 

How he greets you with a small mental shake of his head in contrast to his expressive gaze is enough for the conventional first pleasantries. 

It’s hard to calculate how much it’s right to cast pointed glances at your friend’s ex-boyfriend. On a more cursory inspection, you and Claire weren’t that close, at least not close enough to make those ground rules—chicks before dicks ones. (Excuses!) You definitely need proper shrinks. 

“Fucker.” Claire coughs up any remaining resentment in an epithetical whisper under her breath.

The exes find their way out of the scene, separated, and Claire tugs on your arm and flings herself straight into the dance floor. Leave it to Leon to steal a glance at you. He stares long and hard at the beauty next to his ex as you stomp off the scene. To Leon, the past is in the past, and the present is here to be remade. It’s nerve-racking when you leave, but he loves to watch you walking away.

And Jill is too doped up on cocaine to join you all. 

─────────────────

“We never would have come if we knew he’d be here.” You tell Claire as she strums her hips to a peppy groove. You just want to bring your girl back to earth, even if it’s just a pulse.

“What? Jesus! Can’t hear you, gorgeous!” Claire curls her hands at the corners of her mouth as she lets it out. Of course she can’t hear you over this hubbub. You’re such an airhead. 

But point taken. You shrug your shoulders as if to say it’s nothing and dance in unison to the song along with her jigging dance moves.

─────────────────

The DJ gets you moving with the record and the tempo of his tunes, the laser disco lights blinking on and off like thunder, making you dizzy from the jetlagged fatigue of the fateful night. For how many hours have you been standing in these Pigalle Follies and guzzling Silver Oak? God, you’re a mess. A hot one, that is. 

The flashing disco lights alternately brighten and dazzle your eyes. You can’t even take a step, let alone do the dance. Sure, you’re running on fumes, but at least you look cute doing it. 

That’s what happens when you drink on an empty stomach. Stupid bitch, you’re chewing yourself out. 

Lights are moving sideways and up and down. 

The sweat beading on the hair gathered at the nape of your neck is cold. You blink your eyes and cast them around for Claire, dim and desperate. Not a single facsimile of a peer stands.

Okay, but where’s she?

You push your way through the flesh and blood horde and find your way out of the club to the back door. Threshing, you flounder out of a dented metal door. The pit of your stomach is parched, as if tiny worms have colonized your entrails and organs.

Your hand pressed against your midsection is of no help.

Leaning against the wall, you’re propped up; you squint at the figure of a man (?) that now unfolds in front of you with the swoosh of the door. A lighted cigarette in his hand, he makes a knife-edge turn and spots you right off the bat. 

Sewn into his eyes is a tapestry of something akin to concern. They are adumbral but bloodless and ultramarine.

Voices buzzing in your ear burst the bag of intricacies with a sharp pinprick. When you can feel the echoes finally reaching your earbuds, you can vaguely feel the man reaching for your forearm and tracing circles on your skin with soothing strokes.

“What the hell are you so tipsy for?” 

Tipsy? Hell? He’s probing something about you. 

“Leave me alone.” 

“What? Leave you like this in the middle of an alley? What are you? Five?”

Your stomach produces a strange twinge, right there, in that very second. 

You totter, but the man holding you by the arm means what he says.

“Look at you. What a fucking mess, huh, girl?” There he goes, tutting you like it’s his favorite sport.

“Don’t push it, Leon. What’re you, my mother?” 

You just frown and shoot him a syringe of Claire’s inherited hatred but in your style. 

“Go away. I’ll be fine.” 

With all the audacity of a brilliant I-fucking-hate-my-best-friend’s-ex-boyfriend, you pull your arm free of his reach. 

“They’ll eat you alive in here. You know that, right?” His voice is scratchy, preaching to you, but it’s emptier than a banker’s heart. His gaze, as in. 

You don’t know. Makes you edgy, this one fucker. 

“Why do you care?” 

Really. What’s it really to him? Leon, too, in the clash of a second and a spontaneous question, unexpectedly finds himself striving for words. 

When you push off the wall against which you were leaning, balance beats the hell out of you. Standing on the spikes of your heels is like an arsenal of iron nuts. So much so that Leon sucks in his breath in sheer exasperation before gripping you tightly by the forearm and flicking the glowing amber stub to the ground. Savior complex moment perhaps; he’s a martyr to his savior complex, not even understanding why he’s going this far.

“Where’re those girls you’re always stuck with? Claire and Jill?” 

Obviously you don’t have an answer to that. You, for that matter, don’t have an answer to anything in the preamble. You just gawk at him with a vagabond animus.

You brush it off with a dejected shrug, and the withering stare you garner from him is quite enough to put you in your place, and then more. The abject skeleton in the closet that follows is beyond telling. 

The puddle of bile that you can’t hold in any longer gushes out of your mouth. There and then. Luckily, courtesy of your miraculous reflexes, you turn your back on him and excrete the stagnant liquor in your system. 

Leon retaliates by stepping back, as your arm falls out of his hands and you stoop, knees sore. A nervy and explosive burst of emotion is impinging on his face. You can’t see it, but you can more or less picture what kind of acrimony he’s donning.

What a perfect first impression spectacle. 

Your gagging voice dies from throwing up in the empty streets; warm, misty tears well up in your eyes, the usual stuff, but the averse touch of his hand brushing your hair back from your face is a special ooh. 

“You’re so fucked up.” 

He couldn’t be more serious. 

“You’re so pretty.” 

You can’t be serious either! 

But just as you lift your head to give him an answer, your stomach lurches to your feet one more time. So yes, you called your close friend’s singer boyfriend “pretty” in its truest essence, in all its pomp and circumstance. Delirious and graphic, hats off to you. You feel dizzy and more than ever dead. Like dead dead, open mouth, insert foot. The nebulous valance in front of your eyes is as opaque as an unaesthetic Instagram filter. Your balance is in tatters, and you slump, and then a thickset arm supports the back of your head securely. 

─────────────────

How you made it through the dawn is a big red question mark.

The bundle of sunlight struck by the zenith of the alarming number of the morning is bright and citrusy. Almost no trace of its golden amber flavor. That’s because it’s not a morning sun. This is a midday sun. 

You finally open your eyes at two o’clock in the forenoon. The sight that awaits you... what the hell is this? 

This certainly isn’t your house, but whose residence is this? 

And most importantly, where are your clothes? Why are you in your underwear? 

You swallow the venin on the underside of the tongue, finding no strings as you idle around because you don’t even have any clues to connect the pieces together. 

Could you have gotten so hammered yesterday that you fucked someone like those people in the movies? 

At least he’s rich.

The interior is lavishly decked out; your restless eyes drift from the bed to the rows of frames on the wall. Pictures and hyperlinks and whatnot. Why would anyone hang a picture of the fucking Golden Gate Bridge in their bedroom? 

What kind of moron did you fuck last night? 

It’s up to you to figure out the equation. 

You slip on a tacky jacket and spring out of bed. When you pick up your phone and peer at the screen and see that the digital numbers are advancing by leaps and bounds, you dash out of the room. Whatever the fuck you did in this bed yesterday with whomever you did it with has to be consigned to the past. No time for any of that. That’s what one-night stands are all about. 

“Oh, fuck. Claire, I overslept. You gotta help me sway Ada so she doesn’t give me a hard time, babe.” Your fingers are rapidly drumming, and your eyes are on the screen as you thump into someone’s fucking chest. 

It’s like lightning is spinning in your head. The phone falls out of your hand and thuds a heartbeat on the floor. Ouch. No shit. Apple, what a shitty marque of ass. 

“My phone!” 

It seems no matter how much money is just a green piece of paper to you now, or digital numbers with fat zeros in your bank account, there will always be a staunch ghetto in you. Somewhere deep in your very psyche.

“Jeez. Relax.” He crouches down and picks up the very remnant of your hapless phone.

“What happened to ‘hi’ and ‘hello’?” 

No, but wait a second. 

The distinct sound of yesterday’s “tryst.” 

“Leon!” 

Apparently your memory has erased all the barf memories from last night. Give them a little time, and they’ll chip away piece by piece and roast you in vile hell for the rest of the day. 

“Leon!” He’s impersonating your voice, or rather your holler. Pretty much verbatim. It’s disturbingly good. He hands you your phone. The screen is cracked and spiderwebbed, and you take it reluctantly. Cough it up. You have to get a new model. 

“Is this your place?” 

“Eh. Like what you see?” 

He’s acting like it’s all fun and games, and he wouldn’t bat an eyelash if the sky fell. His arrogance is of a priceless candor. 

Just take a deep breath, in and now out. Everything’s all right. Everything is right as rain. 

No way you fucked your best friend’s ex-boyfriend. You refuse to believe that. 

“Why am I here?” 

Leon gets the message.

Nonetheless, he doesn’t want to spoil your good mood by regaling you with your yesterday throw-up story, and he doesn’t want you to start your day like that. Everyone deserves to have a good day, and especially after a night of fuckery like last night, you need a whole Mediterranean circumnavigation. 

“Look, sweetheart,” he begins, “let me buy you a brunch, yeah? There’s this place, okay? Down the block. Oh, they whip up scrambled eggs so fine. I’m talking about finger-licking good.”

He really is treating you over for some “brunch.”. 

But why does everything have to be piled on top of each other? He just leaves you high and dry. 

“Come on. Omelet and coffee. Yummy. Huh, and a special mix for you that’ll sober up a hangover.” Leon reaches out his hand to you as if in a desperate bargain. 

“It’s a special Kennedy remedy.” 

Your eyes fall on his outstretched palm while he’s grinning winningly. 

“Sure. Why not? You do owe me an explanation anyway.” 

There you go. He’s got you under his thumb now—like a walk in the park. 

“Nice bra.” Leon can barely avert his eyes from your cleavage. “But don't forget to change, sunshine. I reckon I can find a spare shirt for ya.” 

What a dipshit. 

Rest is a moot point.

─────────────────

You’re not exactly sitting with the shittiest man in the world and chowing down on a portion of omelette. Really, the place where he brought you for a meal isn’t bad enough to be described as decent. 

“So last night—” 

He derails the conversation. 

“No. We didn’t.” He sips his coffee, which dribbles down his parched throat. He’s been telling you this story for what seems like forever, even though it’s downright laughable—something hard to believe. 

Pleasantly enough, you manage to shake off the blues, but now Leon’s hot under the collar. 

The truth is, these bitter coffees are not his cup of tea, ’cause he loves tea more, but when he saw you getting a heavy Caffè Americano, he ended up ordering one too, just for a little spice. 

Now Leon regrets his decision. Never again. Vanilla all the way, long live crony capitalism. 

“I can’t even bring myself to believe it.” 

“Neither can I. Who knew you had a little Viking god in you?” 

“Viking god?” 

Leon nods in approbation. The musing is rather sweet, but too much sweetness makes your cheeks fat, and that’s the absolute last thing you need. Pounds. Swollen face.

“They drink heavily too, don’t they?” 

“I don’t drink that much,” you rectify him. 

“You do. I know a blackout drunk when I see one.” 

You palm your face in dismay, because how long can you put up with this charade? 

“Why did you drink all that?” 

For what does it matter to him? That you have to implicitly profess to him that you detest him. Can’t be buddy-buddy with someone Claire hates; blood and guts be damned. 

“Nevermind. I mean, you don’t always get some chivalrous knight on a white horse coming to your rescue. Watch yourself. Get your shit together next time.” 

Get your shit together.’

You’re not planning to get your life together, which has never been in order, on his say-so. 

This is no picnic.

─────────────────

That day, after that specific coffee date, not only were you tardy for the last rehearsal, but you were also vituperated by Claire. 

“I don’t trust you.” 

“Claire, I swear to you—” 

“Oh, not this again!” 

Sheva’s writhing between you and Claire, her head is cracking open, so to speak. She keeps one hand on your shoulder and the other on Claire’s forearm, but her arms draw back, both of you rebuffing her every gesture. 

“You showed up in his jacket. For fuck’s sake. You’re looking me in the eye and fucking lying to me.” 

“It’s not what you think.” 

Your words have always been meager in expressing your true self-defense. It’s no better now. 

“So you really are fighting over a guy. This is really happening. Girls, this guy bleaches his hair regularly!” Sheva chimes in and maintains her equanimity. What you are doing is quite puerile in her eyes. 

“I wonder how you’d react if your best friend fucked your ex-boyfriend, Sheva. Would you be so cool and mighty about it?” 

Aww. She still considers you her BFF. 

“Yeah, that’s what it’s called, an ex! Why can’t you just believe her? If you can’t trust your best friend, who else can you trust?” Sheva nudges Claire with a little gust of force, and Claire slumps down on the couch. She’s cross and indignant and doesn’t care that her butt stings when Sheva pushes her. 

Seems calmer, or that’s what you’re praying for. Please let it be so. Please, please, friendship Gods and Goddesses.

“You need to believe me, Claire. I told you.” 

Not a word comes out of her mouth, and she purses her million-dollar lips closely. Looking like she can’t decide on what might fall out of her tongue.

“I didn’t sleep with Leon.” 

You grovel on your knees; just how pathetic you can be when you want to be. 

Another last whine, forlorn (you may have already said the same thing a hundred times since you’ve arrived home). 

“You saw it on my dress. Full of fucking retch, Claire!” 

More details to go, and you wish you could explain to her how utterly incapacitated you were last night. From under her pretty eyelashes, she gives you a downcast appraisal. 

“I went out for some air after dancing with you. I was a mess, Claire. I looked everywhere for you. Then he came, and, you know, silly me, I fucking dozed off.” 

Sheva hugs her arms across her chest, monitoring a hushed and more subdued conversation between the two of you. Probably best not to interrupt. 

“Ugh. He always loved being the big hero.” Claire finally swallows her reticence, endearingly vacillating. Thank God. 

“Don’t fall for him. Don’t be a moron. God, you’re so stupid. You don’t even know it. He’ll set you up in a game, and before you know it, you’ll be stuck in the mud.” 

Well, you weren’t expecting a herd of counselors from your best friend. It leaves a peppery ginger on your tongue. 

“Pfff. Claire, don’t be ridiculous. You really think I’m hung up on Leon? He’s not my type. Piers is my type, duh.” You say it like the kookiest thing you’ve ever heard in your life. 

For all the things you don’t know, you speak with the vanity of a clueless nepo baby, as if you’ve been in this line of endeavor since the day you were born. 

“I saw the way he looked at you. I know that look.” 

Ha. Now she’s channeling the ultimate Daenerys Targaryen speech. 

“Very well, Claire Targaryen.” You smile dotingly at her, thinking it wouldn’t harm sharing a witty little tidbit. 

“Seriously... just go, okay? Leave me alone.” 

That’s where the rubber hits the road. Claire, your dearest friend, wants you out of here. It’s unbelievable. In your head, your memory is bare and there are no words, but your heart is crushed in a tearful pain that you can’t articulate. There are no labels or names for this feeling in your vocabulary. 

You blink at her, twice and your smile frazzle subtly.

She won’t change her mind, that is for sure. She wants you gone. 

You get up and walk out of there while you can. Sheva lingers behind you, but you’re fast and rightfully upset.

─────────────────

Wearing Leon’s Schott jacket and the t-shirt combo he provided is not exactly the kind of fancy getaway you’d want to pull off, but you’re quite adamant.

You go to the only place you can go. 

To home. 

It’s been years; you haven’t seen your parents, and who knows what it’s like now? In the car, your model face, admired by millions, the one you bequeathed from those two people who hated each other like a curse on their souls so passionately, is in a state of shambles. 

Walking into the garden of a vast estate your mom bought for a pittance, you can spot your father’s nifty all-black Stellantis. It sparkles in the glow of the porch light just above the main doorjamb. 

You cringe and then look at the door and the gold-engraved “welcome” inscription on the double sash of the wooden door. Just how “cozy” would it be to step in here again after so many years? 

As you muster up the guts within yourself to ring the doorbell, the door itself flies open. Two pairs of eyes you’ve never seen before, but who instantly identify your face, are staring at one another. 

“Oh my God! It’s you!” The girl is the walking example of the L.A. accent itself.

Since she’s wearing a skintight “daddy’s girl” tank top and a short denim skirt, odds are good that you’re talking to one of your dad’s new dollies. You know, the bimbo and the Barbie ones. 

She envelops you in a bear hug. Sweet, toffee, and mucilaginous undertones of muscat perfume overwhelm all your senses. 

“I’m your biggest fan. Oh, my room and my walls are full of your latest Vogue photoshoots. Versace was such a fantastic choice for your palette. That dress... ah! I-uh. Was. In. Love.” 

There’s a certain luster in the girl’s eyes as she goes on and on. Really, Dad, how old could this poor girl be? You can’t stop thinking about it, but the more you think about it, the more deeply it sickens you. 

“Thanks.” 

As riveted as you were by the prospect, you had gotten far enough in this biz to learn how to keep those around you at bay with fake cheerful smiles. Perhaps you really do have that rampaging Hollywood blood coursing through your veins. 

“I came to see my dad, but—” 

She sweeps her arm down from your shoulder to your waist, and with her free hand, she whips out her flip phone, smiling at the camera. 

“Say cheese!” 

You don’t. 

Your pose with a faded pallor mirrors on her screen, and you catch a dubious glance from her. She’s plainly querying you. 

“A little smile would do you good...”

“Bitch.” She nags the last word in a barely audible coo, clammed up more than any of the preceding chunks of words that came out of her mouth. 

Excellent. 

Like you have no problems, and you have to put up with this horseshit. Why did you even bother coming here? This house isn’t even your home. Not anymore. They’ve carted away everything from your childhood, and a handful of crumbs of fragmentary images of the past are all that’s left of any of it for you. 

No point insisting on three drips of memories in a life that takes many liters to survive. Nostalgia is frivolous. 

Besides, you feel bitchy enough to give this girl her paycheck. 

Except your dearest father does intervene. His noisome mug never dims a morsel, not even when he sees you. 

“What a strange coincidence, sweetheart.” 

“Certainly is.” 

Forget it.

Could a man who never knew how to be a decent father suddenly, by some strange turn of fate, come to discover what it means to be one? You’re a delusional one. This is just one of your little glitches—the very first instinct of a little girl running to her daddy any time she’s hurt. He never knew how to mend and heal those little wounds in the first place. 

“Why did you come here?” Your father’s brows shoot to his hairline. A horrible sight for his hair is receding. Reprehensibly. 

Doesn’t look like he’s going to let you in, though. He appears quite happy with his new girlfriend on his arm, and his common-law wife, your mother, is somewhere who knows where. 

“Well. It’s Mom.” You perjure, drawing a blank verse or two. Moments like these are precisely when the words essentially latch at the base of your throat. 

“She’s not here.” 

“Ha. Yeah. I can see that.” Your facial tissues, your lips, they all start to ache from ersatz smiling arts and language. Poker face can only do what it costs. 

“I think—” 

“You need to—” 

Your words and your father’s words jar with one another. It’s a mess. Even for a glimpse, it baffles you how much emotion there is in the old man’s face. And him too. His girlfriend rolls her eyes, a numbing distaste for the father and daughter in all this kerfuffle. 

“Ugh. This is so boring.” 

She walks inside. 

You nervously fidget with the folds of the jacket Leon gave you as a provisional. 

“I think I’d better go.” 

“You’re right.” The old man clears his throat as if he were about to overcome an obstacle. He’s silently begging you to put an end to his misery here, and you’re doing that just fine; you’re always ready to walk the tracks. 

“Good night, Dad.” 

“Night, kiddo. I’ll call you when your mom gets home.” 

“Sure. I’ll be waiting.” 

You won’t. How would anybody give a fuck? It’s too late. 

It’s nothing but a night alone for a wounded heart and the coveting of a whim that never had a chance to bloom. 

Either your menstrual cycle is nearing or the end itself is near.

The billboards are lit up with crystallized lights. It’s a visual. Makes your eyes glaze over a bit. 

The sign just above it reads “THE END IS NEAR!” in capital lettering. Above that are plaques with the new single releases of Leon and his group. He’s the talk of the city, and the world for that matter, so his face is in the foreground, a cerebral display, and Chris and Carlos’ faces are hot on his shoulders. The chorus of their million-selling track on Spotify is rasping in your frostbitten ears. Leon’s voice is a smooth crossover riff, raspy, and he’s making love with the bass guitar. 

On the terrace where you are sitting, a breeze gently caresses your face, leaving the crisp touch of snow on your cheek. The cold sinks into your veins, blue-tinted blood rushing through your body, no thanks to the booze. You feel queerly toasty. 

Leon’s jacket definitely lasts through the cold winters. It’s like your personal furnace. 

The traffic is hectic past the glass handrail, jostled by the car lights streaming down, and the first baby snowflakes of January are pelting down from the sky. It’s quite late, the rush hour of hungover midnight. 

Even as the elliptical chases the minute hand, you watch the passers-by. The prominent and whitewashed faces are just names. They greet you, acknowledge you with gracious smiles, but that’s it. Never so genuine that they would actually sit down next to you. 

Except for one name.

Except for Leon, who, in what must have been an illusory twist of fate, casually crosses the table with a flute of champagne in his hand. 

He doesn’t recognize you at first when he passes by your booth, but on the second glance, he captures that swan-like grace at once. 

Stepping backwards, as if he’s moonwalking, he skips over to your side to forestall your horrified side-eye.

“I shoulda known you were a vampire. You never sleep.” 

He thinks he’s made a stylish enough debut with these words. Whatever it takes to charm you. 

“No, come on. Are you stalking me?” 

“Nah. I’m too much of a busy man for that kind of thing, sweetheart. Though I’ve heard on some fanfiction sites that there are people out there. They write me off as a complete weirdo.” 

He slides into the chair straight across from you. 

“Check it out when you’re feeling like it.” 

Absently your eyes wander over his shoulder and zero in on the mass of light in the distance. In shimmering floodlights, people are laughing and making TikTok videos, some twerking, others striking jaunty poses for the camera for their thirst trap edits. Bread and butter for the fans. 

“’s rude to overlook someone when they’re talking to you. Didn’t your mother tell you that?” 

In your consciousness, you realize that even Leon’s name is lost in the cacophony of your milieu. You still do have a problem named Leon at this table.

“I don’t have time for this.” 

“Time for what?” 

Thoughts pile up in the back of your foggy brain, but they don’t coalesce into a harmonious, final answer. The blurry words worm their way out of your mouth, and they evaporate in the bitter cold air. 

Should you be kind and remind him that you’re weak? 

“I don’t know.” You bluntly say, but Leon can smell the suspense. 

“Are you drunk again?” 

The arch of your eyebrow furrows instinctively, automatic as the blooming of a flower when you water it—flourishing and blushing. But drown it too much, and it wilts, fades. He just doesn’t grasp it, can’t get it through his thick skull that you don’t want to chit-chat. 

Be that as it may, there’s one fact that’s indisputable: you want to fuck him. You’re simply at odds with yourself. 

The more Leon comes at you, the more you’re falling into error, but beggars can’t be choosers.

It’s unfortunate that you can roll over when you feel a stone. 

That thing you’re ruthlessly searching for could quite possibly be Leon. He’s the one who has reduced you to the devil’s quarry himself. Either that or you’re the one in extremis. 

Right now, however, it’s a bet neither of you care about. Unworthy of further discussion. Mouths are otherwise occupied. 

Your mouth shamelessly hyphenates his name while his mouth ecstasies on the honeydew betwixt your spread legs. Your eyes roll graphically as the tip of his nose, which looks good when he takes a snort from the lining of vanilla icys, bumps against the nacre of your clit a crack or two. It’s like you’re possessed by something, by demons or poltergeists.

The sullen and muffled fumes of profanity are belching out of the bedroom door where he’s propping you up against it. This is the very public domain information; Leon Kennedy is an excellent pussy eater. 

It’s one thing to hear from the women he’s slept with that he’s that swell; it’s quite something else to have the saccharine taste of your cunt melting in his mouth like cotton candy on the tip of his tongue just then.

“Leon... fuck. No. Want it.” Your tongue is all dry. 

You can’t remember the last time you felt the highs of ecstasy from a tongue fuck like this. Hollywood is full of people with small dicks, and the whole insertion and pull-out game sucks here, foreplay is long gone.

Luckily, you can always take a chance on someone (actually your best friend’s ex-boyfriend) who at least knows how to worship what he sees, and you reap the rewards of the risk you take. And he feels generous enough to let you have it all tonight. 

With a touch as sensuous as a butterfly’s wing, his thumb meanders through your aching bundle of nerves, igniting a fire of euphoria through your body. When he lightly palms your opening, when he feels the plushness of your slick walls, a delicate breath escapes your mouth, akin to a prayer of subservience to this very moment of pure pinch and rapture. 

“So sweet when you cum.” 

He blows your mind, the story of how you got here, the blowjob you pulled on him in his car — all that’s in the past. The only thing that matters is that you need to forget everything that happened tonight in the morning and the painstaking labor of that commitment. Pulling his belt on and off takes no extra time flat. His aching erection takes a toll on Leon, both psychologically and physically. 

When he tucks you properly into his bed, he casts a phantom over you like he’s your own exclusive brand of ghost. Kissing on a first date was never his thing, but he can’t let you go when his lips are still tantalized by your moreish taste. 

He’s making a nicer entrance than you’d expect and then some; you’re squeezing him so tightly, and he’s stippling hot kisses across the tender flesh of your throat. 

Breathless and forehead to forehead is too romantic and superfluous for a debut tryst, but that’s what rebound sex is for. 

“Fuck. Oh, fuck.” 

Maybe he’s louder than you are in these seconds— in these very seconds of his whet of thrust followed by the seconds of him pulling out soon to only bully back into your dewy cunt.

Makes your head reeling, and he wallows in the sin of the tightness stretching around the sheer girth of his cock. 

“Pussy’s so fucking good. She’s all swollen from me.” His whisper is fervid and sweeping against your cheek.

Yes. Indeed, his mouth doesn’t seem to be shutting up here either, even when he’s fucking you deep in his own bed. 

The deep azure shade of his eyes is clouded with pearlescent blue; his pupils are pitch-black orbs, and he watches his cock slide in and out of your drenched pussy in chaotic upheaval, the metal of his frenum piercing taunting your swollen clit as you drape his dick in a warm cocoon. 

“Pretty, pretty pussy suckin’ me so nice, yeah?” His voice is a throaty whisper that makes your poor, mushy brain tingle tunefully — an acrid, itchy scab that has just covered the wound. 

“Fuck,” he grunts crassly, “been thinking about this all—ungh!—night—this fucking skirt up and fucking you real loud, baby.”

Seriously, he could just write a song or a lengthy poem for your lovely pussy right here and then. 

A hubristic tinge variegates his pink lips, a wicked one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He’s enjoying this; hell, he’s fucking loving it. His laugh-like treble is a low rumble as he pounds into you with a little more force, a little more urgency. The bed rocks under you, groaning abjectly. 

“C’mon, baby, cum on my cock. Y’know I got you. I got you so good.”

He knows how to do it.

Once bodies and emotions are merged, they move into a harmonic coherence, and just like that, he makes you cum for the second time tonight. A string of bland events that are frozen in your brain, clinging to your fiber, you feel your own tears trickling down your cheek in an attempt to get rid of them in one fell swoop, barely blinking open your eyes. 

You cradle his cheek closer, pushing away the wisps of hair falling in curtains in front of his blues. You want to kiss away the cruelty that cloaks his lips, but Leon, unable to tear himself away from your pussy that is still squeezing him, is too engrossed for such kisses. 

One blink and you’ll miss that fleeting moment as the seconds tick by, Leon barely pulls out a shred from you and strokes his cock on your belly until he finds comfort in it, painting white ribbons on your dainty skin. 

Seconds afterward are spent on your own, burdened by the cost of your one night’s slip-up, and you two stare at each other wide-eyed.

Two pairs of eyes, parted lips, and a kind of rare prettiness you usually find in men that will haunt you for a while. Ken blonde hair aglow in the light of the dawn and buried layers of emotions locked away in secrets that are too debauched to divulge.

Pearls of promise on the tip of your tongue, but you don’t dare spill them out. Heaven will hate you. Claire will hate you. 

In Leon’s estimation, per contra, you’re a damsel in distress, big eyes, and a girl who has somehow succeeded in wrapping all her depravity in the thin threads of her angelic eyes. Seraphic but dangerous. An inner part of his brain keeps hammering into his thoughts that everything has only just begun. 

[rainydayathogwarts]

Hiiiii! The first thing I wanted to say was that I LOVE your writing, it’s SO GOOD. I was wondering if you could write like a friends to lovers about Sirius where like they won’t admit their feeling for each other and then it ends with like LOWKEY rly dirty smut. Idk if that’s too much to ask but I would really love it!

Productivity boost - Sirius Black

thank you so much lovely, i hope you enjoy this! cw: SMUT, exhibitionism, semi-public sex? no protection wc: 2.6k+

A thoughtful hum. A subtle lick of your lips. A hand brushing your hair out of your face. Sirius swallowed up all of your movements like a hungry predator, and he rushed to offer you the hair tie around his wrist. At the realisation of what Sirius had offered you, you laughed joyously, deeply thanking him as you took it from his hands. Tying your hair back loosely, you felt your cheeks heat up, a smile on your face that you weakly tried hiding with a hand over your mouth. Sneaking a glance back at the boy, you found him still looking your way. You both averted your gazes away from each other at the same time, humiliated by the prospect of being caught.

From across the table, Remus and Lily shot each other an exasperated look, and when James joined the four of you, they sent him the same one. Immediately, the boy knew what was happening, dropping his bag down and rolling his eyes before slumping down on the floor with the rest of you, working on the low table in front of the fireplace. It had been weeks of you and Sirius exchanging flirtatious glances and teasing conversations, touchiness between you increasing as you commonly shared hugs, sneaky hands lingering on waists. Because you were the only two of the friend group taking potions as a NEWT, it meant you had six hours of fooling around together in lessons a week, and therefore, you’d become considerably closer.

Sirius placed a hand on the small of your back, leaning close to you to peak at your answers over your shoulder. His hot breath on your neck had you glancing his way, otherwise accustomed to his gentle touch in your skin. “Anything I can help you with Mr. Black?” You teased, looking at him over your shoulder. He leaned his chin on your shoulder, scanning through your homework. “Yeah,” he mumbled “Have you done question 6? The use of the stewed mandrake in the oculus potion?” You gasped Sirius’s name out, attracting the attention of the three students facing you. “We have to complete 50 questions for tomorrow and you’re only at question 6? Might as well choose to do the essay instead.” Sirius made a grumbled sound of annoyance, mumbling about ‘boring essays’, but he straightened his back, watching as you flicked through endless pages of your assignment until you found the right page. You handed it to him, explaining your writing process, and Sirius smiled, watching intently as you spoke.

Neither you, Lily, Remus nor James missed the way Sirius’s eyes dipped down to focus on your lips, but you didn’t acknowledge it, instead smiling softly at him as you finished your explanation. You brought your hand to Sirius’s flimsy assignment paper, tapping your finger on it, instantly grabbing Sirius’s attention as you said “Now eyes on here, Black.” Sirius groaned, letting himself fall against your side, his eyes trained on your face. You chuckled, ignoring Sirius’s pleading look, instead continuing to answer the questions due tomorrow. “Sweetheart, Slughorn’s going to give you a detention if you don’t finish this.” “S’fine.” Yo turned to face Sirius, pushing yourself up into a standing position and offering him both your hands. “How about we go on a walk? Get a short break and come back? Boost our productivity?” Sirius happily took your hands, barely putting his weight on you as he slid his legs under him, pushing himself onto his feet and giving you false belief that you helped him up. Sirius only lets go of one of your hands, the other one intertwining with your fingers as he led you away from the study table.

You furrowed your eyebrows as Sirius led you further down the common room. You pointed in the direction of the common room’s exit, mumbling a small “But-“, but Sirius ignored your word, pulling you up a a set of stairs that led to the boys dormitories. “I hope they just fuck and get it over with.” Remus grumbled, earning himself a slap on the back from James, who barked out a loud laugh, watching you both disappear behind the curve of the stairs.

“Sirius!” You gasped when the boy tugged you into the room, locking the door behind you and climbing over his bed to finally reach the balcony attached to his dorm. Throwing yourself onto the bed, you followed Sirius with your gaze, watching as his soft hair was pushed away from his face with the wind’s soft ripples. Suddenly, he turned his attention to you, pupils dilating at the sight if you draped over his sheets, your skirt dangerously high up, exposing your thighs. “Come out here!” Sirius called out, nodding his head in his direction, watching as you kicked your flats off, leaving you in white socks. You shook your head with a giggle, your laughs increasing when Sirius ran towards you, hands finding home in the dips of your waist, tickling you softly. “No!” You screeched with a smile, and Sirius’s tickles immediately subsided, instead gripping both your hands to try and pull you off the mattress. You tugged him in your direction, still giggling, and Sirius let you pull him onto his own bed, a wide smile on his face.

“Come on, I want to show you something.” He whispered, beginning to get up again. You followed him, arms snaking around his waist from the back, peeking around his torso to look at the view from the balcony. Sirius raised one of his arms, wrapping it around your shoulders as you released your hold on him, now standing by his side. “Look at the view.” He mumbled, and you smiled, your stare fixed onto him, his sharp jawline and soft hair. “Mhm, I am.” You replied, making Sirius turn his head towards you. He smiled teasingly, “You are, huh?” You hummed in agreement, biting your bottom lip and turning away from him.

Sirius’s free hand travelled to your hip, trying to turn you to face him. “Come on, look at me.” Obediently, you returned your gaze towards him, cocking your head to the side. The arm wrapped around your shoulder moved so Sirius’s hand could cup your face, one thumb softly caressing your skin. “I think you’re a thousand times more beautiful than this view could ever be.” “Oh Sirius.” You mumbled, feeling your cheeks heat up as you dug your face in his chest. Sirius’s fingers were quick to pull your face out of hiding, a handsome smile gracing his features. Silently, you both stared at each other until finally, Sirius began leaning his face closer to yours.

Quickly, you pressed yourself onto your tip toes, immediately connecting your lips to his, Both your arms were instantly thrown over the tall boy’s shoulders, one of his hands cupping your cheek whilst the other wrapped tightly around your waist, dangerously low on your back. Sirius’s tongue pushed into your mouth, causing a low whimper to escape your lips, which he instantly swallowed up. He desperately licked into your mouth and you sighed into the kiss, tongue battling against his for dominance. Sirius pulled away from the kiss, grinning when you tried reconnecting your lips. Instead, he held you back, only leaning down to press his lips against yours in two short, chaste kisses. You pouted, a pleading look in your eyes telling Sirius you wanted more. Sirius held your chin between his thumb and index, pulling your lips apart before he finally kissed you again in an open mouthed kiss, easily gliding his tongue against yours.

You moaned into the kiss, pulling away sharply to drag Sirius back into the dorm, and push him onto his bed. He climbed up the mattress, and you quickly climbed over him, knees on either side of his thighs. Your chest brushed against Sirius’s as you leaned over him, desperately deepening the kiss, which you finally took control of. Sirius tightly gripped your hips, pushing them down onto his lap, where you grinned deliciously against his pelvis, feeling the ridge of his cock through his trousers. A moan ripped out of Sirius’s chest, his mouth opening in a breathless gasp. Your kisses trailed towards Sirius’s jaw and neck, biting on his skin before licking over the area, soothing the burn. He groaned, bucking his hips up into you, and you paused your kisses, sitting up on the boy’s lap to attempt to unbutton his shirt.

Sirius chuckled at your miserable attempt, pushing himself onto his elbows to watch you clumsily pull the buttons out of their little sockets, revealing inches of Sirius’s chest at a time, until finally, the entire shirt was unbuttoned. You wet your lips, gaping at his lean torso in admiration, and Sirius shuffled on the bed to toss the shirt on the floor. Your hands travelled down Sirius’s chest and down his abdomen, finally landing at the top of his trousers. Sirius clasped his hand over yours, chuckling quietly. “Calm down sweetheart.” And with a powerful buck of his hips and turn of his body, Sirius had rolled you over on the bed, trapping you underneath him.

You squealed, gripping Sirius’s biceps, and he immediately mimicked your movements, exposing your chest to him. Sirius groaned, lowering his face so he could press kisses all over your chest, focusing on your breasts. You sighed in satisfaction, tangling a hand in his hair as he left kisses on your skin. Sirius traced the edge of your bra with one finger before pulling the cup down to expose your tit. You gasped, watching as Sirius fluttered kisses around your nipple, waiting for it to harden before wrapping his lips around it and sucking hard. You jolted upwards, gasping in shock, and Sirius grinned, letting go of your sensitive nub before he continued his exploration downwards.

Without hesitation, he hooked his fingers in the fabric of your panties underneath your skirt, tugging it down in one swoop. Sirius crawled back on the bed, laying down on his stomach and hooking his arms around your thighs. “Sirius, you don’t-“ “Shhh!” Sirius interrupted, closing his eyes as he pressed kisses down your slit before licking up your cunt, causing your eyes to shoot wide open. Sirius brought one of his hands up to parts your lips, fingers searching for your clit. Sirius grinned when he found the sensitive sub, putting pressure on it and watching how you squirmed.

Sirius dipped his head down, lips wrapping around your clit and sucking hard. You moaned loudly, digging your head into the mattress behind you, fingers lacing in Sirius’s hair and tugging. Sirius used the same fingers to tease your entrance, dipping the tips of his winters into your hole. “Sirius,” You gasped, looking out to the side, where the balcony door was proudly open. “Sirius, the balcony is open!” You cried, slapping a hand over your mouth to muffle your moans, and Sirius detached from your pussy with a loud ‘pop’.

“Oh, you into that?” “What?” But it was too late to change Sirius’s mind: he was already pulling you off his best. You stood on shaky feet, letting Sirius drag you outside onto the balcony. You rushed to button your shirt up again, making yourself somewhat decent as Sirius pushed you against the railing.

“Sirius?” You asked breathlessly, listening closely to the zipping of Sirius’s trousers. “If this is what you’re into, I don’t mind.” He teased jokingly, pressing a kiss into the crook of your neck. “Someone could see us.” You whispered, glancing at him over your shoulder. A serious look overtake the boy’s face and he asked “Does that bother you? We can go inside.” But with an eager shake of your head, a smile was easily breaking out onto his face again.

Sirius cursed behind you, guiding his cock underneath your skirt to hide himself from the world. At the same time, he drove his cock between your folds, dipping his tip into your entrance. You tightly gripped the railing to steady yourself, bracing for the impact of Sirius’s cock impaling through your folds. When it finally came, your whole body jolted forward at the force of his thrust, your moan so loud you barely heard Sirius’s groan, his fingers digging into your hips so hard it would definitely leave marks. Sirius cursed from behind you, internally saying a short prayer that he wouldn’t cum before you - that would leave a bad impression. Sirius’s hips began rocking slowly into you, as if apologising for the brutal first thrust he had given you, massaging your gummy walls. You unwillingly clenched around Sirius’s cock, shutting your eyes tightly to will yourself not to lose control over your moans. Oh, you wished Sirius would be nice on you. And he was, just not in the sense you were talking about.

Sirius’s pace quickly increased, his hips colliding into yours, balls making a sharp slapping sound against your ass. You whined loudly, biting your lip to suppress your sounds, but Sirius quickly held your face in one of his hands, turning you slightly to look at him, and he muttered in between harsh breaths “Let me hear you darling.” You gave him a pleading look, desperate not to get caught by anyone. Sirius chuckled, thrusting his hips into you with more power, but you didn’t relent, the only sound coming out of you being little gasps for breaths. Sirius let go of your hip with one hand, circling it to your front and letting his fingers delve between your folds to rub at your clit. He felt your leg twitch, and throwing your head back onto Sirius’s shoulder, you allowed him the view of your teeth freeing your boredom lip, mouth opening to let a high pitched moan disperse into the chilly afternoon air.

“Oh god!” You cried, letting go of the railing with one hand to reach back towards Sirius. Sirius let go of your hip, his free hand now reaching forward to hold your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. He caressed his thumb over your hand, pressing fluttering kisses on your neck as he continued steadily thrusting into you. “‘M so close!” You breathed out, your chest heaving as you tried catching your breath. Each intake was broke. up by new moans rippling to your surface, Sirius’s fingers making real work on your body.

“Come on, cum for me.” In your preoccupation over your own pleasure, you failed to realise that Sirius’s thrusts were being sloppier, prioritising power over speed as he reached his orgasm. You whined loudly as you came, your orgasm causing a violent shake in your thighs, legs barely holding you up. Sirius wrapped an arm around your waist to help steady you, biting your shoulder to muffle his own cries as he unloaded his load of cum into you, thrusts gently subsiding. “Fuck, fuck, I love you, I love you so much.” The cloud of pleasure cleared from your brain just as Sirius uttered those words, and your eyes widened, hands gripping the railing one more as Sirius finally pulled out of you.

You didn’t give the boy a moment to recover before you were spinning around to look at him with a wide grin on your face. “What was that?” You teased, watching as his face turned a deep shade of red in humiliation. “Nothing, I- nothing.” He mumbled, tucking himself back in his trousers.

You stalked closer to Sirius, wrapping your arms around his waist and resting your chin on his chest. Hesitantly, he wrapped his arms around you. “So if it’s nothing, then now isn’t a good time to confess my feelings for you?” Sirius’s eyes shot wide open at your question, and he immediately scanned your face as though trying to detect a sign that you were lying. “You like me?” But to answer his inquiry, you only pushed yourself up on your tippy toes, pressing your lips against his.

[theorphicangel]

jjk men reaction to reader not wanting to stay over for the night

a/n: inspo by this cute tiktok :(((

modern au, no curses au

includes: gojo, geto, toji, nanami, sukuna

Gojo Satoru

You suggested a game night at his place, a reward for both you and him after a particularly busy work week. Tonight was the first time in a while that the two of you had seen each other, which is why it was so special for you to sleep over.

At least that's what Satoru thought until you pranked him by telling him you might go back home.

'I might leave in a bit, baby.'

'What?' Satoru was currently setting up the television, connecting it to the two game controllers.

'I said I might leave in a bit, maybe after fifteen minutes'

Immediately his face falls with his facial expression mirroring a kicked puppy. 'You're leaving? Why? I thought you wanted to sleep over?'

'Maybe not tonight, I'm tired.'

'But you brought your things over?'

'I changed my mind, toru, m'sorry maybe next time.

'But you can sleep in my bed if you're tired.' His voice is soft, paused with the game controller in his hand. His eyes glance over you, warm and tired. It's evident through his eyes that he really wants you to stay.

'But you promised to stay over so we can finally build our house on minecraft.'

'Toruuuu-' your heart melts and suddenly you can't take it anymore. 'I was joking baby, I'm not going anywhere.'

His face lights up, 'you were kidding?!'

You nod as satoru strides towards you, disregarding the two controllers in his hands. Immediately he's on top of you, pushing you down on the couch so you can't escape even if you tried.

Satoru places multiple kisses across your cheek, one right after the other, almost suffocating you. 'Don't ever do that to me again else l'll never let you leave.' he mutters before placing another kiss.

You giggle at satoru relentlessly placing kisses on your neck, 'I wouldn't miss out on building our minecraft house for the world.'

Geto Suguru

The two of you were sat in the kitchen, Suguru standing at the cooker making dinner for the two of you. Finally, the two of you had a clear schedule for the rest of the week to spend time together and what better than to spend a night together?

Sitting at the kitchen island, a video on your social media feed had come up of a girl pranking her boyfriend. It was a cute video and sparked your own curiosity to how your own boyfriend would react.

'Hey sugu, I don't think I'll sleep over tonight if that's okay.'

Suguru snaps his head over to you in disbelief. 'Really? but you brought all your things over?'

'I changed my mind, I'm kinda tired tonight.'

'right.' he mumbles, turning his head back as he prepares your plate.

You could only see his back but you knew that he was dejected. he was disappointed of course but he would respect your decision if you wanted some alone time. not a minute later, he heads your way setting down a plate of your favourite dish in front of you.

He takes a seat next to you with his own plate.

'I'll drive you back if you want.'

you nod, taking a bite of the food. you judge his expression and the way the crease between his brow holds. 'are you upset?'

Suguru is currently looking down at his food, a fork scraping at his place like a child who refuses to eat.

a pause. suguru bites down on his lower lip. 'yes, I wanted you to sleep over tonight. we could watch a movie or do whatever you wanted, it's been months since I've seen you.'

'it's been a few days, sugu'

'same thing princess.'

you let out a sigh, not able to take the scene of seeing your lover become so depressed. 'i'm kidding babe, it was a prank.'

with a smirk, Suguru finally stops poking at his food and takes a bite without restraint. 'I knew it.'

'Liar.'

'I was trying to make you feel bad.' he states, dark bangs falling over his eyes.

'Guess it worked huh?'

'You can bet it did.'

Nanami Kento

a movie played on the television screen, as you and kento snuggled on the couch. a blanket draped over you, laying on his chest and all your favourite snacks out on the coffee table was all you ever wanted.

about midway through the movie you remember that there was a prank you wanted to play on your boyfriend.

'hey ken.'

he hummed, vibrations traveling through your body.

'hey, I might leave in a few.'

'leave for what?' kento looked over at you, sat beside him on the couch.

'to go home.'

'right now? I thought you wanted to stay the night?'

'I did but I'm pretty tired, I'd rather sleep in my own bed i think.'

'oh right...okay.' he mumbles, his eyes are on the screen. he's tempted to pause the movie entirely wondering if there's something that's made you upset.

'are you sad that I'm leaving?' you ask sensing his hesitation.

'no.' kento pauses looking for the right words as he swallows. 'Maybe a little' he admits, 'I wanted to spend time with you.'

'we are spending time right now though?'

'is it selfish to ask for a little more time with you?' he asks, his cheeks flushing pink slightly.

'oh right, I was kidding by the way, I'm not leaving.'

'you and your pranks will kill me will kill me one day, d'you know that?'

you grab a hand that's around your waist and place a kiss on his knuckle as a reward for putting up with you. 'I knowwww, sorry love.'

Toji Fushiguro

'I think I might head home now.' you announce, standing up from the couch after hours of watching shows with toji. empty beer cans and opened bags of popcorn were messily distributed on the coffee table in front of you.

Toji was laid beside you, on the verge of falling asleep as the credits begin to play at the end of an episode. the two of you were binge-watching a show that had come out recently, currently on the last but one episode.

'what was that doll?' he thinks he must have misheard you.

'I said I think I'm going to head home, I'm pretty tired.'

For extra effect you head towards his apartment door, slipping on your shoes and making the move to grab your jacket and keys.

Whether it was at the jingle of your keys or the meaning of your words finally beginning to kick in, Toji was suddenly up and off the couch catching up with you.

'what do you mean home.'

'my home.' you emphasise, putting on your coat. 'my apartment, the one twenty minutes from here.'

in a blink of an eye you felt your wrist enwrapped in his large hand with the other at your waist guiding you backwards until you hit a wall.

Toji leans in, trapping you between his large figure and his wall. as he speaks you notice the scent of beer leave his mouth. his tone is dark and husky yet his eyes glow with emotion at the thought of you leaving.

'Thought you wanted to spend the night with me hmmm? You were the one complaining about not seeing me enough and now it's too much?'

you stammer, your brain completely blank at the tone of his words.

'It's too late to go back by yourself anyways plus we haven't finished the show.' his voice is low, sending vibrations through your body.

'I thought you weren't watching, you fell asleep.'

'almost.'

Toji's hands slowly peel away your coat from your body, 'I can help you change your mind if you're still thinking of leaving.' he suggests and your face heats up at his seduction.

'I was joking, I'm staying. just making sure that you were really awake.' you meet his eyes, allowing them to melt into yours.

without a warning you're suddenly hoisted over his shoulder and toji marches you back to the couch.

'a joke?...right...'

'put me down!'

'funny that you thought I'd ever let you leave anyways.' Toji places you down on the couch and you let out a huff.

you look up at him, your eyes challenging. 'was that a threat?'

'it's a promise doll.'

Sukuna Ryomen

'I think i'm going to leave soon.'

Sukuna's head snaps towards you, his attention directed towards his phone now interrupted by your statement. the two of you were, at least in your words, cuddling in bed. an arm wrapped around you whilst the two of you scrolled on your phones.

'where the fuck are you going?'

'Home. Where d'you think?'

'Why?' Sukuna mutters, caught off guard by your words.

'because I'm tired.'

'sleep in my bed then, you're here for a reason.'

'I want to sleep in my bed.'

'what's the difference? my bed is bigger than yours.'

'I like my bed.'

a pause occurs, the two of you maintaining eye contact.

'so you're going to go allll the way back home because you like your bed.'

'yes kuna'

'what about your shit that you dragged here?'

you shrug 'I'll take it with me.'

'And how are you going to get back?'

'drive me.'

Sukuna lets out a loud laugh.

'Uber then.'

An even louder laugh escapes from his mouth. 'you're not leaving.'

'I am, what are you-'

your words are cut off as Sukuna lunges towards you, suddenly straddling over you. you couldn't move even if you tried.

'kuna! what are you doing?'

'you're not leaving, it's late.'

'but I-'

'and you're not leaving because you asked to stay over in the first place, you'll get what you wanted.'

'it was a prank!' you admit, suddenly giving up to sukuna's demeanor.

'good you're sleeping here anyways.' he deadpans.

'I was always planning-' 'no excuses.'

thank you for reading!!

reblogs and comments are always appreciated.

[eletvdna]

Seduce And Destroy

Summary: elena and her little friend group have no idea that the new student in her class might be an another old ass vampire, but, news flash, she is.

You had been sitting in the principals office since morning, hearing him talk about how you should behave and act in school, the rules, the dresscode and whatnot.

You rolled your eyes for the ninth time already, straightening up and getting ready to leave as he hands you your schedule.

"Thanks sir, but next time, talk less to not be a bore," you gave him a tight lipped smile and walked out the door.

But, instead of scolding you or running after you for talking to him that way, he nodded and got back to his work.

You roamed the hallways, not really looking where you were going, since you were looking down at the schedule in your hands.

As you were about to turn a corner somebody pushed you, laughing as you fell to the floor.

"Yo, dumbo, look where you're going!" Chad laughed, you heard someone call his name in the crowd.

"Yeah, sorry, it's totally my fault," you chukled, looking up at him, extending your hand, "give me a hand?"

"What?" He looked around, as if checking if you were kidding him.

"I said, give me a hand."

"Yeah, sure, here," he extended his hand, helping you get up.

"Good, now you see that guy?" You pointed towards one of the buff guys in the hallway, before looking chad in the eyes, "start a fight with him and don't back down till you're unconscious."

He nodded before walking away.

"What are y'all looking at?" You said to students that were standing around you, murmuring about your and chad's interaction.

"Everyone, this is the new student, miss y/n y/l/n." You waved to the class in front of you, smiling brightly.

"Nice to meet you everyone, my name is y/n."

"Yeah, we already heard that!" Some guy in the back shouted, making half of the class laugh.

"Miss y/l/n, you can sit over there, next to miss gilbert," alaric your history teacher said, pointing towards the girl who raised her hand as a wave.

"Hi, I'm elena." She said as you plopped down in your seat, "don't mind people here, they tend to be...mean."

"It's nothing, " you smiled, turning towards the front of the class.

But, still, you felt two pairs of eyes burn a hole in the side of your head.

You were standing in front of your locker, putting your books in when you felt a slight tap on your shoulder.

"Hey, y/n, i was wondering if you wanted to hang out with me and my friends after school?" Elena smiled up at you.

"What for?" You looked at her confused.

"You know, to get to know each other," she said almost desperate as you nodded, making her smile, "I'll send you the location!"

You gave her a thumbs up, before she dissapeared behind the corner.

You pulled out your phone,

Katherine:

See, i told you, she looks exactly like me.

Me:

No, she doesn't, she's prettier.

You shut off your phone, sliding it into the pocket of your jeans.

You looked up at the mansion in front of you, "I think I'm here..?"

"Great, I'll open the door for you right now," elena hung up, and a few seconds after, door opened, revealing her, "come in!"

"This is your house? It's massive."

"No, my boyfriends and his brothers," she giggled, taking you into the living room, where five other people were present.

"I thought it would just be caroline and bonnie? If i remember their names correctly." At your voice all five of them turned towards you, but only two of those people caught your eyes, "salvatores."

"How do you know their last name?" The blond asked from her position on the couch, looking confused.

"What? What last name?" Bonnie and elena looked confused, but damon and stefan were staring at you warily, well atleast stefan was, while damon looked like he wanted to kill you right then and there.

"Y/n," stefan said out loud, sighing as he looked to the side to damon, "what are you doing here?"

"Wait, you two know each other?" Elena asked, but no one answered.

"Aren't you one of katherine's little dogs?" Damon smirked.

"Aren't you the brother she never loved?" You bit back, as you heard a few gasps around the room.

Damon sped to you, pining you against the wall with his hand on your neck.

"Okay, what is going on?!" Bonnie snapped, looking over to us warily.

Again, no one answered.

"My guy, you should know that I'm six hundred years older than you, which means im much stronger than you are," this time you smirked, getting a hold of Damon's arm before twisting it hearing a crack, and throwing him across the room into a shelf.

"Will anybody tell us what's going on?!" Caroline yelled, looking over to you and stefan since damon was still lying on the floor where you threw him.

"It's a long story," caroline glared at me, making me roll my eyes, "but, to sum it up, Katherine and i know each other, stefan and i know each other, and that thing that i just threw, also know each other, how? We used to be friends way back when these two idiots were enamored by katherine, and after that too, before they turned their humanities off, and decided to just eat every living thing on this planet, that's when i decided the smartest desicion was to just leave them be, they were weighing me down anyway."

"Bitch," damon groaned, getting up and sitting down on the couch.

"Are you saying that as 'you're a bitch' or a 'my body hurts like a bitch' choose the answer wisely, or it might have consequences."

"Fuck you."

"Bet you're fantasizing about it," you smiled, looking at elena, "oh, sorry, i have to go, I'm late for work."

"W-work?"

"Yeah, i wanted to say it at our hang out, but, i started working at the grill, and i believe, matt, you're gonna be late too," you looked at the boy next to caroline, who looked down at his watch, "wanna drive with me?"

"No, don't you dare go near him, let alone even hurt him," caroline sneered, standing in front of matt in a protective manner.

"Oh, don't worry, i won't, after all, i was warned by klaus himself, if i hurt you or anyone dear to you, he'll rip my heart out, and we don't want that now, do we?"

"You know klaus too?" She looked at me in disbelief.

"Caroline, love, you're not the only one that guys chase after now, are you?" You smirked walking out the door, and towards your car, the smirk widening when you saw matt jogging up to you.

A/n: first time ever writing, don't judge too hard, like comment, reblog, pls! Tell me if y'all want part two!

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

63 and Stobin please!

and when I crawl out in the morning (can I stay inside your head?)

Steve Harrington & Robin Buckley || ~2k || Implied/Reference Child Abuse || Minor Character Death || Good Friend Robin Buckley || Blood and Gore || Off-screen Violence

Robin’s sitting atop the kitchen counter, all the lights off aside from the one above the stove, just enough to cast ominous shadows against the cupboards. Her parents have been asleep for hours, but something’s keeping her up—a restlessness running through her, making her legs twitch, heels clacking against the cupboard doors noisily.

She’s antsy, toes flexing with the desire to run. She recognizes the feeling from being trapped beneath Starcourt, from flinging fireworks at a monster straight from a little kid’s nightmares.

There’d been something to do then, something to run toward, or flee from. She’s not sure what to do with that same urge at one in the morning alone in her kitchen.

The question is answered when the phone rings. Her hand moves immediately, reaching behind herself to snatch it off the wall without having to move from her perch atop the counter, so fast it doesn’t even finish its first ring.

“Hello?” she says down the open line.

Her blood courses through her veins as she listens to the steady, crackling breathing, phone pressed hard enough to the side of her face that it hurts.

She’s just about to say hello again, hoping the person on the other side of the line will finally say something back, but then Steve’s voice comes through, strangely flat as he asks, “can you come over?”

This happens a lot late at night, Steve calling her for one reason or another. Sometimes it’s nightmares, or he’s just bored, or he misses her too much to function. She comes over, always, but that’s not what he says, how he asks.

He should be saying, “can I pick you up?” with only his tone of voice giving away what he needs. But, that’s not what he asked, and he’s got no tone of voice at all.

“Be there in five,” she says, not waiting for a response before she hangs up the phone, barely pausing to shove her feet into the sneakers she’d left by the front door before bursting into the quiet of a night in the suburbs.

It’s an eight minute bike ride to Steve’s house from hers, but Robin’s got a heartbeat in her thighs, she’s pedaling so hard. There are no cars on the road, so she forgoes the bumpy sidewalk and rides in the middle of the street, her mom’s voice an easily ignored phantom chiding in the back of her head.

She never rides her bike at night, and as the shadows of branching trees creep across the pavement, illuminated by distant porch lights, she vows to never, ever do it again.

But she knows, deep down in her sternum where Steve lives that if he calls, she’ll always come.

The spokes of her bike click as she coasts it all the way up Steve’s driveway, not even bothering to hit the brakes as she jumps up and lets it drop carelessly right up against the house. It’s still clattering against the pavement as she flings open his front door without a knock.

“Steve?” she calls, voice ragged with exertion and all the fear crawling up her throat. “Where are you?”

In contrast to her pitchy tone, Steve’s is without inflection as he says, “in the kitchen,” quiet enough that if the house wasn’t silent, she might not have heard it at all.

Robin goes to take off her shoes to line them up neatly beside the rest, but there, right by Steve’s pristine white tennis shoes, are a pair of polished dress shoes, too big to ever belong to Steve.

She doesn’t bother taking her own off, that same instinct that had kept her awake and by the phone so late at night urging her to keep them on.

The light in the Harrington’s kitchen has always been fluorescent, bright enough to reflect off the pristine white tiles, casting the entire space in stark relief.

The first thing she sees is Steve’s back. He’s sitting at one of the tall bar stools pushed up against the island counter. He’s in his own seat, her usual spot sitting vacant at his side. That’s where they sit when they’re eating meals too messy for the couch, neither of them fond of the giant, stuffy table situated in the dining room.

Steve’s not eating right now.

As she takes slow, measured steps toward him, she catches sight of his hands. They’re clasped together, grip tight enough that she can see the loose skin against his knuckles wrinkling up, cracking the drying blood coating them. She takes a few more steps, and his side profile comes into view, and there’s blood on his face, too, splattered against it like someone had scooped it up and flicked it at him.

Even his hair isn’t clean—red running through it, streaked like he’d run his bloody fingers through the strands. Or gotten a botched dye job at the salon.

She’s frozen, neither flight or fight taking over when there’s nothing to punch, nothing to run from, just Steve Harrington covered in enough blood that whatever wound he’s sustained must be fatal.

She should call someone; Robin never bothered to learn first aid.

But as she turns her gaze away from Steve, ready to rush to the phone, she catches sight of a socked foot, just barely poking out from behind the island. She stares at it, transfixed, waiting for it to move, even a twitch. It shows no signs of life.

It’s only as she starts walking again, circling the island to catch sight of whatever’s hidden behind it, that Steve comes back to life. “Robin?” Steve asks, and when she turns back toward him, his eyes are big in his skull, the blood flecked across his face drawing out the red of the vessels in his eyes. He looks small, suddenly, like a little boy caught doing something he shouldn’t.

“It’ll be okay,” she says, staring into his bloodshot eyes.

She waits as he swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing with the nervous moment. Only once he nods does Robin turn back around and take the final few steps to round the counter and stare down at the body the foot belongs to.

That’s what it is now, a body. It’s slack, collapsed on the floor, pose peaceful enough that Robin might think it was sleeping, if not for all the chunks missing. It’s only as she looks at the vestiges of a suit the body’s wearing that she remembers the shoes aligned neatly beside Steve’s own at the front door.

They’d match perfectly with the dressed down suit she sees in front of her, if it wasn’t for the blood all over the button-up, still perfectly tucked into wrinkle-free pants, despite what must have been quite a struggle based on the way the white fabric’s shredded, hints of mincemeat poking through.

She’s never met the man, but this must be Mr. Harrington. He’d been alive last she’d heard, and now she can barely tell he’s a person at all. His face is almost gone, skull visible past the pulp that’s been made of him. He looks like the ground beef she sometimes picks up from the grocery store for her mom—not a man, just meat.

And as she stares down at the dead body, she’s terrified, suddenly, of what could have left those marks. Steve had told her about the Demogorgon that had burst through the Byers’ ceiling, the Demo-dogs that had circled him and the kids like they were the pack’s newest kill. He’d described claws, and teeth, and creatures designed to rend flesh from bone.

If a Demo-What’s-It had been the thing to kill Mr. Harrington, then they need to call the calvary, or it won’t just be Steve’s shitty dad laying dead and almost unrecognizable on the kitchen floor.

Her heart’s beating fast again, a frantic ba-thump, ba-thump, ba-thump beneath her ribcage as she tries to figure out who to call, what to do.

“I’m not sorry.” Steve’s deadened voice comes suddenly enough that Robin startles.

It’s as she’s turning around to face him that she sees it: there, dropped haphazardly in front of the sink is a baseball bat full of nails. There are bits of flesh stuck to the ends of the nails, blood coating the wood, new enough to still be dripping red.

The last time she’d seen it, it was beneath Steve’s bed.

She stares at it, and finally, things start to click into the place. There’s no Demo- anything, nothing to fight, no one to call, just a dead body, a murder weapon, and a mess to clean up.

“Okay,” she says, gaze still trained on the bat, but she’s barely looking at it anymore, eyes sightless as her mind ticks away, faster than she can keep up with. “Okay, okay, is your mom home?”

When she turns back toward Steve, the entire mess that is the Harrington’s kitchen now out of sight, Steve’s staring up at her with that same dead-eyed look. Robin doesn’t care, can’t when he’s alive in front of her, no monsters coming to kill him. That’s all that matters right now, him alive, and free, and by her side. They can deal with everything else later.

So, when he shakes his head—no witness, no second body—she’s hit with a relief so bone-deep, she almost collapses with it.

But there’s too much to do, so she shores up her legs and turns back around, sidestepping the spilled blood, and the body to get to the sink. Her shoe hits the bat and clatters noisily against the Harrington’s fancy tile. She ignores it to turn on the tap, wetting the dishrag until it’s dripping between her hands.

“Take off your clothes,” she says, walking around the whole mess again to get back to Steve’s side. He stays seated on the barstool, looking up at her with blank eyes she’d normally make fun of him for. “Good job doing this whole thing in the kitchen, dingus, but we’ve gotta get you clean.”

Steve stands up, still moving like a puppet, but it’s okay—Robin’s got all of his strings. He gets undressed without hesitation, movements mechanical as he strips off his t-shirt, pants, and underwear, letting each item drop to the tile until he’s standing in front of her, entirely naked.

She starts at the top of his head and works down, perfunctorily scrubbing at the blood caked into the hair on his head and chest alike. It flakes off to join the rest of the mess on the kitchen floor. It’s okay; she’ll clean it up.

Robin goes back to the sink to wet the rag twice, thorough enough to leave him pink but clean. He stays silent through the whole thing, barely twitching even when she scrubs hard enough that it must hurt. He’s quiet as she kneels between his legs, the only protest coming when she swipes at the bottom of his foot.

He twitches, entire body shaking as he yanks his foot free and puts it back down, keeping it hidden from her seeking fingers. She didn’t know he was ticklish.

“Can’t have you tracking any of this through the house,” Robin says, as she pries his foot back up off the ground. She’s relieved when he lets her. “I don’t know how to get blood out of white carpet.”

“I do,” Steve says, but he stays still as best he can while she wipes between his toes.

Once done, she stands up and stares at her best friend, pink and clean in all his naked glory.

“Go shower,” she says, dropping the rag onto the tile. It splats, full of water and all the blood she’d just rubbed off of his skin. “Wash your entire body three times, with a soap and rag. Hair, too.”

He still looks so far away, like even as he’s standing in front of her, she can’t quite reach him. She wants to touch so badly that it aches. She wants to wrap her arms around him, feel his heart beating against her own sternum, a constant thrum. Proof of life.

But there’s blood on her hands now, too, so she lets them drop to her sides, hanging uselessly as she asks, “can you do that for me?”

Steve nods, ready, always, to follow her directions. “What are you going to do?”

Robin turns away from him, the snapping of their locked gazes almost a physical sensation as she looks back toward the scene of the crime. She surveys the mess in the kitchen—the blood, the weapon, the body, and realizes there’s only one answer to his question.

“I’m going to fix it.”

And as Steve showers off the evidence of his crime, that’s exactly what she does.

I frankly Had To when I saw what song this was So! I hope you guys enjoy, and as always, shoutout to my beta @queenie-ofthe-void who managed to edit this literally minutes after I finished writing it. <3