#based on my balcony in the summer

[monstermonger]

Fire-roasted chestnuts bring in the best visitors C:

[jamminvroomvroom]

🎀 anon

congrats on 5k

hey bb ! i’ve been brainrotting on insatiable lando and his gf for weeks now omg

for a cute lil fic i was thinking of reader being max f’s sister and lando and her being secretly together. they’re all on vacation together and lando and reader are super insanely insatiable and the story on how they act on vacay 😈😈

anywhere she wants.

ln x fem fewtrell!reader

in which no one approves of your relationship, so lando shows them just how good he is to you…

oh my sweet 🎀 anon, i’m sorry this took so long! slowly getting back into the groove of writing, starting with this little piece! i went a bit off script but the vibes are hopefully similar to the request! huge thanks to angel bby @fairene for helping me out!enjoy! lemme know what you think!! big hugs and lots of love 💖

songs to set the mood: my love mine all mine by mitski, i know places by taylor swift, she will be loved by maroon 5, summertime sadness by lana del rey

warnings: 18+!! minors dni!! smut, fluff, angst, a bit of exhibitionism kinda, oral (fem receiving), fingering, p in v, established relationship, max being a dick, angry/feral!lando, girlboss!reader, hints of ownership kink? for like. a second, lando being wise (not canon lmao), swearing

4.2k words

fairy lights drench the pool with light, a glow dancing over the still surface in ripples. you smile, hum with content as the warm evening air washes over your skin, leaning over the balcony to take in the sight of where you’ll be staying.

footsteps sound from behind you, the master bedroom, and you quickly feel two warm arms wrap around your waist, tan and thick. you lean into his touch, chest warming from the kisses peppered over your jugular.

“you like it?” lando breathes, nosing over your earlobe.

“it’s beautiful.” you whisper, turning your head to nuzzle against him. he seizes the opportunity to seal his lips over yours, kissing you soft and deep. you spin in his arms, clutching at his shirt to hold him close, the kiss intensifying, changing pace. just as he licks into your mouth, a sigh, so loud that it breaks the sound barrier, tears you both apart.

“so is that all you two do now, suck each others faces?” max rolls his eyes, his disapproval of your relationship one of the worlds worst kept secrets.

“yes, max. that’s all we do.” you mock, biting back at your older brother.

because of course you’re dating your brothers best friend. of course you are. life is funny like that.

lando stays silent, but you feel his hand on your waist tightening. max swallows hard.

“we ordered pizza, if you guys wanna come down.” max bulldozes through the awkwardness, offering an olive branch, and leaves.

“he is such a knob.” you mutter, shaking your head. lando strokes tentatively over your cheek, soothing you.

“he’s your big brother, baby. he’ll get over this.” lando coos reassuringly, and you choose the easy path of believing him.

you and max occupy opposite ends of the excessively large dining table when you join the rest of your friends.

the tension has been palpable between you and max since he caught you sneaking out of lando’s london flat one morning, the reason for your visit quite clear. you’d stood with your ear to the door when he’d stormed past you and entered the apartment, making you more than aware that your presence was unwanted when he quickly slammed the door behind him.

you’d endured the one-sided screaming match that followed, the accusations that lando must be playing with your feelings, that it would never work out, that it wasn’t fair at how exposed you’d be to the cruelty of his fan base, that he couldn’t believe how low lando would stoop to date his little fucking sister.

you wanted to understand, and really, you tried!but max hadn’t made it easy, constantly pushing your buttons and making needless digs at the both of you. lando convinced you that this holiday during the summer break would be healing; max would get to see how much lando cared for you, and everyone got much needed time to relax. so, with your friend group in tow, the three of you jetted off to the tiny spanish island.

surely, everything would be fine.

-

everything was not, in fact, fine.

you can smell it in the air, the tension building thick and heavy. everyone thought they were slick, waiting for lando to leave so they could corner you, and corner you, they did.

lando had kissed you sweetly by the sliding doors to the garden, popping his airpods in and shouting a quick: going on a run! to the rest of your holiday party. you’d sauntered carelessly to a lounger, bikini clad, sprawling out across the chair to tan and watch the who can do the best canon ball into the pool competition that has become a long running championship. but you can feel stares, feel the walls closing in, and you push your sunglasses up to rest over your hairline.

max and pietra are locked in on you, as are the rest of your friends.

“what?” you feel hot, embarrassed all of the sudden for no reason at all.

“so, it’s going well, then… with lando?” one of your girlfriends starts, but it sounds extra high pitched, awkward. your stomach sinks as you realise the pathetically choreographed dance about to take place.

“for fuck sake.” you mutter.

“she’s just asking!” max shoots back, as if he’s offended, as if you can’t see right through him.

“it’s going great.” you state, blunt as ever whenever your relationship is questioned.

“we just wanna make sure that this is right for you.” pietra says sympathetically, her eyes soft. you’ve known her long enough to know that even though her dickhead boyfriend is being callous, she genuinely cares.

“lando is right for me, you are all so full of shit! i don’t get what it is that you’re seeing.” you try and keep your voice level, even as your blood pressure begins to rise menacingly.

“it’s not so much what we see between you, it’s more about what he was like before.” tom jumps in.

ah, yes. the infamous hoe phase.

“because no one here ever fucked around.” you glare pointedly at your brother. he lowers his gaze.

“are we sure this isn’t just a… a fling?” pietra tries again, staying soft. her words still sting.

“yeah, i know him better than you do, and i-“ max’s voice cuts you like a thousand shards of glass and you body ignites with rage.

he knows him better? what does he know?

does he know that lando can’t sleep without telling you that he loves you? does he know that lando cried into you arms after his miami win? does he know that lando feels itchy if he doesn’t tell you that you’re beautiful at least eleven times an hour? does he know that you’re so crazy about his gorgeous, loving, infuriating best friend that you’re prepared to tell your brother where to go and to never come back?

“shut the fuck up, max. you know nothing! nothing about our relationship because you never gave us a chance. you don’t see how much i love him because every time you see us together, you’re hellbent on destroying our happiness.” you point angrily, standing from your chair. before you turn to the house, you leave them all with a parting message.

“and all of you will do very well to remember who paid to bring your bitter arses here. remember whose fucking house you’re in.” you lecture, watching as they all turn sheepish as they realise how ungrateful they sound.

“i don’t think i have anything to add.” you hear from behind you.

you jump, turning to see lando leaning against the door.

“shit, baby.” you breathe, rushing towards him, your skin crawling as you wonder how much he’s heard.

“forgot my phone.” he shrugs, smiling warmly at you. only at you. “now unless anyone has anything to add, i’m gonna take my very, very serious girlfriend upstairs.” he grins smugly.

the silence is so deafening that you couldn’t of even heard a pin drop if you’d tried.

you hold up your middle finger as he leads you away.

your bedroom door slams so hard that they must hear it outside. he’s tense, enraged at the disrespect that you’d endured, but he’s soft with you, pulling you into his rigid body. he relaxes into you, walking you further into the room.

“how much did you hear?” you whisper, clinging to him.

“oh, you know, just all of it.” he laughs bitterly, fingers sinking into your hips.

“they’re assholes.” you growl, threading your fingers through the curls at the nape of his neck, just the way he likes it.

“there is one good thing about it though.” lando hums, still guiding you deeper into the room. your back thuds softly against the sliding glass door, the one that leads to your balcony.

“what?” you breathe, suddenly extremely aware of his lower body.

“you’re so fucking sexy when you’re mad.” he smirks.

turns out, he didn’t steal you away to mope.

his lips crash against yours fiercely, teeth and tongue getting in on the action as he moves his mouth feverishly against your own. your neck tilts back, allowing him to swallow you whole, like his life depends on the feeling of you pressed against him. he trails kisses over your cheek, across your jaw, down your neck, two fingers grazing your ribcage. he snaps the tie of your bikini against your skin, stone cold aware of the lack of clothing adorning your body and he hums low from the back of his throat.

“they need to learn that you’re mine, that you’re always gonna be mine.” lando grunts, pulling away to slide the door open. he pushes you out onto the balcony, the one that overlooks the very pool that your friends and your brother are licking their wounds around.

“lando…” you gasp, weary of his overly adventurous attitude.

“maybe this will make them realise just how crazy you make me.” lando looks possessed, moving towards you like a wild animal engulfing its prey.

he cages you in against the wall, pulling one leg over his hip to spread you open, his fingers travelling to the flimsy tie of your bikini bottoms. you’re already soaked, embarrassingly so, really, but there’s just something about those gorgeous, haunted eyes. lando let’s the bottoms fall to the floor, kicking them away impatiently as he quickly finds home between your legs.

“think anyone else can get you this wet?” lando asks, eyes rolling back as he finds your slick folds. your jaw drops, already boneless at the feel of him. “answer me, baby. nice ‘n loud for me.” he demands.

“no, lan.” you whine, bucking your hips into his hand. he’s teasing, stroking lightly over your folds and your sensitive bud.

“and can anyone else make you feel this good? i mean, baby, i’ve barely touched you and you’re shaking.” lando’s teeth catch his bottom lip, his eyes glazing over as he watches you.

“lando, please.” you mutter, grinding down on his hand. you need more of him. he grins, flashing his teeth with pride as he renders you desperate.

“my pretty girl fucking my hand, god, you’re so perfect.” lando praises, earning a moan from your kiss-swollen lips. “bet they can hear how soaked you are, baby.”

you flush red, shame and embarrassment blurring the pleasure and you press a tense hand to your mouth, trying to silence the waterfall of whines.

“don’t you fucking dare.” he warns, sliding his fingers deep into your pussy. he gives you no time to adjust, curling them upwards and rocking his whole hand against you. his palm bumps against your clit and you writhe against the wall.

there’s no point covering your mouth, there is no hiding what’s happening. you let him have you how he wants you, a consolation for him having to hear his friends badmouth him, and he takes every liberty, mouthing at your covered tits, lapping over your peaked nipples. you cry out, weak as he manipulates your body closer to an orgasm, your wetness trickling down his wrist.

“so good to me, baby, only you, lando.” you choke, your voice echoing between the stone walls.

“that’s it, honey, make a mess for me. let ‘em hear you pretty girl.” he encourages, talking you straight into your first orgasm.

you tremble, gushing all over his hand as you cum, droplets splattering all over the paved floor. lando’s eyes turn black, mouth hanging open as he watches you fall apart, riding you through it.

lando let’s you cool down, propping you carefully against the wall, and leaning over the balcony. funnily enough, max is long gone, but the rest of them sit in stunned silence. he can’t help himself, driven mad by your quivering body and their cruel jabs, choosing whatever the opposite of the high road is. he reaches into his pocket, finding his credit card.

“get out of the villa that i paid for so i can fuck my girlfriend anywhere she wants.” he shouts, watching the way their necks snap up to look at him, revelling in their reddened faces that are not just flushed from the sun. “take this. have dinner. just fuck off.” he frisbees his card at tom, - rather carelessly really, considering just how much there was to lose on that little black square - and he revels in the way it lands square against his forehead.

they all stand up and scurry away, as few faint sorry’s! carrying through the air towards the couple on the balcony, but lando has more important business to attend to.

he scoops you up into his arms, grinning at your coy smile and your drooping eyes. he carries you to bed, planting you in the middle of the mattress.

“not done with you yet, baby, open those eyes for me.” lando coos, crawling over you, his shirt and workout shorts flung to the other side of the room. he feels delicious against you, caging you in beneath him.

“want you, lan.” you plead, a desperate smile on your face as you keen, stretching against the mattress like a cat.

“you’ll have me, baby. always gonna have me.” he smiles, eyes finding yours. “i love you.”

“love you so much.” you whisper, pulling him flush against you. “no matter what.” you affirm. he needed to hear that, it seems, his eyes sparkling with something else, other than the sheen of lust.

he kisses you, firm and wanting, his fingertips sliding up over your arms, leaving prickles of lightning and goosebumps in their wake. one of his hands interlocks with yours, twining together above your head, his body stretching languidly over yours. you can feel him, hard and throbbing between your legs, teetering on the knife edge of self control.

“take me, lando. have me how you want me. ‘m yours.” you croon, disguising a helpless whine as you arch your body into his. you’re squirming for it, to feel him sink deep and claim you his.

that seems to usher him along, and he drags his cock through your folds with a slow roll of his hips, the head catching your sodden entrance. you hiss, the intrusion not even nearly enough, but the sensation overwhelming you nonetheless. he slides into you carefully, stilling when his hips hit flush against yours. you do not want careful.

“fuck me.” you groan wetly, hot breath fanning his face as your mouth instinctively fills with saliva. you’re close to drooling for him.

“beg.” he snaps, jaw tight as he battles his natural instinct to utterly ravage you. “beg me to show you that i own you.”

your legs quiver, pussy clenching around him and he cannot help but buck his hips and suppress a whine. he styles it out, tantalisingly slow as he rolls his hips, grinding against your pleasure point, your slick walls. blood rushes in your ears, your body feral with need. you can’t even tease, disobey him for the fun of it, not when he’s wound you up so delectably. your body keens for him, hums with the sparks, a live wire.

“don’t wanna be able to walk when you’re done,” you slur, beginning to ramble. “want to feel you so deep that i’m ruined. ‘m yours, lando. have me.” you plead.

pleasure shoots through him, then, rapid and unwavering. he’s unforgiving as he rails into you, immediately stoking the fire in your belly. all of his body weight is on you, sweaty skin sticking and slapping as his hipbones bruise into yours.

“is that how you want it, huh, baby?” he manages to growl, scooping up your wrists in one big paw, his other hand working down the planes and curves of your body. he finds the triangles of your bikini top, hastily tearing them down just enough so that your tits spill out. all for him. all his. “look at this perfect fucking body,” his breathe hitches, awestruck. “is it all mine?”

you cry out, nodding shamelessly as he ghosts his fingers around the swell of your nipple, switching to the other when he’s satisfied with the peak. he alternates between them, twisting and tugging, barely there and all too hard. you can only plead his name and tighten around his cock.

once he’s overstimulated your chest, he works his fingers further down your body, stopping now and then to dig into your flesh, appreciating the soft feeling of your skin under his calloused hands.

“and this hot, little cunt… is this mine, too?” lando breathes, right against the shell of your ear. his thumb presses hard against your thrumming clit, smearing your slick over the bud. “to play with? is it baby?”

“god, yes.” you manage to bellow, the strained words tearing over your vocal chords.

“yes, what?” lando snaps, slapping lightly over the bundle of nerves.

“it’s yours!” you sob, choking on your own voice.

“to…?” lando coaxes, a smirk tugging at his swollen lips as he looks at you expectantly.

“to play with.” you stutter, cheeks tinged hot with embarrassment that seeps down your neck and between your sweat-dampened bodies.

“that’s my good girl. my pretty, pretty girl.” he mutters, more to himself than to you.

“‘m so close.” you breathe, writhing up the mattress, his body atop your inescapable. he toys with your clit, pinching the electrified nerves, watching how you buck your hips and leak onto the mattress. he’s covered in you, his belly glistening in the sunlight that washes over you, sealing you forever in this golden, sparkling moment.

“want me to cum all over your tummy, baby? mark you mine?” lando gasps, driving into you with one goal in mind. he has to get you there, wants to be painted in the remnants of your pleasure and hung up in every art museum in the world. if only he wasn’t so selfish, yearning to keep this stunning sight to himself for the rest of his life.

“n-no,” you pause, your jaw going slack for a moment as he circles your clit just right, grinds his hips so deep. “inside me.” you beg.

“fill me up.”

his vision blurs.

lando just about folds you in half, carnal desire surging through his veins. the hand keeping yours suspended over your head falls away, finding your navel where he applied a brutal, sweet pressure that leaves you blind and wailing. his other fingers busy themselves sinking into the meat of your thigh, dragging you backwards and forwards on his throbbing length.

your body goes limp, tears of pleasure trailing wetly down your face as your orgasm hits you, and lando can’t help but bury himself as deep as he can go. the rutting of his hips and the messy rub of his whole hand against your clit leaves you awestruck, sobbing into the air of the room. you’re covering him in waves, shivering as you grow overstimulated but you can’t help but chase the high. your violent quivers and dripping cunt make him whine, high pitched and divine, and he drops onto you, filling you up. he can’t seem to stop, painting you white from the inside out, watching the way it drips out of you, coating the base of his cock.

this can’t be over yet, he decides. he needs to hear you scream.

“lemme help you with that.” he mumbles, slinking down your body, eyes fixed solely on where you were joined together.

you don’t even get a chance to mourn the loss of him buried inside of you, no. you’re too busy pushing at his curls, pleading that he lets up, but he can’t. it’s not that he won’t, it’s that he quite simply can’t.

his tongue runs up the seam of your pussy, lapping over the mixture you’ve made and you can’t do anything but cry and thrash, white hot with pleasure and pain. its so good that it hurts, and you give in, knowing that he isn’t going to stop unless you say the magic words. lord knows, you won’t. lando knows you won’t.

it’s torturous, really, the way he sucks your clit into his mouth, drags his tongue over his mess and slips it right into your entrance. he swirls and sucks and nips and tugs. it’s like he’s turned a faucet on, watching hazily as you drip and drip, more of you and him seeping onto his tongue. he’s insatiable as he licks you clean, unable to resist luring you into a third orgasm.

and when it hits, god, does it hit.

the scream he pulls from your body is deafening, makes him shake with the intensity of it, the vibrations rippling through your body and ricocheting off of his. you relax limply into the mattress, urgently needing a break. you watch through hooded eyes as he slurps anything left of you from his reddened lips, your thighs clenching unconsciously. he just chuckles, flopping down beside you.

“tired, baby?” lando teases, stroking over your rapidly rising and falling ribs.

“just a tad.” you deadpan, unable to hold back the giggles as serotonin soothes you.

“oh, sweetheart. i’m not even nearly done with you yet.” lando grins toothily, deviously.

something he said about fucking you ‘anywhere’ you wanted dawns on you and your eyes widen.

-

anywhere really did mean anywhere.

he’d had to carry you to the shower when you were finally done, holding you close under the spray. you were lost to the memory of him pushing you into the sideboard in the hallway, laying you flat across the kitchen counter, eating you like dessert on the very same sun lounger that you’d been perched on when this whole marathon commenced.

you’re utterly spent, eyelids sagging when he finally sets you down on the sofa, playing on his phone while you fall asleep watching the office.

you’re curled up in lando’s lap, legs hanging over the end of the sofa when max finds you. hair still wet from the much needed shower and fast asleep in his best friends arms. he actively chooses to quell the disgusted curl of his lips. you look so peaceful, safe. his plans to throttle lando for his earlier stint subside.

“call me a wankstain on society later, if you want, but please don’t wake her up.” lando speaks with a hushed tone, not even gracing max with eye contact, his eyes remaining on the candies he’d been crushing before the other fewtrell turned up.

���i- no, i wasn’t gonna call you that. i did, however, consider driving that very nice, very vintage lambo you hired off a cliff.” max mutters. lando scoffs a laugh.

“you would have paid for it.” he still doesn’t look up from the phone. max eyes the way lando strokes your side, in time with the crests and falls of your breath. it’s tender, intimate.

max considers that there’s a strong possibility he was wrong.

“mate, listen-“

“nope. she’s your baby sister, i get it. i get it. you can hate me for it, but you crossed a line going after her like that.” lando finally looks up at max, glowering sternly.

“i’m gonna talk to her.” max bows his head, as if he’s ashamed of himself and lando softens slightly.

“you should, mate. she wants your support, your approval means everything.” lando says. “look, i love her. i really do. and while you were accusing me of trying to ruin her life, you were crushing her.” lando sighs, his voice wavering with a hint of pain. max meets his gaze.

“for the record, i don’t think anyone will ever be good enough for my little sister, but you come pretty fucking close.” max relents, pushing his pride aside, finally. lando smiles, small and knowing.

“i just wanna make her happy.” he shrugs, a look of hopeless romance, utter devotion and pure happiness radiating off of him in waves as he gazes down at your frame. something in max’s belly snaps, the apprehension dissolving to mush. he had gotten this all wrong.

“you do.” he hums, watching how you curl further into lando as you stir in your sleep, the drivers fingers delicately combing your hair away from your face. “but,” max quips.

lando grimaces, bracing himself.

“if you ever, ever, pull something like that again,” max shivers with disgust at the insinuation. “i will remove your bollocks and make you watch me crash the miura.” max swears, pointing a finger of warning.

“seems like everyone’s come to their senses, no more… pranks from me.” lando holds his free hand up in mock surrender.

“have you two kissed and made up yet?” you murmur, stretching out in lando’s arms. you rub sleep from your eyes, sitting up and leaning into your boyfriends solid frame, resting against him as your eyes flit to your brother.

“we’re good. ‘m, uh, sorry.” max nods, attempting to be heartfelt. lando chokes on a laugh as it falls flat.

“you’re “uh, sorry”?” you deadpan, crossing your arms over your chest.

“i’m really sorry.” max tries again, and you grin cheekily at your brother, watching as his shoulders release the tension they’ve been carrying all afternoon. he turns to leave, halfway to the door when you call out to him.

“hey, max?”

“yeah, lovely?” your chest warms at the sweet nickname. you’d forgotten the last time he’d called you that.

“wash your sheets.” your eyes blaze with amusement and you hear lando’s sharp inhale of breath, shocked that you’d gone there.

“you didn’t- my god, you did not-“ max splutters, his face almost green with nausea.

“you’ll never know for sure.” you grin. you think he’s going to faint.

serves the bastard right.

-

hehe

lemme know what u think!! <33

-

taglist

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[slttygeto]

tags: japanese is not reader’s first language (or mine so sorry if i made a mistake!), and she has an accent and struggles to pronounce a sentence (it wasn’t warm), established relationship, satoru is whipped.

word count: 0,3k. very short :)

satoru loves you like a breezy summer night. it’s hot for most of the day, yet when open the balcony door at 3am, you sigh in content at the icy air. he loves you like the smell of waffles coming from the kitchen, they’re not burnt or undercooked, they’re crispy and golden and you sprinkle some nuts on top after cutting slices of banana and drizzling some honey. but what satoru is sure of, is that he loves you as if he were there the day you were created.

he admires what you do with adoration, admiration and love. he doesn’t need to give verbal praise for you to know that he is so proud of you.

“so when I went to check my plate in the microwave, it was not–it was not warm—“ you struggle a bit with the pronunciation of the japanese phrase, your accent slipping and you cover your mouth in embarrassment. you were telling your boyfriend about how you should fix the microwave, but somehow managed to struggle so much with a sentence. satoru is quick to remove your hand and join in the laugh, but he pulls you towards his chest carefully and throws his head back.

the heart that once felt empty, unsatisfied was now filled with nothing but love. pure, unconditional love for a person who came into his life on a whim.

“it was not warm,” satoru repeats lowly, the words gliding out of his mouth with so much ease. he is an expert at this, given that it is his native language. he resta his hands on your shoulders as his eyes rake over your face. the slight flush to it is adorable, he thinks.

“it was…not warm,”

“good job,” his voice drops a volume lower, his hands holding your face as his thumbs caress your cheeks. “my smart girl, knows so many languages that her brain gets a little fried sometimes,”

“it does,” as you sigh, you get on your tip toes and peck his lips. but once is never enough for satoru, so he pecks you again. and again and again.

“enough. you have work to do,” your hand pushes softly at his chest, giggling when he starts to kiss under your ear.

“work can wait,”

“what if it’s an emergency?”

“let em die—“

“no!”

based on what i found on google, “it wasn’t warm” translates to “Atatakakunakatta” so i thought why not! if it’s wrong tho, do correct me pls!

note: based on a cute thing @aurelianamu told me abt her and satoru :) this one’s for you best friend!

[inthemiddleofmae]

everything is romantic - paul mescal x reader

summary - you and paul take a trip to italy during the summer. lots of photo-taking and kissing.

word count: 761

a/n: everybody say thank to pedro pascal for these photos that have got me going absolutely feral!!!!!!!! it is absolutely freezing where i’m from and seasonal depression is getting to me so i’m writing something about summer to make me happy :) and thank you so much for the love on my last fic it means the world <3 i hope you enjoy this one just as much!!

the air smelt of salt and wild rosemary as you and paul walked down a narrow cobblestone street in the amalfi coast, hands locked together in a tight, loving embrace. paul had his beloved camera round his neck; a gift you had gotten him when you first started dating.

the sun was dipping low in the sky, casting a golden glow that seemed to warm everything it touched. the distant sound of waves crashing against the rocky shore played like a lullaby in the background.

“this doesn’t feel real,” you said, your voice tinged with awe as you glanced up at the laundry fluttering on balconies.

paul looked over at you, a loving smile playing on his lips. “you’ve said that every ten minutes since we got here.”

“well, it still doesn’t!” you shot back, bumping his shoulder lightly. “it's unlike anything i've ever seen before. how am i supposed to stop talking about it?”

he laughed, gently letting go of your hand so he could grab your waist and pull you even closer as you both wandered down the uneven path. “i like it when you ramble. means you’re happy.”

you felt your face suddenly get hot. “i'm not just happy. i’m...i don’t know. full.” you gestured around. “this place, this trip, being here with you - it’s everything.”

paul stopped walking and turned to face you, his blue eyes warm and soft as they searched your face. “you’re everything.” he said, and you swore you could actually feel your heart swell.

you wrapped your hands around paul's neck as he leaned down, brushing his lips against yours in a passionate series of pecks and one longer kiss that you both fought for control over. as you both realised your very public environment, you pulled back. you couldn’t help but smile as you rested your forehead against his.

“alright, lover boy,” you teased, though your voice was thick with affection. you stepped away from him and paused in front of a charming doorway painted a faded blue with potted geraniums clustered at its base. with a pout and a few bats of your eyelashes, you then said, "can you take a picture of me?"

rolling his eyes but unable to suppress his smile, paul raised the camera and pointed it at you.

you leaned against the blue door, tilting your head slightly as you brushed your hair back. paul snapped a few shots, then lowered the camera, his expression softening.

“alright, one more,” he said. “but don’t pose this time.”

“i wasn’t posing!”

“you definitely were,” he teased, lifting the camera again. “just laugh or something.”

you huffed a laugh at his instructions, and in that moment, he took a photo that he would never forget; your head was tilted back slightly, sunlight was on your face, and your eyes crinkled with happiness - he was unsure if he'd ever seen you look so beautiful.

when you realised paul had stopped taking photos and was now staring intensely at his camera, you ran forward and playfully smacked his arm. “let me see, babe.”

paul handed over the camera with a grin. as you scrolled through the pictures, you smile widened. “okay, these are actually really good. you’re getting better.”

“fuck off,” he said with a laugh, sliding an arm around your waist and pulling you close.

the two of you walked further down the street, but after a while decided to pause on a set of wide, sun-warmed stone steps to take a break from wandering. paul was in front of you, resting his elbows on his knees as he scrolled through his phone.

without a word, you picked up paul's camera that was still in your possession and adjusted the lens. the light hit him just right, illuminating the soft lines of his roman profile, his hair ruffled slightly from the breeze. you snapped a photo, then another, the sound of the shutter drawing his attention.

paul tilted his head at you and laughed. “you’re supposed to be taking pictures of the scenery, not me.”

“you’re part of the scenery,” you said cheekily, snapping another.

"alright give me back my camera - i'm starving, lets get some lunch." paul said, playfully snatching his camera out of your hand as he rose from his seat. he placed the camera back around his neck as he gave you his hand to help you rise from your own seat.

"you're my lunch, too,' you said, bringing your lips close to paul's ear once you had gotten up, and you watched his face turn pink.

[ladamedusoif]

Laurels

(Acacius x F!Sex Worker Reader)

Pairing(s): Acacius x F!Reader; Acacius x Lucilla

Rating: Explicit; 18+ MDNI

Word Count: 13.5k

Summary: You met him as a young soldier, brought to the brothel you worked at to celebrate a victory. Now, almost two decades later, his return to Rome in triumph sparks memories of your time together - and the secrets you still hold.

Content Notes/Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MDNI - Sex worker F!Reader; no physical description of Reader except that she is curvy and has hair (but this can be taken as a wig, as was common in imperial Rome); spans events of Gladiator and parts of the sequel; canon-compliant but no spoilers for Gladiator II; we love and respect Lucilla in this house; Acacius is a lover boy; period-typical derogatory terms for sex workers; oral sex (M and F receiving); PiV sex; mutual masturbation; discussion of pregnancy; forbidden love; secret marriage; discussion of death and grief; implied character death; implied that Reader is more sexually experienced than Acacius when they meet; references to alcohol consumption; some uses of strong language

Author Note: I've been thinking about and sketching out this story since I first laid eyes on Acacius in those promotional pictures released during the summer, but wanted to wait until I'd had a chance to see Gladiator II three times before writing it up properly, to avoid any issues with characterisation. I hope you all enjoy it.

I've referred to him as Acacius throughout, as that's what Lucilla and everyone else calls him and because we have no goddamned idea what he's actually called. (I've used certain tags, though, to make sure people see this. Hopefully. Maybe.)

There are some Latin/Roman terms used throughout: lena is the madam or brothel keeper; cella is the part of a temple dedicated to a specific deity; meretrix is a Roman term for a prostitute; mercatus is a market or shopping area.

The cover image is entirely based on authentic Roman mosaics and interiors: top left is a 1st century CE mosaic; bottom right is a 4th century CE mosaic from Sicily of a sex worker with her client; and background is the interior decor of a bedroom in Pompeii.

Dividers by @saradika-graphics.

Enormous thanks to @mescalpascal for beta reading this story.

Follow my writing blog @ladameecrit and turn on notifications to stay up to date with my work.

The city has resonated to the sound of his name these past weeks. A hero of empire, of conquest; the perfect role model for Rome’s young boys, already being prepared from birth for war and glory. 

Or, more truthfully, for death. 

Today he returns to the city in glory, to be honoured with a triumph in recognition of his role in conquering the far-off lands of Northern Africa. The crowds are already thronging the streets, trying to secure their perfect vantage point to catch a glimpse of the victor en route to be crowned with laurels. 

No one notices an ordinary woman in middle age, simply but elegantly dressed in her best clothes for the occasion, discreetly slipping up the steps and onto the balcony of a tavern overlooking the triumphal route. No one pays a woman like that any mind, especially not on a day like today. 

You quietly secure your spot and slip down your veil, patting your hair to ensure the style is still in place. Why, exactly, did you go to such effort, knowing you’d be at such a distance from him? Knowing how many years it has been?

You take the cheap little metal effigy you’d purchased from a street hawker from your purse, gently rubbing your thumb over the crude rendering of his handsome face. 

You told him he would go far. You told him he would be feted like this, one day, all those years ago. You smiled as you imagined meeting him again, showing him the tiny metal version of himself. 

“See? I told you you’d be cast in bronze, didn’t I?”

A ripple of excitement courses through the crowd and it becomes apparent that the procession is near. They cheer and chant his name in unison. A mixture of excitement and fear grips you. Why had you done your hair just so, put on your best jewellery from your meagre selection?

Just in case. In case his dark eyes found yours, again, and bridged the years with a glance. 

The rumble of chariot wheels and horses’ hooves becomes more intense, the cheering of the crowd more frenzied. You grip the ledge of the balcony in nervous anticipation, the golden metal of your favourite ring glinting in the light. 

For a moment, it feels like being frozen in time. He is a god among men, the bright sun reflecting beautifully off the white and gold of his special, ceremonial armour as he receives the acclamations of the crowd. He’s uncomfortable, you can tell: that nervous wave and unsettled expression giving him away. This is not his natural environment, though you suspect he has had to get used to it since he assumed his command and since his marriage. 

You are unable to make a sound as his chariot approaches, overwhelmed by the sight of him, the sound of the crowd, the way he is received and acclaimed with more enthusiasm than any emperor you can remember. He is still beautiful . From here, you can see the streaks of grey that frame his handsome face now, making him even more distinguished than you remembered. His tanned skin only serves to make the white and gold armour gleam all the more. His beard, neatly trimmed, is more grey than dark these days, lending him an air of absolute authority. 

But you know that behind the guise of the conquering general, battle-scarred and triumphant, lies another man: strong but gentle, intelligent and kind, a man who likes to laugh and to joke and to love . 

She is a lucky woman, you muse. 

He’s almost directly in front of you now, and you can see in those soft, dark eyes the brave young man you knew so well, once upon a time. 

His gaze shifts. He finds you. 

His expression changes to one of surprise and… joy ?

The moment lasts barely a second before he has passed by in the relentless journey to his apotheosis. But you are left with his name on your lips, whispered like a prayer as your mind travels back through the years to the time you first met. 

“Acacius.”

***

War is shit. But it’s good for business when your business is your body. 

When you left your rural home for Rome as a teenager, accompanied by the man you were promised to, selling yourself was not part of the plan. But there’s little a girl can do, when her betrothed reveals himself to be a liar and a crook. He left you alone, without resource or recourse, when he was stabbed to death over an unpaid gambling debt. 

You had certainly landed on your feet, all things considered, and with the benefit of a few years’ hindsight. The lena who ran the place was kind and understanding, the other girls bright and friendly, for the most part, and the brothel itself marketed as a cut above the usual fare for the average legionary, brought to the imperial city after a stint killing Gauls or Goths or whoever the enemy was that week.

Besides, it was even fun , sometimes. You, with your curves and ample bosom, earned a reputation for kindness and understanding. Sometimes you wondered just how many nervous young men had learned how to please a woman from a night or two in your arms.

The night you met, the lena had gathered the free girls together in an excitable cluster, hissing about the arrival at the brothel of a group of young legionaries from various parts of the Empire.

“Some of them are absolutely gorgeous , girls! And they’ve had a recent victory - you know what that means.”

Catalina, who never lacked confidence, grinned. “It means big bonuses.”

The lena beamed. “Exactly. Big bonuses, big tippers… and who knows, maybe big in other ways?” The girls roared with laughter as she clapped her hands. “Alright, neaten up! Best behaviour, now. And as usual with the legions, you’re theirs for the night.”

You picked up a goblet of wine, and you and your fellow whores struck your usual enticing poses. 

“Heroes of Rome…my finest girls, for your delectation.” 

***

His eyes find yours through the slew of pairings, dark as pitch but warm as fire in the low light of the brothel’s main antechamber. He is, as your lena had suggested, gorgeous : young, beautifully handsome features, clean-shaven; the strong nose and fine jaw universally considered the epitome of male beauty, wavy dark hair curling around his brow in his neat, regulation haircut. 

And then he smiles at you. And you are lost, entirely, in the way his eyes sparkle and his open, kind face beams.

The beautiful boy would surely choose one of the more beautiful girls, as was always the way. But instead he strides through the melee, broad shoulders cutting a path with ease, and stands in front of you, a soft, nervous smile on his face. 

“Hello, soldier. Where are you from?”

His eyes are warm . He seems kind. You feel a wave of lust coursing through you: if he wants you, you thought, you might really enjoy this one.

“Hispania,” he answers. “But we were fighting tribes in Germania.”

His voice, like warm honey, sends a throb through your core. 

“And you have been rewarded with a trip to the imperial city! You must have been really brave.”

He chuckles, a half-smile on his handsome, tanned face. “I tried to be.”

His nerves are apparent in the way he carries himself, in the little glances he gives you, seeking approval. You take his hand, thumb stroking his palm gently.

“Do you want to let me reward you tonight, soldier?”

He nods enthusiastically. “Please.” He gives your hand a little squeeze. “But tell me your name, won’t you? I would like to know your name.”

You tell him with a smile. “And yours?”

His grin is warm and genuine. “Acacius.”

***

The yellow glow of the oil lamps illuminate the murals that decorate the walls of your chamber, and throw shadows from the fabrics draped over the low couch and bed. Acacius looks around, unsure where to sit, and you gesture to the couch.

“Wine, soldier?”

“Yes, wine. Please. Thank you.”

Goblets in hand, you join him and lean slightly towards him. It is impossible to miss the way Acacius’s eyes focus on your breasts, barely covered in the diaphanous folds of your pale, loose robe. 

“Do you like what you see?”

His gaze trails upwards to your eyes, and he nods: seriously, with absolute conviction. 

“Do you want to see more?” 

Another serious nod. You slip out of the dress for him, letting the thin, pleated fabric loosen around you until you are revealed, naked and soft, for his hungry eyes. 

One strong arm wraps around your waist while the other fondles handfuls of your tits. He holds you there, mouth finding your nipples, sucking and licking them until they are pert and pebbled and glossy with his saliva. 

In that instant, you close your eyes, daring to imagine that this was not a transaction but real : that the gorgeous young man worshipping at your bosom is your lover, all yours , helping himself to every inch of you before he takes you. 

 “What do you like , soldier? What do you want me to do to you?” You move to your knees before him, putting your hands on his strong, tanned thighs and lightly slipping your fingers under the hem of his short tunica .

He hesitates, breath hitching, eyes wide as he takes in the sight of you between his legs. This isn’t his first time, you suspect, but something tells you Acacius may not be as practiced as some of his comrades in the art of love. The thought of showing him, guiding him, sends a thrill through you. 

Your hands undo his undergarment and find his cock. He stammers, trying to find his words to respond. 

“Would you like my mouth, hmmm?”

He nods, eyes trained on you, mouth open as you lick your lips and wrap them around the head of his cock. You move slowly, expertly; one hand holding him in place while the other caresses his balls, the way you know men like. 

It’s not that you were forced into the profession, not like some of the girls sold into it - though Juno knows, you’d have preferred another line of work. But there, in the lamp-lit room with this big, handsome, polite young soldier falling apart at your skilled touch? It’s a fucking joy . 

He whines and gasps as you vary the speed and movement, tongue flicking over his tip before you swallow him back down again. Acacius’s broad hand holds the back of your head as you move faster, taking him deeper. You feel his balls tighten as he falls back on the low couch, moaning and grunting with pleasure. 

“I’m…oh fuck , I’m close, I’m….”

He comes in your mouth with a cry, head thrown back on the couch and beads of sweat glistening along his neck, broad chest rising and falling rapidly as he catches his breath.

A discreet spit and wipe and you tuck your naked curves against his spent body, fingertips slipping under the collar of his tunic to trace the line of his shoulders, the hollow of his throat.

He blinks his ebony-dark eyes open, apologetic. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…” His exposed cock still glistens with your saliva and his come. “I didn’t mean to finish so quickly. I’m…I’m still dressed .” He grins, you giggle, and both of you burst out laughing. 

“No need to apologise, soldier. We have plenty of time, time enough to go again, surely. I’ll help.” You rise from the couch and gesture for him to follow you to the bed. 

“First things first - tunic off .”

You survey him now, naked, from your position on the bed. His body is taut and lean; too lean, perhaps, for his broad shoulders and long limbs. A few scars and bruises on his torso testify to his experiences in combat.

“Join me, won’t you?”

He settles close to your own naked form and his eyes move to your tits, pressed against the warm skin of his arm. You reach for his hand and bring the broad, calloused palm and fingertips to cup your breast.

You never forgot the fascination he seemed to have with your body. That first night, he traces the curve of your tits carefully with his fingers, playing a little with your nipples, pinching just enough to make you gasp, cupping and squeezing the soft flesh before caressing every bit of you in turn. The softness of your belly, the meat of your thick thighs and ass, the line of your hips, the flesh of your arms and neck. 

Perhaps, you think, it has been a long time since he’s been with someone. Properly, that is. Perhaps his previous encounters were a more rushed affair, skirts hitched up to fuck hastily against a wall or a tree. 

Now he can take his time with you. Wetness pools between your legs, anticipating him. You bring his hand to your pussy, guiding him to the little nub of pleasure hidden in your folds as you ride his fingers.

“You feel that?” He nods, transfixed by the way your hips roll against him, the way you pant and moan as you get closer and closer to your peak. “Find this sweet spot on a woman, and she’s all yours.”

He’s getting hard again, you notice, and starts to work you more quickly with his thick fingers. He looks to you for approval, warm eyes round and earnest, and you praise him with breathless words before coming undone on his hand.

“ Gods , that was very good, soldier.” A few strokes of your hand to his cock, and you know he’s ready. “Your turn, now.”

Acacius shifts his broad body on top of yours, using one knee to push you open a little further for him. As he breaches your pussy for the first time, he leans forward and kisses you: slow, soft, tongue slipping between your lips as you hitch your knees up and wrap your arms around his neck. 

The young Spaniard fucks you deep and slow, his plush lips brushing against yours as his kisses mingle with both of your grunts and moans of pleasure. Such a display of tenderness is unusual here, where most men have one thing and one thing only on their minds as soon as they enter your chamber. 

There have been plenty of young soldiers, plenty of officers, plenty of Rome’s heroes in your arms, in your mouth, in your cunt. Some handsome. Most not. Some respectful. Most rough.

Acacius is…different. You couldn’t explain it, not back then. Not yet. But you know in that instant, as he moves inside you and you look into his dark eyes, that there is something special about this man.

***

He comes to you every second or third night for the remainder of his furlough in the city, to the point that the lena begins to refer to Acacius as “your soldier”. You, privately, miss him on those nights that he does not visit. 

He brings you gifts: wine, flowers, little cakes and sweets wrapped in pretty cloth. “You’ll have spent all your coin,” you chide him as you sit together on the couch, drinking wine and feeding each other the treats. “What will you say, if someone asks about the money you earned on campaign?”

Acacius leans in and plots a course of kisses down your neck, culminating at the fastening of your robe on your shoulder. He unpins the brooch and watches the fabric fall with a smile.

“I will say that it was money very well spent.”

***

The lena ’s knock on your chamber door is unusually early that day - not yet noon, you estimate, as you hastily finish pinning your hair and stand to receive her.

She smiles wryly as she leans against the doorframe. “You have a visitor .”

“This early?”

“Might I remind you that I determine the opening times of this house? Yes, this early, but…he wants to take you out .” She throws up her hands in response to your confused expression. “I know, I know, but you’re paid for! Put on something respectable, I doubt he wants you to look like a whore in public.”

You dress suitably, and fix your cloak around you before emerging into the large antechamber normally reserved for meeting clients. This morning, it is silent and empty, save for a lone figure standing with his back to you in the centre of the airy room.

He was a little broader, now, than he’d been the last time you saw him, eight or nine months ago. His arms and legs had grown more muscular, his garments evidently more expensive than the simple woollen tunic and cloak he wore the first time you met.

“Acacius?” 

He wheels around and that familiar smile greets you like a beam of warm spring sunlight after the long winter. After a close embrace and a kiss, he stands back to take you in.

“How have you become more beautiful since the last time I saw you?”

You shake your head and laugh, cupping his face in your hands and rubbing your thumbs against the bristling scruff he now wears. “And you seem even more handsome and dashing, soldier. You look like the emperor now, too, with this beard.”

Acacius blushes bashfully. “Perhaps…in truth, it was my commander that inspired it, as he favours a beard too.” He smiles and winks conspiratorially. “But then maybe he wishes to resemble Aurelius, no?”

With a smile you lead him back into the main hall of the brothel and towards the door that opens onto the street. “The lena tells me you wish to take me with you into the city today.”

He offers a little bow in confirmation. “I do. I would like to walk with you, away from these four walls.” A glance over his shoulder in the direction of the lena sitting at her desk, whose all-seeing, eagle-eyed gaze bores into the two of you. He speaks a little louder, for her benefit. “And I have promised to bring you back.”

He gives you his hand, you open the door, and together you step into the bustle of the imperial city.

***

“Am I correct in thinking that isn’t a native Roman accent?”

You nod, looking at Acacius from under your lashes. “It is not. I am a country girl by birth, from a farm in the north.”

He smiles with satisfaction. “I have an ear for accents. Hard not to, when you fight for an empire as vast as ours. How did you end up here, then?”

It is as if he is speaking to a… normal woman, not a whore. You swallow hard, looking at the ground as you compose yourself to answer, not wanting to sully your relationship with this man with the painful memories of the past. 

“I…was promised to a man, and he brought me to Rome. But he lied, and he cheated, and he died over an unpaid debt, and I…”

Acacius holds you in his kind, concerned gaze as your words trail off. Enough , you muse to yourself, I have said enough . 

“And you…had to stand on your own two feet.” He gives your hand a reassuring squeeze that feels as comforting, somehow, as if it were his warm embrace.

In the mercatus adjoining the new forum, he buys little cups of wine and a jar of olives for you to share as you walk together through the packed marketplace and public squares. The tall column honouring the victories of the emperor Trajan casts its long shadow on the gleaming marble pavements below.

“Perhaps some day they will build a monument to you,” you suggest, a wry smile on your lips. “A great bronze, to the great warrior Acacius.”

He raises his eyebrows in astonishment and laughs. “A monument to an ordinary centurion? I don’t think so, somehow. Now, a statue of my commander , on the other hand, would be entirely more likely and more fitting.”

“You admire him, don’t you?”

Acacius sips his wine and nods. “He is the greatest of commanders and the bravest of men. Kind, too, away from the battlefield. I… I would die for that man.” He turns to you and grins, excited. “Have I told you that he is from Hispania, too? He tells me sometimes that we’re the finest fighters in the empire.”

You give an impressed little coo. “Have I seen this great man? Perhaps he was with the rest of you, that first night…the night we met.”

“He was not.” He takes an olive from the little clay jar, a wistful look on his face. “General Maximus has a family - a wife, a little boy - and such love he has for them as I’ve never seen. He is the emperor’s most loyal general, but in truth he would give anything to return home to them, for good.”

The two of you fall silent for a few moments, each lost in your own thoughts. You study his handsome features as you walk together: his strong, proud nose, now marked with a fresh, livid scar; his fine brow, knitted in thought; the line of his pink mouth, framed by his dark beard.

“Is that something you would like, too - a wife, a family?”

He nods and smiles as he meets your gaze. “It is something I would like very much indeed.”

***

You think of him, worry for him, miss him in the long months of campaigning in far-flung corners of the empire. Without realising, you have become part of an invisible sisterhood: yet another daughter of Rome who goes about her business and makes her living, but whose heart and mind march, always, with “her” soldier. For the first time, you really see the careworn women carrying offerings and lighting candles at the little street shrines or in the temples, muttering prayers to Juno for the safe return of a husband, a lover, a brother, a son. 

You try to listen daily for updates from the newsreaders in the public fora, steeling yourself for news of a defeat. Even your work provides opportunities to stay abreast of the progress of the northern legions, as you hone your small talk with clients to focus on questions of war. Though other men might have your body for a short time, your soul is always and only with him , longing for the day he’ll be in your arms again.

He’s gone longer, this time. In your lonelier moments you wonder if perhaps he has met someone else, someone with whom he can have the family life he dreams of. 

He is not yours , you remind yourself as you make up your face for another night’s work. He can never be yours .

A commotion coming from the direction of the entrance hall startles you: strong, confident footsteps on the marble floor; the lena ’s voice calling angrily after someone; and suddenly, a knock on your chamber door. 

“My sweet, beautiful lady.”

Acacius sweeps you into his strong arms before you have finished opening the door properly, pulling you tight to him and covering your face with kisses as you wrap your arms around his neck and giggle with joy and relief at the sight of him.

“Your soldier hasn’t paid, girl!”

The lena ’s irritation is obvious even from the other end of the hall, her arms folded and jaw set. You break Acacius’s embrace and reach for his hand to guide him into the room.

“He’ll pay, don’t worry,” you call out to her down the hallway. “He’s been away fighting for a long time and he deserves his reward, one can hardly blame the man for being impatient!” 

He’s waiting for you as soon as you close the door, cloak discarded and body poised to pin you against the wall as he holds your face in his hands and leans in for a long, slow kiss. He drops one hand and you feel your garment being lifted as his thick fingers make their way between your thighs.

“Gods, I missed you. I’m so sorry I was away for so long.” He sucks on the delicate skin of your neck as you whine with pleasure, his fingertips finding the little nub of your pussy, just like you taught him. “Did you miss me, my love?”

“Mmm, I… oh, Acacius !” First one, then two fingers slip inside you, and you struggle to form a coherent thought. “I missed you, so very much, so much.”

He fucks you with his fingers there against the wall, the sound of your wetness both lewd and erotic as it mingles with your pants and little moans. He’s still in uniform , you realise, wrapping your arm around his leather-clad torso as you pull him tighter to you. Gods, he really couldn’t wait to see you. 

“I need to have you here, now,” he hisses in your ear as you edge closer to your peak. “Need to be inside you, feel you again.”

He withdraws his hand and turns you to face the wall, bending your body forward a little and caressing your ass appreciatively. The head of his cock presses against your entrance, opening and stretching you as he slides smoothly into your cunt with a low groan.

“As good as you remember?” You turn to give him a sly look as he starts to fuck you, deep and hard.

“ Better ,” he hisses. A broad hand reaches for your breast while the other grips the meat of your hip, holding you in place. “Been thinking about this, about you …every day, every night …”

His beard bristles against your skin as he angles his lips against your neck and shoulder, sucking and kissing and nipping at you. He’ll leave marks, you know that, and you know you shouldn’t let him, not in your line of work. But instead you just twine your fingers through his dark curls and keep him there, revelling in the sensation as you start to fall apart for him. 

Acacius mutters praise and filth into your ear in equal measure: how beautiful you are, how good you feel, how tight your cunt is, how well you take him. The fastenings and metal ornaments of his uniform press into your flesh as he fucks you harder and faster against the wall.

You shouldn’t have let him leave marks on you. And you definitely shouldn’t let him finish inside you. But, more than anything else, you want him to make you his, really and truly, inside and out. As his rhythm starts to falter, a slight arch of your back and an extra tilt of your hips sends him even deeper and makes him come. His groans of ecstatic pleasure as he fills you with his seed are music to your ears.

***

You bathe together in the brothel’s small, steamy bathhouse, your fingers tracing the scars and bruises his strong, solid body had acquired since the last time you were together. Acacius hums with pleasure as you wash his hair and rub perfumed oil into his skin, pressing your lips gently to every mark and freckle.

“I love you, you know.” 

Strange, how this impressive warrior could become so vulnerable as he says the words: eyes wide, expression open and hopeful, as he reaches for your hand and kisses your palm with tender reverence.

“I love you, too.”

***

Dawn breaks over the city and the early morning light reaches through your small, high window. The night was sleepless and perfect: lovemaking punctuated by conversation, by fruits and wine, and culminating in your two bodies wrapped naked around each other in your bed.

Acacius kisses you awake, smiling as your eyes blink sleepily open.

“My love is tired, I think.”

You arch an eyebrow and smirk suggestively. “Gods, I wonder why��?”

As you cuddle against his broad chest, you spy a leather coin purse resting on the table beside the bed. The sight pierces your soft, loving cocoon like an arrow to the heart.

He pays for you. 

Before you can second-guess yourself, you speak. “You don’t have to pay any more. Unless you would rather continue to buy me…”

His expression shifts from confusion to concern. “What do you mean?”

“You pay for me, but you love me and I love you and…It was different before, but now I think our love shouldn’t be bought .”

Acacius smiles and pulls you to him, kissing your forehead. “I know, my love. And I agree, but… Don’t you think your lena would be suspicious, if I stopped paying?”

“She only gets a cut, either way.” A thought occurs to you. “Perhaps we just give her the cut she’d get anyway, for appearances’ sake? And I’ll tell her you gave the rest to me directly.”

He nods, reaching for you again and holding you close against him. 

“Perhaps you won’t need to worry about the lena at all, any more.”

It’s your turn to be confused as you pull back a little and look in his eyes. 

“I was going to ask you anyway, I’ve been thinking about this all the time I was away… I wonder, would you be - would you consider being - my wife?”

“I could pay off any debt you owe to the lena, to this place.” He hastens to reassure you, seeing the look of shock on your face. “And I have money enough to buy us a beautiful home, some land… I have been promoted again, since I saw you last, and now we have some time together until the next campaign, we…we could marry, be together. Husband and wife. What do you say?”

Your heart says yes. Yes. Forever and always, yes , thank Juno and all the gods that brought this beautiful man to you. 

But hearts don’t make the rules in Rome.

You kiss him gently, twine your fingers through his, caress the dark curls that frame his handsome face. “I would give anything to be your wife.”

He smiles sadly. “But?”

“We can’t . Even if I left this world behind for good, I still wouldn’t be allowed to marry, and -”

“I have known men whose wives were once meretrices , it’s not always so strict,” Acacius interjects.

“Were these men imperial officers with a bright future ahead of them?” you ask, as kindly as you can. “At best, I could be a mistress.”

He frowns and shakes his head. “I don’t have to be an officer forever. I don’t want to do this forever, to wage war forever. So I’ll give it up, find another occupation, use my savings…I just want you , my love.”

His thumb wipes away the tears glistening on your face as you fight the sob rising in your throat. “I want you too, I love you too, but…you are under oath, under contract, are you not? They would come after you if you broke it, I would rather die than see you hurt on my account.”

Those beautiful dark eyes are resigned now, full of pain and all too aware that there is no way for this dream to become a reality. Acacius puts his arms around you and holds you tight to his chest, silently kissing the top of your head.

When he leaves you a couple of hours later, to attend to business elsewhere in the city, you turn over and weep, sure that you will never see him again.

***

Catalina knocks on your chamber door a couple of days later, anxiously looking around her, as if afraid she might be seen.

“I don’t think there’s a rule against visiting each other in our rooms, you know.”

“Can’t be too careful, now, can we?” She lowers her voice and beckons for you to come closer. “I’ve been given a message for you. From your soldier boy.”

You move quickly to sit on the couch, afraid that your legs might give way. “He…he came to you ?”

Catalina laughs a little too loudly, and claps her hand to her mouth. “No, he did not - sent one of the other legionaries to me, just so he could get word to you. Well, not just that, we did have a good time, me and young Sextus…” A knowing smile spreads across her face.

“The message . What was the message?”

She snaps out of her reverie and sits beside you. “Tomorrow, noon. The big temple on the Capitoline, at Juno’s cella .”

You nod, taking in the information and already plotting your excuse for the lena . “Catalina, why didn’t he come directly to me?”

“Apparently he was afraid you wouldn’t see him. He’s got it bad for you, according to his pal.” She turns and pulls you into a warm hug, leaning in to whisper in your ear. “Good luck. I’ll make an offering for you.”

***

He’s already there when you arrive, standing at the entrance to the main cella and dressed simply but beautifully in a tunic, belt, and dark green cloak that only serves to emphasise his strong, broad build. You cross the marble floor to join him and he immediately reaches for your hand.

“I am so glad to see you, my love.”

You smile and squeeze his hand. “But why here?”

“I wanted to talk to you, and I needed courage - so I have made some offerings to the goddess.” Acacius nods towards the doors that lead to the cella of Juno, where priests busied themselves with candles, incense, and laying worshippers’ offerings on the goddess’s altar. “I hope she looks favourably upon me.”

“And me,” you add, and he grins. “Come, tell me. What is it that is so important?”

He leads you away from the cella and guides you through the throngs of people making their way to the great temple until you reach a quieter spot under a small portico.

“I meant what I asked you. I want to marry you, more than anything. I know, too, that the rules of this empire won’t allow it.” He takes both of your hands in his. “But I wondered if we could make our own rules.”

“Our own rules?”

He reaches into the leather purse hanging from his belt, and produces a small gold ring set with a polished garnet stone. 

“If we cannot marry by law, then perhaps we might marry in spirit.” He places the ring in your palm, wrapping his hand around yours.

The bustle of the city fades far into the distance. In that moment, it is just you and him.

“You wish this, even though I cannot tend your home, be a real wife to you? In spite of my… work ?”

Acacius nods, hand still cupped around yours. “You will be a real wife, in all the ways that matter to me. And in time I will find a way for us to make a home together.” He looks into your eyes and smiles that hopeful smile you love so much. “And, perhaps, to raise our children there.”

“My work, Acacius. I would still be doing…what I do, at least until then. This does not concern you?”

He shakes his head. “It is a profession, it is not you, no matter what the law says. You do not mind that I fight and kill for a living, this is no different.”

You laugh and shake your head. “I don’t mind, but you are fighting for Rome , for an empire, not…selling yourself.”

“It is a profession .” Acacius reassures you, kissing you on the cheek. “And it is not forever.” He holds up the ring to you again. 

Your smile and nod is his cue to slip the gold band onto your finger, leaning in for a deep kiss as he pulls you tight to him and whispers in your ear.

“I am yours .”

A passing temple worshipper tuts loudly at the public display of affection, and you giggle. 

“And by Juno, I am all yours.”

***

The wedding feast, such as it is, is wine and sweetmeats purchased from a street vendor and consumed, picnic-style, in a quiet, secluded grove of trees near the river. He spreads his cloak on the ground, helps you down, and lays out the food before toasting you with the cup of wine he pours from a wineskin.

“You deserve a far greater feast than this, beloved.”

“This is already far more than I could ever have hoped for, my love.” You lean in and kiss him gently. “I only wish I could be a wife to you in the eyes of the law, too.”

Acacius shakes his head and strokes your cheek. “You are all I need, just as you are. Hang the law; I will find a way for us to live as man and wife. I promise.”

The dappled sunlight catches the garnet of your ring and you hold your hand up, delighted.

“It pleases you?”

“Very, very much.” You rest your head on his shoulder, both content in the quiet. Such pleasure, you think, to be here, with him - your husband , in spirit if not in law - away from the brothel, from the noise and the lena ’s eagle eye.

His hand drifts gently down your bare arm and along the line of your thigh as his lips find yours again. At your ankle, his thick fingers slip under the hem of your dress, hitching it up as his palm caresses your calf, your knee, and starts to plot a course towards your pussy.

“In public , husband?”

Acacius sighs happily at the word, encouraging you to lie back on the cloak as he moves himself between your open thighs. “There’s no one around, wife .” The bristle of his beard scratches at your neck as he nips and sucks at you, fingers already parting the lips of your cunt. “Aren’t couples supposed to consummate their marriage?”

You chuckle and writhe under his broad body as he pushes one, then two fingers into you. “Arguably we consummated this some time ago, my love,” you hiss, reaching under his tunic to undo the undergarment and stroke his cock. He whines with pleasure and fucks you a little faster as his thumb traces tight circles over that most sensitive, intimate place, smiling as you buck against him. 

“What did you tell me, that first night? Find this sweet spot and she’ll be all mine?”

“All yours.” Gods , you’re close. “And I am…I am all yours.”

You come almost as soon as his thick cock pushes inside you, unable to contain the cries of pleasure. You give no thought or care to the possibility of being discovered here, of a passerby witnessing your lovemaking. 

Let them see , you muse, as he fucks you hard and deep, fondling your tits through the fabric of your garment. Let them see how he takes me, fills me; how a man makes love to his new wife.

***

He comes to you every night, then, maintaining the fiction of a transactional relationship by having you give the lena her dues directly. She raised an eyebrow sceptically when you first explained the situation, but money is money, and if she suspects anything she does not let on.

In your chamber, you can almost pretend you are a normal couple. You dine together, bathe together, talk together. As he recounts his experiences with his legion, you realise the extent of his unassuming heroism and his nobility. Unlike many of the other soldiers you have encountered in this work, Acacius has a real sense of the human cost of war, of the humanity involved, whether Roman or barbarian. 

“It is no wonder General Maximus has sought to promote you, my love,” you tell him one evening as you pour him another goblet of wine. “You are clearly a great leader, as well as a great fighter.”

“He has trained me well.” He sips his wine and looks bashfully at the floor. “He does not seek to waste good men like some of the other commanders; he knows the value of their lives. And we look up to him, admire him, for that.”

Your private connubial bliss must, of course, play second fiddle to the demands of the empire. One night, he arrives with a dejected air, explaining sorrowfully and apologetically that his legion is returning to the northern campaign immediately - far sooner than he had anticipated. 

“I thought we had more time, my love. I am so sorry.” 

You smile, shake your head, and kiss him. “We will have plenty of time to come.”

That night, the last night together before fate would make her intervention and change the course of your lives, Acacius is content simply to wrap his arms around you and hold you close to him as he sleeps.

***

The emperor is dead, and the city mourns. In the public squares and fora the newsreaders proclaim that Marcus Aurelius, philosopher-emperor, has died on campaign with the armies of the north, and succession passed to his heir, Commodus.

The armies of the north . Your thoughts turn, as they so often do, to Acacius. His commander was close to the old emperor, you remember, and the heir had a rather more difficult reputation. You walk back to the brothel and imagine your love, clad in the fur-trimmed woollen cloak worn on campaign in the north, willing your love and strength to him across the many miles.

Emperors come and emperors go, but life goes on. A months-long series of gladiatorial games is announced, to mark the death of Aurelius and the accession of his son. The lena cheers when she hears the news, knowing that the attendant surge in visitors to the city means a boost for her business. 

You keep abreast of political and military developments, as usual, via the more informed and talkative of your clients. Severus, a senior aide to one of Rome’s senators, is always happy to oblige.

“Quite the news from the north,” he says one evening, as you help him unwrap his heavy outer toga. 

“Is that so?” Your heart is pounding in your chest, and you steady yourself on the table before pouring him a goblet of wine. “Sit, tell me.”

“A traitor general , if you’ll credit it!” He sips the wine and shakes his head in astonishment. “Cursed the new emperor, took off and left his men. They think he went south, to his homeland. A Spaniard, you know.”

Your breath catches.

“Do you - do you know the name?”

Severus chews the inside of his cheek momentarily. “Marcus? No, that’s not it, it’s…Maximus. Maximus Decimus Meridius. One of Aurelius’s best men, they say, but off he went, revealed as a traitor.” 

He puts a hand on your thigh and leans in to kiss your neck, ignorant of the stunned, horrified look on your face as you try to process this information. He does not seem to notice or care that you barely react. You move into position on the bed unthinkingly, letting him strip you and bend you over so that he can fuck you the way he likes. 

You barely hear his grunts and moans, barely feel it when he pulls out and spills his come on your back. He says something to you before he leaves, but his words are a discordant buzz. Curled up on your bed, your mind races into the small hours until you drift into a fitful sleep.

***

The weeks pass, the games begin, and the blood of men and beasts stains the sandy ground of the Colosseum day after day. The new emperor, out for blood and driven mad with power, seems to want to undo the work of his father with each passing day, starting by crippling the senate.

Information about the fate of Maximus’s legions is scant and often contradictory. Some say that a new commander has been appointed and that the campaign continues, as usual. Others tell of a mutiny in the ranks, of infighting and chaos. Still more swear that the legions will come south and unite in Rome.

“He’ll come and find you, I know he will,” Catalina whispers to you as she passes in the hallway one morning. “Don’t give up. He’ll come.”

The not knowing is unbearable. You make daily offerings at the little shrines and altars in the streets, praying that you might, at least, discover Acacius’s fate for good or ill. 

As you pass a butcher’s shop, you overhear a familiar name, and stop in your tracks to listen as the butcher and his assistant regale their customers with the story of the great general who has become a gladiator.

***

“Where are you off to?”

The lena eyes you up and down in the entrance hall, arms folded across her chest.

“I’m going out for some air and to buy some little cakes, for tonight. We’ve got a while before today’s games are over, I want to take advantage of it.”

“Fair enough. Be back in plenty of time, mind, we want you all fresh and perfumed and powdered!”

You navigate the packed streets, stopping at the baker’s shop to buy a selection of the tiny fruit and honey cakes you like to have in your chamber, before turning back in the direction of the brothel. Your route is a little quieter and you know it by heart, making use of side streets and alleys to avoid the crowds.

You do not notice the hooded man standing in one of the doorways until he steps out in front of you. The parcel of cakes falls to the ground as you cry out with fright, and the man immediately kneels to retrieve it. His fingers caress the back of your hand, and in an instant, you know him.

“You came back to me, my love.”

Acacius lowers his hood slightly, eyes sparkling but alert to his surroundings, and takes your free hand in his, kissing it repeatedly. “Of course, my beloved. I have been trying to come home to you for a while, but given…” He pauses as he searches for the right word. “Given everything , it has taken a little longer than I’d hoped.”

He keeps his hood up as you open the door into the brothel, pulling you back to whisper in your ear. “I’d rather it not be known that I’m here, my love. Not tonight. Here, take this purse, tell the lena I’m a foreign visitor.”

You don’t ask for an explanation. He follows you inside, hanging back in the entrance hallway as you tell the lena that this gentleman approached you in the street and wanted to spend the night.

“He’s a quiet one.” She surveys Acacius suspiciously, and you pray she does not recognise his broad frame.

“He’s nervous, is all,” you suggest, as lightly as you can manage. “First time in the big city, he’s come from a long way off. Best make it a special night, eh?” 

She sighs, nods, and counts the coins as you lead the way to your chamber.

***

“I can explain everything, my love, or at least as much as I’m permitted to say.” Acacius takes off his cloak and settles on your couch, pulling you to him. You press your fingers to his lips.

“After. Explain after.”

The lamps and candles cast a soft glow on the contours of your body as you slip out of your dress and gently sit on his lap, tracing the lines of his features with your fingertips as you kiss his face, featherlight. 

“I hope I’m not too heavy for you, love.” 

He smiles and shakes his head, mouth a little ajar as he takes in the sight of you. “You are perfect.” He tilts his head and sucks on each of your nipples, holding you in place around the waist, as your hand slips under his tunic. A shift of your hips and you are straddling one leg, rocking your hips back and forth against his strong thigh, gasping at the sensation as your cunt grazes against the warm skin, soft hair, and firm muscle.

He watches you, enthralled, one hand resting on your ass and the other squeezing your tits. You hold his gaze, then, caught in the dark fire of his beautiful eyes as you reach your peak and come hard on him, head thrown back and body quivering with pleasure.

“Gods, you are extraordinary.” He helps you stand up and guides you to the bed, tucking a pillow under your head before he strips off and joins you. “My extraordinary woman, I have missed you so.”

His beard scratches against your skin as he kisses your body, moving from your tits down to your soft belly and generous thighs. His lips press against your mound, your pussy, tongue diving into the slick that’s pooled between your legs. 

“You taste spectacular,” he murmurs, shifting forward. He kisses you, deep and slow, so that you can taste yourself as he pushes his cock inside you.

“See?”

You giggle as he begins to fuck you, pulling in and out slowly and deliberately, making sure you feel every inch of him and he every inch of you. 

The worries and uncertainty fade as you make love, bodies moving in perfect harmony, mingled voices gasping and moaning with pleasure, and sweat glistening on your skin. 

After . Explain after.

***

“There are legions at Ostia.”

You pop one of the little cakes into his mouth and settle against his shoulder. Ostia . You like the way he pronounces it, the inflection of his accent.

“Legions?”

He looks at you cautiously. “Legions.” His face tells you he cannot say more, and you fill in the blanks for yourself.

His legion. Maximus’s legions?

“And you rode into the city on…business?”

He nods and reaches for the cup of lemon water on the bedside table. “Business, yes. In preparation for the games to come.”

“Can you stay tonight, or must you return to…?” You daren’t name the place.

“I can stay tonight, but must leave at first light.” He puts his arm around you and lowers his voice. “My love, there may be some trouble in the days to come. I will come for you as soon as I can, but…be warned. Be ready.”

He speaks with such grave sincerity that you immediately understand the stakes involved. “I will be ready, love.”

***

The commotion outside in the streets brings you and the rest of the girls into the main antechamber, wondering what on earth is going on to cause such tumult. There is no sign of the lena , though her ledger and pen have been left in their usual places on her little table. 

Althea runs a finger along the edge of the scroll and emits a low whistle. “You don’t think she’s done a runner, do you?”

Catalina shakes her head. “She wouldn’t leave the ledger behind. Or, for that matter” - she gestures to a little box discreetly tucked between a pillar and the wall - “her petty cash.”

The sound of the main door opening hushes the gathering, and the lena strides purposefully into the room.

“Suppose you’re all wondering what’s going on, hmmm? Well, ladies, looks like we’ve got another dead emperor. No-one seems to be mourning that lunatic, though, unlike his father…Anyway!” She throws up her hands and rolls her eyes in exasperation as she seats herself at the table. “Just another ordinary, quiet day in Rome.”

You and the other girls cluster around the lena , asking question upon question as you vie for information. With a roar, she silences you again.

“All’s I know is this - he died in the arena, and it was that Merciful Maximus or Maximus the Merciful or whatever in Hades’ name they call that gladiator who did it. Commodus challenged him to a duel, didn’t he?” She sucks her teeth. “Not the brightest, that one.”

“Maximus?” Your voice cuts through the gasps and mutterings of the other girls. “Maximus defeated the emperor?”

The legions. This is why they were at Ostia, to overthrow the emperor and restore the senate. You wonder if Acacius has already entered the city - indeed, if he was there to witness the fight.

“He did,” the lena sighs. “Fat lot of good it did him, he’s dead now, too. Right! Back to your chambers, we might get a few boys in festive mood now that Commodus is gone.”

Your stomach churns as you walk silently down the hallway and back to your room. If Maximus’s legions had massed at Ostia to march on the city, and were already on the move, who knew what fate awaited them now that the general was dead, leaving a power vacuum at the very top of Rome? Or perhaps, you reason with yourself, the senate will work quickly to restore order, and will not punish the legionaries who were ready to stage a coup. After all, it was the senate they were fighting for.

One way or another, tomorrow you will begin the search for Acacius.

***

Trade was as dead as the emperor that night, much to your relief. In the early hours, you lie awake and stare at the painted ceiling, thinking over and over about the places he might be and where you should start. Sleep, eventually, finds you.

You dream that he has come to you, that he is calling you by name, over and over, shaking you by the arm until you respond.

“Please, my love, wake up.”

No dream at all. He is there, real and whole, sitting on the side of your bed. His handsome face is marked with dirt and grime, hands and knees grubby, as if he has come fresh from a long journey on horseback. 

You sit up and reach for his hand. “Acacius…husband. You’re alive, you’re safe.”

He nods in response, until he buries his face in his hands and leans forward, head between his legs, and gives a devastated, feral roar the likes of which you’ve never heard before. You tentatively move beside him, fingers working to undo his cuirass so that you can rub his back through the thin fabric of his tunic. His big, strong body shakes with fury and hurt under your gentle caress. 

Neither of you speak for some time. You try to ground and console him with your touch, your closeness; and in time his rapid breathing slows and he raises his head to speak.

“I would have come sooner.” His voice is low and croaky, worn out by a day of shouting. “I would have come…I had to help them, had to get the boy away, get him safe.” He looks at his grimy hands, as if noticing them for the first time. “The road was dusty, I’m covered in the stuff. I’m sorry, I…”

You shake your head and nod at him to continue. Acacius sighs despondently. 

“I was in the arena today. Me, a few other officers, other centurions, all loyal to Maximus, the senate, the people. We wanted to be ready, to prepare for the others.”

He reaches for your hand, cupping it in both of his and kissing it with reverent care. 

“I…we…” His voice breaks a little. “He died , there on the arena floor. Murdered by his own emperor.” He steadies himself, a note of rage entering his tone. “He was a hero of Rome. A hero of Rome . And that was how his life ended. That was his reward.”

He looks at you, features set hard, eyes burning with anger. And then his face softens, expression crumples, and he cannot hold back the tears as he buries his face against your shoulder.

***

You wash him clean of that terrible day in the baths, anointing his cuts and bruises with balms, ointments, and kisses. 

He watches as you apply the mixtures carefully to his skin. “I did not know you were a doctor, sweet lady.”

“No doctor,” you smile. “Just some knowledge passed from my mother and aunts, about healing plants and balms. I like to keep a few with me, just in case.”

“Just in case?”

“In case I marry a soldier.”

When he is clean, you dress him in a plain tunic from the linen cupboard and take him to bed.

Acacius rests his head on your bosom as you stroke his hair, his strong arm draped across your body. After a time, he breaks the silence.

“How can I keep fighting, if this is the fate of a Roman hero?” He shakes his head a little. “And yet, I am bound by my oath to serve.”

You kiss his forehead and stroke his cheek, tracing the line of a scar. “What would he say to you now?”

He looks up at you with those pitch-dark eyes, permitting himself a little smile. “Apart from ‘how did you ever manage to get a woman as lovely as her to marry you ’?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Apart from that.”

“He would probably say that the dream of Rome is worth fighting for.”

“I think you have your answer, then.”

He does not seem entirely convinced as he sits up beside you and leans in for a kiss. “Perhaps.” Another kiss. “Or perhaps only love is worth fighting for.”

You lie down and pull him to you, happy to feel his solid weight on top of you again. “Aren’t you fighting for love, though, when you fight for Rome?”

“If only she weren’t such a cruel mistress.” He kisses your neck, tugging down the neck of your robe to expose your breast. “Gods, I need you, my love.”

With your help, he discards his own tunic and takes off your dress. He sits back on his heels for a moment, running his big hands up your bare legs as he looks into your eyes.

“I am all yours, Acacius.” You extend your hand to him, guiding him into position. “Let me help you forget it all, even if just for tonight.”

He moves forward on top of you, holding your gaze for a few moments as he caresses your face and strokes your hair. His kiss is tender but urgent, his hand reaching for your breast as he starts to grind against you. 

“All yours, my love,” you repeat, watching as he moves back down your body. “Take me as you wish, as you need.”

He tries to take in every part of you with his mouth, lips moving with desperate need and grazing over your tits, your soft belly, your hips. One, two thick fingers slip between your thighs, keen to remind you what you taught him that first night together. You writhe against him as his beard scrapes against the delicate skin and curls that cover your mound, unable to stop yourself guiding him between your legs.

”Mine. Mine .” Acacius mutters the word as he hooks his arms under your thighs and buries his face against your cunt, nose rubbing against you while his tongue parts your folds. It’s as if he wants to devour you, such is the urgency with which he sucks and laps and licks. He runs his fingers over your dripping core and drops his hand to his cock, using your wetness to stroke himself as he continues to eat you out. He laps greedily at you as you come, your slick still glistening all over his face as he shifts forward and enters you.

He holds you down as he fucks you hard, fingers twined through yours, sweat dripping from his beautiful body onto your tits. There’s a desperation to his lovemaking tonight, a desire to escape his grief by losing himself in you - in your cunt, your flesh. He comes with a roar, filling you with life as he tries to rid himself of the bloody memory of death.

***

He leaves in the early morning, following military orders to assemble at the Field of Mars in spite of his misgivings and wavering loyalty. You make love before he goes: slow, soft, congress in the dawn light. 

You watch him dress, sitting up naked in bed. “Be careful, my love.”

Acacius fastens his cloak and leans in for a final kiss. “You too, love. I will come for you as soon as I can.” Before he leaves the room, he nods towards a leather pouch resting on the table.

“That isn’t payment , in case you are wondering. It is my duty as your husband - some money, should you need it urgently while I am away.” He looks as though he would rather sacrifice himself in the arena than leave. “I love you.”

That was the last time you saw him, until he appeared, a decade and a half later, as a vision in white: the triumphant hero of empire.

***

The crowds have dispersed now, the city humming with excitement at the prospect of a series of games to celebrate the feats of Acacius and his army in Numidia. 

The terracotta oil lamps cast a warm, comforting glow around your small home, nestled in a side street in a decidedly unfashionable part of the city. The brothel is firmly in the past for you now, as you earn a living making medicinal balms and ointments, using recipes learned from your mother and aunts. You prepare your simple evening meal and eat it quietly, preoccupied all the while by Acacius. 

He had seen you today, you were sure of it. What did he remember of you, of your love, of the secret “marriage” of spirit the two of you had entered into? Had he recognised you at all? He had grown even more handsome with the passing of time. You were not sure the same could be said of your beauty.

The little metal figurine lies on the table before you, your fingertips tracing over the outline of the man you had loved so much. With a gentle sigh, you move to the corner of the room and retrieve a plain, well-worn wooden box from the chest that holds your most precious possessions. He fits in well here, this Acacius, nestled among carefully-folded fabric you have preserved like a relic all these years. 

What might have been, in another world. But you have your memories, and your relics, and the comfort of having seen him one more time, after all these years.

***

A day or so later, you are about to turn in for the night when you hear the distinctive sound of a horse coming to a halt just outside your home, swiftly followed by a firm knock. A knock on your door at this hour is not usual , but neither is it unexpected or unprecedented. People have, on occasion, come in urgent circumstances, desperately seeking this balm or that ointment. 

You reach for your mantle and open the door a little. “Tell me what the problem is and I’ll get you what you need, if I have it.”

The cloaked figure at your door chuckles, turns, and takes down their hood.

"So you really do live. I am not sure one of your fine balms could fix the problems I’m facing, dear lady.”

You steady yourself on the doorframe, unsure whether to laugh, cry, or touch him to make sure he’s really there. 

“Oh, gods… Acacius .” You shake your head and correct yourself quickly. “I mean, General Acacius, I… how ?”

“Acacius, please. I’ll always just be Acacius with you.” He crosses an arm over his chest in a gesture of honourable sincerity, those dark eyes warm and oh so familiar, even after a distance of nearly twenty years. “May I come in?”

You gesture towards the table at the centre of the room and close the door, still not quite believing that he is really here , in your little home. He is no longer wearing the dress uniform, you notice, spying a simpler tunic and belt under the cloak. 

“I have some wine, if you would like? Nothing like the fine stuff you’re used to now, of course, but…”

“Anything you have is perfect.” Acacius moves closer to you and reaches for your hand, pressing his lips to it and smiling with delighted recognition when he realises you still wear the ring he gave you. He seems reluctant to let go, caressing your hand in both of his as his eyes take you in from head to toe. “I am so happy to see you…I thought I would never see you again. I…”

Before he can finish his sentence, you throw your arms around him and pull his beautiful, broad frame to you in a tight embrace.

***

The conversation is light, at first - small talk, mostly about the triumph, about the campaign in Africa, the sheer weight of the special armour and cloak he had worn for the procession, his relief in seeing his wife, Lucilla.

You smile when he mentions her. “You are both very lucky indeed, I think. She’s much loved, very beautiful, kind… maybe now you are home we will see more of her in the city? She is missed by the people.”

Acacius purses his lips. “Her movements are…not always in her own hands, these days.”

You nod in understanding as silence settles over the two of you.

He sips his wine and takes a deep breath. “I came back for you, did you know that? All those years ago. I kept my word, my vow to you. But you were gone .”

He tells his side of the story simply, though at times he struggles to keep his emotions in check. After Maximus’s death, it was well over a year before Acacius saw Rome again. In the political turmoil that followed the demise of Commodus, young officers like him were deployed to various parts of the empire to secure the Roman presence - and, he suspected, to prove their loyalty to the litany of new emperors who followed in quick succession. 

“As soon as I got back to the city, first chance I got, I went to find you. And everything was different - a new lena in the place.” He shakes his head at the memory. “When I asked about you, she…well, she said you were gone.”

You press your fingertips against the surface of the table. “I had returned to the family farm, I meant to come back, but…”

Acacius nods. “She knew you had gone to your family, but she told me you were dead . Said the news was that you’d died, a few months after you left Rome.”

He tells how he refused to accept your death. He searched for you as best he could, trying to piece together the little he knew about your life before Rome, before the brothel, before him . Dead end after dead end eventually convinced him, against his instincts, that you were really gone.

”I mourned you as a…a husband . Grew my hair for the period of mourning, didn’t trim my beard…” He smiles sadly. “I even covered my head and burned that linen tunic you’d dressed me in, that last night we spent together, in lieu of a funeral pyre. It was all I had of you.”

You reach for his hand, noticing the scars and callouses that were not there the last time you held it so tenderly. “I am so sorry, my lo-” The words came as easily as they did that last morning together. You checked yourself. “I mean, Acacius .”

He squeezes your hand and continues. “I kept telling myself I had let you down. Had I been here I could have helped you, made sure you were safe, protected you.” A sombre look darkens his features. “When I saw you up there in the crowd, for an instant I wondered if I was seeing things, if you were an apparition…reminding me that I had failed you.”

“You could never fail me, Acacius. Never. Not then, not now.” 

You sip your wine as you prepare to tell him your side of the story.

“I left Rome a couple of months after you did, and went back north to my family. I had to go but I intended to return, because I knew you would keep your word.”

Silence, again, and you know exactly what he’s going to ask you.

“Why did you leave the city…why did you have to go?”

Another sip of wine.

“I was with child.”

***

When you were absolutely certain, about two months after he left, you packed your things and made the necessary arrangements. His money helped pay your way northwards and home - and paid off your outstanding debts to the lena .

“Don’t you have siblings who can look after your ailing mother?”, she’d said, already starting to count your coin. “Can’t be doing with losing good girls like you, these days.”

“Only my brother remains on the farm, and he cannot manage it and care for my mother at the same time.” It wasn’t a lie , not really. Your sisters were scattered, and since your father’s death the farm was your brother’s responsibility. And strictly speaking, he did have to care for your mother - even if she wasn’t ailing in the way you’d described to the lena to justify your sudden departure.

You looked carefully at every soldier you saw on the road north, hoping against hope that one of them might be yours . In a roadside tavern you even asked after Acacius, after you overheard a group of legionaries talking about Maximus, but to no avail. 

At home, you were circumspect about your situation in Rome - and about the circumstances of your pregnancy. Pressed repeatedly by your mother, you told her the father was a young officer who loved you very much.

“And where is this lover boy, now that he’s got a child on you?” She surveyed your swelling belly with a mixture of irritation and resignation.

“He returned to his legion and we have had no word since.” Another not-really-a-lie. 

Your mother rolled her eyes, but could not disguise the sympathy in her tone. “Tale as old as time.”

You did whatever work you could, within the limits imposed by your condition. And one day, as you rested for a few moments in the meadow, the sun glinting off your garnet ring as your hand lay protectively across your swollen stomach, you felt the child quicken in your womb.

In your lowest moments, you worried that your certainty about paternity was misplaced, given the nature of your work. With every fibre of your being, though, you knew that this child was his. It could be no one else’s.

You planned, originally, to give birth and raise the child to the point where they could be taken care of by another while you worked. At that stage, you assumed, you and your child would return to Rome - and to Acacius.

But fate dealt a very different hand

***

There’s shock and sadness and a kind of excitement, even, in Acacius’s eyes as he listens to you tell the story. Realisation dawns: he was a father .

His voice is hushed. “A boy or a girl?”

You squeeze his hand, as much for your own comfort as for his. “A boy. And your double, from the moment he came into this world - all dark eyes and curly hair and even strange little habits and gestures that I knew were yours . I…named him for you.”

“A son .” He seems awestruck. “I have a son . Gods, I wish I had known.”

“I am so sorry, Acacius, I wish I could have found a way to tell you, for you to know…but I had no idea where you were, how I could find you or reach you.” You swallow back the tears. “Truly, please forgive me.”

He shakes his head and leans a little closer to you. “You don’t need to apologise, there’s nothing to forgive.” He kisses the back of your hand again before wiping an errant tear from your cheek. 

You look at him - really look at him, really take him in properly after all this time apart. He wears his age beautifully, from the lines on his face to the silvery strands of hair that frame his brow. Acacius has acquired more scars in his years of soldiering - across the bridge of his fine nose, a more livid, longer mark to his right cheek. But his eyes, in spite of all the terrible things he has seen and all the blood he has spilled, are as warm and kind when they look at you as they were the first night you met. 

“I always meant to come back to the city,” you continue. “I thought we’d return once he was old enough, find you again, and somehow make a life together. And then my mother died, and I couldn’t leave my brother to tend the farm alone, and my… our boy was so happy there. You were rising through the ranks, too, and a woman and child would have been the last thing you needed.”

Acacius shakes his head, regretfully, and sips his wine. 

“Did you tell him? About me?”

“As soon as he was old enough, yes. I told him all about you.” You smile at the memory of that time and tell him about your little boy’s bright eyes and dark curls, the wide smile on his face as he dashed here and there on the farm, chasing chickens and helping his uncle plant seeds. Your brother whittled him a rudimentary wooden sword, so that he could fight imaginary battles in the fields and cry out, with all the force his little voice could muster: “I am Acacius, hero of Rome.”

“He’s near a man now, I suppose?” Acacius looks around the room, as if making sure he hasn’t missed the boy somehow. 

You close your eyes as another memory casts a long, dark cloud of grief and pain: a memory of fever sweeping the countryside, of the horror as your bright, clever boy fell ill overnight, of your desperate attempts to heal him. And that indelible image, the one that still wakes you at night, sometimes: your brother, tears rolling down his weathered farmer’s face, carrying the small body in its small shroud.

***

Acacius says nothing for a long time, just holds your hand on the table and stares at his cup of wine as he tries to comprehend what you have told him. He breaks his silence with just two words.

“How old?”

“He was seven.”

You rise from the table, gently squeezing his shoulder as you cross towards your wooden chest and take out the plain wooden box where you had placed the miniature Acacius a couple of nights before. Settling back beside him at the table, you remove the lid and show him the contents.

“Is this…” He smiles wryly at the little figurine, picking it up to examine it more closely.

“I told you, didn’t I? They would cast you in bronze some day, Or, if not bronze, whatever that is.”

Carefully, you take out the rest of the items you’d stored with such love since the day you lost your beloved boy. A small tunic. A pair of his sandals, still marked with dust from the farm. A wax tablet, inscribed with his rudimentary letters and numbers. 

Acacius handles his son’s belongings as though they are the most precious objects in the world. He turns a little figurine of a soldier, carved from bone, over and over in his palm.

“He loved that one best.” 

It is strangely comforting and intimate to sit with Acacius in this shared grief, watching him somehow try to know the little boy he never met through the few belongings he left behind in the world.

“Acacius…” He looks at you, eyes glistening with tears, and you fight the urge to embrace him again. “I think you should keep that. If you wish, of course, but -”

He nods, cupping the toy in his big hand before placing it with great care and tenderness in the leather pouch on his belt.

“I can carry him with me.”

***

Before he leaves you, you give him a jar of your very best healing ointment as a parting gift. 

“For your next campaign, to help with cuts and bruises.”

He kisses you on the cheek, smiling as he opens the jar and inhales the warm, fragrant aroma of the balm. “I hope to get some respite from the battlefield for a while.”

You grin. “I’m glad to hear it. And I am so glad that you have a wonderful wife to go home to.”

His travelling cloak once more around his broad shoulders, Acacius bids you farewell and holds you in a long, tight embrace and murmurs into your ear.

“I loved you so very much. Always remember that.”

***

More games. More bloodshed. You stay at home, away from the festivities and the crowds. 

Another late-evening knock to your door, and this time you decide not to answer. The games have brought a rowdy crowd to the city, and it’s impossible to know what awaits on the other side. 

They knock again, firmly, clearly. Not the knock of a drunk, you muse.

You open the door to a young man, dressed in the typical garb of a servant, and a woman of regal bearing, dressed in a simple hooded cloak. 

“May I come in?”

She leaves the servant outside and checks that the door is firmly shut before she takes down her hood, revealing her fine features and blonde curls as you gasp in recognition - and panic.

“Gods! I mean…my lady, I…”

Lucilla smiles that sweet smile so beloved of the ordinary citizens and reaches for your hand, attempting to steady your evident nerves. “Please, don’t be alarmed. I cannot stay long, but…may we sit?”

Dumbfounded, you gesture towards your simple wooden chairs, watching in astonishment as the daughter of Marcus Aurelius seats herself at your table. She nods towards the other chair, encouraging you to join her.

“I am very sorry for arriving like this so late in the evening, unannounced. I do hope I’m not putting you out.”

You shake your head quickly, panic and terror still written all over your face, and she chuckles gently. “Please, I meant it - you have nothing to fear from me. And yes, I know my husband came to see you.” 

“He…I mean, I…I mean, we …”

Lucilla places her elegant, pale hand on the back of yours by way of reassurance. “I know. He has often spoken of you to me - and of his sorrow at not being able to protect you. When he realised you still lived, well…I simply wanted to meet the woman who meant so much to Acacius. We have a lot in common, you and I.”

For a moment, you wonder if you are dreaming. Most women would rather ignore their husband’s past loves, let alone want to visit them. 

“You didn’t mind that he came to see me?”

She shakes her head, blue eyes meeting yours. “Not at all. In fact, I encouraged him to seek you out, after he saw you during the triumph.”

“I…I’m not sure I understand, my lady.”

“We’ve lived , you and I, haven’t we? When Acacius and I met, I had already lost so many people. My husband, my father, my brother…and the man who was my first great love.”

Lucilla looks away for a moment, emotion threatening her poise. She speaks haltingly, more quietly now. “And I lost my son, too. I was very sorry to hear about your boy.” 

In that instant you forget all etiquette and protocol and extend your hand to hers, to comfort and to share the burden of your common grief. No more a former prostitute and the daughter of a great emperor - here, at your rustic table, you are simply two women united by the experience of loss.

“So we do have much in common, it seems, my lady.”

“We do. And that’s without even mentioning Acacius.” She smiles at you conspiratorially, and laughter fills the small room. 

“It haunted him, not having been able to find you again. Not getting to say goodbye, to tell you how much you meant.” She pulls her cloak more tightly around herself and rises from the table. “I was able to bid farewell to my first great love. When we realised you were alive, well…I wanted my beloved Acacius to have that chance, too.”

Before she takes her leave, Lucilla embraces you, kissing each cheek. “Thank you for loving him so well, all those years ago.”

You nod, still not quite believing that this conversation is really happening. “And thank you , for loving him now. And for encouraging him to visit me. He…he married a very good woman.”

She pulls up her hood and moves to the door, pausing for a moment. “He has always had impeccable taste, it seems.”

A final smile and nod, and she is gone, helped onto her horse by her servant before they ride away into the night, and home to the waiting arms of a hero of Rome.

[eee-lordy]

can i request a saltburn fic with felix and ollie both fighting over the reader? like maybe felix asks them both over for the summer and there is a lot of tension between the three of them if you catch my drift??? as steamy as you'd like!

!!! nsfw minors dni !!!

warnings: fem!reader, full on threesome, unprotected sex, absolute filth

───※ ·❆· ※───

In the case of Oliver and Felix, the three of you became fast friends. Yours was a strange little trio, three personalities that would likely clash if you hadn't met during the right circumstances, last semester.

It all happened one night after a party in some frat. You'd been abandoned by your friend, for a boy, and bummed into Felix on the balcony in search of a smoke. He gave up a cigarette for you, lit it, and spent as long as it took to smoke chatting away.

You'd seen him around campus, leading his clique around, offering outsiders royal waves. You'd never imagined you'd have a reason to speak to the guy. Or that you'd enjoy Felix's conversation as much as you had.

The next night, you'd met Oliver at the pub. You were ordering a rum and opening your wallet for a couple bucks. But this guy with piercing blue eyes had already been slipping the barkeep a pair of tens and told you yours was covered, not to worry.

"Oliver?" Felix came into view laughing about how he'd just met you and it seemed like the fates were binding you all together. You laughed at how ridiculous it sounded. But weren't turned off by the idea of the three of you being destined to occupy the same space together. You'd seen Oliver around campus too, always intrigued by the look in his sharp eyes and the demeanor he possessed.

Felix urged the three of you to claim a hightop table at the pub that night. And that's where you stayed, sharing drinks and laughs and trying not to read too much into the way either of the boys kept brushing their knuckles against your arm and their knees against your legs. You simply thanked God for the company and ate up the way each boy kept looking at you. Like you'd had been and were only ever going to be the only woman in the world.

Then it happened again the next weekend. You drank and laughed and soaked up every little glance, and each time one of the boys brushed your knee with theirs. And then again the weekend after that. You talked and talked about shit you'd never brought up with anyone else and listened as they did too.

You crashed in Oliver's dorm that night, too drunk to move further than he could assist you. He let you take up too much space in his bed. You woke up to find him propped against the wall, asleep, his hand gently splayed across your upper thigh.

Then Oliver asked you both to a party. He guided you through the crowded dorm with his hand at the base of your spine. You felt a chill when you turned around to meet Oliver's gaze, as his bore into your very soul. Felix dragged either of you around the rest of the evening, introducing you to people he felt worth knowing.

The three of you spent almost every weekend together at the pub or parties or Felix's dorm room. When a change of pace presented itself in the form of three concert tickets, won on the radio by yours truly, you knew just the two to ask along.

At the show, Felix kept his fingers creeping around the bend of your waist, pulling you closer in the crowd. He would lean in to talk in your ear, loud enough to be heard over the music. Close enough to send a shiver down your spine.

Felix took you and Ollie back. As you all shared how amazing the night was, you found yourself getting weirdly emotional about how special it was to hear that music live with these two who had come to matter so much to you. Oliver leaned closer from the back seat to assure that you mattered just as much to them too, his voice low and sweet in your ear. Felix let his left hand leave the steering wheel to find your thigh, running his fingers in soothing circles to assure he'd had just as meaningful a time.

You got dropped off first. But you desperately wanted to stay planted in that passenger seat. You didn't want to leave the way Felix kept tracing patterns against your bare leg. You didn't want to stop hearing Oliver's voice in your ear.

But you were dog tired. So you slinked out and waved goodbye and watched the boys fixate their stares on you as they wished you sweet dreams.

The next weekend, Felix asked you each to his home for the summer.

///

You and Oliver paced behind Felix, keeping up as he marched you through this castle he called home.

"This is the spare. Well, there is more than one, but I figured you could both sleep here, as I'm right on the other side of the loo. The other spare rooms are two floors away. Wouldn't want one of yous to feel left out now would I?" Felix explained, walking you into the bedroom with a giant wardrobe, one California King.

"You want us both to stay in here?" You clarified, not able to ignore the fact there was only one bed. You wouldn't have minded so much but... what if Oliver did?

"Well, like I said, I only figured. Your choices are here. The spare room two floors away. Or there's my bed." Felix responded, catching both your attention and Oliver's in a moment of tension that hung heavy in the air. Then there was a knock. It was apparently and thankfully time for dinner.

///

Felix got cleaned up first. He disappeared to the bath, leaving you and Oliver to shuffle a stack of cards in his room. The pair of you took the opportunity to marvel over Felix's home and lifestyle. To dare each other to snoop through his things. To share a laugh and pour a drink and chug them so fast you downed three more by the time Felix returned.

When the statuesque man stepped out of the steam filled loo, the sight of his damp hair and bare chest almost made you blush. But you ceased from oggling him too long, rushing to stand and take your turn in the bath.

You tried not to think too hard about how entranced you'd been by Felix just before. You tried not to wish too hard that he might open the door to the room you sat washing up in now. You tried not to dream of Oliver impatient for his own turn, come storming in to occupy the same water as you. You turned off your mind, hurrying to dry off and slip into your pj's. A giant shirt that you decided had counted as a night gown.

Then, you headed out of the door that led to Felix's room. Oliver and he sat there playing the same game of cards and sharing a smoke.

"Your turn, Ollie." You announced, not missing the way his eyes racked up your figure as you walked closer to the pair. Oliver mumbled something of agreement, moving to take his turn cleaning up.

Felix thanked you for his fresh beverage and beat you in the next round of cards. Frustrated, you challenged him to another, to competitive to leave it at that.

Felix waved you over to play his turn. You told him to wait as you got up to mix more drinks. Apparently Felix had already caught up to being as tipsy as the rest of you. And there were no classes to worry about the next day. So you saw no harm in getting smashed as possible.

Oliver wasn't long away, stepping into the room to continue the game. But it had only been for two, until now.

"We can be a team Ollie," You waved him over, figuring since you'd played his last hand, it made sense.

"Not fair. But I like the challenge." Felix grinned. Oliver shrugged and insisted you get up from the chair you occupied, swiftly guiding you to sit on his lap all the while. This wasn't unusual, as the three of you had blurred the lines of physical touch before hand. Always grabbing and pulling each other every which way, sharing small sofas for movie nights, jumping on each other's backs on walks home from the pub.

"Shall we raise the steaks? Make it a betting game?" Oliver venured to wonder.

"Not enough money to play around like that." You warned. Felix shrugged.

"Strip poker?"

"Would take too long to get exciting." You pointed, imagining the game dragging on between the three of you.

"If Felix loses he's got to strip. All the way! If we lose," You gestured between yourself and Oliver, "Oliver has to kiss you. Tounge and all." You dared, drunk by that point.

"I'd kiss Felix any day of the week." Ollie declared, tracing your side, peering up at you.

"How come you're not participating in any of these scenarios love?" Felix pouted, looking to you with a raised brow.

"Is it getting hot in here ot what?" You joked buylt felt the tension of the room rise undeniably. That same old weight that hung between the three of you since the night you'd all gathered around the pub table.

"Think that may just be you, doll. In that sexy little night shirt." Felix flirted, casting you a smile as Oliver's fingers dared to rest just under the hem of your clothing.

The game went on, then, terms and conditions being agreed, too. The round flew by in almost silence, like there wasn't anything worth saying until a score was decided. Then Felix played the winning hand.

"Losers! Im now owed a kiss." The posh boy boasted, sitting back in his chair and crossing his arms all smug.

"Fine. C'mre, then." Oliver waved to the guy, keeping a firm hold on your placement in his lap. Felix chuckled, and moved to lean over as if he was anticipating this moment. Then, right before your eyes, Felix pressed his lips to Oliver's, leaving a lingering peck there. He broke it off with another small laugh. But before he could sit back again, you spoke up.

"You can do better than that." You jested, not the steamy dare you had in mind. Reaching for the drink you'd made, Felix turned his gaze toward you, rasing a brow and a grin. The he turned his sights back to Oliver who gave a nod of consent.

Felix kissed Oliver again, closing his mouth to the boys and slipping a tongue in for good measure. When it ended, another was shared, even more passionate than you'd expected to see.

"Well now I just feel left out." You quipped, tightening your grip on Oliver's neck as the boys ceased their dare.

Felix just laughed and turned his hooded gaze to meet yours.

"Awe, wanna have your own turn, love?" He cooed, resting his hand on one of Oliver's knees that wasn't supporting your weight.

"Passing out your affections quite freely tonight." You half joked, looking into Felix's deep ember eyes.

"Only if you want. Won't be jealous will ya Ollie?"

"I can share." The man holding your frame responded as Felix pressed his smile to your mouth. You let him kiss you, slowly and sweetly. You kissed him back as your brain whirled around trying to figure out if this was all a dream.

"In order to share, Ollie, you've got to have a turn as well." You encouraged in a low tone.

"Will you let me have one?" He rang, right in your ear. His fingers were tracing lines up the sides of you, below the shirt you wore as a nightgown.

"I'll let the pair of you do whatever you please." You dared to hint.

"Now that's an interesting offer." Oliver smiled, looking up at you, those damn blue eyes seeing right into your soul.

"Kiss her." Felix whispered in a demanding tone, still only am inch away from you. Oliver looked down to your lips and waited for you to make an ever so slight move forward. And then his lips were curled against yours. His arm was snug around your waist. Your brain was still trying to catch up. Oliver kissed you with intention, waiting for you to match his pace then deepening his affections. It wasn't long before his kisses moved to bite against your neck.

That gave you the chance to turn your eyes to Felix, who sat watching with his teeth digging into his bottom lip. You let your eyes fall to his grip that remained on Oliver's knee. And then you caught a glimpse of the buldge in his joggers. Your eyes dared to meet Felix's once more, offering him a sultry grin.

"Alright." Felix seemed to decide, moving to stand. All of a sudden, he was gently pulling you from Oliver's lap, and over toward the bed.

"Get on your knees Oliver Quick." Felix demanded, grinning all the while. Oliver was speechless, but wasted no time obeying orders, bending to kneel before the bed. It didn't shock you thar Felix started calling shots. He was often the the decision maker of the group.

He asked if he could take off your underwear as his fingers already hooked the hem. You were nodding faster than you could think, excitement raving through your body.

Felix turned you around, pulled your back flush against him; and sat down nice and easy. You perched perfectly in his lap, registering his excitement prodding against your back side as Felix draped your legs over his, opening you up to Oliver.

The boy kneeling before you rose his hands to your thighs, letting his palms soothing your skin there.

"You sure? I mean about... all of this?" Oliver wondered, keeping his eyes locked on yours.

"I want this. Whatever tonight has to offer, I want you both."

Oliver nodded and whispered okay. And then he leaned closer. When his lips met your core, his breath was hot. When his kiss pressed against you, the burning coil of desire in your belly sprung out of control.

Felix kept busy by kissing you neck and letting his hands wander up your shirt to your breasts, kneading away. The mix of feelings and attention made your every nerve stand on end.

Oliver let his tongue lap at your middle and gazed up at you with those piercing blue eyes. You carded a hand through his hair and struggled not to pull him closer against you, desperate for something fiercer. But still, the steady swirl of his tongue worked up a whimper you couldn't restrain.

"Well done Ollie. Now come up here with us." Felix purred, stopping the other boy from making you squirm. Oliver broke his kiss from your middle and stood as he was told. Felix went on to raise you from his lap, tugging at the shirt you still wore. After he asked nicely, you shrugged it off with a smile. Felix pulled you back to the bed then, propping you against the pillows.

"Tops off lover boy." Felix winked at Oliver who was in the midst of crawling to join you on the bed. As the dark eyed boy whipped his tee off his form, Oliver was moving slower. The bare chested Felix grinned wider and helped Oliver with the last steps of taking his shirt off. Then he pushed the blue eyed boy against the pillows at your side.

"Well that was nice." You cooed, eagerly turning to face the guy, reaching out to trace patterns against his chest.

"And I was only getting started." Oliver smiled and let his eyes fall across your bare form. You nearly blushed under his observation. Oliver had this way of looking at you and making you feel like the only person alive on earth. As you turned your eyes down, you saw Felix ripping off Oliver's shorts and biting a kiss to his hips.

That gave you the chance to reach a hand out to press against Oliver's underwear. Fitting his clothed length in your grasp, Oliver whined in your ear. All the while, Felix had moved to trail kisses across your stomach. It wasn't long before his lips found your core, moving more greedily than Oliver had.

Your breath caught as Felix lapped at your middle, shouldering closer to suck and lick the most delicate part of you like it was his last meal.

"Oh, fuck Felix." You gasped, shocked by how quickly and easily he'd worked you up to nearly exploding. Oliver was peppering kissed on your breast as you left a palm close enough for him to grind on.

With a few more fervent swipes of his tongue, you started to mutter something of a warning. And that's when Felix stopped. You let out a frustrated groan as he shot you a salacious grin.

"Poor thing... has he not let you finish?" Oliver breathed in your ear. All at once, he reached down to slip a finger down to the middle of you. "Let me fix that."

As Oliver moved his fingers to swirl against the hilt if your core, Felix settled at your side, dancing his fingers down to slide a couple of digits inside of you. He found a steady pace to pump in and out of you as Oliver widened and quickened the circles his fingers drew.

"We'll let you come now, pretty girl. Can't say no when I'm watching you squirm like this." Felix said, kissing your neck. Then his fingers curled to press deep inside as he drove his digits still.

You let out a cry reaching to grip Oliver's hair as you felt his smile widen while he kissed your cheek.

Between Oliver's strokes and Felix' prodding, there was no stopping the orgasm that wracked your body. Your lower half trembled as you craned your neck, struggling to keep quiet, still mindful of the house full of people two floors away, somehow.

"That's better isn't it, darlin'?" Oliver cooed. As both men rose their hands, Oliver reached over. The fingers Felix had buried in you found their way into Oliver's mouth. The boys shared an absolutely salacious glance as you laid there coming back to reality, trying to comprehend how you wound up here.

"Wanna find out how much fun being denied something feels, Felix?" Oliver wondered, his tone dark and anxious.

"Thought you never ask." Felix grinned, shifting a little so his hips were facing the ceiling now.

As you laid catching your breath, Oliver bent over you to yank Felix shorts and underwear down enough to reveal his length. Without missing a beat, Oliver's mouth was full of Felix. The possessive manner in which Oliver sucked off the dark eyed boy had the towering fellow muttering curses right of the bat.

Felix's fingers reached for something to ground him, landing on your thigh. His digits clawed against your skin, while Oliver slowed his efforts to tease. You saw on the other side of you, the blue eye'd boys hips wriggling for their own release, as Felix let out an ungodly moan.

And just like that, Oliver pulled away, leaving Felix a carnal mess.

"Right, Ollie, I think your turn is long over due, lay back." You decided. You let your hands reach for his shoulders, pulling Oliver back to the pillows once more. You tried to move slow. To not give away how eager you were for this to continue. To mull through the motions like this was something you'd expected to happen tonight. But your stomach was aflame with want and your heart hammered with excitement and your brian buzzed loud as it tried to process that this was really happening. The boys you'd been growing closer to all year had decided to cross the final line. To make your actual daydreams come true.

Slowly, as planned, you sat up to sling your leg over Oliver's hips. Your straddle hovered as your hand reached to find his length, finally revealing it from under his knickers. With ease, you slid down. You pressed your teeth to your bottom lip and watched Oliver's bright blue eyes disappear as they rolled back in his head.

"Fuck that's hot." Felix chimed from the side, as you moved your hips at a steady pace. You'd only just begun as Oliver melted into the mattress. But his limbs tensed in no time, and his reflexes moved to sit the both of you up more. Oliver's strong arms pushed you from his lap and turned you over in one swift move. His execution of this change in position was so swift that you hadn't even processed that he'd slid into you all at once. With more fever, on his knees behind you, Oliver fucked into you hard and fast. You'd never felt so fucking good, you thought, so quickly, so suddenly.

You buried your head in the mattress and let out a hoarse cry, reveling in every second that Oliver rammed himself into you. Then you felt Felix's fingers again. They danced through your hair and tugged until your head lifted and your eyes met his. With a smile, you watched as Felix rose a brow. And you knew what he wanted. You knew what he was asking. You responded by reaching out to take Felix's well hardened length in your grasp, waiting for him to inch closer so your mouth could do the rest of the work.

Oliver was relentless, bruising your hips in his grasp as he fucked you like there was no tomorrow. He panted and growled and worked his body like he was forced by pure instinct. You knew he'd been bold in the past but he'd always been more calculated and restrained around you until now. Now was unprecedented. Now was so glorious.

Felix whined as you dragged your tongue across the most sensitive part of him. He begged for you to keep up your efforts. He begged to be able to come. Felix's yammering seemed to fuel Oliver's efforts behind you. And it wasn't long until the blue eye'd boy rutted against you in a jagged way, just before ripping away to release across your back. You kept up minding Felix as Oliver seemed to drag a tshirt across your skin, cleaning up the evidence. You hopped it wasn't your tshirt.

Felix followed suit soon after, holding your head against his crotch as he came undone. You were quick to swallow and slow to pull away. Felix let his fingers card through your hair once more as he laid catching his breath, smiling despite the furrow in his brow.

You let your back fall to the mattress, turning to find Oliver crashed there too, eyes fluttering closed, exhausted.

"You'll sleep well." You huffed a small chuckle, letting your knuckles brush across the apple of his cheek. Oliver grinned in response. The boy kept his eyes closed as he reached to grab the hand you rested on his face. Oliver pressed your knuckles to his lips for a kiss.

Felix hummed to concur, rolled over and slung an arm around your middle, weighing you down in a comfortable way. Your body settled into the mattress, a numb tingle still trickling through your nervous system. The boys that cocooned you lay silently, breathing steadily.

You laid awake for a while, as they fell asleep on either side of you. The first night in Felix's summer mansion was nothing short of spectacular. But there were three weeks left in the break. And many long days that waited ahead. And something told you things were about to get messier and messier...

───※ ·❆· ※───

[icyminghao]

a little sweet

pairing: minghao x gn!reader genre: fluff, drabble, established relationship warning(s): mentions of drinking (alcohol) word count: 1.1k

summary: minghao learns of you challenging seungkwan and seokmin to a karaoke battle, only to find you singing an unexpected song.

a/n: the lyrics of the song featured (see title) have been translated to english (though i think it sounds more aesthetic in chinese, so reading this in tandem with listening to the song would enhance your experience <3)

from the universe of i don’t understand (but i love you) and (pretty) hungry, but can be read as a standalone!

based on this request by an anon!

“Myungho, Jun and your partner are about to own Seungkwan and Seokmin at the karaoke machine! You should go watch,” Soonyoung interrupts your boyfriend’s tea session with Wonwoo, poking his head through the tiny gap between the sliding balcony door and the wall as he giggles uncontrollably.

Minghao raises his eyebrows, pleasantly surprised.

You and Minghao had come over to Mingyu and Wonwoo’s shared apartment to hang out with all twelve of his best friends, and he was slightly worried you’d feel out of place here despite your insistence for him to go enjoy his “tea party” with Wonwoo at the balcony.

Processing the new information given to him by Soonyoung, Minghao can’t help but smile. There was nothing to worry about.

Getting up from his seat, Minghao sets his tea cup down on the patio table as he walks through the balcony door, now opened wider thanks to a very excited Soonyoung, only to be greeted with raucous cheers from Seungkwan and Seokmin as they hype you and Junhui up.

The rest of the boys surround the living room, all eyes focused on you and Junhui standing on either side of the television.

Minghao smiles, utterly endeared by the sight before him, and the determined look in your eyes as you face the crowd. You haven’t noticed him yet, seemingly focused on the melody that’s starting to play over the speakers.

A melody that’s oddly familiar to Minghao, belonging to a song he didn’t expect you to know.

“I’ll pick an apple and wait for you to pass by this door,” Junhui starts off the song as Minghao is left reeling at this series of events, “Give it to you to quench your thirst.”

You and Junhui are currently singing a song that’s relatively popular in Minghao’s country. One might even go so far as to say it’s a classic, and Minghao is shocked yet impressed that you know this song.

“Like a Coke in summer or hot cocoa in the winter, you’re the right character at the right time,” it’s now your turn to sing, and you’re absolutely on point with the lyrics and pronunciation, much to Minghao’s surprise. The corner of his lips turn up gradually as he looks on the situation with nothing but the softest eyes, and it’s then that you notice him as Junhui is singing his lines.

Your eyes light up upon meeting Minghao’s endeared ones, and you beam at him. Minghao’s breath hitches, and he suddenly feels as if the two of you are the only ones in this room.

“I also don’t know why, my wounds haven’t fully healed,” you sing into the microphone, eyes never leaving his, “Yet you’ve barged into my heart.”

“You have helped me see a flower blossom in the desert,” the both of you are none the wiser, but the boys around you have stopped their cheers and hollers, and have turned to sending you and Minghao disgusted looks. Even Junhui has stopped his singing, instead walking over to your boyfriend to pass him the microphone.

“You have inspired me to write you a love song every day,” Minghao takes over the duet, cutting through the couches to stand beside you.

“Using the most romantic chorus, you also quietly sang along,” the both of you sing in unison, eyes boring into each other’s as the whole world fades into insignificance.

“Our eyes confirm our decision.”

The music abruptly cuts off, and you look toward the commotion to find Seol, Wonwoo’s puppy, standing on the television remote. The boys around you all cheer at the cessation of your public display of affection, and you simply laugh as Minghao continues staring at you like nothing happened.

“Well,” Seungkwan interrupts the cheering and hollering, “you certainly owned us at karaoke, just not in the way we expected you to.”

The boys all laugh, some coming up to smack Minghao on the back, while most of them resume what they were doing prior to the duet.

You turn to Minghao, who’s still looking at you much like you’d hung all the stars in the sky. You grab his microphone and put it down on the coffee table along with yours, then reach out to take both his hands in yours.

“How do you know that song?” Minghao asks, the softest of smiles resting on his face.

You grin back at him. “I heard it on TikTok, so I asked Junhui to teach me the lyrics so I could sing it to you.”

Minghao chuckles. “And he did it? Willingly?”

“Well, no, of course not,” you shake your head, and Minghao smiles wider. “He made me sing it with him here so he could beat Seungkwan and Seokmin at karaoke.”

“He also told me to call you…” you pause, seemingly trying to recall what your mutual friend had said. Minghao nods, waiting patiently for you to gather your thoughts. “Laogong!”

Minghao freezes. His body heats up, and he just knows the tips of his ears are turning red. Thankfully, no one around the both of you are paying any attention to your conversation, or Minghao would have been teased to no end already. You tilt your head in confusion at Minghao’s lack of response.

Minghao clears his throat. “Did… did Junhui tell you what that means?”

“Nope!” you chirp, completely clueless, and your expression gradually morphs into one of worry. “Why? Does it mean something bad?”

“No!” Minghao dismisses your worries immediately, unintentionally raising his voice before wincing and muttering a small apology. “No, love*, it doesn’t mean anything bad, don’t worry.”

You nod, relieved, before looking at him with a glint of curiosity in your eyes. “Well, what does it mean, then?”

“It’s…” Minghao attempts to explain, still giddy from the fact that you’d used the term on him, “it’s a term of endearment, but typically used for someone who’s your husband.”

Your eyes widen upon hearing Minghao’s explanation, mouth opening and closing like a fish. Minghao chuckles at the sight, removing one of his hands from yours to pat your head. “I like it.”

“Really?” you grin, squeezing the hand that’s still in yours, “Should I call you Laogong more often, then?”

“You can call me anything you want, love,” Minghao squeezes your hands back, pinching your cheek with the hand that was resting on your head.

“Well, Laogong, we should probably join the boys at the dining table, don’t you think?” you grin, removing your hands from his to motion towards the dining area, where the boys have gathered to begin their drinking games.

Minghao hums, pretending to think, when in reality you both know his answer is as clear as day. “I don’t want to. Let’s get out of here?”

You laugh, wrapping your arms around your boyfriend’s shoulder.

“Gladly.”

*: love — supposed to be a translation of the word in the reader’s native language, but can also be taken as the English term of endearment (if that makes sense)

a/n 2: i guess i’m starting to write based on requests again >< saw this one and couldn’t help but think of my lovely idubily couple so i just had to i love them sm </3

taglist (send an ask to be added!): @slytherinshua @weird-bookworm @viscade @pepperonidk @belladaises @tastymintchocolate @dahliatopia @kwantaro-deactivated20240614 @chanceonceli @hrts4hanniehae @leehanascent @nonononranghaee

masterlist

[hyperactively-me]

Okay but king ghost if his queen was kidnapped or held for ransom?? I just want some protective ghost in my life

the way i had this idea planned for a while already, but anon, our brainwaves are connecting. i’ve gotten literally countless requests for this same idea. if you sent in a request similar to this, i’m so sorry, i wasn’t ignoring you, i've just had this planned for a while! (word count: 5.8k)

king!ghost x reader -- taken

warnings: kidnapping, physical fighting, physical injuries/blood/bruises, semi-vague descriptions of torture, torture tactics, throw up, restraints, heavy angst, i guess a happy ending? maybe??? idk 😭, ummmm idk what else... please please please let me know if there's anything i've missed. this is a dark chapter! check your media consumption based off the warnings!

It was a quiet night. Eerily quiet. The sounds of the summer insects ceased, the hot air still, unmoving. You were in bed, trying to sleep. You had no clue what time it was, all you knew is that you were hot and exhausted.

You roll onto your side, huffing as you throw the covers off your body. You close your eyes again, trying to will yourself to sleep.

A moment later, you hear a creak coming from the far side of the room where the doors to the balcony are. 

You immediately sit up, scanning the room.

“Hello?” you call out, your voice wavering as you slip out of bed. You immediately grab your knife from the drawer of your bedside table, walking around the side of your bed to stare at your slightly ajar balcony door. 

Your heart drops in your chest, but before you can say anything, a hand holding a rag clamps around your mouth. Soap was right outside your door. If you could just— Your scream is muffled as you try to fight off the intruder, swinging your knife back and hitting flesh, trying to stomp on their foot, kick them, anything. The intruder lets out a strangled cry from your stab, pulling your head back farther. You know you’ve made contact when you feel blood trickle down your hand. Serves them right for trying to kidnap you. The intruder wraps their arm around your torso, yanking you back as they shove the rag over your nose, forcing you to inhale the fumes. 

Your movements become more sloppy as the fumes enter your nostrils, your eyes fluttering as you fight with everything in you to stay awake. Your knife clatters on the ground as you become limp. 

“That’s it, go to sleep,” a man’s voice whispers in your ear, sending a cold chill throughout your body. And with that, you succumb to unconsciousness.

. . .

You wake up in a cold, damp cell. You go to rub your eyes, but are stopped by the clanking of metal chains. You look down, and your hands are bound together by heavy, metal manacles. 

“What the—” you say, pulling at the restraints multiple times to no avail, the iron bolted into the wall to prevent you from running. “No, no, no no no—” you cry out, flailing as you try to free yourself from the cuffs. Your heart is racing in your chest, how could this happen? The overwhelming urge to cry washes over you, but you bite your lip to stop yourself.

Your body shivers at the low temperature of the cell, the stone keeping the cold air stale in your cell. You’re still in what you wore to bed which was…not much. You push yourself to standing, walking up to the bars of the cell, trying your best to peek out into the hallway. 

The hallway is dimly lit, revealing the cold, unforgiving walls of what appears to be an underground dungeon of some sort. The air is cool, and the distant sound of footsteps echoes through the corridors. Panic tightens its grip on you as you assess your surroundings.

“Hey! Is anyone there?” you shout, your voice bouncing off the stone walls. There's no response, just the eerie silence of the place. You take a deep breath, fighting against the rising sense of despair.

As you peer down the hallway, you catch a glimpse of movement. Footsteps approach, and your heart races anew. A figure emerges from the shadows, wearing a uniform that tells you all you need to know. It’s a uniform from the Southern Kingdom. You back away from the bars, pressing your back up against the wall behind you. 

“Your majesty,” the figure says, their voice devoid of any emotion. “You won’t be leaving anytime soon.”

Your mind races with questions, but the figure remains stoic, indifferent to you cowering in the corner. The reality of your situation sets in, and a mix of fear and frustration swirls within you.

“Who are you? Why am I here?” you demand, desperation lacing your words.

The person ignores your questions, producing a set of keys to unlock the cell door. The heavy door creaks open, revealing a corridor lined with more cells. The person steps inside the cell, much to your dismay. Your breathing picks up as he steps towards you, afraid of retaliation. Instead, he makes his way towards the wall where your manacles are attached. With a key, he releases the chain from the wall and takes it in his grip. Shortening the length of the chain, he yanks on it, causing you to stumble forward. 

“Walk,” he commands, basically dragging you behind him out of your cell. You contemplate pulling against him, but not before you spot the sword on his hip. Without further thought, you lunge forward, pushing the man to the ground in front of you as you reach for his sword with your bound hands. 

The man grunts as he hits the cold, stone floor. Seizing the opportunity, you manage to grab the hilt of his sword with your restrained hands, the metal feeling cold against your skin. Adrenaline surges through you as you pull the sword free from its scabbard.

Without a moment’s hesitation, you point the weapon at the man. “Who are you? Why am I here?” you demand again, your voice trembling with fear and anger.

The man on the floor looks up at you, a hint of surprise crossing his face. Despite the advantage of the sword in your hands, he doesn’t seem intimidated in the slightest. The nonchalant look on his face makes you even angrier, and you don’t hesitate pressing the tip of the sword against his shoulder. “You won’t find answers by waving that around,” he states calmly.

Before you can react, the man kicks you out from under your feet, causing you to drop the sword as your hands instinctively go to catch yourself – that is, catch yourself the best cuffed hands can. 

You hit the ground hard, the impact jarring through your body. Groaning, you roll onto your side, the cold stones digging into your skin, surely leaving a bruise where you fell. The man swiftly rises to his feet, his expression unchanged.

“Come along, now,” he says as he yanks the chains, completely unbothered. 

You struggle to your feet, the manacles limiting your movements. Glaring at the man, you reluctantly follow as he leads you through the labyrinthine corridors of the underground dungeon. The man, seemingly unfazed, leads you through the dark, winding corridors of the underground dungeon. The chill in the air makes you shiver, both from the cold and the anxiety that tightens your chest.

As you walk, you try to gather your thoughts. How did you end up in the hands of the Southern Kingdom? How did the man breach the castle walls and enter your bedroom? How long have you been gone? Where are you? Where is Simon? Johnny? The questions swirl in your mind, but the stoic silence of your captor offers no answers.

The dimly lit passageways seem endless, twisting and turning without rhyme or reason. Eventually, you arrive at a heavy, iron door guarded by two Southern Kingdom soldiers. They exchange a nod with your captor, who proceeds to unlock the door. It creaks open, revealing a dimly lit room.

The room is adorned with flickering torches, casting dancing shadows on the stone walls. A wooden table sits in the center, surrounded by a few mismatched chairs. You notice there’s a guard standing watch in the corner of the room, and two other people sitting in chairs, most likely waiting for your arrival. The air is thick with tension as you’re pushed into one of the chairs.

“Watch it,” you growl, slightly folding into yourself in the chair. 

The figure steps back, motioning to the other two people in the room. One of them is wearing a mask that conceals their features, leaving only their cold, calculating eyes visible. You try to read any emotion in their eyes, but they remain expressionless. 

“Who are you, and why am I here?” you demand for the third time, your voice wavering between defiance and desperation. You look between the three people, anger bubbling up within you. 

The man who brought you here remains silent for a moment, studying you with an unsettling intensity. Finally, he speaks, his words measured and devoid of any warmth. “You wouldn’t have gone with us willingly, so I am sorry you have to be here this way.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. 

The figure’s eyes narrow at your display of defiance. “Your insolence won't change your circumstances.” 

You move to stand up from the chair, but you’re pushed back down by the guard lingering in the room. “We’d appreciate it if you didn’t resist.”

You stare at him, the glare still plainly visible on your face. He seems satisfied enough with your cooperation. 

“Now, you’re here because your kingdom has assets and resources we need. Your husband, the great King Ghost, won’t give up easily, but we have leverage now, don’t we?” 

You should’ve known.

A chill runs down your spine. You clench your fists, frustration and fear fueling your determination.

“Tell me what you want,” you demand, your voice firm despite the tension in the room.

The figure leans forward, resting their hands on the table, their face just inches from yours. “Your cooperation, your majesty. Tell us what you know, and we won’t hurt you.” 

Your blood runs cold at that. Hurt you? Now that caught your attention. 

You raise an eyebrow. “So, what? You plan to use me as a bargaining chip to force Ghost’s hand?”

“Yes. You’re one of his only weaknesses,” says the man who hasn’t spoken until now. “Ever since you sent your reinforcements, our army has been experiencing some… setbacks. We were going to come to this as a last resort, but the time came to use you in our strategy.”

He’s rolling up his sleeves with care, pulling some intimidating tools out of the drawer of the table. 

He notices you eyeing the tools warily. “Oh, don’t worry. We won’t be using these unless you really won’t listen.”

“And, just a brief mention before we start the questioning, you should really do more thorough background checks on your staff. You were given over to us by one of your own. Within the palace, might I add.” 

With a swift motion, the man wearing the mask pulls it off their head, revealing a face you didn’t expect. It's someone you recognize, someone from your own court—an advisor you thought was loyal, someone who had been with you especially over the past few weeks. 

“Edmund?” you gasp, disbelief and betrayal coloring your voice. “How could you?”

Edmund avoids your gaze, his eyes fixed on the table. “It was never personal, your majesty. The Southern Kingdom made an offer, and I couldn’t refuse.”

You seethe with anger, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on you. “Greater good? Kidnapping me in the middle of the night? Betraying me? What greater good could possibly justify this?”

He shrugs. “Money.” 

With that, Edmund slinks out of the room. 

The word echoes through the room, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. Money. The one thing that could corrupt even the seemingly loyal. Edmund’s betrayal stings deeper than any blade, and you struggle to comprehend how someone you trusted could sell you out.

“Cooperate, and you won’t have to endure unnecessary pain,” one of the men states coldly, motioning to the tools.

Your eyes narrow at the proposition. “And if I refuse?”

A hand slaps your cheek, the sharp sound echoing through the room. “Refusing won't make this any easier for you.”

Your cheek throbs from the slap, but you meet his gaze defiantly. You won’t give them the satisfaction of seeing you break. You can’t. 

The man with the tools takes a step forward, his gaze fixed on you like a predator closing in on its prey. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way. The choice is yours.”

You glance at the guard, a mixture of anger and disappointment in your eyes.

“Now, let’s start with something simple. Kastron’s silver supply. Where is it located?” he demands, his patience wearing thin. “Start talking, little princess.”

. . . 

You’re not sure how long it’s been since you were dragged into this interrogation room, but all you know is that your body positively aches. You were treated relentlessly, punched to your gut and slapped at the expense of one of your captor’s short tempers. Thankfully they haven’t used the tools on you, but you can’t help but be weary of them. Your body slumps in the chair, pain radiating from your abdomen. The cold, harsh reality of your situation weighs heavily on your shoulders. Sweat beads on your forehead, a mixture of fear and physical exertion.

The interrogators stand around you, unsatisfied with the information you've provided so far. The room feels suffocating, the air thick with tension and the acrid scent of burning torches.

“Last chance,” he sneers, the coldness in his eyes sending shivers down your spine.

You grit your teeth, your jaw aching from the force of their blows. The loyalty to your kingdom surges within you. You won't betray your people, no matter the cost.

“I won’t... betray... Kastron,” you manage to spit out, defiance in your eyes.

The interrogator scowls, and without warning, delivers another brutal blow to your stomach. The pain is unbearable, and you gasp for breath.

“Stubborn little thing, aren’t you?” the man with the tools taunts, a sadistic grin on his face.

As the interrogators prepare for another round of questioning, the heavy door to the room swings open. A new figure enters, their silhouette backlit by the torchlight. The men exchange glances, a hint of surprise in their eyes.

“Alright, that is enough for today,” a commanding voice echoes through the room.

The figure steps forward, revealing a man, dressed in military attire. His eyes are stern and hold no compassion.

“Release her,” he orders, her voice brooking no argument.

The interrogators, albeit reluctantly, step back. The guard unlocks your restraints, and you slump forward, breathing heavily.

The man turns to the interrogators, his expression stern. “That’s enough, you may go.”

The two men scowl but don’t argue. They exit the room, leaving you alone with the mysterious man.

He turns to you, his gaze assessing. “You’ve endured more than necessary. My apologies.”

“You’re not sorry. Go straight to hell,” you spit. 

The man’s stern expression falters for a moment, but he quickly regains his composure. “I understand your anger, but I’m here to explain to you what’s going on. I’m General Shepherd. I lead the Southern Kingdom’s military.”

You’re silent. You recognize the name from a few brief mentions around the castle whilst receiving intel about the war, but you’ve never seen him before.

“We’re not here to hurt you—” 

You glare at him, still seething with anger and distrust. “Do you hear yourself? What the fuck are you talking about, when I’ve been kidnapped and tortured? Why should I hear anything you have to say?” 

Shepherd grabs your jaw harshly, fingers squeezing your cheeks. You claw at his wrist gripping your face, but he doesn’t let go. 

“If you would listen to what I’m telling you, then you wouldn’t be sitting in this room. Don’t wear my patience thin, your majesty.” 

His words are sharp, and you can feel the intensity in his grip on your jaw. Shepherd releases you, allowing you to lean back into the chair. You shoot him a venomous look, but he seems unfazed.

“Your husband, King Ghost, has been a thorn in our side for far too long. Quite the nuisance. The war between our kingdoms has dragged on, costing our side quite a lot. We need a resolution, and we need it soon,” Shepherd explains, his gaze locking onto yours.

“So, what? You think kidnapping me and torturing me is going to make Ghost surrender?” you scoff, annoyance evident in your voice. “He won’t surrender, if that’s what you want. He’s going to fight back harder, and you’re going to wish you never had me here.” 

“Still, it’s a means to an end. A desperate attempt to force his hand,” Shepherd replies, frustration in his voice. “We have leverage now, and we plan to use it to bring about a swift end to Kastron’s military. We’re not heartless, your majesty. We aim to minimize bloodshed.”

You can’t help but laugh bitterly. “Minimize bloodshed? By kidnapping me and using me as a bargaining tool? Very noble and humanitarian of you.”

Shepherd narrows his eyes, but he doesn’t respond to your sarcasm. “Your husband won’t let harm come to you. He'll do whatever it takes to secure your safety.”

“He’s not going to surrender,” you mutter under your breath. He’s going to do much, much worse than anyone could ever imagine. 

“He will. This war has dragged on for too long. We need a resolution, and we need it now,” Shepherd emphasizes, his tone stern. 

Your mind races, considering the weight of the situation. You hate Shepherd for this, subjecting you to a cruel game that you never wanted to be part of in the first place. It wasn’t even Kastron that started this war, it was the Southern Kingdom. The hypocrisy of the Southern Kingdom and unjust treatment of your own kingdom has driven you up the wall. You think about your people, your kingdom, and the lives at stake.

Your gaze pierces through Shepherd’s cold exterior.

Shepherd sighs, as if he anticipated your skepticism. “You don’t have to trust me. But you should consider the bigger picture. Your cooperation can save lives, including your own.”

A conflicted expression crosses your face. The idea of cooperating with your captors goes against every instinct, but the desire for an end to the war lingers in the back of your mind. You weigh your options, knowing that every decision carries significant consequences.

“What do you expect from me?” you ask, your voice steady despite the turmoil within.

Shepherd studies you for a moment before responding, “Information. Insight into Kastron's military strategies, resources, weaknesses. Anything that can expedite the end of the war and give Kastron over to us.”

You laugh humorlessly. “See, that’s exactly what I don’t want.” 

Shepherd’s gaze remains unwavering. “Your wants are not the priority here. The fate of your kingdom is on your shoulders. If you truly care about your people and your husband, you’ll consider the bigger picture.”

Your jaw clenches, frustration boiling within you. You know Shepherd is partially right, but the resentment toward the Southern Kingdom clouds your judgment. You take a deep breath, attempting to push aside your anger.

“What guarantee do I have that you won’t just use me and murder me when it’s convenient?” you challenge, searching for any sign of honesty in Shepherd’s eyes.

He leans in, his expression serious. “My word. Betraying the terms of our agreement would not serve the interests of either of our kingdoms.”

Agreement, you scoff inside your head. As if I had any choice in the first place. 

You find his words hard to believe. The events leading up to this point have shattered your trust in anyone associated with the Southern Kingdom. However, you can’t deny the urgency of the situation.

You decide to not say anything. Shepherd nods, seemingly satisfied with your response. “All we ask is that you provide us with information. I’ll give you time to think this over.” 

Shepherd motions for you to stand, and you do so with a glare. Your body protests, every movement sending pain coursing through you. He leads you out of the room, the guards following closely behind. The dimly lit corridors of the underground dungeon stretch ahead, and you realize that you’re not being taken to the same cell you were initially in. 

Eventually, you arrive at a somewhat more comfortable room. It's still a cell, cold iron bars keeping you prisoner, but there's a cot and a small table. 

Shepherd removes the manacles from your wrists, allowing you to rub your raw skin. 

“I’m going to leave these off. Don’t get smart.” 

The heavy door clanks shut behind you, finally leaving you alone with your thoughts. A guard stands watch outside your cell, giving you no privacy. 

The reality of your situation settles in, and you can't help but feel powerlessness. The fate of Kastron rests, in part, on your shoulders. You sit on the cot, your mind racing with questions and uncertainties. 

As you ponder the road ahead of you, a small opening in the door slides open, and a guard hands you a meager meal. The gesture is cold, impersonal, but you accept it nonetheless. The guard retreats, leaving you alone again.

The hours pass slowly in the dimly lit cell. You wrestle with conflicting emotions—anger, fear, determination. The echoes of Shepherd’s words linger in your mind, and you can’t help but have doubts in your mind. Would Simon come rescue you? Or would you have to escape on your own? You don’t even know where you are being kept. Your thoughts flicker to Kastron, what Johnny must be doing right now. Surely they’re looking for you. 

As the torches flicker and the dungeon remains shrouded in darkness, you brace yourself for the challenges that will come with tomorrow. Shepherd needs your cooperation, and you’re not going to give it to him, no matter the cost. The journey ahead is uncertain, but one thing is clear—you will not surrender easily, and the fight for Kastron is far from over.

. . . 

The next two days, you’re dragged back to the same room for interrogation. Again, you refuse to speak, each blow raining down harder on you. Your nose was bloodied, face battered and red, and ribs surely bruised from the blows. You’ve been in a perpetual state of fight or flight, adrenaline and pain racking your body in devastating amounts. You were plain exhausted, body reaching its limit. 

But you didn’t really care. You wanted to keep Kastron and Simon safe, so you stayed silent. Save for your screams of pain. 

On the third night, you found yourself alone in the dungeons. It was unusual, as there was usually a guard in place to make sure you didn’t do anything out of line. 

You move to the iron bars, trying your best to peek both ways before pulling out a stolen fork from one of your meals. The metal of the fork feels strangely empowering in your hands as you work on the lock. The dim light in the dungeon barely illuminates your surroundings, but you're determined to seize any opportunity for escape. The occasional distant sound of footsteps echoes through the corridor, reminding you of the ever-present threat of getting caught. 

As you manipulate the lock with the makeshift tool, you can’t shake off the nagging feeling that this might be a setup. Perhaps Shepherd or someone else in the Southern Kingdom’s monarchy is testing your resolve, observing whether you’d take advantage of a momentary lapse in surveillance. You can’t bring yourself to care that much. 

The lock finally clicks, and the cell door creaks open. You hesitate for a moment, listening intently for any signs of approaching footsteps. The dungeon remains eerily quiet. Slipping the fork into your clothing, you step out cautiously, avoiding the patches of cold, damp floor. Your battered body protests with every movement, but the urgency of your situation fuels your determination. 

You move silently, keenly aware that any noise could betray your escape. The cool air sends shivers down your spine as you head towards the direction you’re taken in for interrogation. It’s a risky venture, and most likely a stupid venture, but you don’t want to be holed up in this godforsaken hell hole for much longer. 

After what feels like an eternity, you reach a heavy, iron door. It's slightly ajar, revealing a sliver of dim light from the other side. Your heart pounds in your chest as you inch it open, revealing a narrow staircase leading upward. The ascent is slow and agonizing, each step a reminder of the physical toll the past days of torture have taken on your body. You wince with each step, taking deep, steadying breaths. As you approach the top, you hear hushed voices and the occasional clank of armor.

Peeking through the crack in the door, you spot a guard stationed at the top of the stairs, seemingly engrossed in conversation with another. Their attention is diverted, providing you with a small window of opportunity.

Summoning the last reserves of your strength, you push the door open just enough to slip through without making a sound. The corridor beyond is dimly lit, and you stick to the shadows, hugging the cold stone wall. Pressing yourself against the wall, you listen carefully to the conversations around you, trying to piece together an escape route. Your gaze falls upon an entryway that has the last hints of the sunset pouring through the crevices. 

You reach the entryway, and a sense of trepidation washes over you. Before you could push open the door and make a run for it, a hand grabs your upper arm. Without hesitation, you clench your fork in your hand and stab the perpetrator with the prongs. 

The guard lets out a pained scream as your makeshift weapon finds its mark. They release their grip on your arm, stumbling back in pain.

“You bitch!” They cry, and a few more guards appear on the scene after hearing their scream. 

Adrenaline courses through your veins as you realize that your window of escape is rapidly closing. Without waiting any further, you burst through the entryway, darting into the fading light of the setting sun.

You bolt as fast as you can across the cobblestones, the sounds of yelling guards and footsteps hot on your tail. Every step makes it feel as though fire is shooting up your body, but you push through. Just as you think you’re about to make a clean getaway into the forest outside the bunker, you’re side tackled to the ground. 

The impact is brutal, and pain shoots through your battered body as you collide with the hard ground. The guards quickly swarm around you, their faces contorted with anger. One of them wrestles the stolen fork from your hand, while the others pin you down, restraining your limbs.

“Bloody rebel,” one of the guards snarls, spittle flying as they speak.

“Get the fuck– off of me!” you scream, trying to swipe and hit at anyone in your reach. 

Your attempt at escape only intensifies their aggression. The guard you wounded with the fork clutches their side, a seething expression of pain etched across their face.

The leader of the guards, a stern-faced man with a scar running across his cheek, steps forward. “Thought you could just waltz out of here, did ya?”

He delivers a swift kick to your ribs, making you howl in pain. The guards show no mercy as they haul you to your feet. You go deadweight in their grasp, making it harder for them to drag you back to your cell. When they manage to pull you halfway back to your cell, you start kicking and screaming again, not wanting to make this easy for them.

“Fuck all of you, let go of me!” you scream, trying to yank your wrists from their grasp. 

“Shut the fuck up,” a guard yells at you, digging their fingernails into your wrist. 

As you're thrown back into your dark, dank cell, the manacles are back on, alongside chains on each ankle. The heavy door clangs shut behind you, and the bitter taste of defeat settles in your mouth. Two guards now stand outside your cell, watching you intently. 

A few minutes go by, and General Shepherd strides into the hallway. His eyes, devoid of warmth, fixate on your battered form.

“Leave us,” his voice commands, and the guards retreat from the dungeon.

He stands just outside the iron bars, his gaze cold and calculating. 

“You’re a persistent one,” he remarks, his tone devoid of empathy.

Despite your battered state, you summon what strength remains within you and glare defiantly at Shepherd. 

You glare at him, defiance burning despite the exhaustion. “Fuck off.”

He doesn’t say anything, which enrages you.

“I said, fuck. Off. Leave me alone!” you yell. Shepherd's stoic expression doesn’t waver. Instead, he observes you with an unsettling calmness that sends shivers down your spine. The silence stretches, and you can feel the weight of his gaze.

Finally, he speaks, his voice low and measured. “You have spirit, I'll give you that. But it's time to realize the futility of your resistance. It’s been nearly four days. More than half a week. I don’t have the time or patience to keep you around.” 

“I’ll never bow to the likes of you,” you retort.

Shepherd sighs, almost as if he’s disappointed. “You’re not seeing the bigger picture here. Your defiance only prolongs the suffering. Kastron can have peace, Ghost won’t have to face such difficult decisions. All we need is your cooperation.” 

“I’d rather die,” you spit out, every word laced with venom. “And I don’t think Ghost would appreciate it if I turned up dead. You think he’ll surrender just because you beat me to a pulp? Think again. He’s coming to get me any day now, but that doesn’t mean he’ll show you mercy or pull back the troops. You’ll see. And you’ll be sorry you even looked at Kastron’s borders.” 

His gaze doesn’t falter. “Perhaps. But, death is a choice, too. And it’s not just your life at stake, is it? There’s a kingdom relying on your decisions.”

You clench your fists, the chains rattling with your restrained anger. “I won't betray my people for your false promises.”

Shepherd leans against the cold stone wall, crossing his arms. “Think about it. Reflect on where you are right now. I’ll be back tomorrow, bright and early. I hope you’ll have come to your senses by then.”

Without waiting for your response, he turns and leaves the dungeon, the heavy door slamming shut behind him. Alone in the cold darkness, you curl up on the cot as best you can given the heavy chains.

. . .

Shepherd keeps his promise, returning in the morning. 

“Well?” he prompts, a hint of impatience in his tone.

You meet his gaze with defiance. “Go. To. Hell.”

His expression remains unreadable. “Very well. You’ve made your choice.”

You’re dragged back to the interrogation room, only this time you’re silent. 

You’re met with the tools set right in front of your chair, and a scary looking person you’ve never seen before. 

As you’re restrained to a chair, your eyes glaze over. 

For once in your life, you’re quiet. No snarky comments, no sharp words. You’re silent.

Because you’re truly afraid.

. . . 

The metallic scent of blood fills the air. You don’t think you’ve ever lost as much blood in your life. 

The room is spinning, and your body feels detached from your consciousness. The pain, once sharp and immediate, has dulled into a throbbing ache that permeates every fiber of your being. The interrogator’s methods have taken a drastic toll, and you’re teetering on the edge of consciousness. 

You think your wrist is sprained, if not broken. You glance down at it, the swollen and bruised flesh causing your stomach to churn. You definitely look worse for wear right now. 

Eventually, they tire of their methods, leaving you slumped in the chair, bloodied and broken. The tools they used on you lie abandoned on a nearby table. Every movement, no matter how slight, sends waves of pain through your form.

As the interrogator steps away, their job seemingly done, a faint groan pushes past your split upper lip. The throbbing in your head matches the rhythm of your heartbeat, each pulse amplifying the pain. Your vision swims, and you struggle to keep your eyes open.

Shepherd approaches, crouching to meet your gaze. 

“I had hoped you would see reason," he says, almost conversationally. “The pain will continue until you cooperate.”

You manage a hoarse chuckle, the sound more bitter than amused. “Sorry I can’t be of use to you.”

He straightens, his gaze unwavering. “I have all the time in the world. You however… I’m not so sure. I suggest you reconsider. Your defiance harms not only you but those you claim to protect.”

With that, Shepherd turns and exits the room, motioning the guards to take you back to your cell. 

The guards, their expressions cold and indifferent, unshackle you from the blood-stained chair. Your body protests as you’re hoisted up, pain shooting through every limb. They guide you out of the interrogation room, each step a painful shuffle. Your vision is blurring, and you lose your footing a few times. As they lead you back to your cell, you catch glimpses of other new prisoners, faces worn and defeated. The stench of dampness and decay fills your nostrils, and you throw up on the floor in front of you. You think some of it has traces of blood. 

The guards show no reaction to your vomit, their faces remaining stoic and indifferent. You stumble forward, the world spinning around you, and your steps become increasingly unsteady.

The door to your cell creaks open, and you’re unceremoniously thrown inside. The manacles and chains are back on, securing you in the darkness. The guards, their duty done, exit without a word, leaving you alone with your pain.

You lie on the floor for who knows how long, focusing on your breathing and attempting to not fall asleep in the fear that you won’t wake up for a long time due to the severity of your injuries. 

In, and out.

In, and out. 

In, and out. 

A few hours pass, and you manage to calm your swirling vision and headache. With a grunt, you pull yourself up to your cot with your good hand, dropping onto the solid mattress with a grunt. 

You’re not sure how much longer you could go on like this. It was all too much. 

As you lay there in the dimness of your cell, a distant noise catches your attention. Footsteps, echoing through the dungeon. At first, you dismiss it as another patrol, but the rhythm and urgency in the steps hinted at something different. A figure emerges in front of your bars, and you squeeze your eyes shut, bracing yourself for the return of the guards or another round of interrogation. 

To your surprise, a familiar voice cut through the silence.

“Dove?”

- - - - -

(masterlist)

[littlestarlightseverywhere]

Sunkissed

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: The inner circle goes on holiday and Azzie is just allllll over his girl <3

Warnings: None

Notes: Thank you so much for all the love on my last story!

Image Credit: Pinterest

“It’s my pleasure,” Helion smirked, addressing the crowd with his words yet focusing his eyes on her. His brown skin reflected golden in the sun, the white cloth of his draped garment seeming to glow with it.

“Ever the generous host you are, Helion,” She played along for fun, the nature– and limits– of their flirty yet friendly relationship barely a secret.

“I wouldn’t dare displease you,” Helion purred. “You shouldn’t want for anything here. Just say the words, darling, and I’ll personally take care of it.”

Azriel was not the jealous type. He knew the effect he had on her, even all this time, and knew even better the effect she still had on him. It was like no time had passed since they’d been newly mated. His skin flushed as he recalled that initial period, how love-drunk he’d been, truly sated for the first time in his life by her burning affection, having his fill of her taste, and touch, and beautiful mind yet never getting enough of it at the same time.

He was a fool when it came to her, his brothers knew it, she knew it, and Azriel himself would not deny it either.

Yet his skin tightened over his bones and his shirt collar constricted the base of his thick neck ever so slightly as he walked behind her, watching Helion’s eyes trace her form, catching at her collarbones. The thought of him, another male, trying to provide for her, meet her every need, giving her anything… Azriel’s blood boiled. That was his place. He watched as his mate laughed dismissively, unobservant of Helion’s intense gaze.

She was beautiful, charming, and witty. No one could deny it. Rhys did not make her his foreign advisor for no reason. Azriel was quite used to people staring and trying to win her affections, but usually it never bothered him. Because at the end of the day, it was his ears that heard her thoughts and secrets, his eyes that watched her take on the world with grace and strength, and it was his bed they shared every night. He felt secure in their bond and she only had eyes for him, despite the entire world trying to court her at any given moment.

Mor and Feyre shared an amused, knowing glance at each other, studying the three as Rhys took over the conversation.

Helion led the group to his private lake just behind his palace. He was gracious in allowing the Inner Circle to have their summer holiday at his place in the Day Court, granting them access to his entire estate and anything on it for as long as they wished. “There are no such things as debts or favors when it comes to friends,” he said when he offered the location to Rhys in the first place.

The lake was downright gorgeous. Velaris was beautiful, but the Sidra could not compare to the Day Court’s waters even on its best day, a truth Azriel had kept to himself and Cassian had no problem voicing to Rhys. Its turquoise waters stretched for miles and miles, the sandy floor, algae, and tiny native fish visible through the watery looking glass. The palace sat behind them, watching protectively over its best-kept secret, and a vast expanse of green mountains rose on either side, their jagged edges softened by the lush native trees and vegetation. They curved around the lake the same way the gold of a crown hugs its jewel, enclosing it tightly in its earthy palm. Flowers trailed from the balcony down to the beach, the mud and sand padding the rock where the water met the earth. Blankets and a large wicker picnic basket lay ready on the beach.

Mor grabbed her and Feyre in her either of hands and dragged them down to the beach in a giddy, childish run. Azriel’s guiding, protective hand that had been poised at the small of her back suddenly felt cold at the fingertips as she was whisked away, her warm skin no longer close enough to soothe his skin like a balm.

He watched as she shed her clothes, throwing them haphazardly across the blankets. She laughed as Mor threw her dress over the picnic basket and picked out the gold pins in her hair, one by one, letting them land where they wanted to.

Azriel’s cheeks burned and his heart hammered with desire as he watched her shimmy out of her clothing, exposing her soft skin to the touch of the sun. The two-piece swimming slip adorned her curves so perfectly, like the garment was in love with its wearer. He’d picked it out for her. Her hair caught the breeze like something out of a novel and he swore he could smell her soap on the breeze even from all the way over where he was. Everytime he looked at her he felt like he was taking her in for the first time all over again. Part of him almost wanted to turn away with how difficult he suddenly found it to breathe, but he reminded himself with giddy disbelief, she’s mine.

“Easy,” Cassian muttered with a smirk, scenting him.

Azriel cleared his throat and Rhys sent him a boyish smile while continuing his conversation with Helion. Nesta and Amren joined the girls getting ready to get into the water while Elain and Varian settled on the blankets, books in each of their laps.

Mor was the first in the water, squealing at the sensation of it, cold at first, but warming to a luxurious temperature almost immediately. She laced her fingers with Feyre’s and they immediately followed Mor, throwing their heads back and laughing.

She savored the feel of the water against her skin, letting herself melt into its grasp and flow, letting it spread her hair behind her back and thread its liquid fingers through her strands. She submerged herself, gliding through the water until she was further out than anyone else. She’d waited for this holiday even before she knew they were going. She adored swimming, but there weren’t too many spots to do so in Velaris. In the water like this, enveloped in the lapping, balmy embrace of its ripples, she was at peace. Squealing, she beckoned the rest of the girls towards her, waving to Azriel from where he stood smiling like an idiot at her on the beach. He was shirtless now, and her heart skipped a beat at the sight of him.

Azriel thought the sun complemented her skin, but in her eyes, it downright worshiped his. A glow even brighter than Helion’s overly-dramatic gold crown beamed from every inch of his body, tan and beautiful, broad and strong. She needed him in the water now.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a splash of water to her face. She gasped and laughed at the unexpected sensation, Mor and Feyre giggling like schoolgirls at their mischief.

Cassian, Rhys, and Azriel settled back into the blankets, supporting themselves with elbows that dug divots in the sand.

“Did you ever imagine this life for us?” Cassian asked his brothers as each of them watched their mates in the water.

They rarely got a holiday, and it was even more rare that they allowed themselves to take one if they had the time. Of course, it was Rhys that encouraged this outing in the first place. When Azriel and Amren refused, he required it, as their High Lord, to take the holiday with everyone else.

That wasn’t what convinced Azriel, though. It was his mate's excited chatter about the prospect of the holiday at Helion’s lake with all of their friends, getting to spend time with each other outside of Velaris, visiting another court without the prospect of war hovering over them, being able to swim for the first time in so long. She could hardly wait to feel the water on her skin, to feel the sun on her face, and to spend time with Azriel, experience a new place together. He couldn’t say no as he sat back on their bed and watched her try on her new swimming slips for him, as she packed their bags so early in advance because she could hardly wait.

No, Azriel would not take this vacation because of Rhys’ orders as High Lord of the Night Court, but because it made his soulmate so unbelievably happy. That was all the reason he needed.

Azriel shook his head. “I never would have expected it to be this good. Every day feels like I’m waking up in a dream when she’s next to me.”

His brothers could not even ridicule him for his uncharacteristic sappiness. None of them expected to have mates, let alone be so loved by them, when they were just three boys in a war camp deep in the Illyrian mountains. They did not dare to imagine anything about their future for fear of never seeing it. An rough-and-ready lordling and two bastards. What odds.

Life wasn’t always perfect– there would always be Hybern and their human sympathizers, and probably a hundred other things, to worry about. But with their loves in their lives and talks of starting families, they supposed it was as close to perfect as the Cauldron would allow.

The women spent some time in the water, swimming, splashing, lounging, and talking with their mates watching them as they talked amongst themselves. When they decided to get out to eat, Feyre challenged them all to a race.

“You’re going to regret that.”

Feyre raised her brows at Azriel’s mate, her closest friend out of them all, with mischief in her eyes. “Just because you’ve bested me in two other races doesn’t mean you’ll have this one too.”

“I think it does,” she smirked devilishly.

Feyre broke into a swim for the shore to the dismay of the other women. Amidst shouts of protest at Feyre’s unfair start, everyone else began their dash to the shore.

She sliced through the water like a knife through butter, already ahead of Mor, Nesta, and Amren, the latter of which refused to participate. Surpassing Feyre like a born nymph, she barely had to try as her body fell into the familiar motion of cutting through the soft waves of the lake until she felt the water shallow beneath her belly and she was able to stand.

The water swished at her ankles as her feet touched land once again, running up the beach. At the sight of Azriel waiting a little ways down with her towel in his hand, she all but forgot about the race. She ran toward him, blushing at his gaze. He immediately rolled the towel open and wrapped it around her as she ran into him, securing the towel with strong arms that wrapped around her body and swayed her gently with the momentum of her sprint. His strong presence was enough to halt her and she savored the feeling of his body at her back, his warmth seeping through he towel and caressing her water-frozen skin.

She was breathing deeply now, chest rising and falling under his arm. Azriel reveled in the thrum of her heart under his hold, willing it to ease.

Azriel nuzzled his nose into the crook of her neck and she giggled, ticklish and giddy at his proximity.

“Did you see the race, Az? I wooon,” she sang, reaching an arm out of the towel to hold his face behind her. She leaned back against his chest, craning her neck up to meet his eyes, eyes that were absolutely drunk on watching her high. She was naturally competitive, much like he was during his snowball fights with his brothers. Watching her in her element filled him with pride to an extent she would never fully know.

“I did, I’m so proud of you, honey,” he smiled, sliding one of his arms up until it was slung across her chest, connecting his lips with hers. She tasted like the water, sweet and fresh. Azriel couldn’t help himself as he grabbed her waist. It was like drinking from a fountain with an eternal thirst he couldn’t quench. More, more, more. He didn’t care who was around.

She pulled away, flustered. “You sure don’t mind putting on a show,” she turned around fully in his arms so that she was facing him now. The towel had fallen slightly, now hung loosely around the crooks of her elbows. Her wet hair fell in waves around her face and to him, she looked like a goddess of the water. He was barely religious, the furthest thing from it really, but he’d devote himself to her for nothing in return.

After the food had been brought out, the Inner Circle enjoyed the lunchtime feast of bread, wine, fruit, and meats. After everyone had eaten their fill, namely Cassian who was half passed out on his back, they lounged on the beach. Nesta nestled into Cassian’s broad side with her book, speaking to Elain quietly. Amren and Varian had rattled off somewhere right after they were done eating– insatiable those two were. Mor was laying on her back, facing the sun, catching a tan.

“I’m so happy we did this,” Feyre said softly, addressing the group. “It feels like lately our joy has come from short-lived bursts of happiness or quiet. I can’t tell you all what it means to me that we can have this time without preparing for the worst.”

Rhys rubbed a soothing thumb over her shoulder. Everyone raised their glasses to that.

Azriel leaned back into the sand, one arm folded under his head and the other extended as his mate rested her head on the inside of his bicep. Tired from swimming and full from their meal, she curled into his side, draping a leg across his.

“I’m so happy to be here with you,” She murmured into the side of his chest, peppering kisses there on his warm, tan skin. Azriel brought his arm around her, pulling her closer and resting a hand over her hip, enjoying the heat of her sun-kissed skin beneath it.

He rested his mouth at the top of his forehead as she drifted in and out of sleep. He was like her sleeping drug. Whenever they sat back together to watch a movie, read their books, or on nights in with their friends for some wine and card games, she could hardly stay awake beside him.

His heart swelled. She felt so comfortable around him that her guards collapsed to dust in his presence. She gave herself fully to him, to his care, and he wasn’t sure if he could hold her any tighter at that moment.

Helion came out to check on his guests. “Like a litter of babes, the lot of you,” He chuckled as he took in his friends, exhausted and full, lazing about his private beach. His eyes floated over to her, to her dozing form beside her mate, beautiful and soft. Peaceful. Azriel was aware of his gaze– he always was aware of anyone perceiving his mate. He only opened his book and continued skimming his fingers on her hips above the waistband of her swimsuit. She was blissfully unaware, half awake, half dreaming, lulled into a world of dreams and darkness by the steadiness of Azriel’s breath and light touch.

After the group of friends were well rested, everyone made their way into the water again. Cassian, Rhys, and Azriel raced out to the middle of the lake, Azriel the obvious winner and it wasn’t even close. Cassian batted a wave of water over Az with his wing in tantrum and Rhys only laughed until his stomach throbbed. They played chicken, Nesta on Cassian’s shoulders and she on Azriel’s. Mor wanted to pretend-play mermaids and they dragged the males in on their fun. They begrudgingly played along, yet were silently more than happy to oblige them. Nesta placed a crown of algae on Cassian’s head and he fully committed to his part as King of the Plankton. They floated on their backs, swam in circles, and splashed waves at each other.

Climbing the jagged, rocky cliffs on either side of the lake, they jumped off of their ledges into the water below, in flips and turns, nosedives and backflips. The setting sun cooled the water, a pink and purple sky above their heads melting into an inky blue that lined the horizon.

A perfect day.

Everyone grew tired again. From the beach music began to play. Light and upbeat, but beautiful and soft– distinctly Day Court.

Azriel gently grabbed her hand, leading her behind one of the cliffs they had jumped off of. It was the largest cliff jutting out of the lake and provided complete privacy when they were on the other side of it.

“I’ve been waiting to get you alone all day,” Azriel said, removing a hand from under the surface of the water and moving a lock of her hair behind her shoulder. He took in her tanned skin and sun-blushed shoulders and cheeks.

“All you had to do was ask,” She replied, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

Azriel’s self control snapped like a rubber band and he pushed his body through the water against her, pinning her to the rock behind them. His hand cradled the back of her head against the jagged cuts of the cliff. He needed more, but he paced himself, letting himself savor the feel of her skin under the water. Azriel ran his hand up and down the side of her stomach, his fingertips trailing the skin as he moved. Her skin pebbled in the wake of his touch, sending a shiver down her spine. Even in his frenzy he took his time. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer as he slanted his lips over hers, water sloshing between their bodies in whatever space was left.

She sighed into his mouth and it drove him crazy. Pressing her chest to his, she needed to be as close as could, within his very being if it was possible.

“If I could just crawl into your skin and live inside your heart I would,” She told him one drunken night when she’d gotten so trashed with Nesta and Mor that he needed to fly her back home rather than walk like they always did after a night out. Azriel never forgot those words, and everytime they kissed or hugged he was reminded of them with an intensity that made his chest squeeze.

“Az,” She whispered into his mouth. His hands lowered from her waist to her hips, thumbs skimming the waistband of her bottoms again.

She couldn’t get enough of him. No matter how much time passed, he drove her absolutely mad. They’d only stopped for air once they absolutely could not breathe anymore, and even then, Azriel didn’t pull too far away, needing to feel her breath on him.

“What has gotten into you today?” She laughed lightly, though definitely not complaining. It was not like him to be so risky, to be so passionate when they weren’t completely alone.

“I just love you,” was all he said.

Night fell over the Day Court slowly but surely. The day had gone on forever. By the time it was dark enough, some of Helion’s housekeepers started a bonfire and replenished the beach with more food and wine.

She laid down on the blankets again with Azriel beside her, propped up on his elbow and leaning on his side so he was looking directly down at her. Their legs were intertwined and they laughed and spoke softly, a bit away from the rest of the group.

Azriel’s free hand rested on the plane of her soft belly, listening more than he spoke. Of course he was a man of few words, but around her, he enjoyed letting her speak. It was one of his favorite things, learning more and more about the way her brilliant mind worked with the things she said.

With her thoughts, ideas, and opinions, he thought she was incredibly intelligent– the smartest person he knew. He learned so much from her eloquent tongue, adoration filling him from head to toe when she went on her tangents.

The first time she even went on one of her rants in front of him, even before the bond had snapped into place, she was flustered and apologized to Azriel. At the time, she didn’t know Azriel liked her back and dread filled her veins at the idea that she possibly scared him away for good. But he simply shook his head and encouraged her, asking questions and helping her carry the conversation when he felt it start to falter with her hesitation.

They rejoined their friends at some point– he couldn’t remember when, or how long they’d been lost in each other. When she said she wanted to go sit with everyone else for a bit, he agreed. He’d always follow her wherever she led, no questions asked. Back up the beach, up to their room, to the ends of the earth, even.

[eatmeandbirthmeagain]

This request is kinda angsty, but I was wondering if you'd be willing to write something about Baldwin assisting his wife when she faints from heatstroke on a particularly hot day? She is prone to headaches as it is, and the heat does her no good. Basically something sweet about Baldwing reacting to his wife fainting and helping her recover, if it's not too much trouble... 👉🏻👈🏻

♧ I've Got You - King Baldwin x Reader ♧

♧ Angst ♧

A/N: Hello Anon, thank you for your request. I like this one a lot and enjoyed making it, I hope it's what you had in mind! As always, this is based on the film Kingdom Of Heaven, not the real historical figures. Enjoy!

TW: Fainting, Mentions of Dysautonomia, Leprosy

Summer in Jerusalem was always brutal.

Many were used to the heat, leaving them mostly unaffected. However for y/n, the heat was much more than she could take.

Unbeknownst to individuals of the time, with their lack of medical knowledge, the young queen suffered from dysautonomia, induced from trauma during her childhood.

This meant that severe heat caused her to experience extreme headaches, difficulty breathing, and on occasion, fainting. She was already prone to terrible headaches as it was, so the heat did nothing to help that either.

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

On a particularly hot day, Baldwin was scheduled to address his subjects and y/n was supposed to be joining him, as usal.

The king knew of his wife’s sensitivity to the heat and insisted that she remain inside the castle, but y/n promised that she would be perfectly fine and that as long as she stood in the shade, nothing would happen.

This did nothing to ease his nerves. But still he agreed, telling her that if she felt even the slightest bit ill that she was more than permitted to enter the castle to lay down.

------------ 

When the hour of the address came, the people gathered in the castle entrance yard to hear their king speak of updates regarding the safety of their land.

Baldwin stood on the royal balcony of the castle and y/n stood behind him, with the rest of the royal officials.

About five minutes had passed after he started speaking when the queen began to feel slightly ill. She thought nothing of it and concentrated on keeping herself standing. The heat worsened her small headache to a migraine, her vision was blurry, and she was having trouble breathing.

Still, she told herself that there was only a few minutes left and that she could wait it out.

It was Tiberias who noticed her sickly appearance first. He was stood with the rest of the royal officials and was also aware of the queen's medical condition.

It was for this reason that he had been keeping a close eye on y/n and was also the first to notice her legs give out from underneath her.

He rushed forward to catch her, just before she hit the ground.

Tibarias called for a guard to take her inside. Amongst the small commotion, Baldwin did not see what happened but was quick to turn when he heard a guard being called.

Seeing his wife unconscious in the arms of a guard sickened him to his core. He gestured for somebody to conclude the address as he followed inside, not caring what others in the crowd thought.

“What happened? Is she alright?” he asked Tibarias frantically, his heart rate quickening.

“She is alright my lord” Tibarias replied quickly, “it's the heat, she just blacked out as you were speaking. She will be just alright” his words only calmed Baldwin’s panic slightly.

He felt ill, the bandages covering his body suddenly feeling too tight. The mask restricted his breathing even more than it usually did.

The guard placed y/n on the couples shared bed in the royal chambers.

Baldwin ordered him to fetch the physicians quickly, moving to the queen's bedside to look at her properly.

She was very pale, but her eyes were shut peacefully. Her breathing was soft and inaudible, if it wasn't for the slight rise and fall of her chest, one would assume her dead from the sickly pale color of her skin.

Noticing the king's look of utter defeat, Tibarias offered a few words of comfort, but they did nothing to ease his worried heart. “It's my fault” Baldwin uttered softly, “I should have told her to stay inside. I knew that this would happen. Oh lord, why did I allow her to stay outside for so long in this awful heat”. He sighed, sitting down on the edge of the large bed and putting his head in his bandaged hands.

“It is not your fault my lord. You weren't to know that something like this would happen. She insisted she would be alright, she would not have assumed something like this to happen either” Tibarias replied, placing a hand on the king's shoulder just as the physicians entered the room. 

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

It was late at night by the time y/n’s eyes snapped open. With a gasp, she went to sit up, but a gentle hand pressed her back down. “Easy my lady, everything is alright” a voice soothed her.

As her vision cleared, she began to make out the form of Tibarias, standing beside her. He wiped her forehead with a cool, wet cloth gently.

“What- what happened?” the young queen asked, struggling to form words with her still dazed mind trying to regain consciousness. “You blacked out from the heat, but you're alright now”. As he said that, the memories began to flood her mind.

Her mind suddenly went to her husband, why wasn't he here? “Baldwin, where is he? Is he alright? I know how worried he gets” she began to panic again, a thousand scenarios flooding her mind about what could have happened while she was unconscious.

A small smile crossed the royal official's face as he gestured to her side with his eyes.

Turning her head slowly, y/n was suddenly aware of a gentle weight on her shoulder. Her mind was instantly put at ease when Baldwin's mess of blonde curls tucked under her chin came into view as well as his arm draped over her stomach. His mask was removed and placed on the side table closest to her. His warmth was pleasant, especially without the cold of the iron mask against her skin.

“He fell asleep at your bedside earlier this evening after remaining beside you all day,” Tibarias explained. “He was so worried about you. He felt awful for having you out there in the heat”.

Y/n smiled softly. She loved him so much and the fact that he was so worried about her and her health constantly, despite his disease, made her love him even more.

Gently, she lifted up her arm and placed it around her husband's back. “Thank you Tibarias. I can assure you that I am fine now. You are welcome to go get some rest” she offered through half lidded eyes and a weak smile.

“Thank you my lady, have a pleasant rest” 

“To you as well”.

Once Tibarias left the room, she turned her attention to Baldwin.

“I’m sorry for scaring you my love” she whispered to his sleeping form, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Thank you for taking care of me” she said before closing her eyes, finally allowing the pleasant breeze coming through the open balcony doors and her husband's soft breath against her chest to lull her into sleep.

[kawoala]

🐰   ⤷ oikawa tooru ⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚

“kiss me hard before you go summertime sadness i just wanted you to know that, baby, you the best”

⊂ word count ; .9k (958)

⊂ content warning ; based on ‘summertime sadness’ by lana del rey 、trying something new! 、angst 、HURT NO COMFORT 、 alcohol consumption 、 post-graduation.

You don’t want to be here. That much is evident when you find yourself leaning against the balcony, eyes closed as you let the breeze blow against your face.

Inside, it’s hot. Too many people, too many bodies, too much for you. You had to get out of there before the alcohol you’d consumed earlier came back up.

You don’t even know why you agreed to come. You knew it was a bad idea as soon as Makki had brought it up.

“Free drinks,” he had said with a wriggle of his eyebrows. “Come on, you haven’t gone out since…” He’d paused and cleared his throat. “It’ll be fun. I promise.”

He was wrong. It became un-fun as soon as his gaze had landed on some beautiful girl and he immediately left to go talk to her. They seemed to be hitting it off. At least someone was having fun tonight.

Your dress hugs against you uncomfortably, and you shift, but it does nothing. Your face contorts into discomfort and your eyes open. The city below is desolate. It seems as if everyone in Tokyo is at this party tonight.

“Y/n?”

The voice sends a shiver down your spine despite the warm atmosphere. You refuse to turn around. A lightning bolt of nostalgia and regret shoots through your body. You hate this feeling. You need more alcohol.

“You came with Makki, huh.” A statement, not a question.

Footsteps and then a presence next to you. You don’t have to look over to know he’s staring at you. You can feel the heat of his gaze run down your body, then back up to the side of your face.

“You look nice tonight.” A pause. “I mean, you always do, but—”

“What do you want?” You spit out, finally turning to look at him. You watch him flinch and immediately regret your words. The boyish look in his eyes is no longer there, you notice. You both graduated just a couple months ago, but something is different about him. 

You slowly realize it’s because he has to grow up now. His hair is shorter, no longer the mess of waves from before. He’s trying to look older. He does look older. Look more tired, too.

He opens his mouth, but closes it immediately after.

“Sorry,” you mumble, looking away again.

“I’m sorry, too.” You know he’s not talking about right now. You know he’s saying what he couldn’t before.

Argentina. Tooru is leaving for Argentina in two days. Tooru broke up with you at graduation because he was leaving for Argentina at the end of the summer.

“I leave tomorrow,” he says quietly, mirroring your stance. “I was supposed to leave on Friday, but they want me down there for pre-training orientation.”

You don't say anything back. Partly because you’re not sure what to say, but partly because you’re not sure he even wants you to say anything.

“My mom and sister haven’t stopped crying since Monday,” he continues, letting out a hollow laugh. “Takeru refuses to talk to me because he thinks I’m leaving him behind.”

Still, you’re silent.

He puts his head in his hands. “I’m surrendering my Japanese citizenship.” It’s quiet and muffled, but it’s there nonetheless.

You turn your head so fast you hear it crack. “What?” It comes out of you almost involuntarily. The furrow of your brows is sudden and deep. “What do you mean you’re surrendering your citizenship?”

He doesn’t look at you. The tables have turned.

“Tooru, this is your home,” you say. You turn your whole body towards him. “What do you mean you’re surrendering your citizenship?”

“It’s not that big of a deal. I can still come back. See my family, see Iwa and the others.” He looks at you now. His eyes are red, hopeful. “See you, maybe.”

“You leave tomorrow,” you repeat his earlier words as they finally sink in. “You’re surrendering your citizenship.” There’s a long pause, then you laugh hollowly. “Wow. You really just like to leave people behind, huh?”

You grab your purse and turn on your heel. The perfect dramatic exit. But Tooru wraps his hand around your arm and holds you in place.

“Y/n, please.” He sounds so desperate. “I just— let me— I can’t— fuck!” He curses and his grip loosens. “I didn’t want to hurt you. Volleyball is— it’s everything to me. You knew that. I told you that when we first started dating.”

Your eyes shut again— a sad attempt at stopping the tears that well up in your eyes. “I thought…” You trail off, your breath catching. “It doesn’t matter anymore, Tooru. You’re right, this is your dream. You wanted this and now you’re getting it.”

You try to pull away again, but he spins you around to look at him. Now, pressed against his chest, you can feel how fast his heart is beating. You can see the tears threatening to fall.

“Kiss me,” he pleads, eyes desperately darting around your face. He cups your face in his cheeks. “One more time. One more time and I’ll— you’ll never have to see me again.”

It must be the alcohol clouding your judgment. It must be the summer heat getting to you. It must be the way he’s looking at you.

You lean forward, lips brushing against his. “Tooru,” you whisper. The tears roll down your cheeks silently. “I…” your lip quivers. “I can’t.”

Tooru leaves for Argentina the next day. Makki and Mattsun and Iwaizumi go to see him off, but you stare out the living room window. As the clock hits 7:15, you watch Tooru’s plane take off through the air and try to pretend that the tears you spill aren’t for him.

[fayes-fics]

When The World Is Free: Chapter 1 - Sous le ciel de Paris

MASTERPOST | NEXT

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, WW2 AU.

Warnings: none

Word Count: 2.1k

Summary: Welcome to the start of my new multi-chapter fic based on a request by the lovely @amillcitygirl! Please see the masterpost for a synopsis of this story. Please note that while I do have a plotted outline, I will be posting chapters as I write them, and I expect that process to take quite a few months. Please bear with me! This first chapter sets up the story - reader moving to Paris in the summer of 1939 and bonding with her new flatmate, Eloise Bridgerton. Please note that Benedict won't be turning up for a couple of chapters yet. Thanks to @colettebronte for beta reading. Enjoy! <3

August 1939

Emerging from the underground Trocadero metro stop, you round the corner of the recently completed, gleaming Palais de Chaillot and stop dead in your tracks. There before you is the most iconic landmark of Paris. Perhaps all of France.

La Tour Eiffel. 

Breathtaking in its metallic magnificence, glowing in the setting sun. A sight that buoys your travel-weary soul seven days after you left New York: boats and trains finally bringing you to this wondrous spot. A light breeze even dances over your neck in greeting, a balm from the cloying subterranean heat of the metro. 

It's a light elbow check to your arm that pulls you back from a state of reverie. 

“A beautiful sight, but one you’ll get used to,” your uncle Robert chuckles, shaking your heavy leather case to indicate it's time to move along. “In fact, I've been told you will be able to see it from your appartement…” 

He has accompanied you to Paris and will see you settled into your new adventures before continuing on to visit friends in England. He spent the roaring 20s living right here in the 16th arrondissement himself and, indeed, has arranged for you to share living quarters with a young British lady, a relative of his English friends. It's a comfort to know you’ll have at least one English speaker to chat with as you dive headfirst into learning proper French as you go.

Robert leads you away from the amazing sight and into the bustling streets, alive with cars, trams, bicycles and pedestrians buzzing in all directions. It's all at once like New York City, but yet so different as well, cafe terraces filling the wide pavements with all manner of people gathered to sip robust cafe au lait and refreshing limonade. 

Within minutes, you are on a quieter side street and stopping outside a handsome honey-coloured stone facade with wrought iron window balconies and window guards, teaming with colourful, fragrant flowering pots. The number 14 gleaming white on a traditional navy blue tile. Your uncle pushes the enormous wooden door open, beckoning you into a cool whitewash wall corridor with mosaic floor tiles.

“Ahhh, Robert!!” a sophisticated middle-aged lady bustles from a nearby doorway and greets your uncle warmly, kissing both cheeks. It would appear they are friends of old.

“Y/n, this is Madam DuLac, your landlady,” he explains as you offer a handshake, admiring her boucle jacket and chic bun.

“Qu’est-ce?” she signals with a good-natured frown, obviously finding your polite greeting lacking, pulling you into a hug and two-cheeked kiss. She smells like Chanel perfume, cigarettes and baked goods. “You are in Paris now, ma chérie; this is how we greet one another,” she counsels in heavily accented but perfect English.

“You speak English?” you sigh, relieved, your French decidedly lacking.

“Bien sûr,” she smiles. “And please call me Solène,” she adds with a friendly smile.

“Eloise should be home from the library maintenant; the perfect time for you to meet,” she gestures towards an elevator cage surrounded by a sweeping grey marble staircase.

“I think I would prefer to take the stairs,” you admit, nerves flaring at the idea of such a contraption.

Your uncle laughs. “Well, I am taking it; I am not hefting this case of yours up five flights of stairs,” he adds dryly as you gaze up the swirling stairwell.

“Five storeys?” you squeak.

“The view is the best from the top,” Solène advises as she rattles back the cage entry and steps in, looking at you expectantly. 

Reluctantly, you follow, all three of you and your luggage crammed into the metal cage as it jerks to life and begins its ascent.

“You will get used to it,” Solène smiles as she reads the apprehension on your face, your vice-like grip on your small vanity case and handbag.

Luckily, the lift reaches your destination safely. One shudder before it stops, and the door concertinas back in Solène’s hand to reveal a sweeping hallway with doors left and right. 

“Ici,” she signals, the last door on the right-hand side.

But before you can knock, the door peels open, and a pretty, petite brunette jumps in surprise, dropping the book she is holding.

“Pardon,” she offers in perfect accented French, and you wonder for a split second if it is the correct apartment.

“Eloise, this is y/n,” Solène gestures.

“Ohhh, hello,” she grins, and the whiplash back to a plummy British accent is momentarily confusing. “I was about to go read in the courtyard, thought you might not be turning up today. Anyway… come in, come in!”

You shake her proffered hand as she ushers you into the apartment. Instantly, you feel a warmth spreading in your belly, like you have come home. It's light and airy, with large windows looking out across the Parisian rooftops, and yes, to the left is indeed the Eiffel Tower, still gleaming in the fading evening light. But the place also feels homely, that sort of messy that is lived in, comfortable. A large velvet sofa with tumbling stacks of books around it, a little kitchenette awash with colourful enamel cookware, and a jumble of art deco posters and random paintings adorning the walls. 

“Solène, I don't suppose you've baked any more of those rather delicious madeleines, have you? To welcome my new housemate?” Eloise pipes up with a chipper, conspiratorial wink your way. 

You already like her.

“Effronte!” Solène exclaims with fond exasperation before pausing. “There may be some…”

“I remember those!” your uncle adds with a tinge of nostalgia as he drops your suitcase. “You are in for such a treat, y/n.”

“Well, while our landlady decides if she’s willing to share the treats she has obviously baked but is being coy about…”Eloise raises a pointed eyebrow at the woman before returning to you. “...let me show you your room, then maybe a drink? I'm sure it's been a long journey.”

You nod and, with an exchange of grins, follow her down a corridor. She sweeps open the door to a lovely room, a large double bed with matching bedside tables and a dresser. But best of all, french doors onto a Juliet balcony overlooking a quiet courtyard filled with a riot of birch trees, their leaves gently rustling in the evening breeze.

“Mostly, it’s pesky pigeons down there, but you do get the occasional blackbird singing in the morning,” Eloise smiles as if intuiting your thoughts.

You spend some moments wandering the room and checking out the various fixtures, running idle hands over the furniture, already feeling remarkably at home with your new housemate and, indeed, your new home for the next twelve months.

“I'm just next door,” Eloise reveals, pointing a thumb over her shoulder. 

Your uncle appears in the doorway to announce that he and Solène are off to catch up as you unpack and suggests you all reunite for dinner later at a local bistro. It all sounds so very Parisian chic; you cannot wait.

“So tell me about yourself,” Eloise flops onto your bed, already wonderfully casual in your presence, as you open your case and the wardrobe to unpack.

“I’m y/n. I'm from a little town on Long Island called Patchogue, about fifty miles outside New York City. I'm 22…”

“Me too!” she interjects, then signals for you to proceed.

“I wanted to see the world before I settled down. And I’ve dreamed of living in Paris since I was a little girl...” You feel your eyes misting at the fact it's now finally coming true as you continue. “So my parents agreed to pay for me to come to Paris for a year. Under the strict agreement, I get married when I return…” 

“You have a fiancé?”

“Yes. Well, sort of. Stanley. We practically grew up together, and we’ve been going steady since we were eighteen.”

“Going steady? That's so American,” Eloise chuckles.

You nod with a giggle, then continue. “He hasn't proposed formally yet, says he is saving up for a ‘real nice’ ring, but it will happen. He is the son of my dad’s business partner. They run a construction company. So, while I'm here, they are building a home for us to live in when I return. We will get married next summer and move right in.” 

“You don't mind?” Eloise frowns.

“Don’t mind what?” you query as you hang up your favourite dress.

“That your future is so… plotted out. I couldn't bear the idea. It's why I think my mother let me move to Paris. She was so fed up with me refusing to settle down.” Eloise laughs, idly flicking through the magazine you were reading on your journey.

“I suppose I've never really expected anything else,” you shrug, pausing as you put away your hosiery, but her words make you contemplative. “You don't have a boyfriend back home?”

“God, no. Too many pretty Frenchmen to entertain me here,” she winks. “I’ll introduce you to some, just in case you change your mind,” she breezes, climbing off your bed and drifting to the door. “Wine?”

“Oh… well, why not? When in France, etc,” you agree and close the drawer on the pile of cardigans you have just safely stacked.

“That's the spirit!” she effuses over her shoulder as you follow her back into the living room, the Eiffel Tower still glittering in the dusk.

“This place is so lovely,” you sigh, transfixed by the view as she wanders over and hands you a glass.

“It is a pretty magical view,” she agrees, staring at the skyline with you, watching as each window seems to illuminate in soft yellow with the dying light.

“And the decor, too; I see you love books as much as me,” you smile, tilting your head to the piles before taking a sip of red wine. It's the perfect balance of refreshing, mellow fruitiness and tart tannin coating your tongue, so much better than any wine back home.

“Oh god, yes! I work in the library. I can bring home as many as I want,” she enthuses.

“So, are there actually any left on the shelves?” you jest, lightly, savouring your drink and wandering to take a closer look at a smaller painting that catches your eye. It's very different to all of the others.

“My god, this is beautiful,” you breathe, hugging your wineglass to your chest as you stare transfixed at the art. It appears to be a large country house, probably British, bathed in the warm pinkish light of dawn.

“That's home. Aubrey Hall in Kent. I think the family made me bring it in the hopes it would make me homesick,” Eloise deadpans.

“It’s a wonderful piece,” you breathe, fingers reaching out to lightly trace over the heavily oiled brushstrokes. Something about it is so captivating and intimate.

“I'll be sure to let the artist know,” she smirks. “Although I'm reticent to give him any more praise, seeing as, unfortunately, he is my brother.”

“Your brother painted this?” taken aback by the revelation, assuming it an heirloom.

She nods and comes to stand next to you. “Yup. Benedict. Second eldest. I'm fifth of eight, by the way. Hence ‘E’ for Eloise. It's a thing,” she rolls her eyes.

“Wow. Big family. I just have one brother...” 

“Lucky you. Although, as much as he is irritating, if I could only keep one sibling, it probably would be him,” she admits, taking a swig of wine.

“I love art,” you sigh, finally tearing your gaze from the canvas but already knowing it is something you will return to again and again. A pull you can’t quite understand.

“Oh, then I know the perfect job for you! There’s a gallery around the corner from the library, and I saw a sign saying they wanted an English speaker to assist international visitors! You would be perfect!”

“I would love that!” you extol, even as a tiny part of your brain lingers on the idea that it would be too good to be true if it all worked out, that fleeting sense of foreboding in paradise.

“Excellent!” Eloise’s enthusiasm pulls you back to the immediate. “So let’s get your glad rags on! It's time to hit the town for your first night in Paris!”

And thus, you find yourself being bundled back into your room to refresh and change for your first night in the city of your dreams. Indeed, as you find yourself being led by Eloise, arm looped in yours, through the bustling evening streets to a little bistro, your uncle and Solène already waiting at a table with smiling faces and drinks in hand, you can't help but feel this really is the only place in the world you could ever want to be…

Your adventure is just beginning.

Benedict taglist: @foreverlonginguniverse @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @amygdtjhddzvb @sya-skies @balladynaaa

[kiss-me-muchoo]

𝐇𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐝 || 𝐌𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐎’𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲_you’ve been lost for a day, and Miguel is worried. And it’s all because you’re not a science girl, thankfully your boyfriend is there to help you with your biochemistry class. 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬_age gap not specified (I’m 19, I can’t help it), idiot lovers, implied sex, fluff, Miguel best bf, civilian! shy! Insecure! reader, implied Mexican reader. 𝐀/𝐍_this is based on my favorite song of the movie, hummingbird. Listen to my playlist tho <3

♪ ♫ My Miguel O’Hara playlist. ✰ Index (+ fics here)

Hi, I might be busy, but leave a message. Love u…. *beep*

Miguel smiled, thinking the love u you had as a voicemail was only for him.

But soon he grew irritated. You hadn’t answered your phone for the whole day. You hadn’t even touched the device he had created for you to contact him through his gizmo.

“Why the sad face? Is it because your girl hasn’t answered?” Lyla asked appearing beside him. Miguel only eyed her.

“No.”

“Mmh… Even civilians have busy lives. Just because they aren’t spiders doesn't mean they don’t have responsibilities” the AI said trying to do a wise tone.

“I know, Lyla.” Huffed Miguel, clearly annoyed.

“Well. Then don’t worry, boss. Your girl is okay” You were smart, and Miguel knew you were fine. It only was strange, because you always answered.

“Oh, Peter and Gwen asked permission to come and see you” Once again, he rolled his eyes. Miguel could already hear a silly comment coming from Peter and Gwen cheering him.

“Tell them to be quick”

“On it, boss” With that Lyla disappeared.

Miguel could not wait to leave the HQ and call it a day.

…

By the time the sun was about to start fading, Miguel was able to finish a mission and report and leave everything ready for the next week. The HQ was okay and all the anomalies were safely contained.

He knew it would be easier to find you with his suit.

Most of the people in Nueva York lived in apartments, futuristic and minimalistic ones. Miguel lived in one of those. Until he met you.

Not so long ago, when an anomaly was causing chaos, he saved your life. An angry venom was about to devour you when he appeared.

He thought you were a kid. But later he learned it was your first year of college just when he was finishing his Ph.D...

Long short story, both fell in love at the very beginning of summer, but he waited.

He waited until turned twenty to be your boyfriend. Because your mother disapproved of him.

Your house was in a decent neighborhood. The street had these rectangular houses that were built upside down with long crystal windows and terraces as rooftops.

But you weren’t there.

Your window was open, but no signs of you.

“Damn it, where are you, y/n?” He mumbled, hanging from his bright web in your window.

Huffing, he activated his mask again and started balancing across the city.

He even thought about calling your father. As the man seemed to tolerate Miguel; offering beers and exchanging tastes in music at every gathering. But your boyfriend knew he didn’t have to worry.

Although Miguel didn’t possess a spider-sense, he knew you were not in danger.

And he almost missed to see your tiny silhouette.

He stopped on the balcony of an apartment complex.

The smell of coffee invades the whole avenue.

Your seating, alone. There’s a cup beside your laptop and a book is splayed. You seem very concentrated. Miguel thinks your furrowed brows and hand under your chin are cute.

Peace floods him after finding you.

Relief assaulted him when you started collecting your belongings. You thank the waitress and you leave, putting on your earphones, and carrying your big tote.

So he smirks.

You are humming one of your favorite songs, and finally, you finished all the modules of all your classes.

You can’t wait to go back home and call Miguel. You had missed him so much and-

“What the hell?” You yell as you are pulled towards an alley.

Miguel is there. Suit on, imposing height coming closer to you.

You cross your arms over the red shiny web around your waist.

“Oh look… You don’t own me from Lesley Gore started playing” you say with sarcasm, showing him your phone.

“You didn’t answer any of my calls” Deep down, you knew he was worried. And it made you feel guilty.

“I know, I’m sorry. I’ve been busy with school” Suddenly, Miguel remembered you had started a new college semester. And everything made sense.

“Tough course in specific?” He asked, his mask disappearing to your eyes, meeting his gorgeous face.

“Uh—, actually… yes”

“Why you doubted?” You blushed. And more embarrassed you felt.

“I was struggling and I didn’t want to ask for help. Especially to you” Miguel was confused. His web let you go, but he came closer to you. The way he was so tall and broad made you feel like a rag doll, always having to look all the way up to him.

“And why is that?”…”

“Silly me completely forgot the biology of drugs was biochemistry in disguise” Miguel laughed. He actually laughed and to that point, you were red like a beetroot.

“You’re so stubborn, muñeca” The music had stopped at that point. Putting your phone inside your bag was a good idea to avoid his deep gaze.

“What? I don’t want you to know how much of an idiot I am. I’m not a science girl and you know that…” Miguel stopped smiling.

You had said in the past that you were ashamed. Because you weren’t special like him. You were just a normal girl living a boring life. While he was Spider-Man, he was the leader of a whole group of people like him. He had a job besides that. Miguel was successful, and you were soon to become something. Yet, you were lost.

“We’ve talked about this, y/n. I’m not with you for pity or something. I just happened to fall in love with the most sweet and caring woman I met in the middle of chaos” he had mentioned his late daughter. The mother wasn’t in the picture. Miguel never knew who was his partner in that universe.

And yeah, on Earth-929, he had seen this woman named Dana, but it didn’t last. He never felt in love.

“I know, Miguel. I know that very well, bebé” You pull him closer to you, and immediately your lips welcome him. He closes his eyes and completely leans towards you.

After missing you the whole day, he melts in your lips, savoring each second his skin is on yours. Allowing himself to feel happy.

“I would still look like a bimbo if you ever tried to help me” he laughed, a long laugh, before venturing again into your soft lips.

“Then I’d look like a himbo if you introduced me to arts and literature” both of you giggle, hugging in the middle of a dirty alley.

“Your parents are out?”

“Yeah. They went to visit my abuelita for the weekend. She’ll come next week so I declined the trip to stay and learn about enzymes” Your man nodded.

“I’ll take you home. And I’ll stay with you these days” The news made you really happy. Miguel had stayed with you before. But most of the time it was just a single night. You barely visited his apartment.

“Wait till my parents find out” As you giggle, he rolls his eyes.

“We can keep it a secret”

“Oh, so romantic of you” Miguel feels like a puppy when you start smooching his cheeks. He said he would never grow a beard because he didn’t like it. You had said loved him however he decided to look, but honestly, you really loved his clear face.

“Just for you, mi vida” When you met him, he was this grumpy giant who hated physical contact. Now, he was still a grumpy giant but loved physical contact, just yours of course.

“Wanna go watch the sunset?” He asks holding your waist. You nod, you would never say no.

“Hold tight” his strong arm envelopes your hips, and you hug him so tightly. And the pressure of being lifted appears suddenly, startling you.

As Miguel starts balancing across the city, he notices your head buried in his neck, which makes him smile under the mask.

“This isn’t new, muñeca. You are missing the view” Slowly, you open your eyes, but you don’t dare to move your head, the wind obstructing your view, but across your stubborn hairs, you can see Nueva York.

The lights of the cars, every single highway, the sounds of news on big screens. But the most beautiful view is Miguel and you and his arms. Every skyscraper is a mirror for you and your boyfriend. You can see how small you look compared to him.

As you start approaching your neighborhood, you have to close your eyes again.

You can feel how hard he loves you by the way he holds you as if his life depends on it.

“I don’t like the way my stomach churns every time we do this” you admit on his ear.

“Good to know we are already here, bebé” Pink, purple, orange, and yellow make your eyes collapse as you encounter the most beautiful sunset you’ve ever seen.

Miguel lets you go. He lets you walk across the rooftop and appreciates you for some seconds.

“It’s beautiful…” you almost whisper, referring to the sky.

“It is…” but he means it about you.

You were his miracle. A safe miracle that came in the most unexpected moment.

“It’s a fruit punch sunset…” You’re worried because you hear Miguel laughing again, which is weird. You turn around to encounter him smiling at you.

“Really? A fruit punch?” You’re blushing again.

“Okay… It’s a summer sunset” he knows you’re annoyed. Because he laughed earlier and now again.

“I’m sorry, mi chiquita. It’s a fruit punch sunset” he admits hugging you from behind.

His soft hair brushes your temple, and his hands around your stomach make you put yours on top of him.

“I love so much” he whispers.

“I love you too, Miguel” Everything was all too well with you. And he intended to keep it that way.

…

Again, that little scrunch you tended to do once you were stressed or highly concentrated.

“Okay… so enzymes are?…”

“Proteins.” You answer shyly.

“Correct”

“And where does the substrate bind with the enzyme?” He is testing you, and you don’t like it. But it’s for your own good.

“The activate site?”

“Good girl” You send him a bad look and he just chuckles.

“See? You’re not dumb, mi amor. You’re very smart” You bump your head with his shoulder.

Both of you are in the kitchen, on the table actually. All of your books are displayed with notes and pens.

“I really want to be done with requisites” Miguel sighed.

“I had to take three English courses when I was in college, y/n. And believe me, I wasn’t the most brilliant. My essays used to have red marks all over” you giggle.

“I don’t think so, you’re a genius”

“Just because I developed this thing with Lyla doesn’t mean I am a genius,” he said pointing at the gizmo in his wrist.

“Oh, Lyla. I miss her” you admit.

It had been a couple of weeks since you visited the HQ for the last time.

“I can take you next week. Actually, I’m strongly thinking that I might need help with the reports” proving that you were very smart, Miguel remembered the system you developed for the spiders to accommodate the reports filled after an anomaly attack.

“Oh stop it, Jessica said it would be fine”

“Jess had actually stated that having you would be very helpful” It surprised you.

“Really?”

“Yeah. A lot of people like having you around the HQ. Peter’s kid especially”

“Mayday?” Miguel nodded. Remembering how fussy the baby got after hearing your voice in a voicemail you had sent to your boyfriend.

“She’s a newborn, Miguel”

“So? She’s like two months old. She already knows you” you shrug. Remember the time you met Peter and how he told you his wife and he wanted to have a kid. A couple of weeks later he broke the news and you had crocheted the baby’s first plushie. A pink little spider girl.

“I love Mayday but don’t use her to make me your assistant” Miguel kissed your nose.

“Why would I do that, mi vida?”

“Because you’re a cheeky asshole” breaking a record, Miguel was laughing again.

“Ay, corazón. No seas así”

“I’ll think about working more time at the HQ. Qué tal?” He nods.

“That would make me very happy”

“Nah, you just want to have me around like your rag doll” Miguel smirked, so you gently punched his chest.

“I’m not in the mood to keep learning about DNA, enzymes, and monosaccharides” you admit rolling your eyes and pushing your head back in the chair.

“Well, I’m in the mood to teach you anatomy now” Your eyes widen, and you start giggling.

“Fine. But not on the couch. Last weekend Mom was this close to finding my ripped panties under the pillows” Miguel couldn’t help but laugh at your index and thumb almost brushing.

“Don’t worry. I won’t throw away your panties. But for sure I’ll rip them apart”

“See? Cheeky asshole”

“I’m just being honest” You would never get tired of how serious Miguel sounded every time. Even when he was saying nasty things. It was in his nature to be sassy.

“Yeah, yeah. Now take me to bed and do what you’re good at” Carrying you in his arms, he hurried to take you to bed.

He gently placed you over the sheets. And before anything, he made sure to show how much he loved you. By kissing your lips like he always used to.

“Miguel?” You ask suddenly.

“Yes, preciosa?”

“I think I forgot everything about steroids… Oh no,” you want to face-palm yourself.

“It’s okay. I’ll make you remember everything, muñeca” As his kisses traveled through your jaw and neck, you relaxed. Finally, let the heat flow across your body.

“First thing, steroids help growth energy, metabolism, and reproduction, bonita” reproduction, naughty ideas start to cross your mind.

Like the morning your parents left to get some things for a gathering, and he had you sweating and crying under him on your floor carpet. But beyond that, you only have eyes for your Miguel. The only thing you seem to need in life.

Your strong and beautiful geneticist boyfriend.

You are unsure of how you ended up by his side. Dating the infamous Spider-Man, visiting the HQ of the Spider Society, and dealing with everything all together.

And he held you tightly the whole night.

Even when things would change in less than a year. With new piers joining, Miguel growing obsessed with keeping in harmony the spider-verse, grieving his past. And how he would traumatize a teenager in hopes of saving everything. Miguel would see you dying thanks to the spot, and the only way of preventing that was making you a spider too. The changes after that would be big. Even with all of that, both of you thought the same; you were in the correct pair of arms, and hopefully, you’d stay long. If not, forevermore.

____________

special mentions_ @freehentai

[lokisgoodgirl]

Sundress Season [Avenger!Loki x Fem.Reader]

A link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: You wear a sundress. Loki likes this very much. (w/c 3.3k) Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Teasing. Light jealousy. Smut. Language. Semi-public. A/N - Based on my drabble The Sundress.

Chatter sang in the air, ebbing as you padded down the hall from the balcony to the kitchen. It was the hottest day of the year so far, and even sixty floors up, the heat off the New York pavement sizzled. Loki sat at the breakfast bar beneath the air con. You were surprised to see him, considering. ‘One does not partake in social events with an inane acronym' he’d said haughtily, when you had optimistically invited him to the barbecue. “Agent?” he greeted, observing you suspiciously as he was known to do. Like a panther in the bushes.

“Laufeyson.” you replied, before throwing him a secretive wink. It had only been a few weeks since your relationship had become irrevocably unprofessional. The god closed the book he’d been reading flat on the counter, running his keen eyes down your body and back to your face at a snail’s pace.

“What in the Nine are you wearing?”

You pouted, inspecting the folds of your cotton skirt. Loki's gaze followed the smooth of your hand down the light fabric floating around your thighs. Sweet, but slutty. A calculated move. Loki’s face was hard, his stare narrowed. "Oh this?” you postured, an innocent swish of hem flashing the curve of your ass. Loki frowned, seeing the glimmer of lace underwear. “It's a sundress" you shrugged, grabbing a glass and turning towards the sink. You smiled knowingly, feeling him trawl the exposed backs of your knees right down to the strappy sandals. “A sun...dress?” he scoffed. You shrugged again. "It's like you're barely wearing...anything." You jumped as Loki's breath fanned your cheek, his voice smooth as black treacle. "Are you truly trying to drive me mad?" You hadn't even heard him move from the chair. The jolt of your fingers nudged the tap off as Loki's stomach pressed against your back. You could feel the hard heat taut against your spine through the thin fabric as he curled his frame with a low groan. The god's fingertips began to make small circles on the backs of your legs, caressing the bare skin. "I'm not sure how I feel about my lover being on display in such a fashion." he growled, thrusting gently against your ass. "You'd be locked up on Asgard for public indecency." His cock rubbed between your cheeks as your head fell back against his collarbone. The furiously hard length was pinned beneath his jeans, denim catching tortuously against thin folds of cotton. How he always got aroused so quickly, you would never know. Maybe it's like Bruce, you thought as Loki inhaled against your skin. But instead of angry all the time, he's horny. "It's just a dress..." you huffed, feigning annoyance. His fingertips danced beneath the skirts, the light touch making you tingle. Loki chuckled. "You're telling me that these salacious garbs will be a feature of summers in this realm?" His nose nudged a wedge of hair from your temple, before he released a filthy moan in your ear. You nodded, shivering as his palms covered your breasts, giving the exposed cleavage from your skimpy neckline a squeeze.

"Wonderful." he groaned, another growl rasping in your ear as you ground back against his hips. Your eyes fluttered shut as Loki palmed your breasts upward, impatient fingertips pulling at the thin material. “But I must insist that you do so with caution.” He rubbed hard against you, every rough drag making his lust feel even more dangerous. Wandering lips latched to the curve of your shoulder, sucking with a lurid groan as his tongue slid against supple skin. Someone cleared their throat. “Excuse me.” You rolled your eyes. Steve.

“This is a public area. I’m sure we’d all appreciate if you refrain from y’know…it’s unhygienic.” He waved a hand, averting his gaze while his cheeks flushed crimson. In the other, he held a single, huge cob of corn. Loki peeled himself from your back, the remnants of his lurid kiss leaving a trail of saliva on your shoulder. “You can watch if you like, Rogers.” he snarled. You swiftly elbowed him in the stomach. Loki let out an exaggerated oof, smirking as you delivered a serious shake of your head. He drew up to his full height, the tight t-shirt clinging to his torso doing nothing to quell the hot thump between your legs. “Sorry Steve.” you mumbled, feeling your cheeks heat. The captain nodded, awkwardly shuffling back and forth as he tried to recall his business in the kitchen. His eyes fell on the corn in his hand as if seeing it for the first time. “Butter!” Steve gasped, relieved. He looked towards you and Loki, satisfied in the change of subject. “Can’t have a fat, juicy cob without fresh butter dripping down it, huh?” You cast Loki a piercing glance, seeing his bottom lip disappear between his teeth as the oblivious Rogers made his way to the fridge. He was trying, you’d give him that. “I’ll see you outside.” Your words made Loki’s eyebrows nudge upwards. “I told you, I don’t-” There was an edge in his voice as you leant closer, palming his cock through the tight denim. “Shame...I’d have liked you to appreciate this dress a little more. I wore it just for you, but I guess the rest of the guys will have to do.” Without a second glance, you began the walk back to the balcony. The sound of meat sizzling and cans popping grew louder as you padded down the hall, Loki’s footsteps tapping in reluctant succession as he strode to catch up.

“Now hold on just a minute-” he rasped. His fingers curled around the delicate crease of your elbow, swinging you in a semi-circle flush to his chest. For all his strength, his touch never caused pain. Only pleasure. Loki’s breath caught as your breasts swelled against his chest, flesh heaving gently over the cotton neckline. “Yes?” you purred, looking up at him beneath heavy lashes. “Hurry up girl – we miss you!” Wilson shouted, a holler from Bucky accompanying his overtures. They descended into laughter. You smiled, tilting your head. “They miss me.” you pouted, lips twitching in a smile. Loki frowned as you brushed away from him. You made sure to give your skirt as extra swish as the breeze from the open balcony door buffeted by; the burn of Loki’s stare warming any chill from the wind.

The guys had saved your seat, bless 'em. Sam and Bucky reclined in perfect synchronicity, a mirror image with muscled arms spread on the back of the rattan furniture waiting for you to re-join them. Tony had refreshed the wrap-around balcony with a whole new set for the summer, luxurious L-shaped sofas with lush fake grass underfoot. He was currently manning the barbecue, beer in hand while Nat watched him turn chicken. “You gotta leave them on one side to cook through, Stark.” she muttered scathingly, swigging from a bottle. Tony chuckled, the skin around his sunglasses creasing at the edge. “What? Worried Earth’s mightiest heroes are gonna be taken down by a little salmonella? Please.” Nat rolled her eyes, before they landed on Loki lingering suspiciously by the plate glass doors. She patted the space beside her. “Come and sit down, gorgeous.” she hummed towards him, throwing you a wink as he scuffed his feet. Loki glanced to the side, grimacing before catching another glimpse of you sandwiched between your colleagues. “Fine.” he said through a gritted smile. He walked the short distance, reclining gracefully beside Natasha and resting a foot on his knee; a pair of black wayfarers manifesting over his eyes.

“There. Was that so hard?” she cooed, her lips twisting in a smirk as Loki’s t-shirt creased against a deep sigh. Tony spun to the side, tilting his chin to his chest and peering over his sunglasses.

“Oh, hey...I didn’t realise Edward Cullen had deemed us worthy of his company today. Kudos.” he quipped, before turning back to the chicken-related task at hand.

You smiled, curling a strand of hair behind your ear before glancing down. The ol' cleavage was looking pretty damn good if you did say so yourself. A sheen of sunscreen gave your skin an ethereal glimmer, dancing in the light. Behind his sunglasses, you could feel Loki’s fiery gaze trawling your body inch by inch. He loved this. The denial, the jealousy, the drama. You crossed your legs slowly, sweat catching as you slid the hem up your thigh before readjusting the fan of cotton. “I gotta say, that dress does look swell on you.” Bucky said, leaning back for a better view. “You polish up real nice outta combat gear.” he winked. Loki’s fingers tightened on the armrest, a crunch alerting you to the fact that the new rattan furniture was feeling the brunt of his jealousy. A thin sheen of sweat was forming on his forehead. “Thanks.” you smiled sweetly, patting Barnes innocently on the leg. “I had it in the closet from last year so with it being such a beautiful day…” you gestured upwards. Wilson nodded sagely as his eyes darted repeatedly to your chest. A single drop of sweat dripped from your collarbone down your cleavage. Sam cleared his throat. “Should stay like this all week, hope you got a whole stash of those little numbers ready to roll.”

A playful smack of your hand landed on Wilson’s chest, accompanied by a giggle. His bright shirt was splayed open, taut skin perfectly smooth and supple in the afternoon sun. Deep lines appeared on Loki’s brow above the Ray Bans, his eyes undoubtedly narrowed. Wilson chuckled, sipping his beer.

Over rising banter, you watched your lover adjusting his hips; squirming silently as long fingers pinched at his thigh. His pale skin was glowing with moisture, the collar of his t-shirt beginning to tinge with sweat. The heat was a convenient cover, but you knew better. He was horny. Desperately so. And with every sweep of his covetous gaze over your slick body in that war-cry of a dress, he would be growing harder. Loki got off on this; the game of flirtations that would undoubtedly end with him fucking you senseless as he 'claimed you'. It would be passionate, verbose. It always was. Your hungry stare ran over his thighs, drinking in the length of muscle he was furiously trying to keep under control in the face of your insolence. No one had noticed. Yet.

You leant forward, crossing your forearms over a dangling knee. The cotton sundress tightened on your chest, the breeze fluttering around the small section of skirt hanging beneath the edge of the sofa. Loki let out a low growl, biting his lip as he crossed his legs. Nat frowned, before the inevitable question was silenced by Steve’s triumphant arrival. “Budge up.” Rogers ordered through a mouthful of corn, butter smeared across his chin. Loki let out a sigh of exasperation, sliding closer to Natasha with his lips hardened in disgust. The captain nestled himself at the end of the chair, devouring the cob gluttonously while indecent moans filled the air. A blob of butter slid down the side, falling with a silent spat to the thigh of the god’s jeans. Loki looked at the blossoming stain with disbelief as Steve swallowed, letting out a satisfied grunt. “Butter was a good choice.” he congratulated himself. Loki grimaced, sliding the wayfarers into his hair. “Will you desist?!” he spat, making Natasha smirk. “Meats almost ready!” Tony shouted, beginning to hum a tune to defuse the sudden tension. Loki huffed, standing and flicking his hair back. “This is absurd.” he griped, throwing you a burning look before pacing towards the railings at the corner of the building. “What was that about?” Bucky muttered, flinching as a ridiculously large plate of barbecued meats landed on the table with zero finesse. “He’s mad about Steve’s dripping cob.” Tony straightened as he spoke, wiping his hands down an apron. “But if we’re honest, aren’t we all?” He widened his arms in a theatrical shrug as Steve’s face flushed. While light-hearted bickering ensued, you rose, slipping away to the side. The slap of your sandals grew loud in your ears as you drew towards Loki’s back, enjoying the fan on dark curls against his triangular torso. Deep lines of muscle were visible through the t-shirt, clinging to every ridge and valley of his powerful form. You shivered, sliding your hands around his waist and inhaling between his shoulder-blades. “You should know better than to sneak up on a warrior, Agent.” he murmured. Your hand wandered down to the edge of his t-shirt, fingernails grazing his sweat-moistened skin. His stomach was so firm, and yet every curve of muscle relented to your touch like sand. They slid over the waistband of his jeans, down...down. “Tease.” Loki hissed, “I shall not forget this.” He let his head fall back as you began to rub. “I don’t know what you mean.” you quipped innocently, resting your chin between his shoulder-blades. You could feel the heat of his skin through the fabric. In a second, Loki spun off to the side, dragging you with him. The heads of your friends disappeared behind the corner as Loki pulled you around the wrapped balcony into the shade. “You know exactly what you do to me.” he growled, caging you to the wall. “Always.” He let out a deep groan as his fingertips danced beneath the hem of the sundress, riding up his forearms as he burrowed beneath the skirts. They skimmed damp skin, tracing lazy circles as his tongue licked the salt from your neck. Loki's fingertips sank into the curves of your ass, a hot exhale of need flooding your ear. “The way they were looking at you in this flimsy garment...only I am allowed to look at you thus. That is my privilege alone.” he growled darkly, running his nose up your temple. “That’s not how it works here, Loki.” you goaded, gasping as his palms squeezed your cheeks. Hands resting on his waist, you pulled at the t-shirt with a whimper. The god chuckled. “I’m aware of that.” he muttered regretfully. “But old habits die hard.”

There was a light snap as he pinged back your underwear, another groan of desire vibrating from his chest to yours. “Darling…” Loki’s breaths were ragged as your hands began fumbling with the button of his jeans. “Shhh...don’t talk. You have to be quiet.” you warned. The white noise of the team’s wholesome afternoon tinkled around the corner as the god pressed you against the cool side of the building. Street traffic blared sporadically below, hidden from view by the railings. You ran the firm rim of your palm down his shaft, hard and thick beneath the denim. Loki's knees juddered, making obsidian locks swing around your forehead. “That f-fucking dress…” he whimpered gruffly. “It’s so...you look so...unbearably...uhhh-” The syllables of his words faded as he pressed his hips against your body, gyrating into your touch. “I must have you in it. Here.” he whispered. With one swipe, Loki pulled the panties down. They pooled around your sandals, discarded on the artificial grass as he effortlessly raised you in the air. Your legs cinched around his waist, grasping between your bodies before your fingers wrapped around the hot, moist head of his cock. Loki groaned, his eyelids fluttering shut. Long fingers dug into your thighs, hoisting you closer against him. The girth nestled teasingly at your entrance while his lips made love to every inch of accessible skin. “Bruises…” you gasped warily, lost in a haze of bliss as he sucked down hard. “I care not.” came the scathing response, muffled wetly against your shoulder.

“They should know you are spoken for.” he husked, his menacingly sexy bone structure rising to meet your wide-eyed stare. You bucked your hips, trying to capture his cock. The heat pulsing between your legs was unbearable, writhing sweatily against the wall. You could feel new warmth rising in your cheeks. “They do know, they’re just playing with you-” Words evaporated as Loki shook his head with a crafty smirk. “Well, they know not well enough.” he growled, spreading his palms wider as he slid you onto his length. The wide tip breached, a loud gasp from your lips silenced by the cup of his hand. “Shhh...you must be quiet.” he echoed mockingly as your eyes screwed shut with a shameless moan of pleasure. Your hands slid over his shoulders, winding in his hair as he began to thrust. Each pump was desperate, shallow. His quiet goans blew hot in your ear, Loki’s strength holding you steady as he fucked you against the wall. A bead of sweat rolled from his hairline, caressing down the curve of a sharp cheekbone before falling between your bodies. His fingers slid around the curve of your ass, playing teasingly with your back entrance. “Loki-” you gasped, bucking up into him. The metal of Stark Tower bit against your bare skin with every earth-shattering mount; the god’s free hand palming your breast through the thin cotton dress. It felt frantic. And hot as hell. It felt divine. “I want my cum dripping down those pretty thighs of yours.” Loki grunted through gritted teeth. You tugged his hair back, lust-drunk at the sight of his devastating jawline flash as his chin pointed to the cloudless sky. He hissed, the wave of his hips into your core never losing their rhythm. “Far beyond the reach of that delicate garment. That so called sun-dress…a mess of my m-mark for all to see.” he rasped, baring his teeth while his knees began to buckle. “I would have every one of them know that you have been claimed, my seed smeared against that beautiful skin- uhh-g-gods…”

Waves of climax began to crest in your belly, the unbearable tug of his pubic mound against your clit with every clench of his ass. Your fingers slid inside the empty belt loops of his splayed jeans, pulling him closer as you breathed his name on repeat. Loki’s hands gripped the skirts of your skimpy dress, gathering the cotton in clutches as he bottomed out with a shaking moan. “Norns tha-that dress…” Shameless adoration smouldered in his eyes, a sea of blue and green masked by dilated darkness. He raised an arm to steady himself against the wall, bicep quivering as he lost himself inside your dripping sex. Loki’s moist forehead pressed to your own, wordless screams building as you began to come around his cock. Your nails scraped down the tight fabric clinging to his back as shuddering orgasm consumed you, feeling his shoulder-blades tense. His breath hitched, a choked groan gurgling in his throat as his thighs trembled. “Claim me, Loki-” you choked, making him clench forwards over the edge. He emptied himself inside you with a shaking moan of your name, shallow pants racking his body as your legs tightened around his hips. As you caught your breath, Loki’s lips pressed gently to yours. His tongue slipped between them as he rubbed a thumb up your jawline with softening eyes. You looked up as he lowered you back to the ground, steadying you when your knees almost gave way. “Well, I certainly hope you’ve learned your lesson regarding that particular item of clothing.” Loki warned, running a hand through his sex-mussed hair before inspecting the suspicious bruises blossoming on your shoulder. You could feel his cum begin its descent of your thigh, rolling in thick drips down damp skin. You hummed, shrugging before gathering the front of his t-shirt in a fist. “Wear more of them?” you purred innocently. Loki winked.

Tags @meowmeow-motherfucker @imalovernotahater @avengersalways @littledark11 @lokikissesmyforehead @simplyholl @fictive-sl0th @thedistractedagglomeration @lokischambermaid @loveroflokiforpoeticjustice @coldnique @jaidenhawke @vbecker10 @thomase1 @morriggannlostinfandoms @marygoddessofmischief @sebstanwhore @peacefulpianist @maple-seed @yelkmelk @wheredafandomat @mistress-ofmagic @infinitystoner @goblingirlsarah @ozymdias @peaches1958 @your-taste-on-my-lips @lokidokieokie @kikster606 @peachyjinx @tbhiddlestan83 @trickster-maiden @skymoonandstardust @justjoanne242 @sidepartskinnyjeans @ladyofthestayingpower @wolfmoonmusic @brittbax @smolvenger @lunarnights95 @superficialdomina @kaleenjackson @fictional-hooman @psychospore @littlespaceyelf

[alonetimelover]

to feel fulfilled

pairing: Harry Styles x polish!reader (fem, she/her)

summary: During the day of the last Love on Tour show Harry intends to do three things: satisfy his fiancée, make granny's dream come true and put on the best performance for his fans.

warnings: fluff, some suggestive moments (nothing explicit), they are in love, okay? and granny is the total sweetheart, with Harry they are the power duo.

word count: 3,5k

a/n: Based on the anon request!

masterlist

Italy during summer was the most beautiful place on Earth, thought YN for the past couple of days, she’d been there. The house that Harry and her bought just over two years ago had windows overlooking the coast, shining, clear blue water crashing against the rocks, waking her up every day. Birds singing while sitting on the trees outside of their room’s balcony and the smell of the fresh coffee being brewed by one of the guests. 

She felt in heaven. 

“Will you let me wake up with you in my arms instead of the scrunched blanket, woman?” 

YN turned around from the balcony and smiled. 

“Good morning to you too, Harry.”

“Aghh!” Harry screamed into the pillow. “Come ‘ere. I beg you.”

With a winning smirk on her face, she slowly - teasingly - walked up to Harry’s side of bed. YN put a hand on his unruly mop of hair and brushed it away from his face. She’d never get over the way he looked in the morning. Clear complexion, always warm and awaiting her touch with scrunched eyebrows and eyes shut close, like scared of the beams of the sunlight. His soft skin glowing in those, the tattoos on display like paintings in the gallery. When he finally opened his eyes they radiated the peacefulness they seeked all the time. 

She once came to the conclusion that she loved him the most in the morning light. 

“Good morning,” Harry finally responded, clinging to YN’s legs. “How’d you sleep, lovie?”

Still stroking his hair, after countless kisses being pressed to her thighs, hips and belly she laughed and squirmed away from Harry’s needy lips. 

“Insufferable from the moment he woke up. Why didn't it surprise me?” 

“Your fault.”

Not giving her a chance to respond he hooked her legs in his arm and threw her on the bed. In seconds he laid his whole body on hers, pressing them together. Two became one. 

“Your fault,” Harry repeated, kissing YN’s lips for the first time this morning. “You look like this in the morning and want me not to do something about it?”

“Like this?”

“Yeah. This little thing.” Harry stretched the strap of her cotton top, snapping it back to place right away. “You’re irresistible. It’s driving me insane.”

Harry stretched his answer with breaks for kissing different parts of her body after each word. Cheek, lips, nose, eyelid, neck, collarbone, that one place right above her breast. He left those kisses like sweet treats for later. Because he knew that later he’d have time to do it even slower. 

“Don’t go too insane. Lots of people are waiting for you today.”

As the answer to that, Harry collapsed on her, hiding his face into her neck. This evening was going to be a sour-sweet moment. It was the end of the Love On Tour. After two years of travelling the world, putting his best each night and sacrificing sometimes more than he was willing to, it was a sour moment. He put his whole self into making it the place for all people, to help them feel comfortable, loved. But the end was inevitable and seeked. He was tired, prone to little health problems due to that exhaustion and he longed for a month to spend in one place. With his family and friends. With YN. 

“Can’t believe it’s the last one.”

“Two years. It’s been a long time since you’ve had a good night's sleep, huh?”

“I always sleep well with you by my side. Not that long of a time since, it seems.” He smiled widely, kissing her neck. “Thank you for being here. Wouldn’t be able to do any of it without you.”

“Thank you for finding me.”

***

“Babcia, what do you mean you’re not going with us?” Harry asked, confused. 

“I get easily seasick, my boy. Also, the garden needs some attendance. I'm going back home in two days. You all will have nice holidays and then come to me, right?”

Harry pouted, but then smiled lovingly at YN’s granny. “Of course. You promised me all those tomatoes and cucumbers from your greenhouse, I can’t not come. Right, lovie?”

“We’ll be back in August, granny. You’ll have us all to yourself for a month at least.”

The eyes of the lovely older lady lit up.

“Excellent. Now, let’s talk about that one secret you wanted to discuss with me, Harry. What is it?”

Granny took a sip of her hot tea and almost choked on it, after hearing what Harry had in mind. The couple was immediately on their feet, assisting her by firstly taking the cup and then carefully but firmly tapping granny’s back. When she settled down, assuring Harry three times that she was okay, they all sat back on their former seats. 

“I can’t do it, Harry. It’s impossible.” She rejected him, feeling her heart breaking. She loved Harry like her own grandchild and refusing anything to him was like stabbing herself. 

“No, it’s not. I heard it. We did it together. It won’t be any different.”

“Won’t be any different? Harry, my boy, you don’t believe the word you’re saying. YN, can you talk him out of it?” She turned to her granddaughter with hopeful eyes. 

“I could but I’m not going to. If Harry thinks it’s a good idea, I think so, too. Plus, you know that he won’t do anything against your will. You have time to give him an answer. Whatever it is, nothing will change.” 

“Oh, how those kids grow. It was just yesterday I was giving you this talk right before your recital,” granny laughed, squeezing her grandchildren’s hands. “I’ll think about it, okay? But I don’t promise anything.”

***

“Harry, can you please sit down?” YN pleaded with her fiance, trying to finally set him down and talk calmly. “I promised to take care of my family while you prepare for tonight, let me do that.”

“Yes, yes,” he responded frantically, still pacing through the room. “Your auntie and uncle are staying at the house, they’re not there yet because of the plane cancellation. Your cousins - the ones with funny hair styles - Anna and Maria - yeah, those were the names,  are already at the venue and are staying with their parents at Sergio’s house. Now, your parents are at the house with mum, Gemma and Michal. Granny is there too. Where’s grandad? I forgot about granddad. Jesus Christ, lovie. I- I forgot-”

Harry couldn’t finish the thought though. YN stood before him and held his face in her hands, stroking the rosy cheeks. 

“Shhh. You didn’t forget. Grandpa is back home. He sprained his ankle a week ago. You didn’t forget about anyone. You are the best host they could ask for, yeah?”

He took a deep breath. When he thought the Warsaw show was the most stressful one, he was so wrong it was funny. Not only he didn’t rehearse any of the songs yet he took upon himself to take care of everyone he invited for tonight. He knew YN promised and reminded him that she would do it, but he couldn’t just sit like a bump on the log. 

“Right ankle, I remember.”

“Now, deep breath in, baby. Let’s calm down, okay?”

Harry followed YN’s every breath, staring into her eyes. The calmness they provided, the stability he was reaching towards, all there, in those two little irises.

“Better?”

“Yes. Thank you, my love.”

He softly kissed her lips, lingering to put his hammering heart at ease. The softness of them comforting his chapped ones (all due to biting them in stress). He slowly, but surely embraced her body, deepening the kiss. 

YN was the only one to bring him back to reality. Also the only one to let him forget about the struggles and think about pleasure. There was no hour in a day when Harry didn’t think about her. When he would kiss her, hug her, make love to her. She bedevilled his soul and body, and he gladly took the role of the possessed. 

Screw calming his heart. Now, it was beating for her and only her. 

“As much as I’d love to keep going towards where it does. We need to stop,” YN whispered, after dramatically ending their kiss. 

“No, we don’t. Keep going, baby. Please?”

Now, he moved to her neck. To that one spot that was reserved for moments alone, for times where he really wanted to convince her. The spot right where she loved to feel his lips the most. The one, driving her over the edge with desire. Even the strongest soldier on earth wouldn’t be able to resist the temptation. 

So why would she?

“Fifteen minutes. Not a second more, not a -”

“Not a second less. Oh, I’ll use that time to the last drop.”

Before YN could scold him for the innuendo he shut her up with the deepest kiss that day. 

——————————————————————————————

harryupdates

liked by harrysmoustache, hArrysbtch and 23 402 others

harryupdates HARRY BACKSTAGE AT THE REGGIO FAMILIA!!!! the last show of tour is strating in less than an hour!!!! via italianoharry

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hArrysbtch what do we think, hitties out tonight?

comment liked by harryupdates and 16 301 others

italianoharry guys!!! he's whole family is here. yn is and here granny as well. harry was helping her move around the place swiftly

⤷ harrysmoustache i love this man with my whole heart

harrysmylife i can't wait to watch the livestream and cry for hours

harryshoee do we think he'll sing more songs????

⤷ harryonedirection i'm praying for the full best song ever!

⤷ harrysadbtch i want little freak. if he sings it, you can do with me whatever

——————————————————————————————

“He’s going to get sick. The wind is starting to pick up, he’s overheated. I told him, YN,” granny spoke in her native language to YN. 

Harry was already on stage. Three songs already done with twenty or more to go, and granny worried. Right before going to the ‘softgoods’ box, she saw him and almost cursed the stylist. ‘You are going to catch a cold,’ she said to him then to which Harry responded with ‘well, YN keeps me warm, babcia.’ 

“He’s going to be alright, granny. He is as healthy as a horse. Don’t worry and dance with me, huh?”

While dancing to Keep Driving, they kept watching Harry enjoying his last performance. The energy he brought with himself radiated to the audience. They, they were incredible. On the way to their ‘seats’ (the area that Harry had asked the guards to prepare for his immediate family) they all received friendship bracelets and gave away some. Granny made them together with Harry during their ritual afternoon tea, hoping to be able to pass them over. Each one consisted of a little note from Harry, thanking for participating in the show and being the fans for however many years they’d been. 

When Harry started moving towards the catwalk, granny breathed out in quite the exhaustion. 

“Right now, we’ll have a little slower section,” Harry spoke to the microphone. “Babcia, how are we feeling?” 

Granny looked up at Harry and smiled widely, putting her thumbs up. 

“She’s great, Reggio Emilia. Will you make some noise for her?” 

Harry then screamed into the microphone, welcoming the audience to do the same. They all mimicked him, making granny hide her face in the palm of her hands. YN hugged her grandma from behind, smiling at Harry. 

“Okay. Okay. Settle down! Now, we’re moving towards the slower part of the show. Granny, would you like to sit down?”

Granny was ready to let things go hang and tell him to keep going with the show, but YN tapped her shoulder and signed towards the ground. There was a little folding chair, waiting for her. 

“Thank you, sweetie.”

“Okay, now that granny is settled and in good hands - thank you, baby - please sing if you know the words!” 

Harry then proceeded to make YN cry by singing her favourite songs. She loved them all but Little Freak, Matilda, Falling and Fine Line would always hold a special place in her heart. Plus, he did not  say a thing about adding those to the setlist. 

While walking back to the centre stage Harry looked over, seeing YN wiping off the tears and helping granny to get up and dance just a bit more. Inaudibly he asked her if everything was okay and after getting her signature smile back, he was on his way. 

***

“Granny, I am sorry and please cover your ears,” Harry said to the microphone before the intro to the Medicine started. 

“You know,” granny started, turning towards YN. “I kept my promise and didn’t search for the meaning of this song. But I am not stupid.”

“Granny,” YN longed, embarrassed. 

“Oh, I was young once, too. Enjoy it.” But when YN thought it would be enough to make her feel warm in the awkwardness, granny added. “Maybe, tell Harry to use more complicated metaphors so I wouldn’t understand what he’s doing with my granddaughter.” 

——————————————————————————————

harryupdates

liked by hArrysbtch and 58 302 others

harryupdates GRANNY COVER TOUR EARS. Harry is singing MEDICINE right now.

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hArrysbtch and then he proceeds to sing it so slutty while looking at YN the whole time!!!!!

harrysmoustache yeah, im done

harryslotitaly i was standing behind yn and her granny and she said something along the lines 'tell harry to use difficult words to describe what he's doing with my granddaughter'

⤷ hArrysbtch we STAN yn's granny

⤷ harryno1fan idol

⤷ harryupdates we are now the fans of granny

——————————————————————————————

When ‘As It Was’ neared its end, the whole family of Harry’s started to move backstage, knowing what was coming next would be for them to watch from a closer place.  YN helped her granny move slowly towards the backstage area, holding the foldable chair in her left arm. Fans that they were passing reached for them, asking to pass on their love towards Harry. Granny got even more bracelets. 

“It’s Kiwi now, isn’t it?” She asked while going up the stairs, behind the stage. 

“Yes, it is. Then he’ll be back with us. For a moment,” YN added the last sentence quietly, still counting on granny to be persuaded by Harry. 

“Oh, you still want me to do it?”

“I do. Remember all the stories you’ve told us about. When you were younger with grandpa, the dream you both had?” YN switched to her mother’s tongue, wanting to have this moment just for her and her granny. 

“It was a long time ago,” granny said, having a sad smile on her face. “It’s been so long. I forgot what dreams were about.”

“Freedom. You’ve always said it was freedom.”

Granny, whenever they spoke of hard and devastating themes, was in awe of her granddaughter’s wit and cleverness. With each word she was proud of the woman YN’s become. Woman, that granny wanted to be. Free, happy and with a man she loved by her side. But granny never felt free. 

So maybe, after 92 years of her life, it was time to make that 12-year-old girl dream come true. 

“Here comes the star!” Someone’s scream pulled granny out of her thoughts. 

From behind the corner came Harry. Sweaty, exhausted, teared up but smiling. He walked up to the first person on his way - Anne - and hugged her like never before. Then he went to Gemma, his dad, and friends. Then he moved towards grinning YN. 

“I’m so, so proud of you.” She kissed him on the lips and pulled him towards her body, crashing them together. “So proud. You can’t even imagine.”

“I love you, my love. Oh, I love you!” Harry screamed, picking his love up and spinning them around. 

People all over them started cheering and whistling. They were used to Harry and YN being very affectionate with each other. They didn’t mind it, they appreciated how open they were with showing everyone that they loved the other with their whole hearts. 

“The piano is on stage, Harry.” Came the voice from behind them, interrupting their moment. 

“I’ll be right there!” 

After putting YN down, giving her one more kiss on the lips and forehead, he searched for granny with his eyes. The little lady was bearing down on one of the boxes, an enormous smile on her face. 

“Granny!”

“Harry, my boy!” 

He quickly embraced her delicately, kissing the side of her head. “Thank you for being here, granny. I wouldn’t be able to do it without you here.”

Granny smiled even more, “you’ve been practising your polish, I see. Thank you.”

As the answer Harry put his head on granny’s shoulder mumbling something. 

“What?”

“I need to go,” Harry repeated, looking into granny’s eyes. “I will play the ballad for them.”

When she looked into Harry’s eyes she saw the same things she saw in one’s boy’s eyes that she had married all those 70 years ago. The hope, love and fearlessness in that gaze was unmistakable. They were so similar but so different at the same time. They both wanted to give people everything they had, but her husband knew when to say stop. Harry was yet to be taught that. Both were so in love, they were ready to give up their life for it. Both cherished their families. Both wanted to make music. But only Harry got to do it. 

Granny knew that her husband would laugh at her reluctance to do what Harry wanted. He would say that ‘after all those years, you still don’t want to feel fulfilled’. He would hug her and say he understood and that he also would do the same. And he would also push her towards achieving what he couldn’t. What they couldn’t back in the day. 

It was the day she was going to feel fulfilled. Day of making dreams come true. Her and her husbands. Because he was ready to live the dream through her. 

“We will.”

Harry’s eyes grew big in shock. After the morning’s conversation he dropped all hope on doing this. He thought that the discussion was over and it was to never be brought back up again. He was very wrong and very glad for that. 

“In this case,” YN interrupted their moment, holding a hand with something white towards Harry. “I had it made just in case granny changed her mind.”

Examining the thing closer, Harry saw it was a T-shirt. When he unfolded it, his eyes shone brighter. 

“Granny, look at it!” 

On the front of the T-shirt on the white background were granny’s and Harry’s faces (Harry remembered when the photo was taken - just after the Warsaw show) with a big writing, saying REGGIO EMILIA IS GRANNY’S HOUSE and the date of the show underneath. 

“YN-”

“Look at the back,” YN interrupted her granny and helped Harry turn the material. 

There was a photo of granny and grandpa with their friends during their one and only concert back in 1948. Granny sitting by the piano and her husband with the guitar he had spent his whole paycheck on. Right there was the writing: GRANNY AND PAPA’S BAND. 

“Now, there is no time for tears, granny,” Harry whipped the tears off her cheeks. “I’ll wear this shirt and you will wear my jacket, okay?”

Granny couldn’t formulate any words. She just accepted the jacket Harry wore for the whole concert and with the help of YN put it on. Harry quickly dressed himself in YN’s gift and moved towards the stage. 

“I’ll be with you on stage, right next to you. If you want to stop playing, don’t worry. You can put your head on my arm and we’ll do this together, right?” 

“Right. I’ll play the highest notes. We’ll do it four-handed, yes?”

“Yes. I am right next to you.”

“I already gave you my blessing, but oh boy,” granny sighed. “She couldn’t have found a better man to spend the rest of her life with.”

——————————————————————————————

harryupdates

liked by harryitaly and 93 301 others

harryupdates "This is a song that Granny wrote by herself a few years ago in 1947, when she was in a band. They played one concert together before the idea of becoming the musicians was taken from them by the cruel reality of living post-war. Now, I'd really like for you to listen to this beautiful ballad called 'to be fulfilled'. I'm glad to do it with granny for the first time ever." Then granny took the microphone saying,"It's just for you, just for tonight."

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harrysmoustache i-

harrysmoustache no no no, it was so beautiful

harrysmoustache jesus christ im spamming this account

hArrysbtch i fucking cried hard

harrysmylife he's gonna pay the bill for my psychiatrist, cardiologist and whoever can heal mu fucking broken heart

harrysfan82 woah, it was perfect

harryandyn did you guys see the shirt??? it had a picture of granny's band at the back!

——————————————————————————————

Italy at night was even more beautiful than in the morning. The lights shining above their heads with the sound of crashing waves and chatter of people that were yet to go to sleep. The wind was moving the leaves against each other, making the melody of the living nature. 

And there were laughs. Laughs of Harry’s and YN’s while they were stumbling their way towards their front door. 

“And they were all - they were all like - wooah, what is happening? Did you see it, my love?” Harry said definitely too loudly, considering the time. 

“I did see it. You both surprised all of the fans. They loved it.”

YN moved in front of Harry and helped him with fetching the keys in his enormous tote bag. After finding them she turned around and quietly turned them in the lock. Open. 

“Shh,” she silenced Harry before he could make any more noise than stomping his feet against the floor. 

“Okay,” he longed, putting his hands up in no offence. “I am sorry.”

“Let's go to the bedroom. You need a good night's sleep.”

Within moments they were inside the room. YN switched on the lights, illuminating it beautifully. Harry, though, after closing the door behind himself, was moving incredibly fast and steadily towards YN. Pure lust and adoration in his gaze told her one thing: he did not forget the promise he had made that morning. 

He crashed their lips together, not caring how good it could look. He needed to feel her lips. To feel her body. He needed to feel this other - out of the world - connection they had. 

While stroking her cheek with one hand and pulling on her dress with the other, YN was busy trying to unbutton his shirt. Small buttons suddenly flew across the whole room, after Harry’s impatience got the best of him. He just shrugged at YN’s shock and went back to placing kisses across her collarbones. 

“I promised you,” he started, while slowly moving down onto his knees, kissing down and down towards the place he knew when reached - there was no going back. “I would connect those sweet treats, slowly. And then -” Harry helped her take off the dress. “And then, I’m going to slowly, very slowly thank you in the way you love the most.”

He kissed the skin over her hip bone, holding eye contact. The desire her eyes were showing, driving him crazy. But he knew, he needed to be slow. 

“Will you let me thank you too?” YN asked breathlessly, having Harry already started to put her mind in the whole other world. 

“Oh, I intend to. We have a long night before ourselves, don’t we?” 

——————————————————————————————

harrystyles

liked by yourinstagram, annetwist, harryupdates, hArrysbtch and 13 201 291 others

harrystyles To the fans, thank you for being with me throughout the years. Thank you for attending the shows, and thank you for your support. To the woman I love, thank you for showing me the way with your love and care. To Granny and Papa, thank you for teaching us about unconditional love and dreaming big. To my band, thank you for coming to this journey with me. Goodbye for now. Love, Harry xx

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yourinstagram being proud of you is a misunderstatement, you created the space for people to be themselves. i admire and love you for everything 🩷🩷

yourinstagram granny looks at papa just like that even though its been 70 years

⤷ harrystyles will you still look at me like that in 70 years?

⤷ yourinstagram to the end

annetwist I am so proud of you son!

hArrysbtch yeah, let's cry again

harryupdates THANK YOU

harrysmoustache yeah, he's going to disappear for a year, isn't he?

[leclercsredhelmet]

So Highschool ✰ Joe Burrow

A/N: Hi hi! Haven’t posted in a while because I’ve been busy writing and editing, fellow Joe Burrow fans I come bearing gifts for everyone! So Highschool is one of my favorite Taylor songs and I had been waiting to write a Joe blurb based on this song so here you go! Hope you all enjoy it <3

“Tell me ‘bout the first time that you saw me”

The balcony doors were wide open and the summer breeze was felt inside the room. Joe had his head in your lap while a book was held in your hands as you read out loud. You had been reading quietly when he entered the room after he had finished watching some game tape. His glasses were on and you smiled, a twin smile spread across his face when he saw you wearing glasses as well. 

Wordlessly he lay on the bed and placed his head in your lap, your fingers weaved their way through his hair as you combed through it softly. “You’re reading The Alchemist again,” he observed. “Yeah, I am,” you replied softly. “Read it to me please,” he said. You chuckled, “I like hearing your voice when you read, it’s soothing,” he said. Placing a soft kiss on his forehead you began to read. 

Joe traced patterns on your bare legs as he listened to your voice. It was soft and you would take pauses whenever a comma came up. Just by your voice, he could tell if the texts had any commas or punctuation marks. “So, I love you because the entire universe conspired for me to find you,” you read and chuckled. Joe chuckled, “It sure did,” he stated and you hummed in agreement. Setting the book aside you leaned down to look at him, he smiled and kissed the tip of your nose. 

“Do you remember when we first met at school?” he asked. Laughing you nodded, “I do, we were nine and I had just moved to Cincinnati,” you said. “It was English class and the only free seat was next to me, your hair was up in two curly pigtails and your glasses were the same color as the Mystery Machine,” he said with a smile and you laughed. “Then you said, cool glasses, I’m Joe,” you said. Joe chuckled “And we sat together in every class, from fourth grade until senior year,” he recalled. Fondly you smiled and recalled your childhood with Joe. 

Flashback

At nine years old you didn’t think you would move to Ohio of all places but your father’s job had brought all of you here. He had accepted a teaching position in Athens, Ohio. The move was a little unexpected due to circumstances you really can’t remember but you arrived during the third week of classes. 

You didn’t know anyone at the school and that terrified you, following the principal he introduced you to your teacher and classmates. There was only one spot available at the front of the classroom next to a light-haired boy with baby-blue eyes.” Cool glasses, I’m Joe” he whispered. With a small stutter, you replied, “Thank you. I’m Y/N.” 

Later in the day, you found out you were neighbors and that was the start of your friendship with Joe. Your parents joked that you would forever be glued at the hip and wouldn’t be a surprise if you got married one day. Little did you both know that you would get married you were engaged as of this moment. 

Joe taught you about football and you in return introduced him to books, he was smart but always said you were the smartest out of the two. “When I make it into the NFL you’re going to be a college professor,” he said matter-of-factly one evening when you were studying. You chuckled, “What makes you so sure?” you countered. Joe shrugged, “I just have that feeling,” he replied. 

Growing up with Joe you never thought you would like him but one day you almost accidentally kissed in the library while he helped you reach for a book. From that day on you realized that you had a crush on your best friend but you never said anything because you were fearful of ruining things. Joe also had that lingering feeling but your eighth-grade selves were too scared to say anything and it wasn’t until high school when he finally decided to tell you. 

High school

Joe had a girlfriend in high school and it pained you a little to watch how happy he was. You were happy for him but couldn’t help your dislike towards the girl after she had cornered you to tell you she didn’t want you near Joe. Naturally, you didn’t listen and Joe noticed you were hiding some discomfort. Hiding your feelings from people came easy to you, but Joe knew you like the back of his hand. Reading you was just as easy as memorizing a playbook, it was second nature to him. One evening while you studied for a science test in his room he confronted you and you had no chance but to tell him. 

The next day he had talked with his girlfriend and she acted normal when he was around but you were aware she was talking about you in the halls. You didn’t find it in you to care but still, the lingering feeling that she truly did not like Joe loomed. No one knew him like you, and no one knew you like him. 

Senior year had come and you were both focused on what lay ahead, Joe was set on making it to college football and you were sure he was going to be there. You were putting in the work as well, your focus was set on Yale. He had been having some trouble with his girlfriend and you had done your best to help him through it. “I think I’m breaking up with her,” he said and your attention drifted from the math homework you were working on. “Are you sure about that?” you asked. “Yeah, I need to focus on finishing what’s left of the year and I don’t love her,” he said. “Oh,” was all you said and he raised an eyebrow. “No hey Joe think this through,” he said with a chuckle. You chuckled weakly. “Joe I’m sorry I can’t help with that, you know that I lack in that department,” you said. “You also don’t like her!” he said with a grin and poked your side. 

Playfully you rolled your eyes, “My dislike towards her is not the point, it’s your relationship anyways,” you said firmly and he knew that was you shutting the topic down. Joe broke up with her the next day and you expected to see him beat up but he was fine but her, well she had made a scene that day and stormed off the field. You watched her and fought back a snicker. 

It was Joe’s last practice before the Homecoming Game and since you were leaving with him you sat on the bleachers to wait for him. A book was perched on your lap and Joe looked at you while he stretched. “Has anyone asked her out to Prom?” one of his teammates asked. “Some but she’s turned them down,” he replied. “What if I ask her, do you think she’ll say yes?” he asked. Joe felt a sense of jealousy wash over him. “She’ll say no,” he snapped. “Damn Joe, chill. It was just a question,” his teammate said, “And that was just an answer,” he said before walking off. 

His mind was racing, the past few weeks he’d spent his spare time wrestling with asking you to prom until he eventually planned something. It was true that you had turned everyone down, and he knew why. You were still holding on to your end of the deal from seventh grade, and he was too. He had asked no girl out and turned down the flock of girls that asked him out to prom. 

Practice was almost done and he looked at you, breaking into a smile you waved and he waved back. The book had disappeared in your bag and he knew that you had most likely finished it halfway through practice. Being friends through the years meant that you’d developed an unspoken routine, you would read before his practice started and occasionally set the book down to observe him and sometimes go as far as to cheer for him. Seeing you clapping for him always brought a smile to his face and pushed him to score more during games. 

A sweaty Joe ran over to you, he set his helmet down and you looked at him with a grin. “Hey Joey,” you said. “Hey Belle,” he said using the nickname he had for you. In response, you giggled, “Are you done?” you asked. “Mhm, we can go soon,” he said while he dried his face with a towel. Wordlessly you handed him his water bottle and he smiled. “It was a good practice, you looked good out there,” You said. He cocked his eyebrow at you and your cheeks flushed, “Playing, I mean” you added clearing your throat. “Of course, nothing else,” he said standing up. You furrowed your brow, he was being a little fidgety but you ignored it. Slinging his bag over his shoulder he said goodbye to his teammates and you walked off the field and got into his car. 

“Do you want to come in?” you asked, “No I’m good, open your window after dinner,” he said. “Okay, is there a reason?” you asked confused “Just open the window Belle,” he said winking. “Don’t do anything stupid,” you said before kissing his cheek and walking inside. 

Joe’s leg was bouncing under the table, “Joe you nervous for the game?” Jimmy asked concerned, “No, it’s something else,” he said. “Is it Y/N?” his dad asked. “How’d you know?” he asked. His parents smiled, “It’s not that hard for us to see it, honey,” his mom said. “You like her,” Jimmy said nudging him. Joe chuckled, “Y-yeah I like her a lot,” he said. “She likes you too, but don’t tell her I said that,” Robin said with a wink. “Go,” Jimmy urged and he darted up the stairs, before opening his room door, he breathed in and out and fixed his hair. 

When he opened his door, his attention went next door. You were lying in bed with a new book held high above your head. Faintly he heard some music playing and took a breath before grabbing the box from under his bed. Your window was open and he walked towards him, he whistled and your head cocked to the side. Climbing out of bed you made it to your window. “You okay Joey?” you asked. “I’m gonna climb in!” he exclaimed. Your eyes went wide, “You’re crazy!” you called back. “Maybe!” he replied. “Use the front door dumbass you can hurt yourself,” you stated. 

Joe ignored you and grabbed the box as he climbed up, he could hear you muttering and he chuckled. Carefully he walked over to the edge of the roof and jumped. Your hand shot out and he grabbed it, you were hanging out the window. “You’re fucking crazy!” You said and he just laughed as he pulled himself up. With a yelp, you tumbled backward and fell on the floor. Joe’s arms were protectively around you, your noses were touching. Gulping you pulled apart and slapped his shoulder, he laughed and helped you both up. 

“Why in the heavens did you jump out the window? You could’ve hurt yourself, Joey,” you said. “Not the point, here. I got this for you,” he replied while handing you a black cardboard box. Smiling you grabbed his hand and you sat in your bed. The black box was between you and carefully you undid the blue ribbon. Opening the box you saw some pictures you’d both taken over the years. Your eyes watered a little and Joe wiped a stray tear from your face. A copy of your favorite book was in there and you grabbed it, “Was this the one I gave to you?” you inquired. Joe nodded, “Open it, there’s something in there,” he said. Opening the book your eyes scanned across the dedication page and saw a post-it with his handwriting. Will you be my prom date?

Laughing you looked at him, “Yes, I’ll be your prom date!” you said and hugged him. Joe pulled back and kissed you sweetly. The action shocked you but you kissed back, “This might be late because you already got into Yale and I’m going to Ohio State but, I love you, like actually love you,” he said looking at you. “And I know it’s crazy because Yale is nine hours and thirty-two minutes away but I want to date you, so will you be my girlfriend?” he asked. Chuckling you grabbed his hands, “I love you too and yes I’ll be your girlfriend,” you said with a laugh. 

“We’re really doing this huh,” he said while holding your hands. “Finally,” you said with a laugh. Joe laughed, “Would’ve been sooner if I had just asked you in freshman year,” he said. “Maybe it happened now because it was meant to be that way,” you said with a smile. “Since when did you know?” he asked. Reaching up you stroked his cheek, “It started in eighth grade, the day you reached up to get me the book and we almost kissed,” you said with a chuckle. “Me too,” he said with a laugh. 

“I was scared so I never said anything because I didn’t want to lose you,” you spoke. Joe pressed his forehead against yours, “Belle I don’t think nothing could’ve made you lose me,” he said. “You’re so cheesy, Joseph!” you exclaimed and he laughed. You stayed there for a few minutes, “You should go, you need to rest. Friday is a big day,” you said. Joe pecked your lips, “Wear my shirt, please” he said. You nodded, “Always, the back door is unlocked c’mon,” you said. 

Sneaking out of your room you led him outside through the backyard and crossed into his yard. His hand was on the door outside and as you turned to leave he grabbed your waist. Spinning you around he pressed a quick kiss to your lips and you smiled before kissing back and leaving him there to go inside. 

When he made it to his room he waved at you from the window and drew a heart in the air, you giggled and mimicked him. 

“Truth dare spin bottles, you know how to ball, l know Aristotle”

You had finished your degree and had come to Baton Rouge for Joe’s last game with LSU. They had won the NCAA and you smiled when you saw him hoist the trophy over his head. His teammates cheered and you laughed while wiping a tear from your face. Both of your parents were there along with Jimmy and Robin, you waited for him in the field and you grinned once he saw you. Last month he won the Heisman Trophy and you couldn’t have been prouder. Everything he had worked so hard for was falling into place, the next step was the NFL and you were certain he was going to get drafted. 

With a grin plastered on his face and backward cap, he ran over to you and picked you up. Spinning you around you giggled and held on to him, gently he set you down and dipped his head to kiss you. You smiled into the kiss and pulled apart, “I’m proud of you Joey,” you said holding onto his face. “Right back at ya Belle,” he said and you smiled. His parents hugged him and so did yours, his arm was around you and you looked up at him with a dopey grin and love-filled eyes.

You were with him at his parent's house when he got drafted first overall for the Cincinnati Bengals. When you got hired at the University of Cincinnati the next day he was by your side. Both of you had shared victories and defeats together, after all these years it was amazing to see that your support for each other never wavered. You had seen each other grow over the years, you’d supported each other through the ups and downs and when either of you needed an extra nudge you were there. 

End of Flashback

“Belle, you’re even better the Heisman and the Lombardi,” Joe said and you chuckled. “I love you too,” you replied. Joe kissed your forehead, “Hey you were right all those years ago,” you said. Joe chuckled knowing what you meant, “You’re a Literature professor in college and I’m in the NFL,” he said. Laughing you kissed him, “You know how to ball and I know Aristotle.” He looked at you and grinned, with every glance, laugh, kiss and touch you felt like it was high school all over again. 

(all photo credits go to the respective owners)