#but thank you for provoking me they are in love and married to ME and ME ONLY!! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

vultbae · 9 months ago

Text

negroni ✩

art donaldson x female reader

↳ summary: After winning against Patrick, Art takes the night off to grab a few drinks at the Ritz Carlton lobby bar. There, he meets a profound admirer.

Things go wrong with the girl who bought him a Negroni.

↳ warnings: fingering (minors dni), age gap (reader is 22), manipulation, infidelity, angst towards end.

↳ extra warnings: english is not my first language pookies + my first fic + yall I'm messyy so I added drama out of nowhere. if u read this I love u thank u for giving me a chance

word count: 4.9k

✩

"Excuse me, no smoking."

The blonde man lifts his chin to encounter a young waitress warning him about the cigarette dangling off his mouth. His middle and index fingers immediately approach the cigarette and gradually pull the filtered end from between his lips. "Sorry." Art frankly apologizes.

The waitress's purposeful avoidance of directly looking at him makes Art borderline giggle. He can't help but discreetly give her a comprehensive look; the girl is attractive, with velvety skin that impersonates caramel and peaceful facial features. He shushes all the pushy thoughts resembling the waitress to his wife staying upstairs. He is not that desperate, plus, everyone knows he is married to the Tashi Duncan.

Art audibly clears his throat and articulates before the young woman strolls away, "Can you get me a Negroni, please?" He requests, showcasing a courteous smile. The woman nods.

He didn't even realize when he positioned the cigarette between his lips. He had been anxiously waiting for an instance when he could be alone -at least since the match against Patrick. Tashi cheerfully agreed to let him descend to the lobby bar to grab a few drinks.

✩

Art had been attentively scanning his frame on the wide mirror and adjusting strands and strands of hair as he paid more attention to his hairstyle; his somber eyes descended from his impeccable hair to the unfastened buttons of his seersucker shirt, revealing a fraction of silk-like, gloomy skin from chest to lower stomach, his well-grooved muscles casting shadows under the bathroom's dim yellow lighting.

"I'm going out!" Art shouted from the bathroom as he fastened the remaining buttons of his shirt.

From the corner of his eye, he sensed Tashi approaching the bathroom doorframe and standing by it. Art tilted his head up to encounter Tashi, his wife, silently grinning, dressed in a beautiful pearl-white silk robe, "I won't be gone for more than an hour-

"It's fine," Tashi interrupted. "I'll watch a movie with Lily. We can talk about it later."

Art nodded. His eyes stared at her with minor fascination. Tashi couldn't figure out why, but the feral spark on Art's orbs evaporated. She walked away.

Art slightly opened his mouth to say something but suddenly cut himself off, lips slamming together. He didn't say anything. He allowed the slim figure of his wife to vanish from his eyesight. He authorized himself to go out alone for the first time in years and think about his relationship with Tashi and tennis -if, at this point, they were not equal. And his relationship with Patrick, of course.

After today, he felt things he hadn't felt in a while.

✩

An insistent tap on his shoulder provokes Art to flinch and abruptly land on earth again.

"Excuse me, Negroni..?" Another waiter says in a quivering voice—a statement rather than a question—hardly maintaining eye contact. He is holding a tiny round silver tray with a bloody-looking Negroni sitting on it.

Before the amateur waiter can shakily grasp the crystal glass to place it on Art's table, Art raises his arm and moves the Negroni himself. As soon as he places the glass on the marmol table's surface, his long fingers seize the thin wedge of orange embellishing the glass, bringing it to his lips and sucking on it instantly.

He doesn't realize that the one time he and the waiter are maintaining eye contact is while he sucks on a slice of orange -slowly.

"Thank you." Art says, dragging the wedge out of his mouth, detecting the scarcity of color on the waiter's facial canvas. "Why is he so pale?" Art thinks. The meddling stare from the waiter endures for maybe five seconds before Art frowns his eyebrows slightly in confusion; the poor guy nearly jogs away from Art's table.

Does he carry that much power over people? It has been long since Art calculatedly flirted with or attempted to gain someone's attention. To be accurate, since Tashi entered his life. He has officially lost the "open-to-the-public" charming spark and neglected his intrinsically flirty side.

But today, for some reason, he feels different than usual. Not that he is trying to test it...

The Ritz lobby bar is moderately quiet. Art peeks at a few travelers relaxing with their baggage as they sip cocktails in miniature glasses and couples drinking -"probably pre-gaming before a night out," Art assumes. His gaze disembarks over two guys in their premature 20s, brunette, and blonde, chuckling and vividly chitchatting about topics he can't overhear properly. Art is hooked to the scenario in front of him as he stares enthusiastically: it bitterly reminds him of his friendship with Patrick, whom he hasn't heard of since the match.

As he finds himself —once again— daydreaming about what once was, Art takes decent-sized sips of his Negroni, with his right hand hugging the crystal glass just right. He is sitting on one of the many hickory brown leather armchairs dispersed across the bar, manspreading as his left hand lays over his lap.

Suddenly, a personal reflection pops into his mind like a light bulb unexpectedly turning on; what is he doing? Sitting submerged in loneliness in a 5-star hotel lobby bar will not change anything. It simply won't. He would rather go back to the suite and have some pleasing fucking sleep. He is feeling tired, and confused, and depressed, and—

Well, If anything, people who recognize him could come and disturb his night.

Art locks eyesight with the first waiter wandering across his vision field; he pitches a writing motion with his hand and requests the bill. As the waiter walks in his direction, he chugs down the leftover sips of cocktail in the glass.

"Bill?" Another waiter wearing a burgundy uniform asks Art. The tennis player shakes his head up and down, murmuring a yes please, "Don't worry, on the house."

"I can afford it." Art stresses, with a robust sarcastic undertone tinting his voice tone while attempting to maintain the most benevolent smile on his catalog.

The waiter chuckles in exaggerated glee. "I know, Mr. Donaldson. Your bill has been cleared by another customer," he clarifies, standing in front of Art with the straightest stance and hands intertwined in the manifestation of hospitality. The waiter clears his throat, "Actually, by the young woman over there," and discreetly points his finger at the stools by the bar gantry.

Art's gaze dashes over to a woman standing by the bar gantry. He can only see her back, not her complete complexion. Although he has internally accepted this demeanor as improper, he allows his eyes to scan over the woman's silhouette freely, lingering a little longer on her legs. In the background, he can faintly attend to the waiter talking about hotel-specific branch issues and how stays such as his and Tashi's benefit the hotel's branding -isn't this the Ritz Carlton?

"Yes, I agree." Art blurts out as soon as he realizes the waiter has concluded his monologue, his gaze glued to the enigmatic female standing five meters away from him.

"Thank you, Mr. Donaldson. Have a great night." Just as Art opened his mouth to greet him in return, the waiter had already shifted on his feet to approach another table.

Art reevaluates what he is about to do. Should he greet her, thank her, or gently communicate how unmannered it can be to buy a married man a drink?

But also, what if it's an obsessed groupie attempting to instigate drama?

It doesn't matter. Buying Art Donaldson a drink is disrespectful. Literally everyone —quite literally everyone— who knows Donaldson knows he is married to Tashi Duncan!

Come on, a woman, unattended in a bar, buying me a drink? Art thinks.Of course, she has hidden intentions, he reassures himself. Art shifts on the armchair, resting his elbows on his knees, still pondering whether he should approach her.

Why isn't he simply disregarding this and walking away?

He hadn't felt so much excitement about something so childish in a while. It felt like being nineteen again. After hugging Patrick today, he sensed a heartwarming relief regarding Tashi cheating on him. But, on the other hand, he's a fucking human.

Fuck it. He just wants to chat with the girl and perhaps communicate that she shouldn't do that again. Right, that's it.

Art picks up his belongings and strides towards her.

"Hey, sorry..." Art speaks, dragging the stool beside the woman and grinning warily at her. His soothing, recognizable tone of voice instantly captures her attention.

Art expected many things, but not a drop-dead gorgeous woman. A girl. She looks...young— not underage kind of young, but unquestionably not over twenty-five. On the other hand, as a well-known tennis player, he's had plenty of exquisite-looking women begging for attention; Tashi herself is stunning. Somehow, this woman left his lungs tightening for a sizzling second, which is concerning.

Plus, her aroma. Jesus, the scent, Art thinks. He would continuously go weak on the knees when Tashi wore that damn tangy, dark cherry fragrance she had. He immediately identified the distinct smell.

"Mr. Donaldson, oh my god..." The girl's voice pitches high, and she extends her right hand in his stomach direction as if she had been rehearsing for this moment. "I didn't believe you would accept the drink," she adds enthusiastically.

Her voice is too harmonious for his ears.

Art stretches his hand and shakes hers. "Well, I didn't." Art retorts, unconsciously smirking at the girl's harmless bliss, "I was pretty much obligated to accept the free Negroni."

"Well, either way, I am honored," she says with a slight shrug and giggles, "Names Y/n; by the way, very nice to meet you, Mr. Donaldson. Big fan of yours"

"Nice to meet you too, Y/n," Art unpretentiously expresses. His facial expression goes abruptly blank as he realizes he might be snitching on himself. "Uh, Y/n, I don't wanna sound rude, but what you did... with the drink," he struggles to word it nicely, worrying about coming out as unpolite. He laboriously swallows as Y/n raises her eyebrows, expectant. "You shouldn't buy drinks to married men," he concludes.

Y/n lets out a gigantic gasp, "Oh my- this is so embarrassing," her hands fly over to her mouth, covering it in mortification, "I am so sorry, Mr. Donaldson-

"Please, call me Art," Art interrupts, a smirk rising on his face.

"Well, Art," Y/n corrects herself, now speaking with a mischievous undertone, still with an infectious grin plastered on her face. "I go to Stanford. I couldn't stop hearing about you —your skills. Well, I grew up in a household of tennis enthusiasts, and I, myself, am a tennis player. I just wanted to show my appreciation for what you've done for the tennis culture."

Art's cheeks feel hot. Heck, they are burning.

"Oh.." he mumbles, mainly to himself out of amazement.

"I would never, don't worry, Mr. Donaldson- I mean, Art." Y/n reassures, emphasizing the never. But as she justified herself, a sad half smile crooked on her plump lips, "I mean... No one can deny you are very handsome, but I am a respectful woman-"

He unmistakably heard the last sentence but will bypass it for his mental stability. "It's fine, Y/n." Again, he runs over her words, interrupting, "I should be apologizing; I don't want to come across as an entitled asshole."

For some reason, Art can't stop feeding the conversation. You are a fucking horndog, Art internally insults himself.

"Let me buy you a drink as an apology," Art says bluntly, requesting clearance but simultaneously demanding. Y/n, on the other hand, has her eyes set on the blonde man in front of her, both gazes perforating each other. "I mean, if you are of age.."

She giggles.

"Twenty-two. Took a gap year," the girl admits, "and I wouldn't mind a Negroni," she adds, now faking a nonchalant accent.

Y/n can hardly believe the circumstances she has put herself in. She observes the man standing before her, deftly moving from how he calls the server to how he licks his lips after ordering the Negroni. He's so fucking hot, she thinks. She had only seen him through flat screens and once attended one of the numerous lectures he gave back on campus.

But no, Y/n wasn't an obsessive stalker. Earlier that day, she had been at the New Rochelle Tennis Club with her father and the new newbie guy he was coaching —she can't even recall his name. Long story short, the guy had asked her on a date, and as a grandiose concurrency, Y/n had suggested the Ritz —they serve finger-licking cosmopolitans at their bar. It wasn't until she reached twenty minutes earlier by mistake that she contemplated bailing on her plans. Why? Because she laid eyes on the mouthwatering blonde man sitting by himself, ingesting a depressing ass-looking Negroni.

She knew it was a hit or miss. But she would rather miss if it came to the possibility of messing around with the man of her most soaked dreams.

Y/n's nostrils pleasingly burn as she inhales a warmish, spicy fragrance emanating from Art's clothes and skin. She can't dodge the impulse to frequently peek at the opening of his shirt, revealing milky skin. Her breathing becomes erratic just by fantasizing about him without the fucking seersucker shirt. She knows he's fucking ripped.

Y/n chews on the bottom of her lip anxiously, contemplating her words. "By the way, what you did today was insane."

Art arches a brow. "You mean playing tennis?"

"That wasn't even tennis; that was an entirely different game," Y/n responds as if Art had offended her. "It felt as if the court was entirely yours," she overpraises him, feeling rewarded by the minuscule giggles escaping from Art's lips.

Art feels his heart warm up at the familiar sentence choice. "It is not a big deal, just a good tennis match," he elucidates.

She rolls her eyes. "Sure... or maybe you are just too skilled for other players." Y/n softly laughs.

Art bits back the tiniest groan of frustration. He feels his dick hardening underneath the light-washed denim jeans he's wearing. He tries to comprehend if it is because of the sudden sensual undertone in her delicate voice, her unmistakable submissive look penetrated deep into her big eyes, or the fact that Tashi had not touched him below the hipline in months and turned him into a precocious motherfucker. Or it could be the alcohol making him horny. He hadn't noticed before how tight her clothing was —it took one swift glimpse at her body for Art to see her thighs spilling out of the hem of the strapless mini-dress. It took another one to realize she was now gently caressing his arm.

Art was convinced there was nothing left to wipe the carefully crafted agitated expression from his face. "Could be, yeah," he says, subsequently coughing to avoid strangling on his own spit. "I don't want to be seen as some kind of God."

"Well, you move like one," Y/n affirms, chuckling at her own filthy sentence, her fingers playfully stirring the brand-new Negroni sitting on the bar table with the cocktail straw. She licks her lips, "You know what I mean."

Bullshit. There is no way this girl doesn't want to fuck.

She dodges eye contact, but there is a peculiar shift in the air, and a smirk exponentially extends her lips.

"I know what you mean." Art snaps back, incapable of looking away from the cocktail straw now entrapped in between her glossy lips.

His muscles and head feel more lightweight, but his ocean eyes remain entirely tied to her outline.

Their bodies have shuffled negligibly closer—inappropriately closer. Art senses warmness filling his face from the subtle friction of their knees: the coarse texture of his denim and Y/n's smooth, bare skin.

From her peripheral vision, Y/n glimpses a security guard patrolling the hotel lobby. She makes eye contact with the robust man for a split second, whose facial expression reshapes in dull stunner as he peeks at who's sitting next to her.

Y/n sets her crystal glass on the bar counter. "Thank you so much for the drink."

"Wait. Are you leaving?" Art questions, with feigned etiquette that reeks of desperation.

Y/n's eyes dart to the man standing near their stools. Art tracks her gaze and sighs. "You already gifted me minutes of your time and a Negroni. That's enough coming from Art Donaldson."

Art hesitates. "They are not in my business." He practically whines, progressively revealing his despair to the young woman sitting before him.

"I still need to Uber home," Y/n excuses, pouting at her words. "A woman can't be alone that late-

"I can drive you."

✩

The drive is around twenty-five minutes.

Y/n quietly sits in the copilot seat of Art's Bentley Bentayga. By her left side, Art grips the steering wheel confidently, his fingers switching effortlessly over the controls as they drive through the streets of the suburban county of Westchester. She peers through the shadowy window glass on her side —there's a winter storm outside.

"How many days are you staying in Westchester?" Y/n asks while her gaze stays fixed on the passing scenery framed by the window.

Art clicks his tongue. "Not much. Most likely leaving tomorrow morning."

"Did you do anything fun around the county?"

"Well, a rich-people county isn't the most amusing place to visit." Art jokes, speaking with a devilish tease.

Y/n doesn't reply. Instead, her eyes quickly flicker to his silhouette under the fuzzy skyglow leaking through the car's transparencies. Art's blonde hair captures the faint illumination beautifully, each strand seeming to shimmer under the dim light. His muscles tighten at—

Red light.

When the car stops, Art twists his head to the right, his and her gazes collapsing. He runs his tongue over his upper lip before talking, "You mentioned something earlier..." he begins to say.

In the stillness of the moment, the only sound is the soft hum of the engine idling.

"I mentioned many things," Y/n corrects.

A faint crease of discomfort crosses Art's brow, and he shifts slightly on the red leather seat. Y/n examines each of his subtle hip and torso motions as he gets rid of the discomfort. Finally, again sitting still, he resumes. "Let me be specific. You mentioned I am handsome."

A sudden warmth spreads across her cheeks, an unmistakable flush of embarrassment.

"I don't think this is appropriate."

"I don't think neither of us cares about what's appropriate anymore."

It feels as if the world has stopped for Y/n. It feels as if a spell had caught both of them, leaving them besotted, and fucking horny, and awaiting the other to give the—

Green light.

"I think there's a parking lot next to a store that shut down recently 3 minutes away."

That's all Y/n says. Art presses down the gas pedal and tightens his grip on the wheel to suppress some exotic sensations that rocket down his spine.

Raindrops splatter against the windshield and the car's roof, and the blonde guy continues to drive through a road of infinite rain-soaked side trees swaying in the wind's rhythm and closed shops.

It takes four minutes and fifty seconds to reach a gigantic parking lot beside what once was a Dollar Tree. Although Y/n can scarcely appreciate the space due to the weather conditions and the tinted glass, she can see some faded, bright yellow parking lines now covered in dirt and droplets of rain. The place is totally empty.

Y/n's heart sprints ten times faster when the engine settles into a contented hum. Goosebumps flourish on her skin as serenity inundates the car interior—complete silence. The SUV has parked on a random corner.

And she doesn't want to look in Art's direction because she knows he's already looking.

She plays it credulously. "I think this is a great place to talk in peace," Y/n murmurs, finally turning her head towards him.

The fleeting moment her eyes cross with his evokes a sense of vulnerability for the girl. Art's orbs shamelessly spark with a glimmer of mischief, like a predator stalking its prey. The unbridled desire is nowhere near disguised now, and Y/n knows the guy won't keep playing the innocent role anymore. Is buying him a drink disrespectful? Bullshit. But she's grateful the poor, troubled man will have some fun. She knew he'd surrender faster than expected.

Yeah. Art had lifted the white flag as soon as he reached out a hand to grasp the door handle of his sexy ass Bentayga to open it for Y/n, and his eyes had flown by instinct to the girl's ass when she was hopping on his car.

Now, he can't tear his eyes off her lips.

"I've had a fucked up day." Art suddenly breathes out. There's a steady rise and fall of his chest, but Y/n can tell he's struggling to maintain it. His eyes ascend to lock in with hers. "I want to forget who the fuck I am."

Y/n is drowning in the noise of her own accelerated heartbeat. "I can help you." Y/n's words shoot out in submission, haltingly batting her eyelashes at him.

It's humorous mainly because she has no idea what is happening in his life. She doesn't know the mess between Tashi and Patrick; the fact that Tashi allegedly fucked Pa—well, whatever. Y/n doesn't know. She understands the man is disturbed, though, because the instant she stepped inside the luxurious lobby of the Ritz Carlton, she could tell the man had no emotion on his face. She recalled watching his matches when she was younger, and one thing about Art Donaldson was the radiant vitality his presence brought to any room he was in.

It's evident that the radiance was gone. For whatever reason.

Their bodies draw closer, the only barrier being the gear stick and seat partition between them. Y/n can feel Art's warm breath clashing against her lips, a slightly intoxicating and crisp scent of gin climbing to her nostrils. She moistens her lips with the tip of her tongue before grabbing Art by the collar of his shirt and pulling him into her mouth. He briefly widens his eyes but reciprocates instantly.

He is the sort of kisser who goes slowly but deepens as much as possible, inserting his tongue everywhere attainable. Y/n tastes good and, heck, excellent —sweet and spicy, as if she chewed cinnamon gum before assaulting his mouth. The flavor and the satiny texture of her lips push him to near insanity; Art pumps his tongue in and out, desperately, sweeping against hers because of the faint, delicate moans leaking from her side every time he does it —it makes him vertiginous.

It isn't until Y/n sucks on his lower lip that he splits off to breathe. "No marks." Art forewarns with his face dropped in soberness, heavily panting.

He discerns something shifting inside of him when Y/n's beautiful features soften for a beat, casting a veil of a peculiar sentiment he's too emotionally dumb to interpret —bitterness? sadness? He can't tell. The fuzzy thoughts fade when her lips attack again, parting his with ease, allowing her tongue to slip inside. "Shut up." Y/n spits lowly between kisses.

A couple of sizzling minutes of pure, obscene french kissing pass before Art realizes the pressure underneath the light-washed denim over his crotch is tormenting him. His left-hand glides over Y/n's thigh and gently squeezes, letting her know he needs to move forward. At this point, he has readjusted the position of his body over the red leather seat, facing Y/n straight; the hand resting over her thigh gradually shoves the hem of the mini-dress upwards, revealing more skin and dangerously approaching her pussy.

The tempo of Y/n's kisses becomes unsteady with the sensation of his physical touch near such an intimate area. It felt weirdly mortifying for her to be this wet this early —her pussy felt slippery and willing to take whatever Art proposed. She breaks off the kiss out of involuntary reflex, with her gaze immediately descending on Art's left hand, too big for her, and skillfully positioning the lace of the light-pink panties aside.

If Art was a magician and opening her legs was a challenging magic trick, goddamn, he'd be a good magician. Y/n had no idea how, in such an undersized space, her legs had managed to spread that wide. The specific moment when Art's middle finger comes in contact with her wetness is a blur, but the filthy, low-pitched groan that his mouth emits as the first finger rubs her pussy lips will never be forgotten. Y/n unconsciously rocks her hips in search of more friction-

"Stay still." Art demands, chest rapidly going up and down. Although he attempts to sound demanding, his voice is weak in want and ridiculously desperate. Y/n's cheeks flame up when he begins toying with her clit, rubbing slow circles, with an equally attractive and irritating cocky grin resting over his face.

But she wants that one finger to go in. Y/n sighs in eagerness, muttering a series of pleasepleasepleases.

"Art..." Y/n mutters between choked moans, bucking her hips forward into his hand. Art gazes at her, intoxicated by her facial expressions and the mild tone of her voice, delivering such nasty noises. His eyes don't leave Y/n's face as he thrusts his middle finger past her slick folds. He feels his dick twitch at her exaggerated facial response.

What was one finger quickly became two, picking up their speed and twirling inside, hitting the sweetest spot. "Not a virgin, right? " Art abruptly asks, terrified but astonished at the tightness her pussy held, clenching down on his digits and squeezing.

"No... oh my god—" Y/n yelps, hardly managing to articulate words as his fingers keep steadily penetrating her pussy.

Y/n tilts her head back and instantly feels a trail of sloppy, wet kisses on her jaw; Art is nearly over her body, working his way downstairs and upstairs, too. The accelerated rhythm of his fingering ceases for a hot second as his available hand reaches her chest to unashamedly pull down the neckline of Y/n's mini-dress, freeing her tits and letting them bounce out of the expensive cloth.

As a sheer coincidence and dissolving in pleasure, Y/n's eyesight dismounts in one of the tall buildings in front of the parking lot. What she sees is practically ironic. An immense billboard with Art's face crammed inside, by his side Tashi Duncan's iconic facial features, and an oversized Aston Martin logo. "Game Changer," the thing reads. Funny, she thinks. He is a game changer, though —not sure if he is the same kind Aston Martin broadcasts.

But seeing his face and Tashi's painfully reminds her the man is not hers.

In fact, the man has a whole wife.

"Fuck me." Y/n requests, still a complete mess, moaning, arching her back, breathless.

And nothing happened where she thought the fire test lay. Art obliged. In fact, he seemed enthusiastic. He wants to make her his. Y/n modestly smiled at the thought.

"Yes... fuck, yeah." With a deft hand, he reaches down and unfastens the button of his pants; he eases the zipper down, and the faint sound of it sliding makes Y/n nauseated of anticipation.

Art reaches into the back pocket of his jeans, pulling out a beautiful, black leather wallet. He flips it open, his brows furrowing in concentration as he sifts through its contents. With a muttered curse under his breath, he begins to dig deeper; Y/n doesn't understand what's happening —is he searching for a condom?

After eternal seconds, the blonde guy lets out a frustrated sigh and shakes his head, resigned.

Y/n sits beside him awkwardly, unhurriedly pulling up the neckline of her dress, covering her now shivering body.

"...So?" she questions.

He remains silent.

"I don't have condoms."

"I'm on the pill." Y/n offers.

The look Art shoots at Y/n isn't gracious. In fact, it triggers a big spark of frustration on his face, eyebrows knitting together in a light scowl as he looks at her incredulously.

Then it turns worse when, by mistake, his gaze falls on the same billboard Y/n had seen earlier.

"I can't. Sorry."

Y/n slowly closes her legs and adjusts her neckline. "Why?"

Art's eyes fall to his lap. "Well, starting from the fact I have a family-

Y/n interrupts. "Well, you didn't seem to care when you offered to drive a total stranger."

It was most likely the sassiness and the blaming in her voice that unexpectedly threw him off. Really threw him off.

"That's none of your business. I just took the opportunity of a warm hole."

In one swift, rampant movement, her hand connects with his cheek with a resounding crack, the sound echoing through the air like a crash. His head jerks to the side. A slap.

She had fucking slapped him.

With a trembling breath, Y/n doesn't think twice before she pushes open with unmeasured force the door of Art's fucking ugly car —or that's how she thinks of it now. The storm still persists, rain pouring down in sheets. Tears accumulate over her eyes as she steps out into the downpour, grabbing her purse tightly.

"Hey, hold on..."

She completely ignores Art's words, which get easily lost in the roar of the rain.

But she turns to face him one last time, sitting on the pilot seat, visibly ashamed of himself —and still with unbuttoned pants.

"Fuck you. I hope you lose every single fucking tennis match." And with a forceful push, she slams the car door shut.

As Y/n steps away from the vehicle, leaving a splash in the puddles on the floor, she wishes the man she met two hours ago had run after her and begged forgiveness. But of course, he didn't. Instead, she watched as the vehicle got started again and drove past her, quickly rejoining the road and disappearing in the darkness.

✩

#art donaldson smut #challengers fic #challengers smut #challengers fanfic #art donaldson imagine #challengers x reader #art donaldson x reader #smut #fanfic #imagine #mike faist #challengers

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luveline · 5 months ago

Note

Hi!!

Could a please request Peter Parker x reader where they’ve been together for a while and discuss family planning? Like they want to start a family together but both have anxieties for different reasons with Peter being Spider-Man and just general nerves at this being a big step and they comfort one another?

If you get round to this then thank you!!!

thank you for requesting! fem, 1k

“But you’re Spider-Man.”

Peter doesn’t know how you ended up like this, his face at your feet, his feet past your head in his pillows. Your toes wiggle in your socks unthinkingly.

“I’m Spider-Man.”

“How are we s’posed to have a baby if you’re a superhero?”

You ask it without malice; you aren’t telling him to do one thing or another, you’re just posing a simple question. Or, not so simple. Thinking about it provokes a hundred different questions, and he gets your point. How can he be a father if he’s a superhero, half the time? How can he expect you to sign on to motherhood while he risks his life?

He has to prove that he can do it without getting hurt. Without getting anyone hurt.

“I’ve been Spider-Man for a long time,” he says softly.

You pretend to drop your foot on his face. He laughs and curls into you, an arm around your leg like a wonky cuddle. “And it gets more dangerous every year.”

“I would… being Spider-Man is…” Peter noses at your leg. Your pyjama pants are hiked up near your knee, leaving a calf open for his mouth to brush against. “I’m Spider-Man,” he says again. That’s the simplest explanation. He just is Spider-Man. “But I would change things. I already have, I mean, I have you to think about now.”

“I just don’t know if I’d be okay with having a baby, if you might die.”

Peter sits up. He frowns. “I’m not going to die.”

You just nibble your lip.

“Is that something you worry about?”

You sit up to meet him. “Of course I do.”

He’s thankful you’re close. He takes your hand, turning your wedding ring to see the stone laid at the apex. You used to worry so much it would make you sick, and he changed to make that easier on you, because he loves you. What was the point in getting married if he was gonna leave you in agony every time he left the house? Newspapers scorned a more careful Spider-Man, and Peter has had to make some hard calls. He can’t be selfless anymore —he thinks about you every time he throws a new web.

He didn’t realise you were still worried. “When was the last time I got hurt?”

“Last night.”

He winces. “Alright, when was the last time I got hurt enough to need medical attention?”

“Last Tuesday.”

“Bub, that was one finger, it healed in two hours.”

“But if you were a normal guy, it would’ve been weeks.” You aren’t out to torture him, or argue, your lips puckered for a quick kiss as he pulls you toward him. “I’m just saying,” you murmur, tapping his nose, your eyebrow pressed against his, “if you want a baby with me? You’re gonna have to give up even more. Okay?”

“Okay,” he says immediately.

Okay. Because he’s Spider-Man, and it means everything to him, but he’s your husband. This is your life together.

“I want a baby with you,” he says, a murmur to match your own as his hands wrap around your waist. He drags you forward, your faces still smushed together. “I want kids, and you want them too, and I want you to have everything. So if you need me to change, I can change. I can’t stop, but I can make it work.”

“You’d have to stop sometimes–”

He leans away and cups your shoulder. “I know. I’m not gonna get you pregnant and go out every night.”

“Just every other.”

“No, no,” he insists softly. “Bub, listen to me. If you’re ready, then I’m ready. No messing around. I’m your partner, right? I’m your husband before I’m Spider-Man.”

“Are you sure?” you ask.

Peter’s not mad, but he’s a little upset you’d think so. He’s not trying to make you feel this way. He wants you to have total confidence in him, and your potential future family.

“You need me to tell you that? I’ve never been more sure about anything.”

He doesn’t need you to agree to a baby tonight or anything, he just wants you to be happy with him. So he tells you emphatically that you’re his world. You already know why he’s Spider-Man, the responsibility that drives him, but there’s responsibility in being with you and making you happy. At the end of the day, you come first. He wishes you knew that, but he doesn’t mind telling you.

It’s a little later with his arms around you, right side up this time, that he confesses, “I don’t even know if I’d be a good dad.”

You aren’t worried. “That’s silly. As long as you don’t get killed by a giant radioactive reptile, you’ll be amazing.”

“How do you know?”

“Same way you know I’ll be a good mom.”

“You will be.”

You kiss his neck. “I knew you’d say that. I don’t know if I’ll be a good mom, I just know you believe in me.”

“I do.”

“You’ll be a good dad,” you further, pressed as far into his neck as you can be, lavished by his hands running up and down your back. “I know parenting is a lot of things, but I really think it’s the same as being a good boyfriend. You’re kind. You’re so patient. You’re funny. I can’t wait to have a little baby that looks like you n…” You sigh. He loves that touch of wistfulness behind it. “I can’t wait to be a family with you.”

“Are you tired?” he asks.

You mumble. “Mm. Just a bit.”

He strokes your neck. “I can’t wait to be a family, either… maybe it can wait until tomorrow, though.”

You smile into his jaw, dragging yourself up to kiss his cheek. “Love you, Peter Parker.”

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midnightcrw · 1 year ago

Text

Provocative

Pairing: Alastor x fem!reader

Summary: Lucifer visits the Hazbin Hotel because his daughter called him, but there he sees a good friend he hasn't seen in a long time.

Warnings: Swearing, even though it's only one swear word (this is fluff, by the way)

a/n: Since you all wanted a second part, I finally wrote one, although I really wasn't sure how to continue. I tried my best, and unfortunately, I'm not that happy with it, but hopefully, you all will like it somehow / Part 1

A headache threatened to make itself known as you looked unimpressed as the King of Hell shook your shoulders, causing you to rock back and forth.

"Did your parents drop you on your head when you were a kid?" Lucifer asked in a desperate tone, not wanting to believe that you and Alastor were a thing (obviously still not knowing that you're married to each other).

"Maybe," you said nonchalantly, ready to push him away if he didn't stop shaking you.

"But-" that's it, you thought as you pushed Lucifer's hands away from your shoulders, surprising him by that before cupping his face in your hand, squeezing his cheeks tightly as he stared at you with wide eyes.

"Listen to me," you began in a stern tone, glaring at him, making him visibly swallow. "You're going to let your daughter show you around, or I'm going to skin you infront of everyone."

With that, you let go of his face as you dusted off your hands, as if you had touched something dirty.

The rest of the residents could only stare with shocked expressions. Fortunately, they hadn't heard what you had said, but from what they had seen, it was definitely intense, as no one would dare do such a thing to the Ruler of Hell.

Though Alastor didn't look shocked, he seemed to be fuming as one of his eyes twitched while the crazed grin never left his face.

"Okay... Anyway, Dad. Look at this lovely parlor where people can get to know each other and share secrets and stories and intimate feelings!" The excitement was vivid in Charlie's tone as she had her beautiful smile on her face.

She was already trying to move on, wanting to make her point to her dad and you appreciated the fact that you weren't in the spotlight anymore.

Thinking that you were finally getting some peace, you sighed in relief before you felt Alastor's head on top of yours.

"Tell me, darling. How long have you known this little pesky, but surely powerful man?" The 'powerful' was emphasized, as the static seemed to get even more grating with his snippy tone.

Alastor was not the jealous type, you knew that. But he always had his moments, loving to meddle in other people's affairs while hiding his own.

Huffing, you turned around and looked up at him, "While you were gone for seven years, I might have befriended him."

The anger was evident in your voice as you did not explain further. Not only had your husband left you for a few years out of nowhere, but now he was suddenly trying to pry information out of you.

Alastor just laughed at your answer and shook his head while your hands clenched into fists.

And before you could curse him, he suddenly moved much closer, almost pressing his forehead against yours. "Surely for nothing of lustful nature," he whispered sharply, sounding almost disgusted as he uttered the word 'lustful'.

"Maybe I should have," two could play this game, and you certainly weren't going to back down now, since he loved to provoke you so much.

Hearing your reply, the static increased as his antlers grew before he suddenly disappeared in front of your eyes, now standing further away from you.

"Charlie has a very unique vision," your husband began as he approached Charlie, speaking very animatedly, "I am happy to fulfill her bizarre requests," he said, placing his hand on the blonde's shoulder as she thanked him.

Of course, seeing that didn't make Lucifer happy at all, since he was already planning to kill Alastor when he got the chance.

And to be honest, at this point, you couldn't care less, almost ready to encourage Lucifer.

"Quite an impressive young lady. We're all very proud of her." The man dressed in red knew what he was doing as he pulled Charlie closer.

Somehow, even though he was angry, the short man managed to steer the conversation to another topic, such as getting introduced to the rest of the people in the hotel.

With a smile on her face, Charlie pulled Vaggie near her, "This is Vaggie. She's my girlfriend."

You had probably never seen Lucifer so relieved as a grin made its way across his face, "Oh my golly, you like girls?"

You truly wanted to bang your head against something, knowing that he was going to embarrass himself.

"Yes, so do I. We have so much in common. You put her there, Maggie," he said as he pulled Vaggie into a bone crushing hug, making her a bit uncomfortable with his enthusiasm.

"He didn't even get the name right..." you muttered, rubbing your temple in frustration.

And of course, it wouldn't be Alastor if he didn't continue to annoy you further, "Everything all right, my sweet?"

"Would be much better without you here," you said, avoiding eye contact, not wanting to deal with him right now.

"Is that so?" Alastor whispered in your ear with a toothy grin on his face, looking pleased with himself as you flinched at the sudden closeness.

All you could do was exhale sharply as you stepped away from him, even though he teleported right back into your personal space.

Ignoring him, you just watched the rest of the residents.

"Hello, I clean." Niffty giggled to herself as she grabbed hold of Lucifer's coat, causing him to stare at her with an uncertain expression on his face.

"Don't you dare throw the chandelier to the floor," you whispered, already one step ahead of him.

"Oh, and how well you know me," Alastor said in a delighted voice, and now you wished you hadn't told him that, because it seemed that another plan was brewing in that big head of his.

Without warning, your husband suddenly put an arm around your waist as he walked you closer to the rest of the people.

"You must be proud of Charlie since she has already found people who want to redeem themselves," the grin didn't leave his face as usual as the attention was once again back on you and Alastor.

Lucifer's eye twitched as he looked at you, not liking the fact that the deer was holding his friend so close.

"Sure I am," the short man said as he pulled you out of the radio demon's grip, causing the static to be heard.

"Doesn't seem like it," Alastor said quickly, jumping to the next topic before Lucifer could interject in annoyance, "I even remember the exact moment Charlie needed help, and of course, being the perfect gentleman, I couldn't help but lend a hand." He chuckled to himself as he suddenly grabbed your hand, wanting to pull you to him, but Lucifer didn't let go of your hand, but nonetheless he continued to talk anyway.

"You could almost call me dad," Alastor said with a sinister grin as both men continued to pull on your hand.

"Surely no one would call you that," the King of Hell said with contempt in his voice as he glared at your husband and suddenly turned his eyes to you, "I promise you, you can do better than this. Have you seen his haircut?"

"I see it every day," you muttered.

Charlie didn't seem to be in a better mood than you, as she let herself fall onto the sofa while Vaggie patted her head. And somehow Angel Dust was eating popcorn, even holding the popcorn bag in front of the Princess of Hell as she started to eat some of it while they all watched the three of you.

"In fact, she sees it every day and every night," Alastor added with a crazed look in his eyes as he started to get annoyed.

The look on Lucifer's face was hilarious. One would really like to see his reaction if he knew that Alastor wasn't interested in anything sexual, but just loved to anger people, especially those who didn't pay attention to him.

"Nobody wants to see that atrocity!"

"Well, she loves it!"

"She doesn't!"

And before things could get worse, Husk suddenly said, "Mimzy is here."

With that, your eyes widened as you looked towards the entrance while the men stopped pulling on your hands.

Oh and how you hated her.

"Surely you all missed me!" The voice of the beautiful little woman was heard, clearly directed at your husband.

Fuck no, you thought.

Taglist

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@explosionkatsu

@randomuser-89

@nightlydream

@itsmskeisha

@l0ca1ax010t1

#hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel oneshots #hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor fluff #alastor x you #alastor imagine #alastor fanfiction #alastor x reader

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enthusiasticharry · 8 months ago

Text

the one where YN is no longer the governess to Harry's children, but she is his wife (part 2)

READ PART 1 HERE

author's note: part two of governess!yn (who is still my lil angel baby I cannot lie!) this took slightly longer than anticipated to get to you but i hope you will be happy with the final result! pls let me know what you think, and if there's anything else you'd like to see of these two (i'm certainly not ready to let them go just yet!)

word count: 14.1k of confusion, a lack of communication, friends to lovers, a meddling modiste who we all love, smut, pregnancy.

WARNINGS: discussion of death during childbirth, struggles with infertility (you have been warned)

let me know what you think of edelweiss here! mwah <3

YEAR FIVE

YN’s life had changed in ways that she never could have expected when she became a wife.

YN had never had an example of what a good marriage looked like growing up, and whilst she had worked for couples in the past – nothing could prepare her for the reality. The fact that her life had changed drastically from zero to one hundred within a few days was something that nobody could have prepared her for. It had been a true shift in the motion of her life, and even though it pained her to say – she did not know whether or not this was a welcome addition to her life.

Their wedding day had been a year ago. It took place in early June, which seemed very apt to their relationship. The first time that YN had joined Harry and the children for meals had been in June, and the summer held a very special place in their friendship – relationship? In all honesty, she did not know whether or not their marriage at this point was one of convenience or one that truly meant that something was between them.

As YN did not have a mother to talk her through life as a married woman, she was thankful for the information that she had managed to retain on her own in her life. Miss Francis had sat her down the day before her wedding and attempted to explain what a wedding night included, but YN had put a stop to that conversation immediately and tried to continue to assure the older woman that she knew what was to happen.

Even though YN knew what was to occur on the wedding night, it did not necessarily mean that the act would occur on the said night.

Harry had never attempted to initiate anything of an intimate context between the two of them. The last and only time that they had ever kissed had been on their wedding day, a necessity to ensure that their marriage was fulfilled. Even once they had returned home, she had received no advancements from Harry at all – and had concluded pretty quickly that maybe he did not wish to share this with her. YN knew that this was not completely shocking, seeing as though she was Harry’s second wife, and he had already experienced this before.

There was also a part of her that knew that men had needs. She had come to this conclusion pretty quickly after the husband at the other house she worked at left every night without fail to meet with his mistress (or mistresses, as YN had no idea about the fine details) and yet she could state with full confidence that Harry had never done so. She knew this with such confidence because they spent every evening together (with a considerable amount of space between the two of them obviously) before they retired to bed.

YN would be lying if she said that she had hoped that her marriage to Harry would offer some clarification on what it was she was feeling. She had spent so long denying her wish for marriage, and she thought that once that wish had been fulfilled everything would be put into some sort of perspective for her. Instead, it had confused and worried her more than it had before. The overwhelming, thought-provoking idea that ran through her head most days was that Harry had married YN just to appease her, to be a good friend and that was it. It made her think that Harry (no matter how many times he verbally denied it to her) did not wish for this.

It was not as though Harry required an heir to his estate – he already had one. That normally looming requirement of marriage was gone for him. YN was three and thirty now, and that could offer little in security as to whether she could have children, and with that gone she could not understand why Harry wanted to marry her. If anything, the only reason a man in Harry’s standing would marry was to ease a loneliness he had.

At first, Noah and Honorah had been confused as to why YN was no longer their governess, and instead their mother. YN had assured both of the children immediately that she could never take away their mother from them, and if they wished to continue to call her Miss YN, they could do so without any worries at all. Noah, who stood at ten when they married had huffed and refused to speak to his father or YN for the first few weeks (something that was inherently a trait of Harry’s, but YN would never outwardly tell him that). Norah, however, had only been seven at the time and saw the whole spectacle as something so exciting and had welcomed the change with open arms. YN assumed that since she had never met her mother, YN had been the closest thing to one for her – and she assumed that would be something difficult for both Harry and Noah to accept.

Even though these questions of intimacy usually loomed in the back of YN’s mind most days, along with questions of how the children were faring with the change. But, thankfully, her ole had changed within the household, and she now had duties as Mrs Styles that often took her attention throughout most of the day. The most prevalent job that took up most of her time now involved the children, and more specifically – finding a new governess for them.

To the blind eye, the task on the surface seemed so simple – but in reality, it was not. In the past year, the children (predominantly Noah) had managed to run four governesses out of the door – with the longest of them lasting two and a half weeks.

That was how YN had found herself now – sitting in the drawing room with the fifth governess she had hired who had lasted all of three days.

“… I am sorry, Mrs Styles, but they are terrors. The little boy placed a frog not only on my chair but in every drawer of my desk! And the little girl, well, she listens to everything the boy says and responds to all of my questions by ribbiting like a frog! They are completely unteachable!” Miss Morris exclaims, and YN has to physically refrain herself from rolling her eyes.

“And yet I managed to do it for four years,” YN mumbled quietly whilst running her finger across her eyebrow.

Miss Morris leant forward slightly in her seat, turning her ear towards YN, “Sorry, what was that Mrs Styles?”

“Nothing,” YN shook her head, offering a small smile to Miss Morris, “I do just have to remind you, Miss Morris, that they are children. They are not going to be easy to work with. Mr Styles has raised gorgeous, inquisitive and at times mischievous children – but they are no worse than any you may find with another family.”

Miss Morris shook her head, rather violently at that, “You are only saying such as they are your children – you see them through rose-tinted glasses. They are nothing but terrors, unteachable terrors!”

YN sighed before standing up, nodding at Miss Morris to do the same, “Very well then, Miss Morris. If you had not already claimed that you could not teach the children, you would lose your employment just by calling them terrors. You may have the night to arrange your leave, but you shall not interact with the children.”

Miss Morris opened her mouth as though she was to speak but YN shook her head.

“I would not say anything else if I were you,” YN spoke with a nod.

Miss Morris took one last look at YN, nodded, and turned to leave the room. It was not until YN knew that she was in the all-clear that she sighed and dropped back down on the settee again, exhaling a breath that she did not know she had been holding.

The list of once four failed governesses had now turned to five. Somewhere deep down YN knew this would be the case. It was not that she was necessarily full of herself, but more so that she knew she was the best of the best in terms of governesses. No matter who she presented in front of the children, and whether or not they were good governesses or not – they would never be able to help the children in the way that she did. That was the dilemma that YN found herself in day after day.

The sound of footsteps walking towards the room, and subsequently entering knocked YN right out of her daydream, or potentially it was a crisis – she would never know.

“I think Miss Morris just grunted at me,” Harry spoke, pointing back at the door with a confused look on his face.

YN sighed once more, running a hand across her face, “She can grunt all she wants, Harry! She is out of this house by morning.”

“Oh,” Harry sighed, dropping down on the settee across from her, “She quit?”

YN shrugged her shoulders slightly, “And I fired her. She dared to call the children terrors. Terrors, Harry! I was a moment away from doing something so regrettable I probably would have been sent away!”

Harry laughed with a slight shake of his head, “I told you there was no use in trying to find a new governess.”

“The children still need to be taught, Harry,” YN pointed out, as though she was stating the obvious.

“And you can do it,” Harry shrugged, as though he was the one stating the most obvious thing in the world, “I know that is not necessarily the way that things are done, but when have we ever done things that way?”

A smile taunted on YN’s face, “You would not mind? Having a wife that does not follow the correct rules of society?”

Harry just laughed, “If I cared about the correct rules in society then you would not be my wife.”

YN finally smiled and nodded her head, “I will teach them – God knows that nobody will ever be as good as me.”

“That is certainly more like it,” Harry nodded his head and stood up, “I did have something to tell you before Miss Morris grunted at me. I am going out tonight, a friend of mine is back from a trip abroad. We are meeting at the tavern for a few drinks.”

“Oh,” YN’s heart pummelled to the pit of her stomach, “The tavern?”

Harry’s eyebrows furrowed, “Yes. Is that going to be a problem?”

“No,” YN assured quickly, trying her best to not make the twist in her stomach obvious to Harry, “I hope you have a lovely time.”

Harry nodded, the confused look returning to his features one last time before he offered her another smile and left the room. YN had seen the tavern but had never been inside. She had only ever seen it on her trips into the village. She also knew of its reputation, although she would not say that she wanted to. Those back rooms, and what they held were the thing that concerned her, she supposed.

More than anything, it turned her stomach so much she was unsure how she did not throw up.

No matter how much she tried, YN could not sleep a wink.

The children had gone to bed hours ago, and surprisingly (to YN’s relief) without any stress. Her body, however, could not accept that relief due to how stressed she was currently feeling.

YN had tried counting sheep, and she had tried running through everything she had planned for tomorrow in her head, but she just could not shake the thoughts out of her head.

She could not shake the thoughts out of her head of everything that Harry was getting up to during his visit to the tavern.

Before, when YN knew that Harry was inside the four walls of this house and could therefore not be doing the things that YN was imagining in her head – there was no cause for her to worry. It was all fine before because she knew that whilst he was not being intimate with her, he was not with anyone else.

YN could not say that now because she did not know if it was true.

It was something that the two of them never spoke about – they never mentioned it. They both danced around the subject as though it was an open flame, neither one of them attempting to get closer to it. YN was truly regretting that now. At least if they had the conversation, if she had forced them to discuss this then she would have some peace of mind at least. Then again, she cannot imagine knowing he was doing such things would offer her any piece of mind.

After failing to succumb to sleep, YN had ended up wrapping herself in a blanket in Harry’s study, one of his books pressed firmly in her hand. She would say that she was reading it, but she had read the last sentence around twenty times and still not managed to finish it.

Then the door opened.

Harry’s head was lulled forward, his posture slightly hunched and his movements sporadic. He was drunk. Without even thinking about it, her eyes danced around his body attempting to see if there were any creases in his clothes that had not been there before he left.

There was not, and for the first time that entire evening her heart slowed down to a normal pace.

“I saw the light,” He offered her a boyish grin, “I wondered who was sneaking around at this time – I should have known it was you.”

YN sighed in relief, dropping the book closed in her lap, “You are drunk.”

Harry nodded, not even trying to attempt to hide it. His body stumbled towards the other end of the settee from where she was. YN lifted her hand to her head when she watched him nearly fall off, but he caught himself thankfully before there was any need for her to intervene.

“Have I ever told you that you just might be the smartest person I have ever known?” He raised his eyebrow at her, a teasing look on his face.

YN gasped, immediately picking up the book in her lap to smack him on the shoulder with, “I should have known you were such a tease whilst drunk.”

Harry began to laugh, and no matter how much YN tried to resist it she could not help but join in. YN thought that she had seen all the sides to Harry, and yet there were ones that she was learning about every day.

“How was reuniting with your friend?” YN asked, watching as his head lulled back against the settee, dropping to the side slightly so that he was looking at her, “I suppose that is possibly a silly question given the state you are currently in.”

Harry nodded his head, “It was very enjoyable, although I suppose his constant discussion of beaches across the world did need to be taken hand in hand with a drink the further into the night we were.”

YN laughed, “I cannot ever imagine you not being interested in a conversation, Harry.”

He shook his head, leaning towards her slightly, “I was interested! The first time! It was just my luck that every time William had a drink it was as though his memory was wiped and he did not know he had already told me all of it before!”

YN did end up in a fit of laughter at his words. There was an ounce or so of further relief that she felt in that laugh, knowing that the stress she had found herself in was for no reason. It was nice to know that he had not withheld the truth from her – even though she was damning herself for even thinking that he would lie to her.

“It sounds as though you had quite the eventful night, then,” YN leant forward to place the book on the table in front of them before standing up, “Are you able to get yourself to your bedchamber, or are you staying here for the night?”

Harry grunted slightly, his head rolling to the side slightly to look out of the window behind him.

“What was that?” YN pressed, inching a step closer towards him, “You will have to use your words, Harry, I do not speak in grunt.”

“I do not wish to go to bed,” Harry mumbled with a shake of his head, “I do not wish to go to bed because the bed will be cold, and empty and you will be down the hall.”

YN’s lips parted slightly in shock. She knew that Harry was drunk, and therefore his inhibitions were lowered but there must have still been an aspect to it that was the truth. There was a slight part of her that was slightly annoyed by his words. She was annoyed that it had taken him a year into their marriage, on a night when he was drunk to say anything of this sort to her.

YN shook her head, “Harry, you must go to bed and sleep this off.”

“No, we do not have to go to bed,” He reached out to grab her hands, pulling her closer to him, “We can stay here, and we can talk, and you can sit next to me.”

“We cannot,” YN shook her head, unable to stop the pull he had on her, “We must sleep, otherwise we will not get anything done tomorrow.”

“That is fine, YN, we can have a day.” Harry nodded his head, “We could… we could just… we could be together tonight and tomorrow, and it would not matter.”

YN sighs, and she attempts to take a step backwards, but Harry instead wraps his arm around her waist. He rests his head against her stomach, and she can feel the heat of his skin through the thin material of her nightgown. The feeling itself was like pinpricks across the expanse of her skin.

YN did not know what to do – she did not know what to think. Instead of trying to pull away from him (which was impossible due to how tightly he had wrapped himself around her), and against her better judgment – she gave in to him. This was the closest that they had physically been to each other since their wedding day, and she knew it was wrong but there was a part of her that did not want this to end just yet.

Instead of pulling away, her fingers found their way through his hair until they were resting in the curls at the nape of his neck.

He sighed against her stomach, causing heat to rush over her skin that she had never experienced in her life. If this is what she was missing out on, she was cursing herself for not forcing them to have a conversation. She supposed that Harry’s behaviour tonight had made it so they had no choice in the matter.

“Harry,” YN whispered, bringing her hands from the nape of his neck towards his cheeks so that she could pull his face away from her and look at him, “Let us go to bed.”

“No,” He shook his head again, “I told you; I do not want to.”

“Harry,” YN sighed, running her finger across the skin of his cheekbone, “You are not listening to me – let us go to bed.”

When YN woke up the next morning, everything felt different.

This was still her room. There were still her curtains hanging above the windows, her bed she was laid upon and still her books that rested upon every shelf in the room – but things were different.

YN often woke up when the light started to seep through the crack in her curtains, and today was no different. This time, however, she was not alone in doing so.

Her entire body felt warm. There was an excess of heat covering her from behind, an arm wrapped so tightly around her waist making it so even if she wanted to escape – there was no way in which she would be able to. Harry’s head pressed firmly into her neck, his steady breathing causing goosebumps to cover her entire body.

Last night, after Harry had finally registered the words that YN was saying – he had allowed her to direct him to her bedchamber. She had tried not to, but she had been unable to redirect her eyes when he had stripped off his jacket, shirt, and trousers before climbing into her bed. They did not talk, only looked at one another. They had settled into bed for the first time since their wedding day a year ago together, without a single conversation as to why between them. Harry had pulled YN’s body close to his, and they had fallen asleep – and that was it.

YN knew that it was early in the morning, and Harry would probably need a few more hours or so to sleep off the remnants of last night – but there was no way that YN would manage to fall back asleep. YN tried to pull Harry’s arm off of her, but he grunted slightly, and his arm felt even tighter than it had done before.

YN sighed, unable to do anything but move slightly so that she was on her back and could face Harry. There was something so boyish about his features when he was asleep. It was as though all the stress of being an adult left him the second he was asleep, and YN felt a sort of privilege that she was able to witness him in this state.

It was this that caused YN to lift her hand and run her finger along the soft skin of his cheek – just in the way that she had done last night. Her body jumped slightly in his arms when his eyes opened. This was, in fact, the closest she had ever been to him – and the fact that she could see those green eyes of his looking so closely caused her stomach to somersault.

“It is too early,” He whispered hoarsely to her, “Go back to sleep.”

YN chuckled slightly, her fingers slipping back through his hair, “The children will be awake soon.”

“And we have a staff willing and ready to help with them,” He mumbled, dropping his head further into her neck, “Go back to sleep.”

YN lightly shook her head again, “Even if I tried, I highly doubt it would be possible. Even so, the children have missed out on so much learning these last few months – and I am excited to get them back into a classroom.”

“Another day is not going to harm them,” YN could feel Harry’s lips moving against her neck as he spoke, and then they closed, and he left the lightest of kisses on her skin.

“Harry…” YN whispered, her head pulling away from his slightly so that she could look into his eyes, “What are you doing?”

Harry sighed, his head lulling backwards so that he was laid on his back, just as she was. Whilst they needed to have this conversation, there was a part of her that wondered whether or not being laid in her bed, with Harry possibly having what YN would deem as a slightly delicate condition was the best place for this.

“I…” Harry sighed, lifting his hand to his forehead, “I do not know.”

YN’s breath caught slightly in her throat, “You do not know?”

“I do know, but I do not want to offend or upset you,” Harry sighs, turning his head so that he is looking at her again.

YN sighed, reaching out to grab Harry’s hand, “Whatever it is, you must tell me, Harry. I am your wife; you can tell me anything.”

Harry lifted their joint hands to his lips so that he could place a kiss on the back of her hand, “I understand that when we married, we did so for ease. It was the best thing for us both at that time, and I understand that you may not feel the same but…”

His words stopped, and his eyes dropped down to her lips, lingering for just a moment before they bounced back up to her eyes.

“I may not feel the same how, Harry?”

Harry hesitated for a second, “That I feel as though my affections for you have grown.”

“Harry…” YN whispered, shaking her head lightly, “You cannot… You cannot say such words to me if you do not mean it…”

“I do,” Harry nodded, “I do mean it. I have meant it for a while now, but I never dared to say so. It seemed that all I needed was some liquid courage, and I could not stop myself.”

YN chuckled, leaning forward to rest her forehead against his, “You should not have been scared to speak your mind, Harry.”

“What?” He whispered.

“You should not have been scared to speak your mind because then you would have found out that I feel the same.”

Harry’s face broke out into a smile, and it was quickly after that YN’s followed. He lifted his hand to her cheek, brushing her hair away from her face. It was then that her heart rate began to speed up – when his face started itching closer to hers. Just as she thought that Harry was going to place his lips against hers, the door to YN’s room burst open.

YN pulled her body away from Harry’s, lifting slightly to see Honorah bouncing towards them – still in her nightgown and having obviously just woken up.

“What is it, Norah?” YN smiled at the little girl, watching as she pulled herself up onto YN’s bed.

“I went to Papa’s room, but he was not there, so I came here to find you and I found Papa too!” The little girl smiled, crawling up the bed so that she could drop down between YN and Harry at the top.

“You found us,” Harry mumbled, pressing a kiss to the top of his little girl’s head as she cuddled up to him, “How did you sleep?”

Honorah nodded her head, “Very well. I dreamt of horses, and I have decided I quite like them.”

YN chuckled, “That sounds lovely, Norah. We shall have to take you to the stables at some point to visit the horses.”

“Really?” Her entire face broke out into a beaming smile, and she began to tell her father all about the horse in her dream.

As much as it had pained her to admit it before, this is exactly what YN had imagined mornings being married to Harry would be like. Lazing in bed with him, before being interrupted by the children and forcing them to begin their day sounding like complete and utter bliss. YN’s could not have been fuller than it was right now, but then she slowly realised that was not the case when the final part of the puzzle walked through the door.

“Good morning, Noah,” YN smiled, holding her hand out to the boy, “Norah was just telling us about her dream, do you wish to join us?”

The boy seemed to hesitate for a second before nodding, reaching out to grab YN’s hand and make his way onto the bed.

“Only for a little while, though,” He nodded with a shrug, “I am ready to break my fast.”

YN laughed, watching as Noah joined Harry and Norah in their conversation. To YN, it was at this moment that she truly felt as though she was a wife. That she was Harry’s wife.

YEAR SIX

Just as YN thought that one part of the puzzle that was her life had been laid to rest, another part reared its head to her.

YN wished for children.

Just as it was with the idea of marriage, in the past, she had been fine with pushing that thought out of her head and coming to terms with the fact that it was just not her fate. When she thought she was to spend her days as nothing more than a governess, the mere thought of children of her own was laughable.

Now that she was a wife, it was no longer laughable – and she wanted more.

YN knew how children were conceived, and she knew that with the amount that YN and Harry had been doing that act, there was a chance that she could be pregnant, and yet (just as it had been before) neither one spoke of it. YN was beginning to be infuriated by it.

“You know,” Harry spoke from the side of her as they lay in his bed, “To read a book, you have to look at the words on the page.”

YN had not even noticed that she had stopped reading the book she had in her hand and instead was staring above the words and at the rest of the room. YN sighed and closed the book, dropping it down with a slight thud on the bedside table next to her.

“I guess I am just not in the mood to read,” YN sighed, slipping down so that her head was on the pillow, and she could bring the covers up and over her body.

“That is not like you,” Harry turned to face her, a slight smirk settling over his features, “Are you in the mood for something else?”

YN rolled her eyes with a shake of her head, “Of course you would think that. No, Harry, I am just not in the mood to read.”

“Since when can a book not capture your attention?” He reached over and placed a finger upon her cheek, lighting and tapping the skin so she would turn and face him, “Some may say I can read you like a book… what is wrong?”

YN turned upon her side, slipping her arm underneath her head as she stared at Harry, those eyes of his offering her an ounce of comfort at a time in which her mind was filled with different thoughts.

“Do you ever… do you ever think about having another child? With me?”

Harry went silent, his eyes squinting slightly before he turned away from YN. Her heart dropped and the comfort that had been there immediately disappeared the second that his eyes were not on her.

“I… I do not know,” Harry spoke after a second or so.

YN’s breath caught slightly, “You do not know?”

“I do not know,” Harry slightly tipped his head at her, “I have not ever thought about it.”

YN turned once more so that she was facing the ceiling, not wanting his face to be in her eyeline anymore. Whilst she had spent days, maybe even weeks or possibly months thinking upon this topic, imagining all of the possibilities of how this conversation would take place – she had never allowed herself to think upon this as one of them.

She supposed in part that was her fault – for allowing her thoughts to run away with her without any true evidence.

“I am sorry, I should not have brought the topic up,” YN spoke after a few minutes or so, before deciding that it was probably time to leave it altogether. She quickly pulled the covers off her, “I shall retire to my room tonight, I think.”

“No,” Harry reached to grab her hand before she could stand up, “You do not have to do that.”

YN shook her head and pulled her hand out of his, “I just wish for a moment alone.”

YN stood up, reaching over for her gown to wrap around her body. She turned and saw Harry still lying in bed, this time with his hand over his face. It did not seem as though he was going to say anything, so she took that as her cue to leave the room.

Just as YN was about to reach for the door handle, Harry stopped her, “I cannot see you go through that.”

YN stopped her movements and turned to face him, “What?”

“I have witnessed first-hand what pregnancy can do to a woman,” Harry sat up, pulling the covers off his body, and moving towards the edge of the bed, “I cannot… I will not let you go through that.”

It all made sense to her now. The reason Harry had never even thought about it. She was ashamed of herself that she had not even thought of it. He had lost his first wife during childbirth, and he was afraid of the same for her.

“Harry…” YN took a step closer to him, watching as his slightly glassy eyes met hers.

“I know that you love the children, you truly do,” Harry spoke, “Are they not enough?”

YN was slightly taken aback by that question, and in turn, she ended up taking a step away from him, “I cannot believe you would say such a thing.”

Harry sighed, his head dropping forward slightly as he rested his hands upon his knees, “I am only saying what is the truth.”

“No, what you are saying is an excuse – what you are saying is nothing more than offensive,” YN shook her head, “I understand your worries, Harry, I truly do but what I cannot understand is you ever saying that Noah and Honorah are not enough for me!”

Harry sighed, his eyes failing to meet hers, “I apologise, YN, I should have never said such things.”

“No,” YN quickly retorted, “You should not have said such things, and yet you have! I only wished to discuss the topic with you Harry and I would never do a thing that you do not wish to do.”

Harry nodded, finally meeting her eyes again, “I understand, I apologise again.”

“We share the love of two beautiful children, Harry,” YN sighed, unable to comprehend why she was even having to explain the love she held for the children, “I apologise for wanting to just share our love in a child of our own.”

Harry gasped, and YN was shocked herself that those words had left her lips. Whilst YN had felt that feeling, love, for Harry for longer than she could put a timeline on – they had never said those words. If the conversation surrounding children had not caused animosity between the two of them, she worried if he did not return the favour that this certainly would. It was their cycle, one that no matter how much they attempted to change – YN feared they never would.

Harry did not say anything, and instead stood up and walked towards her. YN worried as to what it could be that he would say to her, or if he would indeed just walk past her altogether. Instead, he reached for her hands.

“Of course, I wish that we could share… share our love with a child but…” Harry shook his head, “I cannot lose you, YN. I love you too much. I need you too much. I fear, well, I would not be able to go on if anything were to happen to you.”

YN just sighed, taking a step forward to wrap her arms around his waist, her head falling upon his bare chest, “You will not lose me, Harry.”

“You do not know that,” He muttered against her hairline, “You cannot promise me that.”

“I know I cannot,” YN pulled away, looking up at those green eyes of his, “But… your fear, Harry, and whilst I am not diminishing it could also not be the case.”

Harry sighed, “I love you so much, YN.”

“Then, please,” YN rested her hand upon his cheek, “Think about it.”

Harry leaned down, placing the lightest of kisses upon her lips, “For you… I will.”

After quite a struggle, YN had just managed to get the children down and in bed, both of them deciding today was the day that they did not need a bedtime – and that they were both, in fact, too grown up for a bedtime.

Once she had finally managed to wrangle them into their beds, she wanted nothing more than to drop into bed with her husband and sleep the day off. The only problem was when she walked into their bedchamber – he was nowhere to be found. She set off throughout the house, looking at all of the different spots she usually found him in. It was not until she spotted a light coming from underneath the door to his study that a small smile crossed her face.

The door was slightly ajar, almost as though he had left it slightly open in hopes that she would find him. She stepped into the room and saw him sitting at his desk, with his books open on the desk in front of him. She knew that he had to be busy to still be working.

Harry had his eyes down, resting his head against his hands. He seemed stressed. YN leaned against the door, a small smile crossing her lips as she watched him.

“If you continue to furrow your eyebrows like that they will stay that way,” YN joked, watching as his eyes lifted to her.

YN watched as the furrow in his eyebrow ceased, and his chest emptied the air that he had been holding in. It was as though all of the stress in his body had dissipated the second that he saw him in the room. She had not seen him all day, and whilst she had missed him – it was evident just by the look on his face now that he had missed her too.

“Forever jesting,” Harry smiled, leaning back in his chair.

YN shrugged, “You married me for a reason.”

“That I did,” Harry sighed. He held his hands out, beckoning her to come closer to him. YN walked towards him, placing her hands in his and accepting his invitation to sit on his lap, “How are the children?”

YN groaned, dropping her head back slightly, “They have decided that they do not need a bedtime anymore. That they are old enough to go to bed whenever they decide it is time.”

Harry’s body shook with laughter slightly, “I fear the older Noah gets, the more difficult he will become.”

“It certainly seems that way,” YN smiled, her fingers threading through those curls at the nape of his neck, “Are you coming to bed anytime soon?”

Harry sighed, pursing his lips slightly, “I can certainly be persuaded to come to bed.”

YN rolled her eyes, shaking her head at Harry’s words, “I should have known that was going to be your motive.”

Harry’s hands found their place on YN’s waist, his thumb itching ever so closer to the swell of her breast, “I do not know what you mean.”

“You have that glint in your eyes,” YN noted, pulling back from him slightly, “The one you have when you are scheming something.”

“No schemes here,” Harry shook his head, holding his arms up in surrender, “It is just if I am not mistaken… the best time of the month.”

YN could not help the pull of her cheeks that his words caused. It was one thing that YN had noticed very quickly about Harry, even more so when their relationship had turned into what it is now – he remembered everything. Everything that YN told him that was of some sort of importance, he remembered. Even if it was not of much importance, just a tiny, small thing that YN had mentioned in passing, he remembered. It was probably one of the things that YN found the most endearing about Harry.

When YN and Harry had their conversation about children, it had taken him a few weeks to come to terms with her request. She had left him to think about it and assured her that if anything were to happen, he would be prepared. He would make sure the greatest doctors were at their beck and call the second that anything seemed wrong, and he would ensure her safety at every point. With these in mind, he had decided to oblige her request.

But, when YN saw Harry’s smug expression there was a part of her that knew that at this point, he had no qualms with what she had asked.

“Well, then,” YN smiled, “Since it is the best time of the month, shall we retire upstairs?”

“I was thinking that the best course of action was to shut the door,” YN bit her lip, attempting to suppress her smile but it was no use. She immediately clambered off his lap to shut the door to the room that they were in.

When YN turned back around from the door, Harry had moved so that he was leaning against the front of his desk. For a moment, she just stared at him. She was unable to control the wave of desire that rushed over her body just at the sight of him. It was crazy to believe that just over a year ago they had not slept in each other’s bed and that these feelings had not yet reached the surface. Now, YN could not sleep without Harry beside her.

YN attempted to not think of the past, and instead, she was to focus on the future.

YN took light steps towards him, not stopping until she was in between his open legs. It was then that he almost pounced on her. With such rigour, he dropped his lips down to hers so that their faces all but smashed together, but YN did not mind. Her hands grasped the lapels of his jacket, pulling him even closer to her if that was possible.

“YN,” Harry mumbled against her lips, wrapping his arms around her waist until they rested in the small of her back.

It was not long before their hands were pulling the clothes off their bodies piece by piece. Harry was especially skilled at unlacing a corset, something that made their recent penchant for these activities all the easier to complete. There was something about the comfortability with their movements, the ease, that YN had both longed for and never thought would be a possibility. It was now that they knew the ins and outs of each other, they knew what made each other tick more than anyone else in this world.

Their movements quickened in their speed, and Harry’s body fell back slightly. YN ignored the sound of the items that had once lined Harry’s desk falling to the floor. YN would be lying if she said that this had not happened once or twice in this room and that they did not know the logistics of it. She would be lying even more so if she said that they did not know the logistics of most of the rooms in the house.

Harry’s lips slipped from hers and across her cheek, placing light kisses until they reached her neck. Harry was completely, and utterly obsessed with her neck. He always put the most kisses on the skin between her neck and her collarbone, when they were in bed that was where his head was always placed. The one that excited YN the most was always when they were in public, and Harry pushed her hair off her neck. His fingertips would always linger there, and the touch was always ever so light that it would set her skin alight.

It was always tough work to get him off her neck once he was there, but a tug on the curls at the nape of his neck was always enough to pull him off her and elicit the lightest of moans from his lips. His hands moved down and came to rest at the seam of her chemise, pushing the lace up ever so slightly so that his fingers could rest on the skin of her thighs. His fingertips scratched her skin lightly, causing her to moan into his mouth.

YN pulled away from him slightly so that she could help him unfasten his trousers and pull them swiftly down his legs.

“Eager?” He mumbled against her lips again, his hands pushing her chemise up until they were resting upon her waist.

YN shook her head, “Not eager, just fed up with your constant teasing.”

Harry did not reply. Instead, he picked her up and switched their positions. She landed on the desk with a slight thud, eliciting a moan from her lips. Harry wasted no time in slipping his fingers underneath the thin strap of her chemise, allowing it to fall from her shoulder and expose her chest to him. As the material fell, Harry purposefully slowed his movements so that the soft material rubbed against her pert nipples. To her, it was truly as though he knew her exact strings to pull.

“You are teasing again,” YN mumbled, pulling away from him slightly in hopes that he would stop the teasing. She should have known better.

His hands grasped at her waist, his fingers setting her skin on fire. He pulled her towards the edge of the desk so that his lips could attach to her nipple. YN gasped, her back arching towards Harry’s body.

He pulled away, his chin resting on the exposed skin of her chest, “You knew what I was like when you married me.”

YN shook her head, wrapping her legs around his body to pull him closer to her, “Not in this capacity I did not.”

Harry laughed, placing a kiss on her skin once more before his lips caught her nipple again. His hands ran up the exposed skin of her thigh once more, pushing it all the way up to her waist until she was exposed to him. His eyes locked with hers again, the slight darkness in them causing a shiver to run across YN’s body and pool in the pit of her stomach.

His assault moved downwards until he was face to face with her. He gripped the skin of her thighs, pulling his legs upwards until they were resting upon his shoulders. She bit her lip in an attempt to conceal the illicit sounds that threatened to escape them. There was nothing that could have helped her when his head lurched forward, his mouth attaching to her immediately.

“God, Harry…” Her body fell backwards, her chest rising up and down at a record speed as he continued his movements.

The mix of continuous flicks of his tongue against her clit, mixed with the suction his lips provided brought her closer and closer to the edge within minutes. YN also wondered if there was a part to play in that in how much she had thought about this throughout the day. It was as though she had been shown something, and now her entire thoughts were consumed by it day by day.

With each second she could feel herself getting closer, and her hands found themselves attached to his hair. Her breathing quickened, and her chest rose and fell at an exasperated rate.

Then it stopped.

YN could not help the moan that passed her lips at the loss of contact, tears brimming against her waterline. She watched as Harry wasted no time in lifting his body back up to her, his lips dropping against hers once more.

“You are cruel,” She mumbled against his lips, feeling the smirk that crossed his features, “You are cruel, and you are mean.”

“I am not cruel and mean,” He responded, his hand moving between them to pull himself out. He gave his cock a few strokes before lining himself up with her, “That is just not the purpose of the best time of the month, is it?”

“It could be, but you…” YN’s words were interrupted by Harry pushing himself into her. YN gasped, her nails digging into the skin of his exposed back, “Oh, god!”

The first time that they had sex was the night of the morning they had been interrupted. YN knew that if it was not for the children, it would have probably happened then. They had spent the entire day exchanging what can only be called longing and intoxicating looks at one another. In part, it felt like both pleasure and torture. YN had been slightly nervous, she would not lie, but Harry had made her feel like the most beautiful woman on this earth. He had not rushed her, he had made her feel comfortable the entire time and most importantly, he had reassured her time and time again that they were doing this together. That this was them showing their affection for each other, in a way that two people could.

All of their sex was not like this. More often than not it was sloppy, and it was rushed, and it was in the five minutes spare they had within the day when nobody from the estate or the children wanted them. If it was not rushed, it was often very slow and sleepy – but in a different remark still sloppy.

“Oh, Harry,” YN’s hands ran down his back towards the curve of his bum, where she pressed her hands against the flesh in hopes of pushing him deeper into her.

Harry groaned against her lips, “This is what you wanted, yes? You were wanting me to fill you up?”

“It was,” YN responded, gasping when he hit that particular spot inside of her that caused her to tighten around him. His hips never stopped their assault on her, and she did not want him to. The second that he slipped his hand between their bodies to rub his thumb against her clit, she was right back to where she had been minutes prior.

Harry’s head dropped into the nape of her neck, resting there whilst he continued to move his hips faster and faster against hers. YN had tried her best to match his pace, but she could not. It was as though she could not control her body when she was with him. He knew exactly what she needed, and he would be the one to get her there.

YN’s entire body went rigid, her mouth parting as a string of moans mixed with calls of Harry’s name left her lips as she orgasmed, Harry’s following just after hers. Their chest, pressed close to one another, were heaving in sync, their breaths ragged but smiles still dancing across both of their lips.

Harry pulled out of her gently and helped her clean herself up, pulling her chemise back on so it was not revealing her in such a promiscuous way. YN laughed, accepting a kiss from Harry when he offered her a hand to help her off the table.

“Do you think it worked this time?” YN asked, wrapping her arms around Harry’s neck.

“We can hope,” Harry nodded, pressing a kiss to her forehead, “But we will not be disheartened if it has not, yes?”

“Yes,” YN nodded, saying the words as though she was trying to convince herself that they were true.

“Let us go to bed,” Harry nodded, reaching his hand out for her.

YN laughed, “We must dress first, imagine if we are to pass any of the staff in this state!”

“They have seen much worse. Now…” Harry dropped down, wrapping his arm around her legs and hoisted her up into his arms, “Let us go to bed… we can tidy in the morning.”

YN just laughed, allowing him to carry her to their room.

YN had been sitting on a blanket in the garden with Noah and Norah when it happened.

When she awoke that morning, she had certainly felt strange. YN had attempted to ignore it, to push the feeling so far down that it would not affect her day. There were things in life that YN could face head-on, with no worries about the consequences. This was something that she could not do. This broke her heart.

YN had smiled at the maid that was in the garden with them, giving her a look to instruct her to look after the children whilst she rushed inside.

She had stripped herself of her ruined clothes as quickly as she could, ordered a bath to be drawn and sunk into the water without a second thought.

They had tried and tried to conceive a child, but it seemed that no matter their efforts (which were frequent) it did not seem to stick. It was heartbreaking every time that this happened, and yet she could not control anything that happened. YN knew that she was older, but she had heard of women having children even older than her before. She just did not understand why nothing seemed to stick for her.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the door opening. Harry walked in with a smile on his face, “Miss Harding told me you were in here. It is not like you to have a midday bath.”

YN looked at Harry and at those kind eyes that were staring into hers, and she broke down. The sobs that left her lips were loud, and they shook her entire body. He immediately rushed over to her, kneeling by the tub so that he could wrap his arms around body, trying to soothe the sobs that were wracking through her body.

It was at that point that he noticed her discarded clothes, and the stain upon them told him everything that he needed to know.

“Oh, YN…” Harry’s lips skimmed the top of her head, the realisation and seeing her in such pain stabbed at his chest also, “I am so sorry.”

YN shook her head, leaning against his shoulder, “There is no need for you to apologise, Harry. It is not your fault… I just… I am finding it more and more difficult to deal with the disappointment time and time again.”

Harry sighed, his lips placing a light kiss on her hairline before he pulled away, “Move forward, slightly.”

YN nodded, bringing her legs closer to her chest, and moving forward slightly, She watched as Harry stripped from his clothes, dropping them on a pile by the end of the tub and allowed his body to slip into the water behind her. YN immediately relaxed into Harry’s arms, the feeling of his arms around her body offering the comfort that she needed at that time.

“I do not wish to offend you with this, my love, but…” YN dropped her head back on his shoulder, placing her hands upon his that sat on the soft skin of his thighs, “Do you think that we should stop our endeavours?”

YN pulled away to look at him, “You wish to stop having sex with me?”

“No!” Harry’s eyes immediately widened, “No, God no. I do not wish for that, at all. I just mean that… YN I cannot see you go through this month by month. I just thought that we could, stop putting such a pressure on our actions.”

YN let out a sigh of relief and dropped back down next to him, “Oh… I suppose you may be right.”

“I thought you should know by now that it is often not the case that I am not,” Harry jested from behind her, his nose nudging her cheek.

“I think you are mistaken by that,” YN retorted, shaking her head, “I am more often the one that is right, and you know it.”

“So I do,” Harry lifted his hand from the water to tap her cheek, turning her head so that their lips were inches away from each other, “I just think that if we possibly put a little less pressure on ourselves, then you would hurt less.”

As much as YN would hate to admit it again, Harry’s word did hold some truth. Whilst Harry had never put any sort of pressure upon her, she was unable to say that she did not do the same for herself. It was more often than not she found herself worrying if it was her that was the cause of the problems. Harry had two beautiful children already, and yet the only difference between then and now was YN – and that therefore meant that she had to be the problem which was occurring.

“I think that is the best course of action,” YN nodded, dropping her head forward so that her forehead rested against his.

It was not long before he leant forward and placed his lips against hers. The kiss was soft, and light and the only word that YN could use to describe it was loving. It was as though no matter what mood YN found herself in or what was possibly going on in her head – the only thing that ever brought her out of such was him.

Harry’s hand lifted to rest against her cheek, resting against the soft skin and in part brushing all of the worry out of her body. It was a shock to her at what his touch did to her. She never, ever wanted it to end. She was the one to pull away first, placing her head against his shoulder again.

“We shall take the pressure off,” YN nodded, “And wait to see what happens.” “It will happen when the time is right,” Harry placed his head against hers, “And we should not worry ourselves until that time.”

YEAR SEVEN

From the last time that YN felt strange, this one was different.

The feeling itself was nothing that YN would say was significant – but it was there. She waited for the moment that her courses would come and prove to her that whatever she was feeling was just the prerequisite to that – and yet it never did.

YN tried not to worry herself, or to let her mind spiral but it was often difficult not to. It was as though there were some things that her mind just had to run free with. She did not tell Harry of her thoughts, as she did not want to worry him or to let him get his hopes up for something which could not be true just yet. That it could once again just be her mind playing tricks on her.

That was until, a month or so after her courses should have arrived that she started to feel waves of nausea race over her.

That was when her suspicions grew more into what she would deem to be facts. Her missed courses, the nausea, her constant state of fatigue and the fact that foods that she had once loved turned her stomach in ways that she could not express.

These feelings, which had been slight at first soon grew into something that she could not hide.

It was just a random Thursday that she had woken up and felt quite unwell, and whilst she had truly tried to get up and get herself ready for the day – she just could not.

The only way in which YN’s stomach did not churn uncontrollably was if she was laid down. That is how she found herself, on a lounger by the window in the drawing room. Her arm was covering her eyes, and she was focusing on nothing but her breathing – that was the only way in which to settle her stomach.

Even when she heard the door open, and Harry walked into the room – YN could not muster the energy to lift her arm and greet him. She could hear him talking to her, and yet her ears could not focus on the words that he was saying.

It was not until he dropped himself on the edge of the lounger she was laid on was it that she finally turned to greet him, but it was certainly not the greeting he was possibly expecting.

“Why do you smell like that?”

Harry chuckled, “Did you not hear me saying that I had just returned from my morning ride?”

“No,” YN shook her head, her features grimacing, “If I had, I would not be asking you why you smell like that.”

“It is nice to know that you listen to me,” Harry jested, leaning forward to place either one of his arms around her body. He leant forward in hopes that she would return the favour, and yet she did not. She placed her hand on his chest and pushed him away from her.

“You… The smell…” YN placed her hand over her mouth, pushing Harry out of the way so that she could reach the chamber pot she had left at the side of her on the lounger.

Harry dropped down next to her, pulling her hair back from around her face. He was confused, and even more so when he reached out to wrap his arm around her body and she pushed him away once again.

“Do not come near me,” She held her hand out, instructing him to stay where he was, “You smell horrid.”

“Are you ill?” Harry ignored her orders, “Do I need to fetch a doctor?”

YN shook her head, leaning back against the lounger, “That is not necessary.”

“YN, you must tell me if you are ill,” YN sighed at his words, her annoyance growing by the second, “I cannot bear to see you in pain.”

YN raised her hand to cover her eyes once more, “I am not ill in the way that you think.”

“Then what is it?”

YN tried to swallow the feeling that was bubbling within her, but she could not, “Is there no way that you could change, or maybe even wash before we have this conversation?”

Harry furrowed his eyebrows, “YN tell me what it is right now.”

YN sighed, turning to meet his eyes despite her stomach’s protests, “I have… evidence to believe that I am with child.”

Harry’s eyes widened as he looked upon her, “What?”

“Did you not hear me?” YN did not mean to snap, but she could not lie and say that her patience was not wearing thin with him, “I said that I believe I am with child.”

“I heard what you said, I just…” Then, his face broke out into a smile, “It is just that I am slightly in shock, but I cannot say not overjoyed by the news – and possibly a little apprehensive.”

Harry attempted to move closer to her, but she pushed him back once more.

“Harry, I wish nothing more than to hug you and kiss you right now to celebrate but I fear if you come any closer to me you might receive something else entirely.”

Harry finally understood what it was that she was saying to him. He stood up and immediately started to unbutton his coat and his shirt. He removed his suspenders, and his trousers came next until he was stood in nothing but his underwear in front of her.

“Would this suffice?” He held his arms open in front of her.

YN laughed, “You will have to come closer for me to make my decision.”

Harry laughed as he dropped back down beside her, wrapping his arms around his wife. He lifted her with such care and ease until she was upon his lap. She smiled and wrapped her arms around his neck.

“We are having a baby?” He smiled, immediately leaning forward to capture her lips with his, “I cannot quite believe it.”

“Well, I cannot say for certain, but I do think that it is highly likely,” YN nodded, accepting the light kisses he was giving her through her words.

Sighing, YN pursed her lips in an attempt to keep her feelings down. Without his clothes on was certainly much better, but the smell was still lingering around him, and going straight towards her stomach.

“Harry, I am sorry, but you need to bathe,” YN pushed herself up and off his lap, “I cannot be around you until you do.”

“I thought you vowed to love me – smell and all?” He pouted, still making no movements to stand up.

YN shook her head, “That was before such a smell did this to me. Please, freshen up and then we can continue our conversation.”

Harry just nodded, pushing himself up until he was standing, “I shall wash straight away.”

“I need to leave this room,” YN shook her head, walking towards the door, “Can you open the windows before you leave to air it out?”

Harry laughed but did as his wife wished. His wife that was indeed carrying their child.

“I must say, it’s been too long since you have been in my shop, YN,” Miss Francis spoke, passing her friend who sat on the settee in her shop a cup of tea, “I might have to come and have words with that husband of yours to let you free every once in a while.”

YN chuckled, “You should have seen him this morning. I said that I needed to come and see you and he was readying himself to join us.”

Miss Francis gasped and shook her head, dropping down on the settee with her cup of tea in her hand also.

As much as YN hated to admit it – she had slightly neglected Miss Francis and her friendship since she was married. She, of course, saw her whenever she needed a dressmaking or something altered – but they both knew that was not good enough. Miss Francis had been there with her through thick and thin, and she hated that it had let it get this bad.

“Well, if I was worried about whether or not he loved you – I’m certainly not worried about that now,” Miss Francis offered the younger girl a smile, but that dropped once she saw the expression on YN’s face, “What is that face for? Are you… is everything okay?”

YN offered Miss Francis a small smile and placed the cup down on the table in front of them. She turned and reached over to grab the older woman’s hand.

“I need to apologise to you, Miss Francis,” YN spoke, squeezing Miss Francis’ hand.

Miss Francis furrowed her eyebrows, placing her cup down, “Whatever for, my dear?”

YN sighed, “For getting married, and not coming to visit you as often. It was despicable of me, and I cannot tell you how sorry I am.”

Miss Francis laughed with a shake of her head, “You do not need to apologise to me, silly girl. You were a newlywed; I am just your modiste – there is no reason to apologise for not coming to see me without a need for it.”

“No,” YN shook her head, “Miss Francis, you are not just a modiste to me. You are my friend I would say that you are my best friend. You encouraged me to marry, you held my hand the morning of my wedding. You gave me your family’s jewels to wear at the ball. And I… well I handled the changes in my life poorly when it came to you. I therefore need to apologise to you.”

When YN looked back up at Miss Francis, her heart broke at the sight of her watery eyes. She had never felt disappointment in herself like this before, and she was angry. She was angry at herself for abandoning this woman.

“YN,” Miss Francis shook her head, “All of that does not matter to me. I was happy just knowing that you were happy.”

“I am happy,” YN nodded, “And I promise you that I will never let it get to this again. I will come to see you as much as I can until… well…”

Miss Francis furrowed her eyebrows, reaching forward to pick up a biscuit, “Until what?”

YN pursed her lips in an attempt to hold back her smile, and yet she could not do it. This had been the real reason that YN had wanted to come and make amends for the guilt that she had been feeling. When she had finally come to terms with the fact that she was pregnant a few days ago, the first person (besides Harry) that she had wanted to tell was Miss Francis. She had wanted to tell her straight away, but it had taken her a few days for the nausea to not be so bad, and in fact for her to be able to get up and ready and even contemplate leaving the house. Harry had not left her alone these past few days, doing everything that he could to make her comfortable. That was why when she had felt fine this morning and had asked Harry to make sure the carriage was ready to take her into town – Harry had tried and tried to get her to allow him to come with her.

It had taken YN explaining to Harry the reason behind the visit, and how she needed to do this on her own for Harry to finally let her go without him. It was under the stipulation that she would go there and come straight back, and if she started to feel ill at any point she had to return immediately. YN, not wanting to upset him anymore nodded and accepted the stipulations with a light kiss to his lips. Any of the turning in her stomach that she felt today was more the nerves of the conversation she was going to have – rather than a cause of the baby.

“Let us just say that… life might be turned around once more in eight months.”

Miss Francis gasped, dropping the biscuit she had in her hand onto her lap and leaning over to wrap her arms around the younger woman. YN laughed, swaying with Miss Francis as they embraced.

“Oh, YN,” Miss Francis pulled away, the tears in her waterline now ones of joy, “I am so happy for you, darling.”

YN had her own tears that were threatening to spill down her cheeks. Another part of this which she had not expected to experience as well as the nausea was the up and down of her emotions. Harry, who probably had prior knowledge of this, had taken her constant changes of mood like a champ thankfully. YN, however, was struggling slightly with the changes.

“I wanted to tell you,” YN nodded, “I needed to tell you. I need you to be with me throughout this.”

“Of course, I will, darling,” Miss Francis smiled, running her hand across YN’s cheek, “I will be here for anything that you need.”

“Thank you,” YN nodded.

It was then that Miss Francis sprung up into action, walking over to the trunk where YN had brought some of her dresses with her. YN knew better than to interrupt Miss Francis when she was working, so instead she stood up and allowed the older woman to boss her around the way she needed her to.

“I did wonder when you showed up with the trunk what was happening,” Miss Francis spoke pulling the dresses out, “I should have known.”

“It is just the ones that I think with a bit of altering should have some give,” YN nodded, allowing the older woman to hold the dress up to her body, “Harry said I should have some new ones made but I do not see the need.”

“You might have to, YN,” Miss Francis explains, “Depending on how much altering I can do to these dresses.”

“Well,” YN offers Miss Francis a smile, “You have never been one to turn down a challenge.”

“That I have not,” Miss Francis laughs, “Now, you have to tell me everything. How did you tell Mr Styles?

“It is not quite the story you imagine it to be, I am afraid,” Then the two women broke out into a fit of giggles and it was as though nothing had happened between them at all.

Nathaniel Styles entered the world a mere eight months later.

Eight months of what some might conclude as torture, but others may count as bliss. YN had realised that her pregnancy would be a mixture of the two. She possibly should have realised when the first few months of her pregnancy were torture that she was not necessarily going to have the easiest pregnancy. It had been easy to realise that this experience was beautiful, and YN would not have changed it for the world – it was also difficult for her.

It had also taken a toll on Harry. He had already been particularly attentive before her pregnancy, but it seemed as though it was even more so when she got pregnant. She should have known the way that he acted when she had first told him that she was pregnant and that he was going to be that way. If she thought that Harry was bad before, the closer they were to welcoming their bundle of joy into the world – the more that he would not leave her alone at all. He was there, always in the room with her and ready to be there if anything happened. YN, whilst she may not have said so during time, was thankful for him.

By the time that YN had realised she was in labour, there had been no time to do anything. If Harry had not devoted himself to being close to her at all times (especially during the latter part of the pregnancy) then she would have worried about him missing the birth.

It was slightly scary the speed at which her labour progressed, there was not even any time to call for a doctor, or even Harry’s mother or Miss Francis. She had to rely upon Harry and the maids that were at hand in the house.

Whilst Harry had tried his very hardest to not make it obvious that he was worried, YN knew him too well and knew that he was. The speed at which her labour was progressing was the thing that worried him more than anything. It was as though he had kept worrying about something going wrong, and yet nothing ever seemed to.

It was in the mid-afternoon when their baby boy made his way into the world, making their two other children siblings once more.

Harry had not put Nathaniel down since he had made his entrance into the world. One of the first things that caused YN to fall in love with Harry was the love and care that he had for his children, and now that they had one of their own – that had certainly not changed. YN had been resting in the bed, unable to take her eyes off her husband sitting on the lounger next to the window, with their baby boy placed on his chest. Nathaniel was sleeping soundly against his father’s chest, obviously finding the comfort he needed in the skin-to-skin contact.

There was not a single sound in the room apart from a babble from Nathaniel now and then, until there was a knock at the door. YN’s face broke into a smile when she saw Anne, Harry’s mother peering her head into the room.

Anne held a similar smile on her face, “Are you up for any visitors?”

“Of course, I am,” YN beamed, any ounce of fatigue immediately dissipating from her body. She watched as Noah and Norah walked into the room, both of them rushing around the bed and towards her.

“Is that him? My baby brother?” Noah pointed to the baby bundled against Harry’s chest, his face beaming out into a smile.

“It is,” YN smiled, her head dropping against her shoulder as she watched the two older children walk closer to their new sibling.

It was not often that YN would say that she saw the two of them nervous. They were such confident children; it was so out of character for them. There was nothing in this world that scared them, and yet for some reason, they both seemed that way about meeting their new brother. As the children inched closer to their father, YN felt the bed dip at the side of her. She smiled as she saw Anne sitting there, immediately reaching out to grab YN’s hand.

“How are you feeling?” Anne asked, pushing some of YN’s hair out of her face slightly.

YN smiled, accepting the woman’s comforting touch, “Tired, but I am well. It all seemed to happen very quickly.”

“Harry’s birth was just the same,” Anne smiled, “If you need anything, do not be afraid to ask.”

YN smiled, “Thank you.”

Both of the women’s attention immediately turned to Harry, who was instructing Noah on how best to sit to hold his brother in his arms. The eldest boy’s eyes were wide, and he was listening to every word from his father’s mouth as he spoke.

“Keep your arms together, just like that,” Noah nodded, watching as his father moved Nathaniel from his arms and placed him down in his sons. His face broke into a smile once the little boy was safe and secure in his arms.

“He’s so small,” Noah commented, his eyes wide as he looked up to YN for just a second until they dropped back down to his brother.

“Well,” Harry sighed, reaching over to run the back of his finger across the expanse of Nathaniel’s small cheek, “You both were once this small.”

“Really?” Norah’s eyes lit up, “But you always say that I am your big girl.”

Harry nodded, suppressing a chuckle slightly before he reached his arm out to wrap around his daughter’s body, pulling her into the side of him, “You are my big girl, but you were once my small girl too, but you will always be my baby.”

Norah smiled, accepting the kiss that Harry placed on her cheek. It was very quickly that (just as her brother’s) Norah’s attention was placed upon her little brother, who had interrupted his sleep once again to let out a small whine before falling straight back into a slumber.

“Look at that,” YN smiled, “He feels safe with his big brother.”

Noah smiled once more before it was replaced with one of concern when Nathaniel broke out into tears, his little face turning red and his eyebrows furrowing. Noah’s eyes widened, looking between Harry and YN with a panic-stricken face.

“It is okay, bud,” Harry chuckled slightly, an amused glint in his eyes as they met YN’s, “He must be hungry.”

YN and Anne both chuckled from their place on the bed, watching as Noah angled his arms towards Harry slightly so that he could take his brother off him.

“I think that is our cue to leave,” Anne smiled, squeezing YN’s hand one last before climbing off the bed, “I am sure that there’s some trouble that we can get up to.”

YN smiled, opening her arms wide so that both Noah and Norah could come and hug her and kiss her before they left. Norah had a pouting face as she came over to YN. The older woman attempted to wipe it off her face, but she could not.

“And what is with that face, Norah?” YN teased, running her finger across the girl’s cheek lightly.

She pouted one more time, “I did not get to hold Nathaniel.”

YN smiled, placing a kiss on the younger girl’s cheek, “Your time will come, Norah, I promise. But he’s small now and needs me to feed him but I promise that once he has a full stomach – you will be the first to hold him.”

Norah sighed but alas nodded her head, “I suppose I can live with that.”

“I suppose you can,” YN smiled, “Now go, I’m sure Nana has plenty of things planned for you in the meantime.”

The children both nodded, accepting their Nana’s outstretched hands and walked out of the room. Both Harry and YN watched as the door closed behind them, a smile passing between them as it did. YN pulled herself up slightly so that she was in a sitting position, and smiled as Harry dropped down next to her, passing her Nathaniel as he did.

YN smiled at Nathaniel, and even though his little face was still red and scrunched with tears, YN would not change it for the world. Harry helped in pulling her nightgown down of herself, the act itself being sort of difficult with little Nathaniel in her arms. She sighed slightly as Nathaniel attached to her nipple, her body falling into Harry’s embrace as he wrapped his arm around YN’s shoulder, her head dropping down to his.

It was as though the second that Nathaniel had latched on, his face relaxed and peace was restored throughout his body. His eyes were wide, never leaving his parents faces as he began to eat. It was a beautiful moment, a moment that YN would never forget.

Harry sighed, lifting his free hand up to run his finger across Nathaniel’s cheek again, “He’s got your nose.”

YN chuckled slightly, trying her hardest not to shake too much and disturb the little boy pressed against her chest, “He does… it is no wonder I had so much heartburn with all of that hair – that’s certainly taking after you.”

Harry is the one who chuckles this time, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of YN’s head, “I hope he has your eyes.”

YN shook her head, turning so that she was facing Harry, “I want him to have your eyes.”

Harry smiled, leaning forward to place his forehead against YN’s. Harry’s eyes were one of the first things that YN noticed about him, and they will always be one of her favourite things about him. People always say that home is not a house, and instead can be found in a person. That was more obvious to her when she met Harry, and even more so when she looked into those green eyes of his. Those eyes, especially when they looked at her made her feel more at home than anything in this world. They were her comfort, her love, and more importantly, her home.

“Are you sure that you want him to have my eyes?” Harry questioned, pulling away slightly to look at her, “Because we both know we will not be able to say no to him.”

YN laughs before shaking her head, “I have no trouble saying no to you.”

“That is true,” Harry nods, “I suppose it shall be me that struggles to say no. I will compromise with the next one having your eyes.”

YN chuckled, “The next one?”

“Of course,” Harry sighed, “If you would want that.”

After sharing a slight chuckle between the two of them, they both turned to look at their son, who was becoming drowsier by the second. They decided that now was probably the best time to burp and place him down for a nap. Harry placed a cloth over his shoulder and carefully removed Nathaniel out of YN’s arms again, picking him up and placing him upon his shoulder.

YN watched with a smile as Harry started to walk around the room, gently rubbing Nathaniel’s back in hopes that it would coax a burp out of him. There was something so beautiful about the sight in front of her The fact that seven years ago YN had thought that marriage was out of the picture for her, and here she was now with a husband she could not love any more than she did and three beautiful children.

It was not long before Nathaniel let out the perfect burp, and his eyes began to close once more. He, so far, was the perfect baby. YN could not be luckier, and she also could not be luckier with the man she was raising him with.

“That’s it, baby boy,” YN watched as Harry swaddled the baby with a blanket, dropping him down lightly in the bassinet at the side of the bed.

There was a sigh from Nathaniel, and then not a single peep from him. Harry sighed, dropping back down on the bed next to YN, pulling her closer to him so she was resting her head on his chest. YN sighed into his body, dropping her hand upon his chest.

“Thank you,” YN mumbled, lifting her hand so that she was looking at him, “For everything.”

“No,” Harry shook his head, “Thank you.”

#governess!yn #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles au #harry styles angst #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles smut #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #harry styles x yn #harry styles one shot #harry styles writing #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #harry styles #harry styles series #harry styles historical fic

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kyokutsu-sama · 3 months ago

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Headcanons {Hashiras x f!reader}|Their reaction when you tease them

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Characthers: Rengoku, Sanemi, Tengen, Giyuu, Gyomei

Plot- Imagine the Hashiras having a wife who has a great playful spirit and who is always teasing them. Like, dedicate her life to testing their patience.

A/n: I decided to make an introduction and a little scenario for each one. I hope you like it✨️

Tw: Very suggestive, double entendre jokes, dirty talk

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Rengoku :

❤️‍🔥 He was also very energetic and playful like you. That's why you two got along at first sight.

❤️‍🔥 The jokes and teasing only intensified when you two got married. Especially the jokes that always made him blush since it always came either to tease him or to get his attention. And it worked.

You were home alone on a Sunday afternoon and he seemed to be very focused on reading a book. You were looking at him, leaning against the wall behind him, looking at the way he looked too quiet for your taste and decided to "tease" him a little. You approached him and slowly leaned over the back of the couch and over his shoulder, reaching the edge of the page and turning it slowly. Kyojuro looked to the side and gave a little smile, which you saw and responded to. "Is this the book about fire breathing?" You asked as you read the page "Yes. It was through it that I learned. Do you find it interesting?" He asked, looking from you to the book "Yeah, a lot." You nodded, using your finger so as not to get lost in your reading. "It's an interesting breath... I wonder if it also explains how to breathe when I see you naked." You said and he coughed a little at your words No matter how long you had been together, he could never get used to your jokes. They always caught him by surprise. "I didn't know you got breathless. I'm sorry for that." He said with a laugh "But I do. Why do you think I even roll my eyes?" You said and he laughed even harder "No, stop. You're going to kill me laughing." He asked as he laughed out loud and you ended up laughing along "I was incapable of such a thing. I was just trying to get you out of concentration because you were looking so serious." You said, caressing his face that was smiling and blushing "But now I'm not anymore." "Good, that way you can give me a practical lesson about fire breathing, if you know what I mean..." You winked suggestively and he chuckled "It's harder than it looks, you know?" He raised an eyebrow, returning your suggestive air "I don't think so, you know. You're good at what you do." "Oh, thank you!" "You're welcome, dear. Now, come on, teach me too." Kyojuro smiled sideways and placed the book on the table before standing up and taking you in his arms "If you run out of breath, just let me know, okay?" He joked and you smiled

Sanemi :

🤍 He is serious and rough, but with you he seems to be more relaxed and comfortable. Besides, you are everything to him and he loves you.

🤍 Even when you are annoying and unbearable (purposely to get his attention when he seems distracted by something). He tries to ignore you, but as the jokes go from funny to "ulterior motives", he can't hold back.

🤍 He quickly realizes where you are going with this and yes, he does what you want. Unless he is in a bad mood and wants to ignore you just because you teased him.

One time you were sitting on the porch of the house while he trained in the space in front. It was hot and as he was working hard he ended up taking off the top of his uniform which made you lower your head a little and smile, embarrassed, with the view in front of you. Even though you had seen him like this several times, the presence of this man always did things to you. He stayed like that for a while and you were already starting to think about provoking him because of the situation. He might not know it, but when he took off that shirt, you stopped knowing what the word oxygen was. He then finished and slowly approached you and you had to pretend that you weren't on the verge of fainting. "What are you looking at?" He said as he dried himself with the towel, watching you look him up and down "I was thinking about something really interesting right now, you know?" You said, getting up from the floor and facing him "Oh, yeah? What was it then?" "Like, I noticed just now that when you took off your clothes the air got hotter. Can you... explain that to me?" You looked at him with an ironic interrogative look "Are you trying to get somewhere, huh?" Sanemi took a step towards you and you changed your expression to something more innocent "Me? Don't get me wrong, Nemi. I was just curious because this keeps happening every time you do it. Don't you feel it?" You continued to tease even though he walked with slow and intimidating steps and looked you up and down as if you were his prey Oh yes, you definitely are... "You're really trying something, aren't you? You shouldn't be talking so much in the position you're in." He cornered you against the wall and you giggled nervously. Teasing that man was a dead end. "You talk too much, brat." He said, running a hand around your neck and giving it a little squeeze, bringing his thumb to your lips. "What's wrong? The cat got your tongue, huh?" "No, it's right here, look." You stuck your tongue out at him playfully and tried to run away, but he grabbed your collar with one hand and slammed you against the wall again, making your heart beat fast with the sudden movement "You're not afraid of danger, are you?" He frowned, looking at you, who still had that laughing look that was getting on his nerves. "Not gonna lie, but with you throwing me against the wall like that, I think it's hot, not dangerous." You bit your lip and he giggled "You think so?" "Yes. Do it again." You asked as if it was the most normal thing to ask "Not only will I throw you into a wall, I'll also ruin your legs." He picked you up and carried you into the house "That's it Nemi, throw me against the wall again!" You shouted with joy "Shut up."

Tengen:

🩵Tengen is extroverted and flahsy in everything he does. And of course he loves having people like that by his side. You fit perfectly in these standards and that's why he made you his fourth wife.

🩵Your playful and fun side was what captivated him the most. Especially when you made those dirty jokes to answer his when he was also feeling cheeky (which was always the case).

🩵The other wives also admired you for your personality and for being the one who stood out for these same behaviors.

Tengen was sitting in the living room and it was just you and him there. The other three wives had gone out that night, leaving just you two there alone. A dangerous combination, indeed... He looked at you while you seemed to be arranging some things, and seeing so 'far', he then decided to play his first card. "This house seems so empty and boring now..." He said with a long sigh of boredom "Will they still take a while?" You wondered "Probably, when they're together they always take forever..." Tengen looked back at you and licked his lips. "Why didn't you go too?" "I wasn't in the mood." "It doesn't even seem like you, such a cheerful and outgoing girl." "Well, but it doesn't mean I'm not, just because I didn't went with them." "You're right, but now that I think about it, I think we should have gone too. There's nothing to do here." He settled himself on the couch and you stopped what you were doing for a moment, turning to him slowly with a little suggestive smile "Well... You could do me, if you want..." You looked away and he looked at you in surprise "What did you say?" "Didn't you hear?" "I want to hear that again just to make sure." He said with a smirk "I said," You approached him and sat on his lap, holding his shoulders and looking at him with a teasing look. "that you could do me." "Oh, Really?" His hands went to rest on your waist as he tilted his head to the side, looking at you with ulterior motives "Why not? Or are you waiting for the audience to put on a show?" You said and he laughed "You're pretty funny, you know? Well, it wasn't such a bad idea, but I don't know if you'd agree." "Well, I didn't want to surprise the girls like that. At least I think we should choose another room in the house." "Anything in mind?" "Bedroom?" "Classic." "You don't like it?" "Honey, as long as you agree, I'll even do it on the roof." "That sounds flashy for some reason, but I still prefer the bedroom." You decided and he smiled "As my princess wishes." He ran a hand over your face, caressing your cheek. "So, bedroom?" "Yes." "Let's do it then."

Giyuu :

💙This man's virtue is called patience, but when it comes to the light of his life, the same light that has an outgoing smile and that takes him out of that depressing world of his, he sometimes doesn't know how to deal with it.

💙But the truth is that he falls in love with you every time you tease him and try to get him out of that thick shell of sadness. He really values your effort and recognizes that you are making a point of staying by his side and wanting to love him.

💙However, he can be quite shy when you start taking things in another direction. And you can see it in his flushed cheeks.

One time, you were coming back from training and when you got to the bedroom, you found Giyu sitting on the edge of the futon, looking into the corner, with a thoughtful expression. You looked at him and he didn't even look back, even though he knew you were there. Of course, you didn't miss the opportunity to take him out of that "little world" of his. "Giyu? Are you okay? Do you need anything?" You said, approaching him "No, no, it's okay. Don't worry, I'm fine." He nodded promptly when he saw you approach and question him He felt safe and protected by your side because you cared a lot about him and the care was something he greatly appreciated. And coming from you, it only made the situation better since you were the one who took him out of his depression. "Well, I saw you so distant just now, you seemed sad." "No, I'm fine, really. Don't worry, dear." He assured with a tiny smile "Okay, if you say so." You sat down next to him on the bed, turning to the side and looking at him, who looked at you He had a slight blush on his face just from your presence there next to him. "Were you having dirty thoughts before I got here?" You asked and he quickly changed his expression "What? Where did you get that from? I was just a little distracted." He looked away, completely embarrassed by the question you had asked "Don't get me wrong, I was just asking for the sake of asking. It was okay too, I mean, we already..." You looked at him suggestively and he looked at you sideways "Are you teasing me again?" He asked, with a long sigh (from someone who was already used to that kind of conversation) and you looked away, with a false innocent look on your face "I don't know what you're talking about." "Yes, you do." "Well, I mean," You sit on his lap with your arms around his neck. "You probably already know how this is going to end, so why not recreate your darkest thoughts?" You whispered seductively in his ear "I already told you I wasn't thinking about that." "Are you going to tell me you haven't done this at least once?" You looked at him with a smirk "Well, since you insist on it so much..." He picked you up and turned you so that you were on your back on the mattress. "I'll show you then."

Gyomei :

🤎This man also has patience in his surname and that's why you also like to push his buttons from time to time with your jokes. It's not easy, especially when he's meditating or praying. This moment is very important to him, so you've learned to respect it.

🤎But when he's finish it, you go after him with your silly and cheerful personality.He really likes your charisma, quite the opposite. He admires you a lot for your good heart and is grateful to hear your laughter.

🤎But he also can't hide the blush on his cheeks and the will to fulfill your desires when you start using your words to see his most intimate side.

You were walking through the garden of the house when you saw Gyomei in the background, sitting on the porch with his eyes closed. You noticed that he was meditating and before going to him you waited until he finished. Even though he was blind and focused on meditation, he was quick to notice your presence there. "I'm already finished, you can come closer, Y/n." Gyomei said, opening his eyes and you looked at him in admiration "I sometimes have my doubts about your blindness." You approached him "I may not see but I have good ears. I could hear your footsteps, you waited for me to finish the meditation, didn't you? I'm sorry if I made you wait." He said with a tearful voice but you quickly intervened before he started crying again "No no, it's okay, my love. I waited with great pleasure just to be able to talk to you. Don't worry, okay?" You ran your fingers over his face wiping away the tears "Yes." He nodded. "So, tell me what you came to talk to me about, dear?" You then sat on his lap while running your hands over the tight fabric of his uniform "I'll be honest, I wish I had a friendship as strong as the buttons that hold the hard, wonderful muscles underneath your uniform." You said, licking your lips as you smoothed his body with your hands "I'll take that as a nice compliment. Thank you." He said with a completely innocent smile that even made you rethink if you were really going to say what you had in mind next. But you couldn't help yourself and ended up saying. "Mei, are you busy right now?"You tilted your head to the side, looking up to meet his eyes "Not right now, unless the master calls me. Why?" "Like... I thought you could... show me the real reason why they call you the stone pillar." You said, running your fingers along his neck and he got a little nervous "I mean... They call me that because of my stone breathing." "Yes, but there must be another reason, right?" You ask, suggestively "What did you expect to hear?" "I don't know. Maybe that you had something that looked like one." You gave a teasing smile and little by little Gyomei had to put the pieces together to realize the situation. "Do you understand what I'm saying, my dear?" "I think so." "Well, then tell me again. Do you have time?" You whispered against his lips, sending shivers down his broad back "I have all day for you, my dear." "Good, let's make the most of it then."

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mirohlayo · 11 months ago

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Your writing is so beautiful and amazing! I reread it everyday and spend hours smiling! May I please make a request for either Charles Leclerc or whoever you want! Can it be getting married but it is a planned elopement (no guests, just the two of you)? I am very shy and the thought of getting married in front of a crowd makes me want to cry from fear. Please and thank you!

First of all it's you who's gonna make me cry like omgg love youu so much it's so sweet 🥹💕 I took a little time (I'm genuinely sorry), but here it is! I'm not the best at writing about weddings but I tried my best. Hope you are going to like it !!

"I LOVE YOU VERY MUCH TOO, CHARLES"

( what if running away from your marriage was ultimately the best idea? )

warning : mentions of stress/anxiety, fear of crowd, all fluffly

note : i wrote this in like 45min so it's not the best thing i've written. i also used some french words but it's just affectionate surnames.

word count : 1.3k

It was finally the big day. This day that you were waiting for so much, this day that made you smile in an absolutely exceptional way. It was the promise of a new chapter, of the exchange of your heart with that of your soul mate. It was the promise that you were going to spend the rest of your days with the one who makes your heart beat a little harder every day.

Everything was planned. Absolutely everything. The ceremony, the vows exchanged, the alliances, the witnesses and therefore of course the guests. However, although the guests were all intended to participate in your wedding ceremony, you were not of the same mind about sharing this moment so important and precious to you with a crowd.

You weren't the most comfortable with people. Being very shy and reserved, the simple idea of having to present yourself hand in hand with your partner in front of all these people made you nauseous, and you also found yourself holding back a few tears of anxiety and stress from rolling down your cheeks. , when your maid of honor was doing your makeup.

Charles knew this very well. He was aware that his fiancée, and soon to be his wife, had problems with crowds and feeling comfortable in front of so many people. And for him, there was no question of this magnificent and wonderful moment being ruined by the fear that the looks of others provoke in you.

He wanted everything to be perfect. May you feel comfortable, happy and filled with happiness and love. It was his role, and it always will be, he would do anything just for you.

So, while all the guests had gathered in front of the aisle that you were going to go down in a few seconds, while all these witnesses were exchanging laughter, secret conversations, Charles approached you, hidden behind a magnificent and large tree .

His eyes softened at the sight of you, and his hand gently caressed your cheek. “It’s time, mon amour.” Your eyes were bright, because a few tears of joy were already threatening to fall on your face. You nodded quickly while smiling, your heart at peace. "You're just...perfect. You look so beautiful in that dress. I'm the luckiest man alive." He added, your beauty never ceased to give him the impression of admiring a divine being.

“But where have the bride and groom gone??” A voice louder than the others came to tear through the incessant conversations of the guests, giving way to panic because you were not present to walk down the aisle. People were panting, panicked by your absence. Everyone seemed to be looking for you everywhere, and footsteps were getting closer to the tree.

Charles’ eyes widened as a wave of stress suddenly hit you. Your future husband noticed this, and his eyes were terrified that you would feel bad and anxious during this day. Then he intertwined his hand in yours, and just this gesture soothed the irregular beating of your heart. "It's okay, mon coeur. I've got you, don't worry. Breathe with me."

He took a deep breath and encouraged you to do the same. The air that infiltrated your lungs made you more peaceful. A fairly close sound of a leaf suddenly came to tickle your ears. And without you having time to react, Charles dragged you with him, hand in hand, far from all these people.

“W-wait Charles!!” His hand in yours pulled you towards him as he ran, under the cherry blossom petals that were falling again. And it's as if time seemed to stand still, during that moment. As the sun's rays came to rock your faces, a big smile appeared on your lips as you continued to run to keep up with your fiancé.

Guests would run up to the tree to catch up with you. But it was already too late. All they could see was the magnificent scene unfolding before their eyes. As the gentle breeze caressed their hair, they saw in the distance two young engaged couples madly in love with each other, escaping their wedding ceremony, hand in hand, a huge smile on Charles' face as 'they heard the sweetness of your laughter.

They looked like two children, but two children who were simply happy and completely in love.

You couldn't help but feel light. Light and free. You were running away from your own wedding ceremony with your lover and it seemed so unreal that you felt like you were living in a romantic movie. But the look that Charles gave you during this flight warmed your heart. Because you could see tears forming there, and quite simply all the love he has for you. So you too could no longer.

You couldn't hold back those tears of happiness anymore, as they fell freely down your face.

“It suits you so well, mon amour” Charles brushed against your fingers, where his engagement ring was on. This ring was simply sublime. It highlighted you, just like Charles's.

Sitting next to your husband, your head resting on his shoulders, you enjoyed the sunset and the breeze that made you shiver. You still had your wedding outfits on, and you really looked like two crazy people who had escaped an arranged and predestined marriage. However, it was the opposite. It was the romantic elopement of two people who wanted to do as they pleased.

Still, you couldn't help but be torn. What if your husband wanted a real, traditional wedding ceremony, celebrated with all the guests? You sighed deeply and Charles noticed it. He looked at you questioningly, and you lowered your head, somewhat ashamed.

"I'm sorry. We eloped from our wedding and it's just... maybe you would have preferred that we didn't elope and had a traditional wedding. With all the witnesses and guests." Some tears threatened to flow down your cheeks again. Not because of your words. But by the gentleness with which Charles entwined his hand in yours, and gently lifted your chin so that he could admire you.

All his gestures were fluid and full of love. Just like his gaze, which admired you in an absolutely exceptional way. As if you were the most beautiful wonder in the world. "Don't apologize, y/n. I'm so happy, you have no idea how much. So happy to have run away to your side, to have left this wedding ceremony behind us." He blinked away the few tears on your pink cheeks. "I just want you to be happy. To see you smile, to laugh. And you did it today, thanks to this escape. I'm so happy that we ran like two idiots, and especially to have given you this ring on my finger. If I had the chance, I wouldn't change this day in any way, because it was the most beautiful thing that ever happened to me. The most beautiful day of my life."

You nodded rigorously, a big smile plastered on your face. Your heart melted at his words. "I'm finally going to be able to spend the rest of my life by your side, and you have no idea how much I can't wait. I love you deeply and sincerely, my heart. I love you so much."

“I love you very much too, Charles” You happily said.

This beautiful day, this beautiful wedding ended with Charles kissing you as if it was the last one he had the right to do, as if nothing mattered anymore. His lips desperately sought yours, as this kiss sealed the promise of a bright future filled with love and hope. A future where Charles will end up living his life by your side, and a future where you will remember this incredible memory of your marriage union.

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc imagine #cl16 x reader #cl16 x you

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rxqueenotd · 19 days ago

Text

damnatio memoriae: PART V

In the Roman world, damnatio memoriae was used to describe a range of actions taken against former leaders and their reputations. These actions included: defacing visual depictions, removing heads from public statues, chiseling names off inscriptions, and destroying coins.

summary: reader, who goes by 'Prima', was raised by a powerful Roman consul, under the reign of Imperator Septimius Severus. When it comes time for his eldest son, Caracalla, to marry again, a chain of events is set off, changing the course of Prima's life and the lives around her.

⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡

warnings: blood, knife play (?), foul language, pnv penetration, BDSM-ish situations, bloodletting, wlw, drug use, digital penetration, Ancient Rome as a warning within itself.

notes: there are 12,437 words in this chapter alone. I would apologize for not posting for a month, but as you can see, I have been cooking. Made it through Christmas, Hanukkah, my birthday, new years, the fucking dystopian US election, got accepted back to college to try for my bachelors in a totally different sphere than the degree I already hold and let a Leo man take me for a ride all within thirty days so if this chapter is not to your liking, lie to me and tell you love it anyways. As always, thanks to @trashmouth-richie for listening to my ramblings and feeding me words of encouragement. You are my brotha for life. And to @londonfog-chan for putting up with my perpetual absence as I’ve been riding the rollercoaster that has been January. This chapter has been a labor of love but I think it might be my favorite so far. Enjoy!

Caracalla departed hastily, leaving you alone after taking you against the wall, his voice ringing with authority as he barked commands to his guards as he exited your chambers. He was intent on visiting a local taberna, and you felt a twinge of sympathy for the patrons and the staff of the venue of his choosing. The thought of anyone crossing his path in such a foul mood stirred a sense of unease within you, for you knew the trouble that often accompanied him in such a state.

Sleep found you swiftly, even after the events you had endured. You weren’t sure how long you had slept when your chamber door creaked open, revealing Caracalla’s silhouette in the doorway. He lurched inside, bracing himself against the wall as he swayed, then marched toward the bed with determination.

Hastily, he tore his tunic over his head, tossing it aside with little care, followed by his jewels, which he flung onto the chaise beside the bed. Once fully undressed, he climbed in beside you, rolling onto his side to mirror your position. The scent of wine clung to him as he pulled you closer, clumsily reaching for the hem of your sleeping gown to lift it from your body. You arched and moved as needed, assisting him in his endeavor. When you were laid bare before him, he drew you closer into his embrace, his hand grasped your thigh to drape it over his own. You inhaled sharply as his lips brushed over the tender bite mark he had left upon you, remaining still, wary that such a simple gesture might provoke him or send him into a fit of rage.

He nestled his head beneath your chin, pressing your body as close to his as possible, his breath settled into a steady rhythm as he relaxed.

“Tell me you love me.” His hoarse voice spoke softly against the column of your throat.

You sighed, thinking of a million things you would rather say.

“Tell me, Prima,” he leaned up, untucking his head, blue eyes piercing yours, “tell me you love me.”

“Lucius-,” you started, but stopped when a small smile cracked across his lips, a light chuckle falling out from behind them.

“Lucius,’” he parroted back to you, followed by his signature giggle, “it has been ages since I have been called that.”

You let a silence descend around the two of you, hoping he would drop the matter entirely, but he continued to stare at you expectantly.

“I love you. Now please go to sleep.”

With that he was content to reposition himself, breath reaching a steady rhythm against the tender flesh of your neck.

You found yourself thinking that perhaps this was why he surrounded himself with courtesans, like a collection of soothing melodies for his restless soul. Each woman a different remedy for his erratic moods. Then you realized that it mattered not, that they were gone, and the only thing left in their wake was you. A blessing and a curse. A heavy feeling swept over you, followed by a bout of light sleep.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________

You awakened on your back, entirely naked, a thin linen sheet barely covering your form. Sunlight streamed in from the balcony, and you swiftly shielded your eyes, groaning at the brightness that pierced your sleepy vision. Heavy footfalls approached, and the sheet was suddenly yanked away.

“My father summoned you an hour past,” Caracalla declared bluntly. “Yet you lie here, sprawled out like a weary whore.”

You groaned, burying your face deeper into the pillow.

“Leave me be to awaken properly,” you murmured, your voice muffled against the fabric.

“That is not possible,” he replied, reaching down to roll you over, pinching your nipple as he dragged you upright.

You yelped, swatting his hand away. He chuckled, a sound both throaty and high-pitched, echoing through your bedchamber as he backed away, holding the sheet with both hands.

You sat upright, narrowing your eyes at him. “Give me that,” you snapped, lunging forward to grab the sheet.

He sidestepped, holding it just out of reach with a smirk. “And here I thought you would be more gracious this morning.”

Ignoring his teasing, you reached again, this time managing to snag the edge of the fabric. With one sharp tug, you pulled it free from his grip, wrapping it around yourself as you stood.

“Out,” you commanded, pointing toward the door.

“Such gratitude for waking you,” he replied mockingly, backing away to give you space to get yourself together, ignoring your command.

You secured the sheet around your body and moved quickly to your wardrobe. You grabbed a plain linen robe, slipping it over your shoulders and tying it at the waist. The soft material was a stark contrast to the silk you often wore, but it would suffice.

The early morning sun filtered through the sheer curtains, casting golden streaks across the marble floor. You quickly fastened your hair into a loose knot, pinning it in place with a bronze pin. You were out of time to indulge in the laziness the morning had offered.

The hallway was cool and quiet as you stepped out, the air brushing against your skin. Caracalla joined you without a word, falling into step as you navigated the twists and turns of the private residence. The faint scent of figs and incense lingered, mingling with the distant hum of servants going about their tasks.

Inside the Imperator’s quarters, the scene was surprisingly casual. Septimius lounged on a lectus, his feet wrapped in steaming cloths, hands resting across his chest as though he didn’t have a care in the world.

Geta stood near the terrace, wrapped in a silk robe, his back to the room. Sunlight spilled in through the open curtains, highlighting the slight tilt of his head as he gazed outside. At the sound of your entrance, he turned, his eyes sliding over you and Caracalla before landing on Septimius with an indifferent look.

“Ah, there you are,” Septimius said, waving you over. His tone was light, though his eyes had a way of lingering a little too long.

You moved to the lectus across from him, sitting carefully on the edge. Caracalla stayed behind it, silent but looming, his presence as steady as a beating heart.

Geta didn’t move from his spot by the terrace. His expression gave nothing away, but the weight of his gaze lingered a moment too long before he turned back toward the sunlight. The air in the room wasn’t hostile, but it wasn’t exactly friendly either- tension you’d come to expect in their presence.

Septimius leaned forward, crossing his arms with a casual air. “You know, it’s remarkable how you manage to navigate such stormy weather,” he said, his voice dripping with feigned admiration. “Not everyone can handle the complexities of family... or the occasional stormy temperament.” He chuckled lightly, but the glint in his eyes suggested he was enjoying the game.

“I am no stranger to stormy temperament,” you stated, your expression steady as you reached for a cup of wine sitting among a tray of fruits and cheese.

Septimius raised an eyebrow, his smile shifting slightly as he leaned in, clearly intrigued. “Ah, but rain can be quite the tempest, can’t it? I admire your confidence. It takes a certain... resilience to weather it.” His tone was playful, but the underlying challenge was unmistakable.

You took a sip of the wine, letting it settle before responding. “Resilience is a necessity in a world like this. One must learn to enjoy the rain, or risk being swept away.” You glanced at Geta, who seemed to be absorbing the conversation from his spot by the terrace, his expression still unreadable.

“Wise words,” Septimius replied, his voice smooth as silk. “But I must wonder—what happens when the storm grows too fierce? Do you still enjoy it, or do you seek shelter?” He leaned back slightly, his gaze intense, as if he were gauging your every reaction.

You could feel the tension in the air, but you were determined to hold your ground. “Sometimes, shelter is just an illusion. It’s better to face the storm head-on than to hide away and hope it passes.”

Septimius chuckled softly, clearly enjoying the exchange. “A bold stance, indeed. I do appreciate your spirit. It makes for quite the captivating conversation.”

“Get on with it,” Caracalla huffed from behind you, impatience dripping from his words. “What business brings us here?”

Geta turned, arms crossed tightly over his chest, glancing between Caracalla and Septimius with a look of expectation.

“You have acted like children, reckless and foolish,” Septimius began, his tone shifting as he sat up, the gravity of his words settling in the room. He fixed his gaze on Caracalla, speaking over your head, “You cavort with whores right under our noses, and the whole of Rome bears witness to your folly. The taberna you visited last night was paranoid by your presence, and this morning, the staff and patrons are buzzing with tales of your indiscretions.”

“And let me guess,” Caracalla interjected, a smirk creeping onto his face, “Your faithful hound, Macrinus, has kept you well informed of the situation.”

Macrinus appeared at the terrace, a shadowy figure emerging into the room. You realized then what had drawn Geta’s gaze.

“It seems that by merely uttering his name, I have conjured him,” Caracalla remarked with a sarcastic laugh, clearly enjoying the unfolding drama.

Macrinus raised his hands, palms outward, a sign of mock surrender. He stepped forward with careful deliberation, stopping beside the lectus where Septimius lounged. Folding his hands in front of him, he inclined his head slightly.

“I am here by request,” Macrinus said, his tone calm but firm, “not to meddle in the quarrels of the Imperial household.” He tugged the edge of his toga across his shoulder, smoothing the fabric around him.

“And yet,” Caracalla cut in, moving closer to you, his voice sharper than a soldier’s blade, “here you are.”

Geta cocked his head to one side, studying Macrinus with a faint smirk. The silence in the room was heavy, broken only by the rustle of fabric as Geta moved closer.

“It is at my order that he is here, brother,” Geta said, spitting the word brother like it left a bad taste in his mouth.

You turned, casting a glance over your shoulder at Caracalla. Confusion flickered across your face as your gaze darted to meet his, searching for answers in his eyes.

“What is this about?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady, though suspicion tugged at your tone.

“The empire needs an heir,” Septimius said sharply, his words cutting through the air like the crack of a whip. “It is your one duty—to give Rome a future. Yet here we are, without a successor, or any sign that one is to come. Is it your husband’s endless whoring that is to blame, or your taste for plotting with your maids to carry out your schemes? I know not, and frankly, I do not care. What I do know is that this cannot continue.”

His accusation hit like a slap, the air thickening around you. He had seen more than he let on, unraveling the plan you thought he had believed so easily.

“And now,” Caracalla murmured, his hand tightening on your shoulder, “you understand. He will extend the hand of favor even as he holds a dagger to your throat.”

Your jaw tightened, your gaze snapping back to Septimius. The weight of his scrutiny weighed down on you, but you met it with steel in your eyes. Whatever game he thought he played, you would not yield so easily.

“And yet, despite your shared transgressions, you two would make a match worthy of the gods themselves—if only you could cease your scheming against one another long enough to see it,” Septimius declared, his tone edged with amusement. “But because of those very transgressions, you shall both spend the remainder of the season in Baiae.”

His words hung heavy in the air, and you turned your gaze to Caracalla, whose face was a storm of fury.

“Exile?” Caracalla spat through gritted teeth. “You would exile the Augustus? The emperor of Rome?”

“How many times must I remind you,” Septimius said as he rose, his movements slow but deliberate. Geta stepped forward to steady him, while Macrinus bowed and retreated. “You are Augustus and emperor only by my will, Marcus.”

The lectus creaked as Caracalla lunged forward, but Geta steadied himself between Septimius and Caracalla, while Macrinus seized Caracalla by the shoulder, hauling him back. Amidst the sudden chaos, you realized your hand had found Caracalla’s, and his grip tightened with such ferocity that you feared your bones might snap.

Even in his weakened state, his feet swollen and discolored like a venomous wound, Septimius’s grin was sharp and unyielding.

“Perhaps a new line of succession is what Rome truly needs.” This time, his gaze did not fall on you, but on Geta, as though he had plucked the very stars from the heavens.

“You serpent!” Caracalla roared at his brother, struggling against Macrinus’s newfound hold, his voice raw with betrayal. His grip on your hand grew tighter, a reflection of his seething rage.

Geta, unmoved, merely smiled as he returned to Septimius’s side, tending to the aging emperor with practiced ease.

“Leave me,” Septimius commanded with a languid wave of his hand, his voice cold and final.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________

“What ails him, exactly?” you asked at last, breaking the heavy silence that had settled over the carriage. The rhythmic creaking and jolting of the wheels, each bump in the road, seemed a constant reminder of your shared exile to Baiae.

Caracalla turned his gaze to you for the first time since the journey began, his expression shadowed. “His feet swell,” he said, his tone flat. “To sizes unimaginable. They blacken, as you saw—purple and crude.” He grimaced, as if the very memory sickened him, before turning his eyes back to the window. “And then there is the plague. The dregs of it, lingering from the last campaign. The bloodletting, the vomiting. It comes and goes, but when it comes...” He trailed off, his lip curling slightly.

You grimaced at the image he painted, wondering how the truth about the Imperator had been kept so carefully concealed.

“This is your doing, you know,” Caracalla said suddenly, his voice devoid of inflection, raspy and light, as though he were stating some mundane fact.

“How do you reason that?” you asked, genuinely curious despite the sting of the accusation.

“Your very presence disturbs the balance,” he replied, his gaze fixed on the passing countryside. “And that little scheme of yours—” He turned his head slightly, though his eyes did not meet yours. “Amateur. Endearing, almost, the way you thought you had fooled us all.”

“I believe,” you said, your voice calm but firm, “that regardless of my presence, this house would have toppled under the weight of its own mistakes.”

“Do you?” he asked, tilting his head, studying you now with a glint of something between skepticism and intrigue.

“I tire of this,” you continued, your voice steady but carrying an edge of frustration. When he turned to look at you, you continued, “The endless back and forth. I wish you would decide whether you like me or loathe me.”

He laughed, his signature cackle, the corners of his lips curling into a knowing smirk. “Ah, but you will come to learn, dear wife,” he said, his tone laced with sardonic amusement, “that those two are often one and the same.”

“Macrinus,” you let his name roll off your tongue as you searched your memory. “I cannot say he is familiar to me.”

“He wouldn’t be,” Caracalla replied, his voice carrying a tone of indifference. “He was a slave in the reign of Marcus Aurelius, earned his freedom in the arena.”

“An extraordinary feat,” you remarked, glancing at him. “And his influence upon your father? What of that?”

Caracalla shrugged, shifting lower against the cushioned bench, his gaze wandering to the hills rolling past the window. The faint scent of cypress filtered into the carriage through the open slits. Outside, the road stretched ahead, bordered by rows of olive trees.

“The Garmantian campaign,” he began, his voice heavy with recollection. “A few years ago. Macrinus advised my father then. His blood ties him to that land, or so he claims—descended from those desert tribes.”

You nodded, studying him as the sunlight flickered over his pallid features. He turned back to you, his eyes narrowing slightly, as if wondering whether you deserved to know more.

“I led my first unit there,” he continued, almost reluctantly. “Macrinus was at my side. Geta—useless as ever—remained with father, an onlooker on a high ridge above the battle. A coward in all but name.” His lips curled into a sardonic smile. “He spent the rest of his time hidden away with the other scribes and so-called strategists, poring over scrolls instead of wielding a sword. A fitting place for him—among the weak and the overcautious.”

“He—” You shook your head, the words catching in your throat. You tried to push the thought away, to banish it to the shadows of your mind. But Caracalla was not one to let things lie.

“Say it,” he demanded, his voice low and sharp, like the scrape of a blade against stone. He leaned forward, his piercing gaze locking onto you as he reached out, fingers closing around your wrist with an iron grip. You reflexively tried to pull away, but his strength overpowered yours, dragging your hand back into his grasp.

“He is the one who told me about your courtesans,” you confessed, the words spilling out before you could reconsider. Your eyes darted anywhere but to his face, tracing the fine carvings on the wooden frame of the carriage, the dusty light filtering through its windows. “He showed me where you were that night—the last night you spent with them. I... I watched for a while, but I left when I had seen enough.”

For a moment, silence hung heavy between you. Then, with a snarl of disgust, he flung your hand aside, as if the very touch of you burned. His fist slammed into the roof of the carriage with such force that the wood creaked in protest, the sound echoing around you like a thunderclap.

“Stop!” he barked, his voice cut through the air. The driver obeyed instantly, pulling the horses to an abrupt halt. The jolt threw you forward, your palms bracing against the edge of the seat as the wheels ground to a halt on the gravel road.

You watched as Caracalla flung the carriage door open with a force that made the hinges groan. In a single, fluid motion, he bounded down the steps and onto the packed gravel. Two guards immediately stepped forward, their hands resting on the hilts of their swords, their faces unreadable but watchful.

Alarmed, you slid closer to the window, gripping its edge. “What are you doing? What madness is this?”

“Horse!” he roared, his voice cutting through the quiet hum of the countryside like a war cry. Moments later, a white stallion was led into view by a nervous stablehand, its mane gleaming like ivory under the midday sun.

You leaned farther out, your voice urgent. “Have you lost your senses? What has gotten into you?”

He ignored you, mounting the stallion with the practiced ease. From atop the horse, he turned his gaze back to you—a look of pure disdain etched into his face.

“I will see you in Baiae,” he spat, his tone laced with venom. Without waiting for a reply, he spurred the stallion into motion.

You could only watch as the beast surged forward, its hooves pounding against the earth, kicking up a cloud of dust that swirled in the air long after it had gone. The guards scrambled to follow, their own horses hurriedly prepared, but Caracalla was already disappearing into the horizon, leaving behind the echo of his fury.

Inside the now-emptied carriage, the silence pressed down on you, broken only by the distant cries of cicadas and the soft rustle of the olive trees.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Caracalla stayed gone for three days. On the third night, he finally returned, stumbling into the villa, drunker than a deckhand. His tunic was crooked, his hair disheveled, and he reeked of wine.

“Did you have fun while I sat alone?” you asked, not bothering to glance up from the scroll in your hands.

He stopped mid-stride, squinting at you with furrowed brows. His eyes landed on you, stretched out on the lectus, one foot dangling off the edge, your toes curling lazily as if you hadn’t a care in the world.

“You’re never alone,” he said flatly, his voice slurred, the sour tang of wine thick in the air around him.

“True,” you replied with a shrug, “but that is not the point.”

You rolled up the scroll with a sharp snap, the sound echoing through the atrium like a whip crack.

“Where have you been?” you demanded, your voice cutting through the quiet. “We were sent here for one reason: for me to conceive. Not for you to run around town acting like a whoring drunkard.”

You knew full well where he had been. Metella had been your eyes for the first two days, tailing him to the seedier corners of the city—brothels, taverns, gambling dens. By the third day, her reports were unnecessary. The smell of him now told you enough. Meanwhile, Cassia had stayed behind to tend to you, watching as you fumed, pacing the villa with balled fists.

Caracalla’s mouth twisted into a smirk, his flushed face shining in the lamplight. “You’ve grown bold, haven’t you?” he said, his tone mocking as he leaned against a marble column for balance. “What is it, cara mea? Have you grown bored of the luxury and servants here that you now pass the time by scolding me?”

You stood from the lectus, smoothing your stola with deliberate calm, the sound of the fabric brushing against the mosaic floor louder than it should have been.

“Luxury?” you snapped, stepping closer until you could see the hazy glaze in his eyes. “Do not mistake my patience for contentment. While you waste our time and fortune, the empire waits. Rome waits. You were sent here to do your duty, not to disgrace yourself in taverns and brothels. Or would you prefer I send word to Rome that Caracalla has no interest in producing heirs? That he remains flaccid?”

His smirk faded, and his hand shot out, gripping your wrist. It wasn’t rough, but it was firm enough to send a message. “You tread dangerous ground,” he growled, his voice low and menacing.

“And so do you,” you shot back, refusing to flinch. “But unlike you, I know how to keep my balance.”

For a long moment, the two of you stared at each other, the tension stretching thin. Then, his grip loosened, and he let your wrist fall.

“Fine,” he muttered, brushing past you, his steps uneven as he headed toward his quarters. “I’ll do what is required. But do not think for a moment you control me.”

You stood there in the silence, your wrist tingling where his hand had been. When his footsteps faded, you let out a slow breath, your face hardening.

It was only a moment later that you heard the sharp whinny of a horse and the steady thud of hooves on sand. With a grunt, you hauled yourself to the balcony, gripping the iron railing as you leaned out. Your eyes widened in disbelief as you spotted Caracalla, riding off into the darkening horizon. He was headed straight for the heart of the night’s chaos—the very center of hedonism and excess.

Hurling yourself from the railing, your bare feet slipping across the cool floor, you swiftly secured your sandals, the straps biting into your skin as you hurried down to the atrium. At the grand doorway, two guards stood at attention.

“Ready my horse,” you commanded, your voice firm as you draped the light folds of your palla loosely around your neck, a gesture that spoke of both urgency and authority.

One of the guards faltered, his eyes widening as though struck dumb by your words. “Do your ears fail you?” you snapped, your tone sharpened with impatience. “I said, ready my horse!”

“My lady, you cannot ride into the city,” the elder of the two guards replied, his voice steady though his posture betrayed hesitation. The younger guard straightened, his eyes darting nervously around, as if afraid to meet your gaze for long. “It is unseemly for one of your rank to travel without accompaniment, let alone on horseback.”

You closed your eyes, drawing a measured breath before exhaling sharply, a brisk sigh of exasperation.

“If you wish for the household slaves to find your corpse in the ocean and your head upon the beach come dawn, then by all means, ignore my command.”

The elder guard hesitated, his jaw tightening briefly before he turned on his heel, striding with purpose through the atrium and vanishing through the side passage that led to the stables.

The younger guard remained rooted in place, attempting to maintain composure. You began pacing the mosaic-tiled floor, your sandals echoing softly in the vast space as your hands twisted together. Frustration burned within you, like a wildfire sweeping through dry plains, all encompassing, devastating.

When the elder guard reappeared in the doorway, you strode past him without a word. Outside, the pale horse stood waiting. With practiced grace, you swung onto its back, dismissing the guard's offered hand as though it were an insult.

“I never intended to ride into the city alone, Praetorian,” you said, casting a sharp glance down the bridge of your nose at him. “The two of you will accompany me—if you can keep up.”

Without waiting for a reply, you tightened your grip on the reins and urged the horse forward. The stallion responded instantly, surging into motion as the dull nudge of your sandal found its mark against its flank.

The night wind tore at your palla as the world became a blur of shadow and moonlit sand. The rhythmic thud of hooves against the earth echoed like a battle drum. The roar of the distant sea mingled with the hiss of sand kicked up in your wake, but you paid it no mind.

Glancing back, you caught sight of the two Praetorians scrambling to mount their own steeds. Their movements seemed clumsy compared to your own, and you allowed yourself a fleeting smirk of satisfaction. If they meant to follow, they would have to earn their place at your side.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________

Baiae stretched out before you as the horse’s hooves hit cobblestone. The city shimmered even in the moonlight, its white marble villas gleaming like polished pearls, their red-tiled roofs descending toward the sea. Steam rose in ghostly plumes from the famed baths, filling the air with the smell of sulfur and salt.

As you rode deeper, the streets grew narrower, lined with colonnades that framed courtyards filled with flickering oil lamps. Laughter spilled out from wine-soaked feasts, the hymns of a lyre mingling with the rhythmic clapping of dancers. Even at this late hour, Baiae did not sleep.

To your right, the black expanse of the sea was alive with reflected light, where torch-lit barges and private vessels floated lazily. Beyond them, the looming shadow of Mount Vesuvius stood silent. The Praetorians, ever watchful, followed your lead as you turned down a quieter street, away from the bustle of the forums and toward the private quarter. The hum of activity dimmed, replaced by the presence of towering gates and high walls.

You slowed your horse as the entrance to your destination came into view—a grand domus perched high on a hill. The vast bronze gates were adorned with intricate mouldings of Neptune and his trident, and from beyond them came the faint sound of water cascading into a central atrium fountain. You had been here before, as a child, remembering its purpose and what you had witnessed of its opulence.

This was not the domain of commoners but of those whose power carried the fortunes of Rome itself.

“Guard the gate,” you instructed, your tone leaving no room for argument. You handed the reins to a waiting slave and stepped forward, the weight of the night’s purpose settling on your shoulders.

You paused at the gates of the grand domus, but before you could step forward, the elder Praetorian dismounted and approached, his expression unreadable.

“My lady,” he began cautiously, his voice low to avoid drawing the attention of the slaves nearby. “This is not where you will find him.”

Your gaze snapped to his, sharp and questioning. “Explain yourself.”

The Praetorian’s jaw tightened. “He…” The words hung uneasily in the air, “He resides elsewhere in Baiae—at an establishment by the lower harbor.”

You studied him for a moment, noting the flicker of discomfort in his demeanor. Finally, you gave a nod. “Then you will lead me there. Now.”

“As you command, Domina,” he said, bowing slightly before striding back to his horse. The younger Praetorian exchanged a nervous glance with you before following suit.

Once mounted, the elder guard took the lead, guiding you down winding streets that grew increasingly narrow and shadowed. The splendor of Baiae began to give way to a more primal energy. The laughter was harsher, the music seductive. The lower harbor stretched out before you. Tabernas and brothels clustered together, their facades painted in deep colors, their entrances crowded with figures cloaked in secrecy and sex. Men bellowed drunkenly, women beckoned from balconies draped in rich silks, and shadows moved between doorways.

The Praetorian pulled his horse to a stop before a particular building—modest compared to the grand villas of the upper city, yet unmistakably high class for its kind. Its doorway was framed by carved columns, and a faint, seductive melody drifted out.

“This is the place,” the elder guard said, dismounting and stepping aside. His expression was carefully neutral, though his clenched fists showed his discomfort.

You slid off your horse, handing the reins to the younger guard. The flickering light from a brazier near the entrance cast golden hues across your face as you stepped toward the door, the faint hum of voices and laughter growing louder with each step.

“Wait here,” you ordered, your voice firm. The Praetorians hesitated, exchanging a glance, but obeyed, remaining by the doorway.

Pushing aside the heavy curtain that covered the entrance, you stepped into the warmth and haze of the brothel. The air was thick with incense and wine, the light dim but gilded, as though the entire room were lost in a fog. Figures reclined on cushions and couches, their forms draped in flowing fabrics, their laughter rich and unrestrained.

Laughter rippled through the air, sharp and boisterous, as men gambled at low tables, surrounded by women who hung on their every word. You kept your face neutral, though anger simmered in your chest. As you stepped deeper into the room, making your way through clusters of loungers and revelers, your gaze caught on a scene at the far end of the chamber.

There he was.

Caracalla lounged at a table, his tunic loosely belted, his posture relaxed. His profile was illuminated by the golden light, the faint glint of rings on his fingers catching your eye as he threw dice onto the table with a triumphant laugh. The men around him roared with approval—or fear—it was difficult to tell.

What caught your attention more was the woman draped across his lap, her arm lazily curled around his neck. Her hair, pinned in loose waves, framed a face disturbingly familiar. Her features bore an uncanny resemblance to your own—enough to make your breath catch in your throat. She leaned into him, laughing softly as she whispered something in his ear.

Your stomach twisted, rage and disbelief stirring within you. For a moment, you stood stuck to the spot, your veil slipping further down your neck as you struggled to maintain your composure.

“My lady, are you lost?”

The voice startled you. A woman with a painted face and a sheer stola approached, her expression one of concern. Her kohl-lined eyes searched yours, and her hand reached out to gently touch your arm. “You shouldn’t be here,” she said softly, her tone maternal despite her surroundings. “It is dangerous to wander too close to him.”

You blinked, your focus shifting to her. “Dangerous?” you repeated, your voice calm but cold.

Her grip on your arm tightened ever so slightly as she leaned in, lowering her voice. “He’s not a man to trifle with. Especially not for a lady like you.” She glanced over her shoulder toward Caracalla, as if fearful he might see her speaking to you. “Come, I’ll take you somewhere safe before he notices you.”

You stiffened, pulling your arm free. “Do you know who I am?” you asked, your words sharp.

The woman hesitated, her brows furrowing slightly. “No, my lady, but it doesn’t matter. You’re too fine to be here.” Her gaze flicked to your attire, the richness of your fabric setting you apart from everyone else in the room. “You don’t want his attention, believe me. It will ruin you.”

Her words only fanned the flames of your fury. Your eyes drifted back toward Caracalla, who was oblivious to your presence, his focus entirely on the woman perched in his lap.

Your jaw tightened, and your hands clenched into fists at your sides.

The woman hesitated, her painted lips parting as though to protest. Taking pause, she stepped closer, her expression softening with concern.

“Caracalla is not the kind of man a woman like you should ever let too close. He... plays games. Dangerous ones.”

You frowned as her words sent a chill through you. “What do you mean by that?”

She tilted her head, her dark hair spilling over her shoulder like silk. She seemed to hesitate, wondering how much to reveal. Then she leaned back slightly, her expression grave, yet seductive.

“He has... peculiar appetites,” she said carefully, her voice almost teasing, her eyes betraying the seriousness of her words. “He likes to test people. Push them to their limits. He likes to play with swords—not just on the battlefield. He enjoys seeing how far he can go before someone breaks.”

You stiffened, the insinuation settling in your stomach. “What are you saying?”

Her lips curved into a slow, almost feline smile. “He enjoys pain. Giving it, taking it. There are whispers, my lady. Whispers of him bleeding women just to see how much they can endure. For his amusement. For his... pleasure.”

The air between you seemed to grow colder despite the warmth of the room. Your breath caught in your throat, a thousand questions circling your mind, but you couldn’t find the words.

“Wait,” she said, her voice quieter now, almost pleading. “You look unwell, Domina. Come with me—just for a moment. Some fresh air will do you good.”

You opened your mouth to dismiss her, but she took your arm again, this time more gently, and began guiding you back through the crowded room.

The din of laughter and gambling faded behind you as she led you through a side door, out into the cool night.

You found yourself standing in a small courtyard, enclosed by ivy-covered walls. A single olive tree stood at its center, its leaves shimmering faintly in the moonlight. The sounds of the brothel were distant now, muffled by the stone walls, leaving only the soft rustle of leaves and the distant crash of waves to fill the silence.

“Wait here,” the woman said, releasing your arm and disappearing briefly through another doorway. When she returned, she held a small clay cup of wine, the dark liquid sloshing slightly as she walked.

Her movements were fluid, as though she belonged more to the shadows than the smoky room she had found you in. Her piercing eyes studied you as she handed you the cup of wine, her expression a mix of concern and curiosity.

You accepted the cup, though you did not drink immediately. “You haven’t told me your name,” you said, your voice steadier.

She blinked, surprised, then gave a small smile. “Prosperina,” she said. “It’s what they call me here.”

Her eyes, sheer and piercing, were an unearthly shade of blue, a stark contrast against her tanned complexion.

“Why do you care if I am well?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

Prosperina hesitated, then shrugged. “Because I have seen what happens to women who cross his path.” She gestured vaguely to the brothel. “They’re drawn in, thinking they’ll find something—power, protection, even love. But he’s not a man who gives. He takes.” Her voice softened. “And you don’t belong here. Anyone can see that.”

You glanced down at the cup in your hands, the wine’s surface rippling faintly in the breeze.

“Do you have anything stronger?” you asked, your tone cool but deliberate.

Her painted lips parted in surprise, then curved into a faint smile, a flicker of amusement dancing in her gaze. “You don’t strike me as the type to indulge, my lady,” she said softly.

You raised an eyebrow, meeting her eyes with a look that left no room for argument. “Tonight is an exception.”

Prosperina studied you for a long moment, her gaze calculating, as though weighing whether she should agree. Finally, she nodded, the golden bracelets on her wrists clinking softly as she turned. “Come with me,” she said, her voice low and inviting.

She led you through a narrow passage on the side of the courtyard. A small doorway opened into her quarters. The walls were painted with faded frescoes of nymphs and satyrs, the colors dulled by time. A low couch covered in silken throws occupied the center, while an assortment of small, clay jars and glass vials lined a wooden table nearby.

Her sheer gown clung to her curves like a second skin as she leaned against the edge of the table in her quarters, the lamplight highlighting the rich tan of her skin and the piercing ice-blue of her eyes. She studied you with a gaze that seemed to see more than it should, her lips curving into a faint, knowing smile.

She held up a pipe delicately, her fingers adorned with gold rings that caught the light. The gesture was casual and playful, but there was confidence in her tone, as though she already knew your answer.

When you hesitated, her smile deepened, a glimmer of amusement in her eyes. “Don’t look at me like that,” she teased, moving closer. “I don’t bite—unless you would like me to.”

She moved like a cat, her steps deliberate and silent, her gaze never leaving yours. When she extended the pipe toward you, her fingers brushed yours, lingering for just a moment longer than necessary.

“Go on,” she urged, her voice dropping to a whisper. “It will help you forget, just for a little while.”

Prosperina tilted her head, her lips curving into a sly smile as she held the pipe closer. “A bold woman deserves bold choices,” she murmured, her voice low and inviting. “Breathe in. Let go of everything else.”

Without a word, you lifted the pipe to your lips and inhaled deeply, the smoke burning slightly as it filled your lungs.

The effect was instant. Your chest tightened for a heartbeat before a rush of warmth spread throughout your body, followed by a dizzying sensation that sent you sprawling backward onto the plush couch. The room seemed to tilt and spin, the dim lamp light splitting into ribbons of gold that danced across the walls.

Shapes and colors began to swirl, cascading like liquid through your vision, while Prosperina’s voice became an echo, far away yet hauntingly close. “There it is,” she purred, leaning over you, her dark hair cascading like a curtain around her face. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

You blinked, but the world refused to focus. Shadows danced and shifted, morphing into figures that were familiar and strange. You saw flashes of faces—some from memory, others from dreams. The air felt electric against your skin.

Prosperina knelt beside you, her fingers brushing your temple as she studied you with fascination. “You’re caught between worlds now,” she whispered, her voice velvety and hypnotic. “Do you feel it?”

Your lips parted, but no words came out. Instead, a strange, breathless laugh escaped, the sound foreign even to your own ears. Your body felt weightless, as though the couch beneath you had disappeared.

“Relax,” Prosperina cooed, her touch sliding down your arm in a slow motion. “Let it take you. There’s no need to fight.”

The room twisted and blurred, melting into something unfamiliar, but familiar at the same time. Prosperina’s face hovered above you briefly, her sharp features smearing like wet paint before disappearing into the shadows. In their place, a figure emerged—a face both familiar and haunting. Geta.

His expression was soft, kind, the way you remembered it when you were children, before the weight of politics and betrayal had driven a wedge between everyone you had once cared for. His lips moved, though no sound came, his words carried away by the same wind that seemed to swirl through your mind.

“Geta,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, thick with longing and confusion. You reached for him, but your hand passed through his form like smoke, the edges of his figure distorting before re-forming. His eyes—so familiar, so painfully warm—locked with yours. For a moment, you thought he might speak, but the image shifted violently.

Suddenly, Caracalla’s face loomed in front of you, his blue eyes filled with anger and frustration. “What are you doing, Prima?” his voice boomed, though you couldn’t tell if it was real or imagined. “You think you can escape this? Escape me?”

The world around you shattered like glass, fragments of Caracalla’s image reforming. Now he was standing over you, his hand gripping your chin, forcing you to look at him. “You’re mine,” he said, his voice a growl, filled with something dangerous. “No matter what you tell yourself. No matter who you try to run to.”

You flinched, but the vision changed again. Geta reappeared, his expression now filled with sorrow as though he could see what you had become. He extended his hand, his mouth forming the words Come back to me, though you couldn’t hear him. The image of Caracalla stood behind him, watching with a mixture of rage and jealousy.

The two brothers began to blur together, their features morphing and overlapping until you couldn’t tell them apart. The figures around you spun faster, their voices rising in a symphony of anger, sorrow, and something else—something deeper and more primal, echoing through your bones.

Your chest tightened, the sensations pulsing through your body becoming almost unbearable. You gasped for air, your vision blurred, as a shadow loomed over you again. This time, it was Prosperina, her voice cutting through the confusion.

“Easy, Domina,” she murmured, her tone soothing yet laced with amusement. “You’re seeing the truth you’ve buried deep. Let it come. Let it free you.”

Prosperina’s piercing blue eyes locked onto yours as the swirling haze of the hallucinations ebbed and flowed like the Tiber. Her touch became firmer, her hand trailing from your arm to your shoulder, her fingers brushing the curve of your neck. The room felt distant, the visions melting into shadows as her presence anchored you back in the present.

“The gods have chosen you,” she whispered, her lips so close to your ear that her breath sent shivers down your spine. “And I can see why. You are a force.”

Prosperina’s hands moved along the length of your body, her touch tracing the curve of your waist. Her fingers slipped beneath the fabric of your stola, their warmth igniting a fire that burned through you. You gasped as her touch grew bolder, her hands exploring your skin with an intensity that made your breath hitch.

Your body arched instinctively into her as her pointer finger stroked your weeping slit, prying you open gently, her name escaping your lips in a whisper as your fingers tangled in her dark hair. Her touch was intoxicating, sending waves of pleasure through you, dull and aching.

She leaned closer, her breath hot against your ear. “Domina,” she murmured, her voice low, “you are divine.”

She worked you expertly, finding the spot within you that you had never known existed. Your cunt pulsated around her slender digits, eyes rolling closed, legs trembling. The pleasure was overwhelming, a pressure building within you that left you trembling, on the edge of something you had never experienced before.

Then, without warning, a cry escaped your lips. It echoed softly in the room, but it felt foreign, as if it belonged to someone else. But before you could experience the sensation– give it a name and truly define it– the door slammed open.

The sound shattered the moment like a roll of thunder. Your head snapped toward the doorway, your body stiffening as a wave of cold panic washed over you.

There, silhouetted in the flickering lamplight, stood Caracalla. His piercing eyes blazed with fury, his face twisted in an expression that was equal parts shock and rage.

“What is this?” he roared, his voice cutting through the room.

Prosperina froze, her hands still on you, though the warmth of her touch now felt like fire against your skin. She quickly withdrew, her movements sharp, as she turned to face him.

You sat up, your breathing ragged, your mind racing to catch up with what had just happened. The haze of the devil’s breath made it hard to think clearly, but the sight of Caracalla’s seething form brought you into the present.

“Answer me, Prima!” he snarled, his voice dripping with venom as he stepped into the room, his gaze darting between you and Prosperina.

Prosperina’s eyes flickered to you, a silent question flashed behind them, but she said nothing, her lips pressed into a tight line.

Caracalla’s fury filled the room, oppressive and suffocating. “My empress,” he spat, the word laced with mockery, “consorting with a whore? Do you have no shame?”

“Leave her out of this,” you said, your voice cold and commanding despite the tremors running through you.

Caracalla let out a harsh laugh, stepping closer, his expression that of twisted rage and cruel satisfaction. “Out of this? She was in you, Prima. Or were you going to pretend she wasn’t just defiling what belongs to me?”

The words hung in the air, cutting through the thick tension. Prosperina’s piercing blue eyes widened, flicking between you and the emperor.

“Empress?” she whispered, her voice barely audible. The color drained from her face as the full weight of what had just transpired crashed down on her. “You’re the empress?”

You turned your gaze to her, an unspoken apology crossed your features for the secret you’d let her unknowingly cross.

But the moment was short lived, shattered as Caracalla’s harsh laugh filled the room again. He gestured toward Prosperina with a flick of his hand. “Yes, Prosperina. Behold your empress—on her knees for you like a common slave.”

“Stop,” you said sharply, your voice cutting through his mocking tone.

As he reached out to grab you, the world around you seemed to tilt, and the ground beneath your feet felt unstable. The effects of the drug were too strong, and your head spun. You reached out to steady yourself but couldn’t find anything solid to hold on to.

“Stop,” you gasped, your legs buckling beneath you.

But Caracalla wasn’t interested in mercy. In one swift motion, he gripped you by the arm, his fingers tightening around your wrist with an iron grip. “You are coming with me,” he growled, dragging you out of the room with no consideration for your protests.

Your mind was a whirl of incoherent thoughts, and you stumbled as he pulled you through the corridors, your vision growing darker at the edges. The air felt thick, and you couldn’t focus—couldn’t think.

“Stop,” you tried again, but your voice was little more than a rasp.

Caracalla wasn’t listening. He half-carried, half-dragged you through the back entrance of the brothel and out into the courtyard. The cool night air bit at your skin, but it did nothing to clear the fog in your mind.

“Up,” Caracalla ordered, his voice harsh, commanding. He threw you onto a horse, and before you could protest or struggle, he was behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist with a grip like iron, holding you steady against him.

The world around you seemed to collapse as the horse jolted into motion. You could barely keep your eyes open, every movement sending another wave of dizziness through you. The drugs had taken hold fully now, and you felt detached from your own body, like you were watching yourself from far away.

Your body felt heavy, your head lolling against Caracalla’s chest.

“Don’t you dare pass out on me,” his voice snapped, sharp and commanding in your ear. His arm tightened around your waist, holding you firmly in place against him. “Stay awake, Prima. You wouldn’t want to miss this, would you?”

A weak sound escaped your lips, somewhere between a groan and a whimper. “Can’t...too much,” you murmured.

“Oh no, you don’t get to escape this,” he hissed, his tone low and cruel. “You’re not going to float away into whatever little fantasy that woman put into your head. You stay here—with me.”

You felt his lips brush the shell of your ear, not tenderly but deliberately, his words dripping with venom. “Do you think she could give you what I can? Hmm? Is that what you were dreaming about, Prima? Another woman’s touch? Or maybe it’s Geta, whispering sweet nothings to you while you drift away.”

You stirred weakly, your fingers curling against the reins.

“That’s it,” he continued, his voice a mix of mockery and seduction. “Stay awake. Don’t disappoint me now. Tell me, Prima—did you like it? Did you like the way she touched you? Or was it the thought of me finding you like that thrilled you?”

Your breath hitched, your head turning slightly as though to respond, but your thoughts were too scattered to form words. He laughed softly, a bitter, dark sound. “No clever reply? No self righteous fury? Maybe you’re finally realizing how easily you can be undone.”

His hand, steady on the reins, pressed against your thigh, his grip firm and possessive. “You don’t get to slip away, Prima. Not now, not ever. Whatever you felt back there, whatever fantasies she gave you, they’re nothing compared to what I can make you feel.”

The words were both a taunt and a promise. You shivered, your body betraying you as his breath brushed against your neck, sending a cold shiver down your spine.

“Good,” he murmured, his voice softer but no less dangerous. “Stay with me. You belong to me, Prima, whether you want to admit it or not.”

“Why?” The word slipped from your lips, barely a whisper.

Caracalla’s grip on your waist tightened slightly. “Why what?” he demanded, his tone sharp and impatient.

You took a shuddering breath, your voice trembling as you managed to form the words. “Why have you never made me feel like that before?”

He stiffened behind you, the tension in his body palpable. For a moment, the only sound was the rhythmic beat of the horse’s hooves against the ground, the weight of your question hanging heavily between you.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low and edged with frustration. “What are you asking me, Prima? Why I haven’t coddled you? Why I haven’t wasted time on fantasies and false promises?”

You turned your head slightly, your cheek brushing against his chest. “That’s not what I mean,” you murmured, your voice raw with vulnerability. “I mean... why have you never touched me like I mattered? Like you wanted me?”

His breath hitched, and for a brief moment, you thought you felt him falter. But when he answered, his tone was bitter, almost defensive. “Wanting you isn’t the issue,” he said harshly. “Feelings, tenderness—that’s not what matters. An heir is what matters. Duty is what matters. You think this is a game, Prima? That this empire is built on emotions?”

You swallowed hard, his words cutting through you like a blade. “So that’s it?” you whispered. “I’m just a vessel to you? Nothing more?”

He didn’t respond immediately, his silence deafening. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, almost grudging. “Wanting you, needing you—that doesn’t change what I am. What we are.”

"What are we?" you asked, feeling a mix of confusion and disbelief.

"Nothing but a fleeting thought until that cursed cunt of yours does what it’s meant to—until your womb carries my heir," he shot back, kicking the horse into a faster stride.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________

Dismounting the horse proved more challenging than anticipated. With Caracalla already on the ground, his gaze burning into you, you shook your head and released the reins. Your feet met the sand, sinking deep into its grains, and you stumbled. As you fumbled, he stepped forward, his hand outstretched to steady you, but you pushed it away, catching yourself just before falling.

“Don’t touch me,” you hissed, brushing your windswept hair out of your face.

He loomed closer, his brow furrowing in frustration. “You’ve done enough tonight, Prima. Enough of this madness.”

“Madness?” You whirled to face him, your voice ringing out in the silence of the night. “The only madness here is yours!”

Before he could respond, you lunged forward and snatched the dagger from his belt. The two guards stationed at the villa’s entrance stiffened instantly, their hands flying to the hilt of their swords.

“Prima,” Caracalla growled,“Put it down.”

You ignored him, your grip tightening on the blade. “Must I bleed for you, Caracalla? Would that finally make me real to you? Would that amuse you?”

“Enough of this nonsense,” he snapped. He took a step closer, his hands clenched into fists.

You backed away as you held the blade out between you. “Isn’t that what you like?” you demanded, your voice rising, trembling with anger. “I’ve heard the whispers, Caracalla. You like to bleed women for fun. You like to push them until they break, to see how far they can go before they shatter.”

His expression darkened, jaw tightening. The guards glanced at one another, uncertain whether to intervene.

“And tonight—tonight, you sat there with a woman who looked just like me.” Your voice broke, your eyes stinging with tears you refused to shed. “She had my face, my hair... Did you think I wouldn’t notice? That I wouldn’t care? You sat there with her on your lap, touching her, gambling with her like she was some pale imitation of what you already have!”

He froze for a moment, your words seeming to hit a nerve, but then his expression twisted into something dark and unreadable.

“You know nothing,” he said coldly.

“Don’t I?” you shot back, your voice trembling with fury. “You think I don’t hear the rumors? About the swords, the games, the bleeding?” You took a step closer, your eyes locking with his, refusing to back down. “Well, here I am, Caracalla. Bleed me, if that’s what you want. Push me to the edge like you do to all the others.”

Without waiting for his reaction, you pressed the blade against your palm, the sharp edge biting into your skin. You flinched as blood welled and trickled down your wrist, pooling onto the marble floor.

His hand shot out faster than you could react, gripping your wrist and forcing the dagger from your grasp. It clattered to the ground, the sound echoing through the villa. He yanked you toward him, his grip bruising as his face hovered inches from yours, his breath hot against your skin.

Before he could speak, you wrenched your hand free and swung it hard against his face. The sound of the slap echoed through the space, your blood smearing across his cheek like a brand.

He froze, his head snapping to the side from the force of your blow. Slowly, he turned back to face you, his dark eyes blazing with fury. He drug you to a chaise, twisting your body around to lay across his lap.

Caracalla’s grip on you tightened, his fingers digging into your waist as he leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear. “You don’t learn through words, Prima. Perhaps pain will remind you of who you’re speaking to.”

You froze, your breath hitching at his words, the threat lingering in the air like smoke. Before you could summon a retort, his voice cut through the silence, cold and commanding.

“Fetch me a whip,” he barked, his head turning slightly toward the guards who still stood by the entrance, their eyes wide with apprehension.

For a moment, neither guard moved, exchanging uneasy glances.

“Now,” Caracalla snapped, his tone sharp enough to make both men flinch. One of them nodded and stepped away, his footsteps echoing in the atrium as he disappeared into an adjoining room.

Your heart pounded, each beat loud in your ears as you twisted against his hold, desperate to break free. “Caracalla, don’t you dare,” you hissed, your voice dripping with venom even as your stomach knotted with a mixture of anger and dread. Perhaps, something else. Something you had never experienced under the circumstances you found yourself in.

“Quiet,” he commanded, his hand pressing more firmly against your back. “You wanted my attention, didn’t you? Now you have it. Let’s see if you still crave it when I’m finished with you.”

Moments later, the guard returned, his face pale as he held out the braided leather flogger with trembling hands. Caracalla took it without a word, dismissing the man with a wave. The guard quickly retreated, leaving you alone with your husband and the weight of what was about to unfold.

He held the flogger in his hand, letting the strands sway lightly, almost thoughtfully, as he regarded you with a dark, calculating gaze.

“Caracalla,” you said, your voice low and sharp as you craned your neck to glare at him. “You’re not doing this.”

“Oh, I am,” he replied, his tone cold and resolute. “Because this is what you want, isn’t it? You want to push me, to test me. Well, here I am, Prima. Let’s see how far you’re willing to go.”

He let the flogger brush lightly against the back of your thighs, dragging the fabric of your stola with it, the sensation sending a shiver up your spine. The teasing motion wasn’t meant to hurt—not yet—but it was a warning of what was to come.

“You bleed for me,” he murmured, almost to himself. “You slap me like you’re my equal. And now, you’ll learn what it means to be mine.”

The leather strands trailed over your skin, their touch deceptively gentle as Caracalla hovered in silence. You could feel his gaze boring into you, and despite the fury burning in your chest, your body trembled under his hold.

“You’ve always wanted to test me,” he said, his voice low and dangerous, cutting through the tense air. “So tell me, Prima, are you ready for the lesson you asked for?”

“Let me go,” you snapped, twisting against him, but his iron grip on your waist didn’t falter.

“You think I don’t see it?” he continued, ignoring your protests, the flogger now coiled loosely in his hand. “You thrive on this—on defiance, on rebellion. You provoke me, hoping I’ll break, hoping I’ll lose control.”

The strands of leather flicked against the back of your thighs, sharp enough to sting but not yet hard enough to leave a mark. Your breath hitched involuntarily, and Caracalla’s lips curled into a grim, humorless smile.

“But that’s the thing about me, Prima,” he said darkly, his voice dropping lower. “I don’t break. I’m the one who does the breaking.”

The next strike came without warning against the bare flesh of your ass, the flogger snapping against your skin with enough force to make you gasp. The sting bloomed instantly, hot and sharp, radiating.

“Caracalla!” you cried out, your voice a mixture of fury and disbelief.

“Don’t call me that,” he growled, his tone cutting through the room like a blade. “When you speak to me, you will remember who I am to you. Say it.”

You clenched your jaw, refusing to give him the satisfaction. Another strike followed, harder this time, and you bit down on your lip to stifle the sound that threatened to escape.

“Say it,” he repeated, his hand pressing down against the reddened flesh of your ass to hold you steady.

The heat of the blows, the tension in his voice, and the humiliation of your position all made your head spin. The drugs still lingered in your system, dulling some of the pain but amplifying the intensity of the moment.

“You are my emperor,” you spat finally, your voice trembling but laced with venom.

“That’s right,” he said, his voice dark with satisfaction. “And you will remember that.”

He let the flogger fall again, a calculated punishment meant to remind you of his dominance. Each strike sent a jolt through you, but it was the weight of his dominating presence, the control he exerted, that stung more than the blows.

Caracalla’s strikes came slower now, deliberate, as if he wanted you to feel every ounce of control he wielded. The leather strands snapped against the soft flesh of your ass, leaving a burning heat that spread through your skin, through your core. Your breath came in shallow gasps, and you bit down on your lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a cry, though the pain blurred into a strange, disorienting feeling, manifesting an ache between your thighs, and warmth wetness as you squeezed them together.

"Still defiant," he murmured, his tone laced with amusement. His hand settled on your lower back, holding you firmly against his lap, and you could feel the tension radiating from him, like a predator toying with its prey. "You think I don't know what you're doing? Pushing me like this, daring me to lose control?"

"You already have," you spat, your voice shaky but sharp, though you could even hear the vulnerability beneath it. "Look at yourself, Caracalla. Do you think this proves your strength? That this—" You twisted beneath his grip, trying to pull free. "—makes you a ruler? It only makes you cruel."

His grip tightened, and he leaned down, his breath warm against the back of your neck. "You call me cruel, Prima, but you're the one who brought us here." The flogger trailed across your skin now, the sting replaced by a soft drag that only heightened the tension in the air. "You taunt me. Defy me. Challenge me in front of my guards like you're untouchable. And yet, here you are, over my knee, bleeding for my attention."

"You make me hate you," you hissed, though the venom in your words was laced with something deeper, something even you couldn't quite name.

"Do I?" he asked, his voice a low growl. The flogger fell again, harder this time, and the sharp snap against your thigh drew a gasp from your lips before you could stop it. "Or do I make you feel something you can't control?"

The question struck a nerve, and your body tensed against him, though your mind was too clouded—by anger, by the lingering effects of the drugs, by the intensity of him—to form a coherent reply. His free hand slid up your back, the touch firm but not cruel sending a shiver through you.

"Say it," he demanded, his voice quiet but seething with authority. "Admit what we both know, Prima."

Your silence was the only defiance you had left, and it only seemed to fuel his frustration. He tossed the flogger aside, and the sharp clatter against the marble floor echoed in the atrium. Both of his hands gripped your waist now, pulling you upright and turning you to face him. His expression was a storm—anger, desire, and something unspoken all in the depths of his ocean eyes.

"You want to hate me," he said, his voice low and steady, though there was a rawness to it that made your breath hitch. "But hate is still a feeling, isn't it, Prima? It's still mine to take from you."

You were a mess, your breathing shallow and uneven, tears pooling in your eyes though you refused to let them fall. Your hair clung to your damp skin, and your body trembled—not just from the pain but from the weight of everything you were feeling, everything that had been simmering beneath the surface for so long. Your cut palm, still slick with blood, trembled as you tried to keep it from view, as if that small act could give you back some semblance of control.

"Look at you," he said, his voice low and rough, his hands tightening their hold on you as if he were afraid you might collapse. "You think you can sit here, defiant and proud, but you're barely holding yourself together. You're trembling, Prima."

Your eyes narrowed, though the tears made it hard to focus. "And whose fault is that?" you spat, your voice shaking. "You—you make me feel like I'm nothing. You take every piece of me and break it, twist it until I don’t even recognize myself."

His expression flickered for the briefest moment—something like guilt passing over his face before it hardened again. "I break you?" he said, his voice quiet but cutting. "Do you think I don’t feel the same? You think I don’t see how you look at me like I’m a monster, like every choice I make is a crime against you?"

"Because it is!" you cried, your voice cracking as the tears finally spilled over, hot and unrelenting. "You tell me I belong to you, but you push me away, humiliate me, treat me like I’m nothing more than a tool for your empire! How can you expect me to feel anything but hatred for you when you don’t even try to understand me?"

His hands moved to your shoulders, and for a moment, his grip softened. "You think I don’t understand?" he murmured, his voice quieter now, though no less intense. "You think I don’t see you, Prima? I see you more clearly than anyone else ever has.”

The admission stunned you into silence. For a moment, the room seemed to close in around you, the world narrowing to just the two of you. His words hung in the air, and you could feel the sincerity in them, even if you didn’t want to. Being understood by Caracalla meant, by some measure, you could possibly be like him.

"If you see me so clearly," you finally said, your voice barely above a whisper, "then why do you treat me like this? Why do you make it so impossible for us to be anything but enemies?"

He closed his eyes briefly, as though steadying himself, before looking at you again. "Because it’s easier to push you away than to let you see how much I want you," he said, his voice breaking just slightly on the last word.

You felt your knees buckle, and this time, you didn’t pull away when he steadied you, his arms wrapping around you almost protectively as he laid you back against the plush cushioned chaise.

"I hate you," you whispered against his chest, though the words lacked the fire they once had.

"I know," he replied softly, his hand sliding up to cradle the back of your head. "But that doesn’t make any of this less true."

He tilted your face up to meet his gaze. “I don’t need to remind you that you belong to me,” Caracalla said softly, his voice smooth with an edge of menace. “But I will... just to make sure you’re never in doubt. Everything you are, every breath you take... it's mine to command.” His eyes darkened, “And when I’m finished with you, you’ll know it, deep down in your bones.”

It wasn’t long before he traced a path of bites and kisses along your neck and chest, relishing the softness of your belly, his warm hand resting possessively over your mound. A groan escaped his lips as a finger slipped between your folds, the wetness glistening on his finger.

Your response was hushed, tired from the hours of emotionality, from the ecstasy, from the devil’s breath; all you could manage was a soft moan, your head falling to the side in surrender.

“No,” he insisted, shaking his head, his hand tilting your chin to meet his gaze, your own wetness marking the curve of your cheek, “You shall not drift away from me again.”

He knelt on the chaise, pulling you gently by the back of your knees until your thighs rested on either side of his head. You inhaled a shaky breath as his fingers dug into your wounded backside, descending upon you like a man starved for your flesh. In just moments, the coil within you tightened, reminiscent of the pleasure Prosperina had given you earlier that night but even more intense. You tangled your bloodied fingers in his hair, urging him closer to your core, and finally, your voice returned, a wail escaping your lips as you released around his eager tongue.

Your vision blurred as you arched into his mouth, and when you came to, you looked down to find him sucking at the gash on your palm, as if your very essence was the only thing that could nourish him.

He quickly pulled away, his hand gliding across the marble floor until it found what he was searching for. The dagger sparkled in the candlelight, and a knot tightened in your stomach as you wondered what he was about to do. With a quick slash, he cut into his own palm, and you shuddered at the sound of his flesh parting.

When he pressed your wounded hands together, you couldn’t help but groan.

For two nights, you remained entwined with him in bloodied sheets, surrendering to him in every way. His seed marked your skin, streaking your thighs, mingling with the blood from kisses pressed too hard and bites that left their imprints upon taut flesh. He commanded you to learn his desires—to ride him with purpose, to take him deeply enough for your own pleasure, to find ecstasy in his dominance. In turn, he pushed you to your limits, coaxing cries from your lips that echoed through the chamber like prayers to the gods. By the end, your body wore the evidence of him—smudged, crimson handprints and bruises scattered like spoils of war. Exhaustion claimed you, pulling you into the softness of the bed, your heavy-lidded gaze stayed on him as he laid beside you.

Servants had come and gone during the two days, dismissed by his growled commands before they could enter. You caught the sound of his voice—low and steady, discussing affairs of the empire. Peeking through half-lidded eyes, you saw him framed in the doorway, a sheet draped loosely around his waist as he murmured to messengers. Without fail, he returned to you each time, sinking back into the bed to linger at your side, his gaze fixed upon you as you slipped once more to sleep.

The door flew open without warning, slamming against the wall with a force that shook the bed. You laid on your stomach, your battered body half-draped in the stained sheets, your wounded hand dangling limply from the edge of the bed. The cool breeze drifting in from the balcony made your exposed skin prickle, and the intrusion startled Caracalla from his place beside you.

“By the gods, you’ve nearly killed her.” Geta’s accusatory voice broke through the silence.

Caracalla jerked upright, his hand shot out to grab the sheet, draping it over your body before he swung his legs to the floor. “What in all the hells are you doing here, brother?” he growled.

“You’ve ignored every messenger I’ve sent,” Geta snapped, stepping into the room with no regard for the scene surrounding him. His eyes flicked briefly to you, his expression unreadable, before returning to his brother.

“As you can see, I’ve been busy,” Caracalla bit back, the sarcasm dripping from his words as he gestured dismissively toward you.

“And yet Rome burns in your absence,” Geta countered sharply. “But this isn’t about me, nor the senate’s growing distaste for your escapades.”

Caracalla leaned forward, his jaw tightening as he spat, “Then get to the point, unless you came to gawk.”

Geta’s eyes narrowed, his temper held in check by a thread. “It’s Father,” he finally said, his voice breaking faintly on the word. “He is not well.”

Caracalla froze for a beat, “How do you mean?” he demanded, his voice quieter now.

You stirred beneath the sheet, the ache in your body throbbing as you rolled onto your back, pulling the sheet around you. Squinting against the sunlight streaming in, you took in the two brothers.

Geta hesitated, “His condition has worsened,” he admitted, his voice hoarse. “He has been unconscious for days.”

For the first time, Caracalla’s composure seemed to crack. He rubbed a hand over his jaw, his eyes darkening. “And you waited until now to tell me?” he snapped, though the anger in his tone seemed to mask something else.

“I’ve sent word,” Geta replied sharply, his frustration palpable. “You ignored it. You locked yourself away with her—” his gaze flicked to you briefly before returning to his brother “—and the empire be damned.”

Caracalla stood, his movements abrupt and dominating. “I will decide what damns the empire,” he said coldly, stepping toward Geta. “But if what you say is true, I will not be kept from Rome.” He turned to you, his gaze lingering on your exhausted form, his expression unreadable. “Get dressed. We leave at once.”

⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡

Taglist:

@alwaysahiccupandastrid

@justnobodynothingmore

@miamariposita

@niungguang

Dividers: @ghoulbloggerrr

#damnatio memoriae #gladiator ii fanfiction #emperor caracalla fanfic #emperor caracalla x reader x emperor geta #emperor geta smut #emperor caracalla x you #emperor geta joseph quinn #emperor geta x you #emperor geta fanfic #emperor geta x reader #emperor caracalla #emperor geta x ofc #emperor caracalla x reader #emperor geta

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rustygem · 10 months ago

Note

hi do you take requests?

if you dont, feel free to ignore, but if you do..

imagine dr ratio having a wife/husband(reader), or lover whatever. they've been married for a long whike now on a really healthy relationship. reader is a opposite to ratio, a calm collected individual who doesn't lash out

but what happens when ratio became so stubborn the reader snaps and calls dr ratio by his full name? especially in front of people?

kinda want to know your perspective and jow you write this

(i love ut writing :3 its still okay to ignore though)

彡prompt: you love dr. ratio, you do. but sometimes he can irritate the shit out of you.

彡warning(s): swearing. sorta angsty, but it’s somehow fluff. probably ooc! ratio?

彡notes: dividers by cafekitsune.

Y’know, usually date nights with a loving partner are supposed to go well. And yours with Veritas did, but only until you two started having a back and forth on paying the tip.

“Veritas, please. It’s only 100 credits.” You pinched your temple. Seriously, the waitress was nice! She wasn’t too pushy, there wasn’t any attitude. One small tip wouldn’t hurt.

“What is there to tip the woman for? For doing her job right?” He crossed his legs. “Darling, you must understand that a waitress who isn’t unbearably contemptible isn’t one deserving of a tip.”

“For fucks sake…she’s gonna come over here in less than five minutes. If you don’t want to pay her, I will.” As soon as you took out your wallet, Veritas just shook his head.

You were endearing and your emotional intelligence was admirable. But for goodness sakes, you seemed just a little too insistent on spending extra credits for somebody just doing their job.

As if it was right on cue, you gave the waitress the bill, along with a 100 credit tip with a smile.

It wasn’t until you stopped the waitress from leaving to give her another 50 credits that Veritas just huffed and snatched the money out of your hands.

“Okay, that’s enough. She doesn’t need anymore money than you gave her.” He put your credits in his wallet, glaring at you. “Don’t be so careless with your credits.”

The nervous waitress looked at him, then at you. Her nerves only increased as she saw your eye twitch.

You raised your voice. “Veritas Ratio, quit being prudish and give her the credits!”

It wasn’t the yelling that made him recoil, it was the anger in your tone and voice. Frustration wasn’t new, but you were actually mad at him.

Noticing the eyes on you, your boyfriend, and the poor…poor waitress, your anger subsided.

“Uh…Please. Please give her the credits.” You spoke softly now, mumbling a softer ‘thanks’ as he handed her the money.

However, the waitress took a deep breath, and spoke up. “I can assure you 100 credits is more than enough for me. But thank you.” The waitress smiled at you and walked off with the check.

You picked at your nails, lip quivering as you thought about what you should say to your boyfriend—who was several steps ahead of you.

Noticing this, he looked at you as he continued walking. “If you feel guilt–ridden because you think you’ve hurt my feelings, then banish the thought immediately.”

You rushed next to him, looking at him with lingering feelings of doubt and regret. “Yeah well, I’m sorry for yelling at you and making a scene.”

God, what’s wrong with me? You thought to yourself.

He frowned, watching tears brim your eyelashes. “It’s not like you weren’t provoked.” He sighed before continuing.

“But, in all honesty sweetheart, I thought you were being too benevolent like always.”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you stared at your shoes.

“Though, your attempt at trying to put me in my place made me reconsider something.” He stopped, eyeing you.

“I considered you to be someone who’s too kind for their own good. That was one of the things I wanted you to work on.”

And you swear you saw him smile for a second. “But, you’re still capable of standing your ground, so perhaps I misjudged. Apologies.”

Embarrassed, you scratched your cheek. “That’s sweet of you, Ver–ow!”

He pinched your cheek with his fingertips. “Though, the next time you want to raise your voice at me, I’d prefer you do it in a more private setting.”

#dr ratio x reader #dr ratio x gn!reader #༊*·˚🎀rustygem 2024 #no why was this so ass

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pascalislove · 6 days ago

Text

THE CALL: Han Jeong-Won x Fem!Reader~4

Summary: Your arrival would change everything, even if Jeong-Won didn't know it yet.

The living room was completely silent. Y/N was sitting on the couch, petting Loki, while Jeong-Won stood with his arms crossed and his usual cold expression.

"We need to establish some clear rules," he said firmly. Y/N raised an amused eyebrow. -Rules? “What are we, roommates?” Y/N asked. "First rule: don't come into my room," he said without humor.

—What do you have there? A treasure? —she mocked. —Second rule: physical contact only in public if necessary. Third: do not interfere in my personal life. Y/N let out a sarcastic laugh.

—Wow, how romantic. Are you also going to give me a schedule to smile? Jeong-Won clenched his jaw.

—This is a business, don't forget it. She stood up, facing him with a defiant smile. "Understood, Mr. Han. But if we're going to spend a year together, you should relax." I don't bite...unless provoked. Jeong-Won frowned at her, but didn't say anything else.

The afternoon was warm and bustling in the Gangnam shopping center.

—Do you often come to places like that? —Y/N asked as she looked at the shop windows full of lights and colors. —No. “I prefer to shop online,” he responded without taking his eyes off the road. “What a surprise… you avoiding people,” Y/N joked with a smile. Jeong-Won ignored the comment, but Y/N noticed his lips tighten, perhaps holding back a sarcastic response. When they arrived at the central plaza of the mall, a pair of figures caught Y/N's attention.

A tall, elegant woman, dressed in designer clothing, walked confidently alongside an attractive man with a charming smile.

Seo Yeon.

Y/N had seen photos of her, but in person her presence was even more intimidating. What really surprised him was the man next to him: Yun Ji Woo, Seo Yeon's so-called "new husband."Jeong-Won immediately tensed as he recognized his ex-wife. His hands clenched into fists, although he tried to hide it. “Jeong-Won, long time no see,” Seo Yeon said with a sharp smile as he approached. “Seo Yeon,” he replied in a neutral voice, although Y/N sensed the tension beneath his cold facade. "Oh, and who is she?" Seo Yeon asked, feigning curiosity as she looked at Y/N. “My wife,” Jeong-Won answered firmly, wrapping his arms around Y/N's waist almost possessively. Y/N, surprised by the gesture, quickly recovered and smiled back at Seo Yeon.

—Hello, I'm Y/N. Pleased to meet you. Seo Yeon raised an eyebrow in obvious disdain, but before she could respond, Yun Ji Woo intervened with a friendly smile.

—It's a pleasure to meet you, Y/N. I am Yun Ji Woo, Seo Yeon's husband. Jeong-Won seemed to stagger slightly at those words, although he maintained his rigid posture. -Husband? he asked with barely contained disbelief. “Yes, we recently got married,” Seo Yeon said, linking her arm with Ji Woo's in a theatrical manner. Didn't they tell you? Jeong-Won gritted his teeth, but Y/N noticed the slight tremor in his hand. Despite everything, it still hurt him to see her with another man.What Jeong-Won didn't know was that this "new husband" was nothing more than a piece in Seo Yeon's cruel game. Ji Woo had been hired by her, not because she loved him, but to make sure that Jeong-Won could never forget her, to hurt him right where it hurt the most. “Congratulations,” Jeong-Won said with forced coldness. “Thank you,” Ji Woo responded, maintaining his impeccable smile. When they finally said goodbye, Jeong-Won let out a tense sigh as Y/N watched him silently.

-Are you ok? she asked, softening her usual mocking tone. "Perfectly," he lied while adjusting his sunglasses. Y/N, however, was not fooled. "You know...sometimes pretending like you don't care just makes it more obvious that you do care." Jeong-Won stopped, looking at her with his dark eyes filled with suppressed emotions.

—Don't get involved in this, Y/N. She raised her hands in surrender. "It's okay, Mr. Han. Just remember that I can pretend too... but maybe I'm not as bad at it as you." As they continued walking through the mall, Y/N decided that even if Jeong-Won tried to keep her in line, she would be there to show him that not everything in life was a cold war.

This story does not follow the plot of the series, tell me if you like it and if you want me to tag you in the chapters🫶

THE CALL MASTERLIST

Tag list:

@anamiad00msday

#han jeong won #han jeong won x reader #salesman x reader #the salesman x you #gong yoo x reader #gong yoo x you #recruiter x reader #the salesman x reader #the trunk

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save-the-villainous-cat · 9 months ago

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Hiya! Hope you’re havin a good day! Adore your writing, so mayhaps I can make a humble request of ye?

I was thinking, top hero x bottom villain where the villain is big n kinda scary — they’re silent, cold, intimidating, all that jazz — but then the hero accidentally does something intimate (like, maybe they kiss them, or the two get in a ✨ scandalous position ✨) and they’re a bit worried about how the other is gonna react. Then it’s revealed the “big bad” villain is just a shy, sweet, needy little thing, who begs them to finish what they started >////< Cue the hero taking full advantage, hehe ;)

Generous helping of da spicy, thank you! ^^

“I’m supposed to be married tonight.”

“Oh?” The hero grabbed the villain’s hand and turned it around as they studied the golden ring. “I wasn’t invited to the wedding? What a shame.”

Although their voice was drenched in fake annoyance, they grinned mercilessly at the villain. The villain who was all dressed up, basically embed in filthy rich clothes. The villain who was as observant as ever.

The villain who’d probably get their hands dirty later.

Although the hero was fully aware that their nemesis was stalking their prey before they bit down into bone, it was probably better for everyone involved if the villain spent more time with their nemesis.

The hero had always considered it a curse. The villain took what they wanted and they always prioritised their own plans. They were, in some sense, the most hard-working person the hero knew.

“You know there was no wedding,” the villain said, lowering their voice. “Nonetheless, you should keep your distance.”

“Why on earth would you think that I am going to sabotage your marriage?” The hero took another step closer and let their fingertips ghost over the villain’s wrists. Their eyes were fixed on the ring.

Admittedly, they felt some kind of possessiveness deep in their stomach.

True love was something they couldn’t afford and they caught themselves being jealous of married couples quite often.

Nevertheless, they pulled themselves out of that thought spiral and flashed a grin at the villain.

“I’m not married,” the villain hissed. Their ears were red. How adorable.

“You just told me you are.”

“Fucking—” The villain took in a deep breath and grabbed the hero’s arm. Without giving themselves a second chance to think about it, they pulled the hero away from all the people who were already staring at them. They managed to find some quiet and dark corner, far away from the crowd at the exhibition. “—you know that’s part of my plan.”

“Oh, so you got married for a plan?” Was the hero playing with fire? Undoubtedly. Did they like the thrill of it? Of course they did.

The exhibition was something the hero attended voluntarily. Most of the time, art provoked other people or even connected them. The hero didn’t like the idea of mainly rich people doing their business in a museum.

So, meeting the villain here was a fresh relief. Their sweet, sweet villain who loved to punch answers out of people.

The hero knew they still had a bunch of work in front of them.

“Do you want me to spell it for you?” The villain looked down at them and the hero had to admit it. Their nemesis was scary. They looked scary. With a stern look and a terrifyingly strong body, they made the hero feel weaker than they actually were.

But at the same time, the hero felt protected by them. They’d been through too much bullshit together. They’d saved each other too many times.

“Explain it,” the hero whispered.

The villain looked around, grumpy as always. A scary frown on their forehead. The hero loved to rile them up a little, especially when the villain was the jealous sort of type that wanted the hero to know they were available.

Obviously the villain didn’t know they were that type of person yet. But the hero did.

“I am supposed to be married to the other villain tonight. As a cover. It would probably be best if you didn't interfere. They do get quite angry.”

“Would you just stand there and watch? If they found out I was having a little fun with you?” The hero turned away from them and stared at the exhibition from afar. The paintings and sculptures were striking. No wonder they were so popular.

“What? Of course not,” the villain said. Something in their voice had changed. “I know you can take care of yourself, though.”

“Hm.” The hero leaned back, pressing their body against the villain’s and to their surprise, their nemesis let out something like a laugh or sigh and grabbed their waist.

“What are you doing?” they whispered in the hero’s ear. They sounded quite helpless and the hero only smiled as they pressed their back against the villain’s chest. Maybe it was cruel of them to tease the villain like this. Maybe it was mean to push their hips against theirs.

But the wedding ring was bothering the hero quite a bit, even though it was fake.

“Oh, you know…” The hero grabbed the villain’s left hand, found the ring and pulled it off their finger. “I’m just making sure you know whom you belong to.”

They turned their head to kiss the villain’s jawline.

“You…” the villain whispered. They seemed utterly desperate and the hero couldn’t for the life of them explain why.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never been with anyone before, hm?” the hero asked. They let their breath ghost over their enemy’s neck and the villain froze.

“Can I tell you something?”

“Always.”

“Something very vulnerable?” the villain asked. Now it was the hero’s turn to freeze. Immediately, their heart started racing.

Was the villain actually opening up? To them?

After all this time?

Their hand around the hero’s was cold and they did seem quite startled. The hero had to admit, they’d never been this bold before. Touching and flirting with the villain like this was dangerously intimate.

Maybe they’d fucked up.

“Of course,” they said. It felt like they’d been holding their breath for forever. They couldn’t let their own jealousness get in the way of this…relationship.

Despite being unbelievably powerful, the villain was also reasonable. The hero liked them and they didn’t want to make them feel miserable.

“…I’ve been with a bunch of people for the sake of my plans…I actually lost my virginity like that.”

The hero’s eyes widened.

“Because you needed to sleep with someone?!”

“Because I needed information, yeah. Sometimes I’m not sure if I used them or if they used me. I…I did some things I’m not comfortable with to get intel.” The villain was quiet and the hero turned around fully. They wanted to put a little bit of distance between them but the villain’s hands were still on their waist. “That’s why…it’s a little difficult for me, I suppose. But if you really like me and if you would like to and could help me, maybe I…”

“What do you need?” the hero asked. They’d never considered this to be the reason why the villain distanced themselves from everyone.

The villain seemed so huge, so strong, as if they could say no to anything. As if they could never get hurt.

“I need you to continue. I need you to take care of me. I really really like you and I’d like to change.”

The hero hadn’t expected that. They swallowed. This seemed like a lot of responsibility to carry but, honestly, they were used to that by now, weren’t they?

They gave the villain the second keycard to their hotel room.

“Room 241,” they said. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Apparently, there was no need to be jealous.

#ahhh the connection was kaka so I couldn’t upload anything sowwy #writing snippet #heroxvillain prompt #heroxvillain snippet #heroes and villains #hero x villain #hero #villain #an answer for an ask #request

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studentinpursuitofclouds · 3 months ago

Note

Now that the farmer can have a big ass house with all the beds they want, what if the SVE adventurers (plus canon characters like Marlon) and the RSV ninjas used it as a base of operations when they have joint missions? After all, they wouldn't be collaborating if it wasn't for our dear farmer lol Let's suspend our disbelief and ignore the existance of warp totems and relics and magic for a second. Who would treat it as a fun sleepover/slumber party? Who would be the most normal about it? Who would be so fucking annoyed? Who would share rooms/cook/offer to help with the farm? And if the farmer was married to one of the ninjas or adventurers, how would they manage to balance being a good host with getting some privacy? Don't even get me started with children, I'm sure someone would be stuck on babysitting duty 😂 Anyway Mouse don't worry about replying to this asap, take your time and most importantly have fun!!! sending a tight cyber hug your way 💖

With this situation, Farmer can already film a reality show at their house "My neighbour is an adventurer" or something, it would be hilarious 😂

Love your idea so much, thanks a lot Lotus! Sending you hugs as well 🤗

Warning: there's a lot of text here...

_________________________________________

Isaac:

Isaac will be strongly opposed to the temporary cohabitation in Farmer's house with the "neighbours" for two main reasons. Firstly, it's his pride and the old song about "real adventurers". You know, "only nobles weaklings sleep in their beds until noon, while seasoned adventurers get up at first roster call, and don't need separate outposts to live in" *looks in the direction of one of his colleagues*. Isaac will eat bug meat and sleep outside on his cloak just to prove he's a real adventurer. And secondly, his distrust of the Cult. The Guilds and Cult leaders may have made a truce with temporary co-operation, but that doesn't mean Isaac likes it, and he'll blatantly tell anyone who asks and doesn't ask. But no one asked for the scarred man's opinion, as usual, so here he is in the room of the cosy house in Stardew Valley that Farmer has kindly provided.

Despite the occasional barking in the direction of Jio and Daia, Isaac is a actually acceptable roommate. He doesn't need a big space, only a bed and a bedside table, doesn't rampage, doesn't leave trash, respects the host and the rules of the house, and tries not to interfere with Farmer's family life, if they are already married. Help from him, however, is not expected, but not because of pride. Isaac is not used to civil life. Especially since he's only living here temporarily because of the mission in Stardew Valley and working with the cult, so he'll be busy. Farmer's offer to join them for dinner will also leave him in a bit of a stupor, though he will not refuse hot soup. Everything is so strange, different environment, different life, not like in the Castle Village. There's even something about it (though he's not likely to say it out loud).

Lance:

Well, Lance will gladly accept the Farmer's generous offer to let him stay at their home while the totem shortage and commonwealth with the new clan is resolved. It would save him from wasting time travelling and looking for accommodation in Pelican Town and Ridgeside Village. The price is not an issue, just that the gallant adventurer is still not used to walking around town with civilians, the Guilds and taverns are more familiar to him. He wouldn't be too surprised by the neighbours, as the pink-haired man knew that the Farmer had offered both the Guild and the Cult to stay with them. Relations with the members of the Red Tail Lady Cult would also be ok, even friendly, as Lance believed in their good intentions. Although their methods leave much to be desired, and the adventurer communicates and behaves all the same carefully, so as not to provoke conflict.

In terms of being a roommate - Lance is an excellent neighbour: he respects the rules of the house, the room and things are always clean, and if Farmer allows, he will magically help them in some chores, like cleaning the house (he can do it with a snap of his fingers). Helping out on the farm is a bit different, as Lance doesn't know anything about growing crops other than monster plants. However, he won't refuse help if it's related to his adventurer activities: brewing potions, helping with slimes, that sort of thing. Lance is one of the people who might agree to help Farmer look after their children if he doesn't have an urgent mission. And in the event that he is the Farmer's spouse and lives here permanently, Lance is perfectly capable of finding a balance between living a private life with his partner and providing hospitality to his roommates.

Alesia:

Alesia understands that she is in Farmer's house to save time on important tasks, but sometimes the sniper feels like she's on holiday in Stardew Valley. Still, it's great to be back in her native place, to visit the old Guild, to chat with Marlon a little longer than usual. She's very grateful that Farmer let her and the others stay at their house to save warp totems. Admittedly, the neighbours are giving her.... a bit of a hard time. Alesia's relationship with her Cult members would be something between Lance and Isaac, i.e. unwilling to cause conflict over anything, but not looking for friendship either. They all share a business relationship and Farmer, who pointed out the perfectly rational decision to join forces to fight a common enemy and corruption. But she honestly admits that she doesn't trust the members of the Cult with their methods to fight evil. No offence to Jio and Daia.

As a roommate, she's a dream. Not only does she behave herself at Farmer's house, but she can threaten the other roommates if they start become problematic. Even Isaac will shut up at once, because he knows better than anyone that Alesia is not to be pissed off. Sniper will bring groceries, keep the room tidy, even offer Farmer a taste of her comfort food she's made. Sniper won't be able to help with farming, but if Farmer suddenly needed to feed the cows or carry a couple of bags, she wouldn't mind helping. Within reason, of course, as work is work, and she cannot be distracted.

Jio:

Jio sincerely doesn't understand why they should co-operate at all with the Guilds, who will only get in the way with their moralising and constant surveillance of the Cult's activities. Nor does the elf see any reason to stay the night at Farmer's in Stardew Valley. It's one thing to have these adventurers from the Castle Village, since travelling from that region to here without magic and totems is quite problematic, but why would he and Daia want to do that? Half an hour - and they were already in Pelican Town. But his Lady had insisted that he stay in the house of that old farmer's grandchild for now, so Jio silently obeyed the order.

As for living together with him... *Sigh* If the Republic had a nomination for "Neighbour from Hell" (I don't know if the concept is in Stardew Valley Heaven/Hell, but you get the point), that award would be on a shelf in Jio's room. Because he's... not a good roommate, to say the least. How Daia put up with him is anyone's guess. Naturally, he won't be rude to the host, but all his foul language (human and in elven) will fly in the direction of Castle Village roommates, because Jio has a hot temper when something annoys him (most often Isaac). Always leaves dangerous weapons scattered around the room (not his romm, interestingly enough), bottles of strange liquids and poisons for weapons. You can't expect help in farm chores either, as he's always busy and on a mission. The room is relatively clean (but others have his stuff lying around), so what else do you need from him?

Of course, being Farmer's husband, Jio behaves differently and won't throw dangerous things all over the house, especially if he already has children. But his attitude towards the other roommates, like Alesia and Isaac, is unlikely to change, as Jio still doesn't trust them and fears for the safety of Farmer and their kids. What if they become a tool of the Ministry's manipulation? These adventurers sing about honour, but they have their hands full of blood and black magic, he knows for sure.

Daia:

"Oh, we'll all have a party together, won't we? Everyone will get together, bring some goodies and something drink. It'll be fun~" Daia joked, but to be honest, with this woman you wouldn't know if she was joking or not. Out of everyone, she's the one who's most excited about the idea of staying at Farmer's for a while with Jio's other adventurers from Guilds. The ninja has been wanting to get a better look at the farm for a while now, because there's so much to see here! And she wants to get to know her roommates better ("So this is Lance? Hee-hee, what a cutie. How about we do a mission together~"). Daia genuinely thinks she's going to have a great time here (which really can't be said for the rest of the roommates).

As a roommate, she's in terms better than her partner in Cult, the surly elf, because if you're not scattering shuriken on the floor like Lego pieces, you're already better than Jio. Not counting the constant teasing, which makes Isaac's eye twitch and Jio's voice sit up due to yelling at the girl for her flippant behaviour, it's easy to cohabitate with Daia. For her, it's kind of a normal life she never even dreamed of, so the girl lives quietly in the house and helps Farmer with their chores. Even insists that she be the one to cook a communal meal for everyone. May be the initiator to organise a mini party, "because we're all friends!" (no). Well, at least she, together with the Farmer, can always smooth things over if the other neighbours start arguing. However, she is far from stupid and will exercise caution if the adventurers from Castle Village start going overboard and breaking the rules of their temporary truce.

Marlon:

In general, Marlon didn't see the point of moving into the spare room of the farmhouse, since he lives in Stardew Valley, and he certainly wasn't old enough to walk less. After all, the one-eyed adventurer used to carry Farmer and their belongings on his back almost two or three times a month, from the Mines to their home. So he would quietly continue to fend for himself in his Guild, and wait for the next orders from the Order regarding co-operation with the Cult.

That was until part of the Adventurer's Guild burned down under strange circumstances (it wasn't Farmer, they swear!), and now Marlon is temporarily on the farm while Robin fixes the Guild building.

Poor Marlon thought living in a private room would be quiet, except he forgot to consider that in addition to him, there's the Castle Village and the Cult of the Lady and Red Tail members as well. And it's all one explosive mix. The youths were constantly arguing about something, making noise, and sometimes Marlon could hear the sounds of battle magic (yet, all the rooms were not destroyed). All this noise was weighing on his mind, but in a way, it brought back memories of the old days of his Guild, where the members were also constantly talking and arguing from the very morning, but they all lived as one friendly family.... Marlon himself in terms of a roommate is practically perfect. He would be quiet to the point where Farmer would think he wasn't here. At most, an old adventurer can bark at Isaac and Jio to behave themselves, since they're all guests here.

#sve #stardew valley expanded #rsv #ridgeside village #sdv #stardew valley #sve lance #sve isaac #sve alesia #sdv marlon #rsv jio #rsv daia #rsv headcanons #sve headcanons #thanks for the ask!#it's good to have inspiration again! 💕

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mrsfrecklesmarauders · 7 months ago

Text

"It was so nice meeting you, James"

"I say the same thing, Mrs. Evans. Thank you for inviting me"

"It was a pleasure and please just call me Violet"

"Violet... Right, you look too young for a Mrs. Anyway"

Only James Potter could make Lily's mum laugh and blush like that. He was truly an idiot. But this time it was in a good way.

Lily hadn't stopped smiling all night. It was a nice evening, Petunia had married the love of her life (according to her), and Lily had a good time with James. James...

When Lily had first met him at eleven she had sworn to loathe that wanker forever. He used to be mean, selfish, cocky and arrogant. He used to be everything Lily despised on people. And as they grew up and James started to show interest in her, Lily's feelings didn't change. She just became indifferent to Potter. Never even considered the possibility of having something with him.

It was until that night when Lily saw James in a different light. None of his friends were around to show off. None of Lily's friends were around to have an opinion. They were just themselves.

Lily had to admit it felt nice to let her family and Petunia's friends believe James was her boyfriend. Tuney had been the one to bring boyfriends to family gatherings. Not Lily. Never Lily. Sometimes she felt jugded. Like they were thinking there must've been something wrong for not dating anyone in her seventeen years of life.

Lily remembered last New Years when she invited Severus over and how nobody had liked him, nobody had even paid him attention.

Now James was easy going, funny and talkative. It made Lily proud when her Aunties said: "That is a nice boy you got for yourself, darling". It made her proud somehow. Even if it was silly. Even if James wasn't even her boyfriend.

But it hadn't been only that. She had genuinely had fun with James. They had danced, drank, talked and laughed. Lily had liked the connection they had tonight. Lily felt light and with a lot of adrenaline. Maybe James positive energy had made her like that.

All of that was making Lily see James in a different light. Could he be a good first boyfriend for her? Could they be good together? Was Lily blind not to notice Potter before?

James was not perfect. He was not the most handsome bloke. He was good looking and fit. He was kind of popular. He was a good friend. He was a good listener. He was intelligent. He could be a gentleman with her and get along with her family. He was already friends with her friends. Everything looked great.

"Lily?"

Lily had been too focused thinking about that that she didn't hear when James and her mum had asked her something.

"Ha?"

Violet laughed "She is daydreaming again" she said "I hope you are not responsible"

"Mum!" Lily could feel her cheeks on fire.

"Honestly, Violet. I would love to provoke that on your daughter"

As Lily blushed again and hid a smile, she thought about how easy was for James to say things. His confidence was kind of sexy... Wait what?

Lily's mum was laughing "Okay, I'll let you say goodbye. Please James, drive home safely"

"Yes, ma'am. Always responsible behind the wheel"

Lily smiled and shook her head. Her mother was happy as she walked away. Not before whispering in her daughter's ear: "I like this one"

"Mum, we're just friends" Lily went red as she whispered it.

"I'm just saying, you can be good together" Violet whispered back, then she said louder for James to hear "I will be chatting with your aunties in the kitchen"

Then she winked at James as if Lily hadn't noticed. Lily blushed again. She understood that her mum was happy that Lily had "found someone nice". She remembered the many times mother and daughter watched romcoms wishing something like that for Lily. "A nice boy, Lily" she used to say "Not a perfect one".

James kept smiling and staring at her without discretion. Sometimes it was hard to maintain eye contact with James Potter.

"So..."

When they both laughed at the same time, Lily was dreaming.

"Are you drunk?" Lily asked suddenly.

"What?" James looked up "No!"

"Good" Lily smiled "I wasn't letting you drive with alcohol in your system"

James raised an eyebrow "Aaw Evans, you care about me?"

Lily couldn't believe she kept blushing like this. It was so embarrassing. But she kind of liked it.

"If you die out there I will be responsible and everyone will blame me. I don't want to carry blood on my hands"

"Selfish reasons?" James laughed "I promise not to die then"

"Good" Lily chuckled. She wanted to say it would be a horrible world without him but contained herself.

Lily had flirted a little over the evening. Which was odd for her, especially with Potter. But it had felt good. Although everytime she was thinking about who she was flirting with, she just couldn't believe it. It was more about pride.

James pushed his glasses up, his cheeks slightly pink when he dared to grab Lily's hand. His skin was warm.

"I had a good time with you tonight" he said, looking into her eyes "Thank you for inviting me"

"Thank you for coming" Lily swallowed "I had a good time as well"

They smiled shyly. James didn’t let go of her hand. She let him. They even played with them swinging them a little. Lily's heart was beating fast. It felt nice to be this close with someone. With a boy.

Although when James leaned in, Lily knew he was going to kiss her. And she panicked. She was a little scared of saying yes to James. To finally giving in and that the magic will go away. That he would no longer like her. Or maybe that she would be another conquer for him. Lily was looking for something more. She wanted so much more. Would James be the right boy for that?

"See you at school, Potter" Lily looked away. Now her whole face was burning.

James looked disappointed but he wasn't angry or anything. He kept smiling at her even if his smile was smaller.

"See you at school, Evans" he replied.

As James put his hands on his pockets, leaving Lily's suddenly cold, and he walked to the door, Lily thought about what would happen with their relationship.

They weren't friends. They weren't strangers. Lately they had gotten along better than before but they still kept bickering. Except for tonight. It seemed like something had changed between them. But it was weird. It wasn't like characters fell in love in the books she read, when there were sparks and romantic music around. Actually Lily didn't know what she actually felt. Maybe desire to start something new.

Lily watched as James walked through the porch and the little patio in front of Lily's house. He turned many times and waved. Lily waved as well. She was still smiling. It was a nice sensation she had inside.

As James reached the street, Lily began closing the door seeing James's figure disappear.

Then Lily felt stupid. She felt a cold shiver on her body. As if something was suddenly missing.

"Come on, Lily" a voice said inside her brain "It is not too late. Do something"

The fact that she was single, that nothing happened to her was because she didn't dare. It happened the same with Luke months ago. She didn't dare. Though now somehow with James she felt braver.

Lily's heart started beating even faster, practically jumping on her chest. She felt a rush of adrenaline as she realized what she wanted to do.

"Fuck it" she murmured to herself and turned quickly to open the door. Lily didn't see James around, and tried not to feel too disappointed as she ran.

She spotted him down the street, hands in pockets and now in the silence of the night, she could hear him happily whistling a random tune. James had to park his Chevy over a bit far because of the amount of guests. But Lily thanked her luck. She could catch him.

Lily smiled thinking she had gone insane and how much she liked it.

"JAMES!" she screamed before he could open the car's door.

James turned with a curious expression. Lily's sudden adrenaline gave her an impulsive to run. Even if her heels were killing her feet at this point.

Lily didn't think as she cut the distance between her and James. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him for a kiss.

It was kind of messy at first because they bumped their mouths. But their lips found a way to tangle together easily. That's when Lily started to enjoy it.

Lily had to pull away for a second just to let out a laugh and catch her breath. James was in shock but he pulled her for another kiss. This was delicate and slow. James touched her waist pulling her closer and she ran her fingers through his hair because she had always wanted to do that. It was so soft. And all hers, all hers, all hers.

When they were out of breath, Lily smiled feeling her face burning. In a good way.

Then she said "Okay, bye" and ran away back to her house before James could say anything else.

She was happy fantasizing about James's reaction to her kiss but didn't dare to look back. She only stopped when she was safe inside her house. She leaned on the door trying to catch some breath and she laughed. Lily was so happy she couldn't hide it.

What she didn't see was James beaming like a little child putting his fists up and jumping as he screamed.

Their first kiss was magical. One on their own. And they would never forget it.

#marauders #maraudersera #muggleau #lily evans #james potter #jily #james x lily #first kiss

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himbocoups · 2 years ago

Text

˗ˋˏ Epistolary Yearning ˎˊ˗ | 18+ Only

synopsis: a series of letters, speckled with notes of budding romance and longing, exchanged between a newly married couple separated by seas and the ongoing war the emperor sent his commander to end.

pairing: duke!lsm x reader (gn afab)

genre: epistolary form, historical fantasy, romance | smut

tags: arranged marriage, mentions of a war, dk and yn accidentally invent the concept of planes, two people very much falling in love | degrading, fingering, guided play, honey play, marking, mirror play, pet names, praise, pussy slapping, riding, spitting, squirting…

wc: 5.13k

message from nu: fueled by my love for historical, fantasy, and isekai manhuas. big thank you to my beta readers (@heartkyeom, @aceofvernons, and @multi-kpop-fanfics) for reading when I was playing with the format of this fic + @junkissed with helping out with the syntax for this one very confusing line I wrote. also summoning @onlyseokmins bc I told her I'd tag her once duke!dk was finished <3

himbocoups's masterlist

Letter One - YN

My Lord,

How are you? I hope your trip is going as smoothly as planned.

It has been a while since I last heard from you. As Summer comes to a fading end, Autumn threatens to wash the foliage to hues of brown and auburn. And I sit at the library nook beside the window, taking quill to parchment against the cover of a heavily bound book and scratching against blank pages before I can muster the courage to write to you. I do sincerely apologize if this attempt seems strange.

Though I pity our brief time together, the only things I familiarized myself with are your scintillant eyes. Maybe instead of feeling as dull as the color of nature, I’ll think about how the color is reminiscent of your eyes. Eyes, these beautiful jewels seem to reflect the light through your smile. I can’t help but imagine myself as the last person to see them every night as I lay beside you as we drift off into slumber. Would it be too forward of me to say that the thought of growing fond of you, not just your eyes, is slowly appealing more and more to me?

However, I do have hesitations as I am left alone to roam these lonely halls in a place so unfamiliar to me. It would be a pity shall I reach familiarity with my surroundings before I become familiar with you. Or even worse, to have you forget your familiarity with me.

Please be safe for me. Hurry home soon.

Letter Two - DK

My Jewel,

For someone who longs for familiarity, you need not create even more distance between us through formalities. And my love, you need not refer to me as your Lord. Love is all I ask for, as love is what you will always be to me. Albeit, I do find it disheartening to read that you think of me so lowly. I could never forget someone as precious as you, even if you do not believe in your preciousness.

Nevertheless, I, too, pity the brevity of our time together. Marriage agreed upon through an exchanging of letters by our guardians, now our marriage follows suit in the epistolary form. Yet no descriptive access through penmanship could ever grant the feeling that blossomed inside me and continues to bloom since I first laid my eyes upon you. And on the eve of the third week of our matrimony, I was whisked away to end the war. I do sincerely apologize for my absence.

On this rocking ship, all I can do is stare into the swirling sea in search of a passing merchant ship with letters to deliver. The birds that soar above me seem to provoke me with their independence, cawing in hearty guffaw at the fact that this poor man can never take flight at any moment back into his lover’s arms - where he feels most at home.

Maybe we should take giant birds instead of ships, soaring in the skies and reaching our destination in an instant. How wondrous that would be.

But I am an equally lonesome Commander among his squadron, a man who keeps the first letter from his lover in the pocket against his breast and his wedding band around his neck. Just thinking about how you were thinking about me while writing that letter, still thinking about me, conciliates any disarray in my mind. And I promise you that I will make you feel loved for the rest of your life, even if our love is only budding.

I will lead my men well. Then I will lead myself home. To you.

Letter Three - YN

My Dokyeom (If it is fine to refer to you in this way),

I do have to admit to my shyness, how my face flushed with heat when you referred to me as your beloved. Your “love”…my goodness, our servants nearly called the doctor over when they saw my state of awe. Although, I do apologize if the language in my initial letter seemed blunt or made you feel even a hint of sadness that I accidentally made you for a man with a cold demeanor.

You wrote: “Maybe we should take giant birds instead of ships, soaring in the skies and reaching our destination in an instant” in our last exchange. What a preposterous idea! But what a new discovery to find that you are as funny as you are charming. Shall we commission a local alchemist to create potions that magnify tiny sparrows to large ships? Or shall I ditch my archery lessons in exchange for nights in your magnificent library, scouring the archives with the hope to find a recipe to an enlarging potion hidden in a romance novel?

Oh, how I wish everything could be as easy as depicted in romance novels or that one Opera we went to watch. Days consume me on end. Not in the way in which I consume much of my leisure time by staying in the places we frequented in our time together, but in the way in which time passes by so slowly it feels like the concept of time is consuming me instead. I wish it were you who were consuming me even though I do feel it through your love. Because I, too, keep your letter near me. And I trace over the areas your quill indented the parchment, so much that I sometimes end up smudging the dried ink with my hand.

I do miss you...even more when everything around me reminds me of you. Because you, who makes silly promises about a budding romance, will also be the receiver of my elementary promise about my slowly collecting love for you.

P.S. They are close to finishing our portraits. I have yet to decide where they are to be hung.

Letter Four - DK

My Love,

My Seokmin. Seok. Min. Mine. Beloved. Love. Dearest. Husband. Equal. Anything but Duke, Lord, Commander, or Dokyeom is welcome. How I wish for the day I get to hear my name leave your lips through a soft murmur, laughter, greeting, whisper, and mayhaps even a whine.

Honeymoon was cut short by my trip across the sea. We are finally on land. In front of me is a crackling campfire whose glow conceals the redness of my cheeks, dappled with jubilance from reading your last letter.

My dearest shy and humble lover whose metaphoric propositions of love are anything but reticent, I have annotated my favorite portions and circled words that I replay in my mind as a source of comfort. However, like what you did with your quotation of my imaginary bird ship, I must reference a few nuances in your letter that I find interesting. Particularly, I find that you must be careful in formatting your syntax, my beloved — for your way of language is enough to drive a sane man mad. Just think of me: a sane man before I had you and now a man slowly falling madly in love with you.

Referring back to how time achingly consumes you, your “I wish it were you who were consuming me. Although I do feel it through your love” causes me to quiver in a way that is only shared between two lovers. I am a man whose honeymoon was interrupted by the king’s call, a man who is weeks without his lover, a man who has needs - desires. And your need for me to consume you? I can only pluck it out of context.

If everything around you reminds you of me, then I must tell you that I hope your reminder does not make you suffer as how I suffer. My love, do you know how painful it was to lay in my bed while the ship continually rocked back and forth? It was reminiscent of our second week together when you decided to mount me in bed, your beautiful opalescent undergarment covering an action so lewd that it could never be named in public. Yet I was a man on a ship with his aching cock in his hand, imagining his newly beloved on top of him who squeezes him tightly as they ride his lap.

No hand could ever replace the fervor of having you rock me, leaning forward to kiss me down my naked chest while sucking and licking the thin area of skin right above my collarbone. How warmly your walls enveloped my own, squeezing and contrasting with every glide you make. I couldn’t help but twitch in you, trying to hold in my selfishness by grabbing onto your thighs - kneading and feeling the skin fill the areas between my fingers. But you bounced on my lap like a bunny in heat, causing my hands to trail further upwards until they lay on your ass…I wanted to worship you by turning myself into a throne, a marble stand so others could be in awe of you for centuries to come.

Mouth unable to talk, your kitten drooled onto my lap and coated the surface with liquid lust while you whimpered as I praised you for treating me so well. I scooped the syrup from the maple tap and brought it to my mouth to suck; even now I can still feel your sweet syrup rest on my tongue and swirl in my mouth. Yet there I was on that boat, losing my mind with my hand on my tap. Bed sheets soaked with my sweat, I could only imagine that it was your sweat-glistened skin that stuck against mine. It was but a shame, and still is but a shame, that the image of you collapsed against my chest with exhaustion when your thighs trembled with such a quake only exists as a memory. How long would it take for me to turn the memory of me looping my arms around your back and pushing your upper body against mine, feeling you build and crash through a scream, into our reality?

The land is no better than the sea. Truly, it must be treason to think such impure thoughts while riding on my finest stallion to head to our base. I am a Commander, a Duke for God’s sake. But the bouncing, the clopping - oh, beloved, my skin pricked with heat so much that I thought bandits were ambushing us. The pain I felt while I waited for my swelling to go down - I am utterly embarrassed to admit I almost released while riding in front of my men.

How I wish I could come running back home to you. Shall I single-handedly overturn the monarchy so we can be equal partners to the throne? So that we can be rulers who need not leave our estate? Just give me the word, and the empire will be yours. Then I would never need to leave your side. That I guarantee.

P.S. Hang the portrait wherever you please. Perhaps the ballroom so I would always be with you during the night of the balls.

Letter Five - YN

My King,

How mad of you to write such vulgarities, to suggest usurping the throne only if it means being able to stay with me. You are a Commander. You are a Duke. You are one of the King’s men. Do you not fear the inevitable consequences that you would face should your letter be opened by anybody other than myself? Do you not fear what would happen to you if your lust-driven joke was wrongly taken for treason? I must say that despite everything, I found myself dipping a finger into your words and listening to my juices sing your letter like lyrics.

Your words comforted my ache at my core, skillfully fighting fire with fire to extinguish my burning forest. However, if you were to turn into a mere object – a chair, a throne, a stand – I would never be satisfied in your worship. ‘Tis true that I would like to be worshiped by you like the first time your palm cupped my face in private confinement under the shade of the gazebo in the garden. With nobody around us, your face softened to reveal the most beautiful smile I have ever seen. Earnest eyes flittered to and fro as you studied me in awe and whispered words of praise. Up until then, I never even knew you could worship a person such as me. Yet, you, a mere stranger I met a few hours ago, placed a kiss upon my lips as soft as the petals on the flowers that surrounded us.

If worshipping me means an inanimate you, I don’t think there would be anybody who could worship me with such sincerity and reason as you do…and I quite like the animate you even if the animate you screamed at the bug upon your sleeve. I couldn’t stop laughing then. And when you looked back at me with those bashful eyes, I knew this would be a marriage filled with laughter.

Laughter, as I have recently learned, doesn’t only exist jovially. No. Reading your comment about my syntax, I almost erupted in a peal of sinister laughter. My poor lover with his cock in his hand and his quill in his other and his attempt to warn someone with such an extensive educational background about their syntax…you are too pure for this world. Should it make you feel better in any way, I have also thought about you in ways such a person in my stature should never.

The other day when I was particularly distracted by the particular “unease” that had been building inside me, I accidentally launched a practice arrow into the wind. Chasing it, I happened upon our agriculture stables where the young workers sit and milk our cows. I swear, I must have been in such a delusional state to feel such a rush just from watching the motion of our cows getting milked that I ran off to the kitchens without picking up my stray arrow.

Can you believe it, my dear? Have you been thinking of me differently since I admitted to almost leaking when I saw the cows getting milked? Would you think of me even differently if I told you I thought of you while talking to our ice sculptors? If you can quench my thirst on my loneliest days, I can only imagine what taking you in paired with ice would feel like for both you and me.

Mayhaps, we should convene in the kitchen at night after the bell strikes twelve when all of our kitchen staff have retired. I want to kiss you with cherry-stained lips, watching tint transfer onto yours as I play with the seed of the fruit in my mouth while I wait for our cups of tea to steep. Kissing, I hope, would act as an analgesic for your painfully sleepless nights. Still, I find it abstruse that a kind, gentle, and good man like you would live such a cathartic life as a commander. Enerverated in every way as I am, I can only offer a somnolent kiss in hopes of luring you to sleep before your tea can fully steep.

“What is a man without his honey,” you would say. Then I would ask you to specify what type of honey you are referring to.

You would reply with this cheekiness in your voice while your lips pull into a wide smile, “the syrup.” If I’m not wrong, you would peck the top of my head while you reach over me to grab the jar that the cook keeps at the counter for you to easily access. Because the man with a honeyed siren voice that often procures lullabies for me to fall asleep also has a taste for the pollinators’ syrup.

As you can tell…we are not simple people. We are not a regular couple. We have exchanged letters for longer than we have physically been together. So when I tell you to close your eyes to try to find your honey, would you? If I blindfolded you with a kitchen towel and told you to search for the dab of honey I swatched on my body, could you do it? Would you go to the lengths just to search for the honey to your tea?

Would you use your nose and sniff along my skin, searching for the floral and fruity aroma? Gently picking up my arm and bringing it to your nose, would you gently guide your nose along the surface of my skin in a position so intimate that you feel my arm hairs tickle the tip of your nose? Would you guide your nose upwards along my arm until you arrive at my collarbone, sniffing and docilely licking areas you think to be as sweet as honey?

Imploring you in your reconnoiter, I must keep quiet as I watch you blindly explore every groove of the topography of my body. I imagine myself tilting my head towards the side to allow you access to the side of my neck, sharply breathing in as you nose the area in which I am the most sensitive. I see you hesitate for a second before planting your supple lips against the skin as if to sample before making a decision. To your surprise, what coats your lips in a sticky and sweet amber gloss is the honey I placed on my neck slowly trailing towards my collarbone. And I watch you intently as you lick it off your lips, leaving a translucent liquid sheen.

Affected by a magnetic lure, you would somehow find yourself in front of me, your head positioned right above the slowly trailing bead of honey. It starts with a lick, hot tongue against cold skin. I can’t help but feel how the bumpy texture of your tongue cleans and pulls its way up my neck. After the hot saliva hits cold air, you take off the kitchen towel and look at me like a puppy waiting for its owner.

“Such a good boy,” I murmur as I take the towel from your hand and wrap it around the nape of your neck to pull you in closer. “How does it taste?”

What is more, is that I hope that in that moment my heart is not the only one that is beating as fast as how a hummingbird flaps its wings. My greedy husband, you back me against the kitchen island until you are pressed firmly against me as I watch and feel you bite and suck a garden of flowers across my neck and chest. Your large hands find themselves around my thighs, kneading and squeezing them so much that the fabric of my night clothes bunch in the palm of your hands. So I maneuver your hands around my waist, and you spin me around and bend me against that counter so I can feel you push yourself against me.

“Be good for me,” you would command while undressing me.

Then I would feel it, hands spreading my legs and fingers prying my ass apart, and then your warm and flat tongue against my kitten. One single lick would make my knees buckle. But you eating me out from behind, the way you knead my ass while you take your time swirling your tongue against my lips and lapping up my juices would make me come in an instant. Your tongue presses against my nub while your nose digs itself into my opening almost to the point where you’re fucking me with the tip of your nose, yet it is me who begs for air. And you keep my liquid on your tongue as you rise from your knees to pull my head back until I’m looking at you and your swollen and burgundy lips with my head tilted backward.

And you pry my mouth open with your hand and watch me catch that sweet honey on the tip of my tongue.

My dear, I am much too hot to even think about what comes after you let go of my jaw. My tenses in this letter are all mixed up because I’m so caught up in my delusions that I mistake dreams for reality. I feel ashamed to revert to such elementary composition when I am clouded by lust. But in this sensory game of wits, who do you think would win — the explorer or the explored?

P.S. I’ve had our painting temporarily hung in our dining room as I cannot even bring myself to think about the possibility of hosting a ball without you. The great ballroom has been collecting dust since the first month you left for the war. Besides, invitations to the first ball of the season have long been sent out. I attended and made some acquaintances. Are you proud of me? Are you missing me as much as I am missing you?

Letter Six - DK

My Sweet,

Loneliness is when you are trapped by your stillness while everything around you splits into two and crumbles. And you are stuck in the open space of where everything once was, you in your bubble of muteness as the world crashes and breaks in a cacophonous roar. The feeling that engulfed me during these past few months was beyond my description of loneliness. So with a happy heart, I am telling you that the war is over. I’m coming home soon to hold you in my arms, to show you what this world that surrounds you is truly like — delicate and with the warmth of a glowing morning Sun that promises juvenescent Springs until the end of time.

Regarding your question about the potential winner of the sensory game you described in your last letter, whether I am the person exploring or explored, I know I would always be the victor as only a true victor can call you “his.” My sweet love, I hope to stick by your side as long as I prefer honey in my tea and you by my side when I sleep.

However, with a slightly interruptive transition, I have a few requests regarding the contents of your postscript. That is:

One, I am wholly and with every fiber of my mind, soul, and body proud of you. You, my shyest lover who sought friendship in your moments of loneliness, I love you so. Yet I find myself utterly in distress that I cannot co-host our tea parties until later should you hold one in a few days. Our estate is boring, and it must be tiring seeing the same things and people every day for the past few months. I urge you to go out more and explore so I can come home to plentiful stories told in your voice. I want to fall asleep to your descriptions so I can dream of how you see the world around you.

Two, of course, I am missing you. Even if I were a few yards away from you, I would still miss you. I am currently bothering our treasurer in regards to spending the rest of our budget on a winter wonderland in which we would freeze the entire world so I could easily and quickly sled back home like a seal off an iceberg. However, our treasurer is insistent on saving the budget for lodging, travel, and sustenance. I, for one, think I am right.

Three, I think this might be my last letter in a while as when this stack of parchments finally reaches you, I would almost be home. So I am struggling between keeping this short and straight to the point or long and thoroughly eloquent with everything that I want to write and say to you. Instead of coming to a conclusion by myself, I bid you farewell until we meet again with this set of instructions within my set of requests for you. I’m sorry if the format of my letter makes it very hard for you to read. Like how you described your delusions, I often find myself alone at night imagining you by my side so much that I feel your physical presence next to me.

Four, as for our portrait in our dining room, I must ask you to perform a favor for me as I have not seen the finished painting myself. It is a test regarding the “likeness” of our portraits that can only be performed by yourself. When you wish to perform the test before I arrive, please excuse all our staff who stay by your side during dinner and ask to eat alone. Should they give you looks, please say that it was requested by me.

When you are alone, I need you to get into a position in which you can look at yourself through the large mirror that is mounted above the low mantle towards the end of the dining room table. I assume our portrait is hung on the wall at the other side of the dining room table, am I right? If you move the plates and sit on the table, you should be able to look at both your entire body and our portrait through the mirror. Do not worry about making a mess my dear.

Perhaps this test may be a little lewd for a dinner setting. But after your proposed rendezvous in the kitchen in your last letter, I suppose this test would be nothing to you.

Look at yourself in the mirror. Can you imagine me behind you, slowly kissing down your neck as I undress you while the candlelights flicker beside us? Our shadows cast against the walls that surround us tell the story of two lovers slowly conjoining into one. And I sit you against the front of my naked body, bending your legs and positioning them so you can see all of you through the mirror.

My love, can you see your lips unfold into a beautiful bloom, leaking with its sweet nectar for your man to taste? The sweet nectar, the glistening substitute to the honey our staff brought alongside our dinner rolls, rolls off the flower and soaks the tablecloth beneath you. Tonight I am not doing anything except revel in your beauty like a man awestruck by something so exquisite that he cannot do anything but stare.

I want you to imagine that the same me in the portrait is the me you imagine to be behind you, the very me who writes this letter and instructs you on how to pleasure yourself for the night. Suck on your own fingers, my darling. Bring your fingers to your lips, and let me see the way you ready yourself before the pleasure comes. Because what I want is for you to fuck yourself well for me so that after you’ve squirted all over the dining table your pussy continues to throb so much that you confuse it for your beating heart.

Don’t be shy. Bring your soaked fingers to your folds, and trace along the lines of the petals. Look at how they seemingly open and close as your stomach jerks in reaction. Slowly rub yourself up and down, coaxing that beautiful sigh that I know too well out of your mouth. Feel the pads of your finger mix with your juices, slipping easily and making your hand glide smoother.

Are you looking at me through the mirror? Are you begging me to instruct you in other ways to satisfy your lust? Do you want to rub your pearl and flick it with your finger in a way that makes you clench and collapse?

What is it, honey? Are you whining for me to make you feel good? But this is your guided session. Don’t you see yourself through the mirror, so pathetic looking that you would do anything that I tell you to do? Then take that same hand you used to tease yourself and slap your pussy for me. Bring the hand back and bring it down on your pussy quickly and with so much might that the sound of palm against tender skin echoes throughout the empty dining room.

Don’t you feel pathetic? Getting off from you slapping your own pussy? Doesn’t it please you and make feel so dirty at the same time? When you’re striking your palm against your pussy over and over as your other hand unconsciously reaches upwards to knead your sore nipple, are you looking at yourself through the mirror? Are you still imagining me sitting behind you on our dining table, whispering and taunting you as you attempt to come undone? If your head is not completely clouded with lust, when that pussy is throbbing with such pain and pleasure, you will take your finger to your entrance and insert it slowly so you feel your warm and wet insides slowly swallow your finger the further in it goes.

Let your mouth hang open as you plug yourself with another finger. Fill the lonely dining room with your sweet moans for me. Listen to your kitten squelch and leak the more you pump yourself so that a warm and hot feeling grows in your stomach, making you clench your body tighter and tighter. Scissor your fingers, and fill up that empty space where my cock usually rests. When you release, pull out your fingers as you come on the tablecloth and look at the cream I miss the most.

You’re so perfect, you know that? You’d look even more perfect when you’re on your knees with your fingers underneath you and inside of you. Bounce for me my sweet, ride your own fingers as if you’re riding me. Massage yourself with your other hand, grabbing and kneading your breasts and your nipples as I do for you. Can you see yourself through the mirror more clearly when you’re in this position? Do you see how messy and needy you look while you’re pathetically riding your own fingers? Do you wish they were mine? Do you wish they were my thighs?

Open your eyes for me as you reach another wave of ecstasy. Look at me in the eyes, the man painted next to your glowing figure as you reach your last high. I know you can do it. Scream my name if you love me, and squirt as if your pussy was crying for the man you love.

Turn your head around when you’ve caught your breath. Look at our portrait. Do you see how I’m smiling at you?

I’m proud of you, my love. Thank you for holding on for so long. I’ll be home soon.

P.S. I love you.

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