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fideozepam · 3 months ago

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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐎𝐛𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𑣿ྀིྀ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞

As the afternoon passes, the Augusta lets Camilla know of her invitation to a private dinner for talking matters. The temple prepares for the ceremony of the next day, and Camilla's stomach twists with the unknown groom. Her thoughts linger on a hauntingly vivid dream from the night before, its lingering touch both unsettling and strangely magnetic.

tw: +18 (f!masturbation , sexual mentions)

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The stillness of Camilla's first night in Rome was deceptive. Though the chamber was silent and her body exhausted, her mind refused to rest. Every noise - the rustling of the curtains, the creak of distant footsteps; seemed amplified, keeping her on edge. Eventually, sleep claimed her, but it was uneasy, her body restless under the weight of the unfamiliar bed.

A shiver passed through her as she stirred faintly, her brows knitting together.

Somewhere in her half-consciousness, she registered movement—a shift in the air, as though someone else had entered the room.

Then, a touch.

Light at first, grazing the outside of her leg through the sheet. She turned slightly in her sleep murmuring softly and the touch stilled, as though waiting. It resumed a moment later, firmer now, trailing upward with deliberate slowness.

She didn't wake.

The bed dipped under the weight of another presence. Warmth radiated beside her, drawing her body toward it even in slumber. A hand slipped under the covers, its path unrelenting and assured, resting on her hip for a moment before gliding lower, lightly moving to in between her thighs, slithering his digits over her core. Her breath hitched.

"Shh," a low voice whispered near her ear, rich and smooth, like a serpent winding through the dark.

Her lips parted, her chest rising and falling with the erratic rhythm of someone caught between dream and reality. The voice continued, its tone laced with dark amusement.

"I expected more fight from you."

A shadow loomed above her, moonlight illuminating his erratic features - an angular jaw, a mouth curved into something between a smirk and a snarl. A name whispered at the edge of her thoughts, but it dissolved as his lips descended on her neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

His fingers slid through her slick folds, coating themselves in her readiness. He pressed one against her tight entrance, testing her - she was already wet, already opening. A slight whimper escaped her as he pushed in, feeling her inner walls pulse and hug his finger.

As her thighs fell open wider, he slipped a second finger inside her, stretching her tight channel. A loud, impure moan tore from her throat as she felt herself being filled, her hips bucking slightly to take him deeper.

His hand moved with purpose, claiming her completely. She shifted beneath him as her body betrayed her. Pleasure pooled in her core, building with every touch, every kiss pressed to her jawline, her collarbone, and lower still.

"You're mine," he murmured against her skin, his voice low but undeniable.

The words sank into her, pulling her deeper into the haze of sensation. He pistoned his fingers in and out of her at a rapid pace, his palm slamming into her swollen bud with each thrust. Her inner walls convulsed around his digits, trying to pull them deeper as a third finger joined the first two.

His lips crushed to hers, his tongue darting in to tangle with hers as he deepened the kiss, swallowing her moans. His fingers continued to thrust in and out of her, curling slightly to hit that spot inside her that would make her see stars.

Her body trembled as the tension inside her threatened to shatter. And just as her release crept closer, her eyes snapped open.

The room was empty.

Moonlight was gone, replaced by the muted gray of dawn creeping through the curtains. Her breaths came fast and shallow, her heart racing like she'd run a great distance.

She sat up, clutching the sheet to her chest and looking down at what she felt was a pool in her core.

Her hand was between her legs.

A sharp gasp escaped her as she pulled it away, her face burning. She stared at her trembling fingers, the vivid sensations still etched into her skin.

It was a dream. It had to be.

But the voice lingered in her mind, low and velvety, like an echo she couldn't silence.

Her heart sank, shame and confusion warring within her. She shook her head, rising from the bed and trying in vain to leave the memory - and its lingering shadows behind.

When the sun fully broke over the horizon, spilling golden light into every corner of the room, Camilla forced herself upright.

Her limbs felt heavy, her body still attuned to the ghostly sensations of her dream.

She smoothed her robes, fingers lingering on the fabric as if grounding herself in reality. Walking barefoot to the tall windows, she let her gaze wander to the sprawling gardens outside, their ordered beauty a stark contrast to the chaos within her.

The chamber itself was equally breathtaking, though she hadn't truly noticed it the night before. Now, her eyes traced the strong columns that reached toward the domed ceiling, the rich wood of the furniture, and the intricate carvings on the golden window brims. Every detail spoke of power, of wealth, of Rome itself.

A sharp knock on the door startled her, followed by its smooth opening. A small group of seamstresses and servants entered, their hands full of folded silks, jewelry, and gilded belts. They bowed slightly before addressing her.

"It is time for your fitting, domina," one of them said, her voice polite but firm.

Camilla's heart raced-not from the dream this time, but from the reminder of her reality. Today was no ordinary day. This was the day she would face them: Julia Domna, Caracalla, and Geta. The imperial family. Her future.

As the women worked quickly, fitting her into layer upon layer of white and gold silk, Camilla forced herself to remain still, her mind a storm of thoughts. She couldn't shake the haunting intimacy of her dream, nor the voice that had whispered so softly to her.

Who had it been? And why did the thought of his hands, his touch, stir something within her that she could not name?

But she buried it, as she buried so much else.

Camilla stood still as attendants adjusted the tunica recta, its simple, ivory folds a stark contrast to the intricate golden belt cinched tightly at her waist. The attendants cooed over her beauty, praising her features and the way the fabric draped perfectly over her frame.

She gazed into the polished bronze mirror before her, and for the first time, the reality of her situation pressed down on her like a physical weight. She had spent years yearning to escape Lusitania, with its predictable days and stifling routine. Yet now, as she prepared to leave, her chest ached with a longing for everything she had taken for granted.

She thought of the fields near her home where she used to read, the familiar hum of cicadas in the summer, and most of all, her mother. Her mother had barely spoken a word since their arrival in Rome, keeping her emotions tightly bound. But this silence hurt more than any words could.

Camilla had grown up under her mother's gentle guidance, and now the thought of leaving her behind felt like a wound she could not tend to.

One of the attendants adjusted the flammeum, the orange veil that would cover her during the ceremony. The color symbolized fire and protection, but Camilla could only see it as a veil of separation—a final barrier between her old life and the one she was about to enter.

The door opened quietly, and Julia Domna entered with the grace of someone accustomed to commanding attention without raising her voice. Her expression was serene, her dark eyes sweeping the room before settling on Camilla.

"Beautiful," Julia said softly, her voice carrying a warmth that felt both maternal and calculated. She approached slowly, her gaze appraising. "The robe suits you well. You will make a striking bride."

Camilla dipped her head in acknowledgment. "You are kind, my lady."

Julia smiled faintly, gesturing for the seamstresses to step back. "Kindness has little to do with it. Beauty, when wielded wisely, is a powerful tool. You would do well to remember that, Camilla."

There was a pause, the weight of Julia's words settling in the room. Then, as if changing the subject entirely, she continued. "This evening, there will be a private dinner - just the four of us. It is rare for my sons to sit together without the Senate or generals at their heels. I thought it fitting that you should join us."

Camilla blinked, her brow furrowing slightly. "The four of us?"

"Caracalla, Geta, myself, and you." Julia's tone was even, but there was a glimmer of something in her eyes-an unspoken expectation. "A family should begin as they mean to continue, don't you agree?"

"I... suppose so," Camilla replied carefully.

Julia stepped closer, adjusting a fold of the fabric on Camilla's shoulder with deliberate precision. "I thought you might. Wear something bold, but tasteful. A quiet strength will serve you well in their company."

She met Camilla's gaze in the mirror, her hands resting briefly on the younger woman's shoulders. "This union is not merely a ceremony, Camilla. It is a political alliance — a delicate one. Tonight, you will see just how delicate."

Without another word, Julia turned and glided toward the door, her movements unhurried but purposeful. The seamstresses resumed their work as if her presence had been a fleeting breeze.

Camilla watched her go, the faint pressure of her words lingering like the touch of a hand.

The dining room carried an air of restrained opulence, its rounded table gleaming beneath the soft glow of oil lamps. Cushioned benches lined its curve, inviting yet unforgiving in their role as witnesses to this evening's delicate dance.

Camilla arrived last, as Julia had instructed, her blue stola trailing softly behind her, catching the dim light like moonlight on water.

Julia Domna was already seated, her sharp eyes narrowing in a measured smile as Camilla approached. Across from her, Caracalla lounged, his posture both commanding and disinterested, while Geta sat beside him, his goblet tilted lazily in his hand. It felt almost like entering an arena, though the stakes were less about blood and more about survival-a test of wit, grace, and resilience.

"Come, sit," Julia gestured to the place beside her, the tone as much an order as it was an invitation.

Camilla lowered herself carefully, the rustle of fabric the only sound until Julia spoke again, "We're all eager to know you better."

A nod from Caracalla followed, though his gaze remained locked on the flickering lamp before him. Geta, on the other hand, regarded her openly, his lips twitching into something that wasn't quite a smile but lingered in the realm of curiosity.

"How do you find Rome so far?" Julia's voice sliced through the tension, her words gilded with diplomacy.

Camilla hesitated, her fingers curling slightly in her lap. "Grand, Augusta. More than I could've imagined."

Caracalla's scoff was quiet but audible, drawing her eyes. "Grand," he echoed, rolling the word off his tongue like a jest.

"You've barely seen anything of it." His eyes flicked toward her then, sharp and assessing, lingering just long enough to make her shift beneath his gaze. "But I suppose grand suits someone like you."

Camilla's jaw tightened, though she smiled softly, a carefully placed mask. "I'm eager to see more, Caesar."

Julia watched the exchange with a gleam in her eye, interjecting smoothly, "I trust you'll make her feel at home, won't you, my son?"

Caracalla inclined his head, a dark smile tugging at his lips. "Of course, mother. Who better to ensure she learns where she belongs?"

Geta shifted beside him, his grip tightening on the goblet. "And what exactly is that supposed to mean?" His tone was light, but the words were edged with something sharper.

Caracalla's gaze slid to his brother, a lazy smirk curling at the corner of his mouth.

"Only that Rome can be overwhelming for the inexperienced. It's good to have someone... firm to guide her."

The air grew heavy, the tension crackling like distant thunder. Julia observed silently, her gaze darting between her sons, and then to Camilla, who sat poised, though her hands trembled slightly in her lap.

"Camilla," Geta's voice cut through, drawing her attention. "I heard Lusitania is known for its poets. Do you write yourself?"

His question was simple, but his voice carried a warmth that had been missing from the table. Camilla blinked, surprised by the shift, and nodded. "A little. My father encouraged it."

"What kind of verses?" Geta pressed, leaning forward ever so slightly, his expression softening in a way that seemed foreign to him.

Camilla hesitated, the weight of their eyes pressing on her, but Julia gave her a small, almost imperceptible nod. "Verses about the sea, mostly," she answered. "About its stillness... and its storms."

Geta's gaze lingered, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face, before he raised his goblet. "To storms, then," he said quietly, taking a sip.

Caracalla's laugh broke the fragile moment, low and cutting. "How poetic. Perhaps we'll make a poetess of Rome's newest bride."

Julia's voice rose like a whip, silencing him with its precision. "Enough." Her voice rose like a whip, silencing Caracalla with precision. "We are here to welcome Camilla, not to tear her apart. You'll remember that tomorrow marks a new beginning for this family, won't you?"

Caracalla inclined his head, though the smirk didn't fade entirely. "Of course, mother. Who am I to defy a command?"

Julia sighed and turned to Camilla, her tone softening. "You've had a long day. I think we'll end here. My sons have much to prepare for tomorrow, and I'm sure you do as well."

Camilla nodded, pushing herself to her feet. "Thank you for your hospitality, Augusta."

She made to leave, but Caracalla rose suddenly, the scraping of his chair against the stone floor loud enough to make her pause.

"Walk with me," he said, his voice light yet carrying an undertone that made her hesitate.

Julia raised a sharp brow but said nothing.

Camilla glanced toward Geta, whose gaze was already fixed on his brother, his jaw tight. For a moment, the tension between them felt like a knife hovering just above the table.

Caracalla's eyes remained on Camilla, daring her to refuse. After a beat, she nodded, her movements stiff as she followed him out into the corridor.

The air in the hallway was cooler, the flickering torches casting elongated shadows against the marble walls. Camilla felt her pulse quicken as Caracalla walked beside her, his strides slow and measured, his hands clasped behind his back.

"You're quiet," he remarked, his tone casual, as though they were merely acquaintances and not two people entangled in the web of an imperial dynasty.

"I've been taught to listen before I speak," she replied, keeping her gaze forward.

He let out a low laugh, the sound vibrating through the empty hall. "How obedient. But listening too much can leave one blind to opportunity."

Camilla stopped, forcing herself to look at him. "And speaking too much can leave one deaf to reason."

For a moment, he said nothing, his eyes narrowing slightly as he regarded her.

Then, to her surprise, he smiled — not the smirk she'd come to recognize, but something softer, though no less erratic. "You're sharper than I expected."

"Thank you," she said evenly, though the compliment felt more like a trap.

He stepped closer, the air between them growing thin. "Do you know why you're here, Camilla?"

"To serve Rome," she replied without hesitation, the answer one she'd rehearsed countless times.

Caracalla's smile widened, but it didn't reach his eyes. "To serve Rome," he repeated, his voice dropping into something almost mocking. "And do you think Rome will serve you in return?"

She stiffened, the weight of his words pressing on her chest. "I don't expect anything," she said finally.

"Good," he murmured, his gaze dipping briefly to her lips before snapping back up. "Because Rome doesn't serve. It takes."

Before she could respond, another voice cut through the corridor.

"Camilla."

She turned to see Geta standing at the end of the hallway, his expression unreadable.

"Come with me," he said, his tone calm but firm.

Caracalla chuckled under his breath, stepping back. "So gallant," he said softly, though his voice carried easily to his brother. "Take care, Camilla." With that, he turned on his heel and disappeared into the shadows.

Camilla hesitated, her pulse still racing as she walked toward Geta. He said nothing as she approached, only turning and leading her down a different corridor. The silence between them was heavy, broken only by the soft sound of their footsteps.

When they reached the door to her chamber, he stopped, his hand resting on the handle.

"Are you all right?" he asked finally, his voice low.

She blinked, surprised by the question.

"I'm fine."

He nodded, though his eyes lingered on her for a moment longer than necessary.

Then, without another word, he opened the door for her. "Rest well," he said, his tone distant as he stepped back, allowing her to pass.

Camilla paused in the doorway, her chest tightening with words she couldn't bring herself to say. Instead, she nodded and stepped inside, the door closing softly behind her.

As she stood alone in the quiet of her chamber, the events of the evening replayed in her mind, each moment weighed down by unspoken tension. She let out a shaky breath, her hands trembling as she moved toward the bed.

Rome didn't serve. It took.

And she was beginning to feel the truth of those words more deeply than she'd expected.

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ijustmissyouraccenths · 10 months ago

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I Want To Kill Her (Part 2)

Au where Y/N and Harry are neighbors who find out their spouses are cheating with each other.

Based off Fortnight by Taylor Swift

Part 1

CW: Smut, cursing, unprotected sex, emotional abuse.

Word Count: 10,085

The months following the gut-wrenching discovery of Teddy's affair were a chaotic storm of emotions and turmoil. The idea of my spouse, the person I trusted most in this world, being unfaithful was unbearable. But without any concrete evidence, doubt enveloped me like a thick fog, suffocating me as I struggled to regain my footing. Though I desperately wanted to believe he wasn't cheating, the blatant signs and whispers from those around us made it impossible to deny the painful truth.

Rage and heartbreak battle within me as I struggle to forgive Teddy, to find a way to salvage our relationship. But each attempt is met with the painful memories of his infidelity, burning like acid through my veins. I'm terrified of losing my British citizenship, my sense of identity and belonging, if I leave him. And even worse, I dread the thought of calling my family and confessing the truth - that not only did Teddy betray me with another woman, but in some sick twisted way, I am also to blame. My family adored him like a son, and he gave me a life beyond my wildest dreams. How could I ever reconcile these conflicting emotions?

Harry's sudden decision to divorce Rosie sent shockwaves through the once peaceful fortress of their home. In just a week, he had packed his bags and walked away, leaving behind a cold and empty shell that was now up for sale. As new potential buyers roamed the halls, I couldn't help but feel a sense of betrayal from Harry's abrupt departure. The last time I saw him was in a dingy motel room, where we spent a desperate night together before he vanished without a trace. His disappearance was calculated and cruel, fueled by his seemingly endless wealth and power. Meanwhile, I was left with nothing but uncertainty and the option to return home to Florida. But Harry's resentment only grew as I hesitated to make a final decision. He wanted me to walk away with no regrets, but real life is messy and complicated - far from the neat and tidy ending he desired.

I was trapped in a prison of a house, held captive by a man who claimed to love me but had truly only created a tangled web of chaos and pain. We forced ourselves into therapy every week, desperate to salvage something from the wreckage he had caused. But even after all the sessions, I still felt like I was drowning in the suffocating grip of his selfishness. It was never enough, and I could feel my sanity slipping away with each passing day.

Evenings rolled into nights and days blurred into months. Each moment seemed agonizingly long as I begged time to fly quicker, to wash away the stale taste of betrayal and deception from my existence. The house that once echoed with laughter and love now felt eerily silent, its walls whispering Teddy's betrayal during the quietest hours. My heart ached in ways I never knew possible, each pulse a reminder of the pain he had caused.

In a bid for relief, I threw myself into cooking elaborate meals, organising closets, watering the drooping plants Teddy had once loved. Yet every activity was tainted with the memory of him - his laughter rings in my mind as I repeat chores we used to do together. It was a desperate plight to keep myself sane amidst the storm that threatened to break me down.

Teddy's unfaithfulness took its toll on my spirit, but Harry's abandonment shattered me entirely. I played over our last night together again and again in my mind. There was something feral about that night; lust mixed with desperation and an underlying tone of finality. He left without any explanation, disappearing like a ghost only leaving behind the faint scent of his cologne and a raw wound that refused to heal.

The cracks were beginning to show. Laughter seemed forced, smiles rarely reached my eyes. The weekly therapy sessions felt more like an interrogation than relief, talks of my own explicit night replaying session after session. Hours spent scrutinizing every detail of our dysfunctional relationship only amplified my misery. Every shared secret, every stolen glance, every whispered promise – all now seemed meaningless and distorted under the harsh scrutiny of reality.

In the end, it was not Teddy who broke me; it was me who had allowed myself to be broken by him. My judgment clouded by love hindered me from seeing the man he truly was – a master manipulator cloaked in charm and charisma. The truth was painful to accept but liberating in its own cruel way. I was no longer in denial. I was no longer the woman who would bend over backwards to accommodate the whims of unfaithful men. I was stronger than my heartbreak, stronger than their deceit. And most importantly, I learned the toughest lesson of my life – not all love is meant to be cherished; sometimes, it's better left discarded.

As I sat in the therapist's office, the stark white walls closing in around me, my voice cracked as I attempted to verbalize the turmoil within me. "I just don't understand how it got to this point," I admitted, tears threatening to spill over.

Dr. Richards leaned forward, her gentle gaze meeting mine with empathy. "It sounds like you've been through a lot of pain and betrayal," she said softly. "But remember, healing begins with acknowledging the truth."

I nodded, wiping away a stray tear that escaped down my cheek. "I know, but it's so hard to let go of everything that was once so real to me."

Dr. Richards offered a kind smile. "It's okay to feel that way. It's all a part of the process." She paused before continuing, "Have you considered what you need to do to move forward from this?"

I took a deep breath, the weight of the question settling heavily on my shoulders. "I... I think I need to start by forgiving myself for allowing this to happen. For not seeing the signs sooner."

The words hung in the air between us, heavy with unspoken pain and regret. Dr. Richards reached out and placed a comforting hand on mine. "Forgiveness is a powerful tool, both for yourself and for others," she said gently.

I closed my eyes, trying to hold back the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm me. "But how do I forgive someone who shattered me into a million pieces?" I whispered, my voice barely audible.

Dr. Richards' voice was steady and reassuring as she replied, "Forgiveness doesn't mean forgetting or excusing their actions. It means releasing the hold they have over your heart and mind."

As I sat there, grappling with the weight of forgiveness, a million thoughts raced through my mind. Dr. Richards' words lingered like a balm on my wounded soul, but the path to healing still seemed daunting.

"I understand that forgiveness is crucial, but how do I even begin to untangle the mess he left behind?" I asked, my voice wavering with uncertainty.

Dr. Richards leaned back in her chair, her expression thoughtful. "It's a process, one step at a time," she said gently. "Start by acknowledging your pain and allowing yourself to feel it without judgment."

Tears welled up in my eyes as I nodded, the emotions swirling inside me threatening to spill over. "It's just so hard to let go of the anger and hurt," I confessed.

She nodded in understanding. "Anger is a natural response to betrayal, but holding onto it only prolongs your pain. Remember, forgiveness is not for his benefit, but for yours."

Her words struck a chord deep within me, resonating with a truth I had been avoiding. "I want to move forward, but I don't know where to begin," I admitted, feeling lost in the sea of my own emotions.

Dr. Richards reached for a tissue and handed it to me with a gentle smile. "Start by being gentle with yourself," she advised. "Forgiveness is a gift you give yourself, a release from the burden of carrying someone else's actions."

I took the tissue gratefully, wiping away my tears as her words sank in. "I never thought of it that way," I murmured, feeling a glimmer of hope amidst the pain.

She gave my hand a reassuring squeeze. "You are stronger than you realize. Forgiveness is not about condoning what he did; it's about setting yourself free from his grip on your heart."

As I sat there, enveloped in Dr. Richards' compassion and wisdom, a sense of peace washed over me. The road to forgiveness may be long and arduous, but with her guidance and my own resilience, perhaps one day I could truly let go and embrace the healing that awaited me.

The following weeks were a whirlwind of emotion, a rollercoaster of highs and lows. I spent many sleepless nights replaying old memories, wrestling with anger and regret. But with each passing day, the burden on my heart felt lighter. I began journaling my thoughts, pouring out my hurt into ink instead of letting it fester within me. And despite the painful contents, there was a strange sort of relief in seeing my emotions spelled out on paper.

"Writing can be therapeutic," Dr. Richards had suggested during one of our sessions. "It provides a safe space to confront your feelings, as raw and as tumultuous as they may be."

Within the quiet sanctuary of my mind and the solitude of my room, I started to delve deeper into myself; into the wounds that had been inflicted upon me and the ones I had unknowingly inflicted upon myself. The process was painful but cathartic. For each tear that fell onto the pages of my journal, there was a tiny piece of pain and bitterness being released.

Days turned into weeks, and slowly but surely, I found myself becoming less consumed by his betrayal and more focused on my healing. I started attending group therapy sessions where I met others who bore similar scars – our shared experiences bound us together in a circle of empathy and understanding.

In those group meetings, I realized that pain was universal but so was resilience. Listening to others narrate their journeys of recovery ignited a spark within me. I saw mirrored in their stories my own strength and determination to rise above the ashes.

One day, while looking at myself in the mirror after another group therapy session, something remarkable happened. Staring back at me was a woman who looked familiar but different—a stronger version of myself; a survivor. My reflection no longer showcased the woman betrayed by love but instead revealed a woman who had found strength amidst despair.

“I am not just a victim,” I whispered to my reflection, the words filling the room with a newfound determination. “I am a survivor.”

The following week in Dr. Richard's office, I found myself recalling this moment with a sense of pride. "I am starting to see changes," I admitted, a small smile tugging at the corner of my lips.

She returned my smile, her eyes filled with warmth and encouragement. "Change is a testament to your strength and resilience," she responded. "You're embracing this journey with courage, learning to forgive not just him, but yourself as well."

Her words felt like a beacon of hope guiding me through the foggy path of recovery. While the pain still lingered like an unforgotten ghost, each day it seemed less potent than before. I was indeed learning to forgive—forgive him for his betrayal and forgive myself for my blindness to his deceit.

As our session ended, I left Dr. Richards' office feeling lighter than when I had come in. With every step away from her office and every step towards home, I was journeying farther from the woman who had allowed herself to be broken by betrayal and closer to the woman who had found strength in her own resilience.

Journaling had become my safe haven, a place where I could pour out my deepest thoughts and emotions without fear of judgment. But that sanctuary was shattered when one day, in a rush to make it to therapy on time, I left my journal open on the bed. My heart stopped when I returned to find Teddy holding it, his eyes scanning the pages filled with my most vulnerable moments. In an instant, my privacy was invaded and my trust was broken.

The tense silence in the room shattered as Teddy's furious voice pierced the air, causing my heart to skip a beat. I watched helplessly as he held my journal in a white-knuckled grip, his eyes scanning the pages with growing anger. "What the actual fuck is this?" he bellowed, his face contorted with rage.

I stood frozen, my mind racing to find the right words to diffuse the escalating situation. "Teddy, please put that down," I pleaded, my voice barely above a whisper, but he ignored me, his expression dark and menacing.

With a sharp intake of breath, I lunged forward to grab the journal from his hands, but he deftly sidestepped me. The tension crackled between us like electricity, each heartbeat echoing in the turbulent silence that enveloped the room.

"You've been writing about our sessions? and Harry?" Teddy's voice was laced with accusation, his gaze burning into mine with searing intensity.

I felt a surge of defiance rising within me as I squared my shoulders. "It's none of your business," I shot back, my tone sharper than intended, but I refused to back down in the face of his intrusion.

His jaw clenched as he took a step closer, his towering presence casting a shadow over me. "None of my business? You've been documenting our private moments, our struggles! How you also fucked the neighbor?" His voice rose with each word, reverberating off the walls like thunder in a storm “As if that little fucking photo he sent while fucking you, my wife, wasn’t bad enough”.

I could feel my own anger building, fueled by his violation of my privacy. "You have no right to invade my thoughts like this and last I checked, you were the one who started cheating," I retorted, the words dripping with resentment and hurt.

The atmosphere crackled with tension as we stood locked in a battle of wills, neither willing to yield ground. The air grew thick with unspoken accusations and grievances left festering beneath the surface.

"You think you can just hide behind your journal and play the victim?" Teddy's voice was laced with contempt, his eyes boring into mine with an intensity that sent shivers down my spine.

My fists clenched at my sides as a surge of defiance coursed through me. "I am not playing anything! This is my way of coping with everything you've put me through, let’s remember who started this mess," I shot back, my voice steady despite the turmoil raging inside me.

His laugh was harsh and bitter, cutting through the charged atmosphere like a blade. "Coping? Is that what you call it? Writing about how I've destroyed you? This is pretty much a sex book." His words were like daggers aimed straight at my heart.

The room seemed to shrink around us as we faced off in this battle of words and wills. Every breath felt heavy with unspoken truths and buried emotions that threatened to erupt like a volcano on the verge of eruption.

"I trusted you," I whispered hoarsely, tears stinging at the corners of my eyes as the weight of his betrayal bore down on me like a crushing weight.

Teddy's expression softened for a fleeting moment before hardening once more. "Trusted me? Look where that got you," he sneered, a cruel twist to his lips betraying the depths of his callousness.

The walls seemed to close in around us as the fight escalated into a tumultuous storm of emotions and accusations. Each word exchanged felt like a blow to an already fractured foundation that threatened to crumble under the weight of our shared pain.

The rumble of thunder outside echoed the turmoil inside as our voices rose in a crescendo of anger and hurt. The room pulsed with an energy so charged it felt as though lightning might strike at any moment, igniting a fire that would consume us both.

"I'm tired of being your punching bag," I declared, my voice firm with newfound resolve.

Teddy's face contorted with fury. "You think you're innocent in all this?" he shot back, his words like venom dripping from his lips.

The air crackled with electricity as we faced off in a battle neither willing to concede. It was a clash of egos and emotions, each word exchanged fueling the fire burning between us.

"I won't be silenced by your guilt-tripping," I retorted, my voice cutting through the charged atmosphere with precision.

Teddy's eyes blazed with rage as he took a step closer, his breath hot against my skin. "Guilt-tripping? You've been playing the victim since day one," he accused, his voice dripping with contempt.

The room seemed on the verge of imploding as our tempers flared and our voices clashed in a symphony of discord. It was a battle of wills and wounded pride, each unwilling to yield ground in this war of words.

"You'll never own up to your mistakes," I accused, my voice tinged with frustration and anger.

Teddy's fists clenched at his sides as he glared at me with unbridled fury. "Mistakes? You're the one who shattered everything we had, we could’ve come back from this. You didn’t have to fuck the first guy you saw!" he roared, his words echoing off the walls like thunder on a stormy night.

The fight raged on like an unrelenting tempest, each word exchanged adding fuel to the fire burning between us. The air crackled with tension as we stood face to face in a battle that threatened to consume us both.

“You know what? I’m done,” I seethed, my voice rising to a fever pitch. "I'll find a place to stay and it sure as hell won't be here!" My fists clenched at my sides, nails digging into my palms as I glared daggers at the person in front of me. The fury coursing through my body threatened to consume me, but I welcomed it, fueled by sheer determination to escape this toxic environment.

I took a deep breath and tried to steady my shaking hands as I dialed Bella's number, she was the first close friend I had made in London. The phone rang for what felt like hours before she finally picked up.

"Hey, Bella. It's me," I said, trying to keep my voice steady despite the turmoil raging inside of me.

"Hey, what's up?" she asked, her voice filled with concern.

"I need a place to stay for a while. Can I crash with you?" I blurted out, not wanting to beat around the bush.

Bella didn't hesitate. "Of course! What happened?"

"It's a long story," I replied, tears threatening to spill from my eyes again.

"Don't worry about it. Just come over whenever you're ready," she said reassuringly.

I thanked her and hung up the phone before splashing some cold water on my face in an attempt to compose myself. Taking one last look at myself in the mirror, I unlocked the bathroom door and made my way back to the living room.

Teddy was nowhere in sight, probably still seething from our argument. I quickly grabbed my backpack and stuffed some clothes and toiletries inside before heading out the door.

The fresh air outside helped clear my mind as I made my way towards Bella's house. As much as I wanted to stay strong and not let Teddy get to me, his words still stung like open wounds.

I couldn't believe how things had escalated so quickly between us. We used to be inseparable, but now it seemed like we were nothing but strangers living under the same roof.

My thoughts were interrupted as I arrived at Bella's house. She greeted me with open arms and led me inside as Bella and I settled down on her cozy couch, surrounded by the warmth of her living room, she handed me a mug of hot tea. The familiar scent of chamomile filled the air, soothing my frayed nerves.

"So, spill it. What happened between you and Teddy?" Bella asked gently, her eyes reflecting genuine concern.

I took a sip of the tea, feeling its comforting warmth seep into my bones. "It's just... we had another one of those fights about the cheating. The same patterns repeating over and over again. I don't think we can fix this anymore," I admitted, feeling a heavy weight lift off my chest with each word spoken.

Bella nodded knowingly, her empathy palpable. "Sometimes things reach a point where they can't be salvaged, no matter how much we try. It's okay to walk away if it's for your own well-being," she reassured me, her words like a balm to my wounded spirit.

Tears welled up in my eyes as I gazed at my friend, grateful for her unwavering support. "I just feel lost, you know? Like I don't even recognize myself anymore in all of this chaos," I whispered, the vulnerability raw in my voice.

Bella reached out and squeezed my hand reassuringly. "You're not alone in this. You have people who care about you, who want to see you happy and thriving. And remember, sometimes in letting go, we find the strength to rebuild ourselves," she offered with a gentle smile.

Her words resonated deep within me, a glimmer of hope flickering in the darkness that had clouded my heart. I wiped away the tears that had escaped and mustered a small smile in return.

"Thank you, Bella. For everything," I expressed sincerely, feeling a sense of gratitude wash over me for having such a supportive friend by my side.

The early morning light blazed through my window, a stark reminder of the emptiness that awaited me. With a heavy heart, I resolved to find a job, anything to fill the void left by my crumbling marriage. But even as I searched for employment opportunities, my thoughts kept drifting back to Harry. My desperation to know how he was doing gnawed at me like a festering wound, but there was no way to reach out and ask. As I sat in silence, I couldn't help but imagine the different path my life could have taken if I had chosen Harry over Teddy. The image of us together haunted me, a cruel reminder of what could've been. But now it was too late, and there was no turning back from the pain and regret that consumed me.

My fingers danced across the keys of my laptop, typing and retyping cover letters and resumes. The monotony of each hopeful submission echoed the emptiness in my heart, seemingly endless echoes spiraling into a void. To distract myself, I brewed a strong cup of coffee, the familiar smell offering an odd comfort in the chaos that was now my life.

As the day wore on, my efforts bore no fruit. Each potential employer remained a stranger to me, their responses automated and cold. As darkness began to creep into the room, a sense of defeat washed over me and I closed my laptop with a sigh.

I poured myself another cup of coffee, this time opting for the solitude of the balcony to nurse it. The city below shimmered with life just as it always did, indifferent to the turmoil of one seemingly insignificant inhabitant. Despite the layers of concrete and glass that separated us, I felt strangely connected to those anonymous lights - distant beacons in the abyss.

A haunting melody wafted up from somewhere far below, a soulful duet between an old saxophone and an even older piano. The notes danced through the fragmented night air, weaving stories of love lost and found again. Each note was a phantom whispering bittersweet tales into my ear.

Just then, an unexpected sound cut through my thoughts - the shrill ringtone of my phone nudged me back into reality. My heart clenched as I saw Teddy's name flash across the screen. He hadn't called since our fallout; what could he possibly want now? Nervously biting my lip, I answered it. On the other end of the line Teddy’s voice trembled with an emotion I couldn’t quite place; regret perhaps—or was it desperation?

My heart raced as I hung up and blocked Teddy's number. It was a small act of defiance, of reclaiming control over my life. But in that moment, it felt powerful.

I took a deep breath and leaned against the balcony railing, feeling the cold metal press against my cheek. It was a reminder that I was still here, still alive despite the pain and chaos swirling within me.

But even as I tried to convince myself that cutting off all contact with Teddy was for the best, doubts crept into my mind. What if he really did want to talk? What if he wanted to apologize and make things right?

I pushed those thoughts away, refusing to let them cloud my judgement. I couldn't afford to let him back into my life, not when I was finally starting to move on.

With new determination, I went back inside and resumed my job search. As midnight approached and exhaustion began to take hold, I allowed myself a moment of weakness and checked my email one last time.

A spark of hope ignited within me as I read the email from my job recruiter. It informed me that there was a hiring event happening downtown tomorrow and I had been invited to attend. My heart raced with excitement - this could be my chance to finally land a job.

I quickly confirmed my attendance and began mentally preparing for the event. As much as I hated the thought of going out into the world and facing potential rejection, I knew it was something I had to do.

The next morning, after meticulously picking out an outfit and rehearsing what I would say, I set out for downtown. The bustling streets were a chaotic blend of people rushing to work and tourists taking in the sights. As I walked among them, a sense of anonymity washed over me - just another face in the crowd.

Eventually, I reached the building where the hiring event was taking place. After taking a deep breath, I stepped inside and made my way towards the designated area.

The event was packed with job seekers like myself, all eager for a chance at employment. Despite my nerves, I felt emboldened by their determination and pushed forward to talk to employers.

One after another, I introduced myself and handed out resumes with practiced ease. Some showed interest while others dismissed me without a second glance. But instead of feeling defeated by rejection, I soldiered on with renewed purpose.

Hours passed in this manner until finally, just as hope began to wane, someone took notice of me. It was an HR rep from one of the top companies in town, Pleasing.

My heart pounded as I realized this could potentially lead me down the path to seeing Harry again. But I quickly pushed those thoughts aside and focused on the present moment.

The HR rep from Pleasing seemed impressed by my credentials and asked me to come in for an interview the following day. I couldn't believe it - this was exactly the opportunity I had been waiting for.

As I walked out of the hiring event, my mind raced with excitement and nerves. Part of me couldn't help but wonder if Harry still lived in the area, but I quickly shut down that line of thinking. It didn't matter - all that mattered was that I had a chance at a job.

The next day, I arrived at Pleasing's office early, dressed in my best professional attire. The receptionist greeted me with a smile and directed me to the HR department.

I shook myself out of my reverie as the HR rep called me into their office for the interview. Despite my nerves, I answered their questions confidently and highlighted my experience and skills.

As the interview progressed, I could feel the HR rep becoming more and more impressed. The questions became increasingly challenging, but I faced them head-on, demonstrating my knowledge and quick decision-making abilities.

Slowly, the discussion moved on to my potential role in Pleasing and how I saw myself contributing to the company's future. Here, I outlined a comprehensive plan that included innovation, team synergy, and a commitment to meeting corporate objectives. The HR rep listened attentively, occasionally interjecting to clarify or probe deeper into my responses.

The interview concluded on a positive note and I was told that they would get back to me in a week's time. As I left the building, I felt a sense of accomplishment but there was also an underlying excitement - the possibility of crossing paths with Harry and being able to leave Bella’s to find my own flat.

A week passed in a blur of anticipation and anxiety, each day inching closer to the call from Pleasing. When it eventually came through, my heart skipped a beat. They were pleased with my performance during the interview and wanted me on board.

And so began my journey with Pleasing - a journey that was filled with arduous tasks, demanding projects, and incredible opportunities for growth. The work environment was fast-paced but rewarding, pushing me to work harder each day.

One afternoon, a couple of months into my role at Pleasing, I saw him from afar. It was Harry - my former neighbor and one night stand. He looked just as I remembered him: sharp-witted and focused in his tailored suit, there was an air of high authority about him.

My heart raced as I watched him stride through the office, making his way towards the executive level. Memories of our time together flooded back to me - the late nights he spent on top of me, the way he felt, the way he touched me, how he smelt expensive.

Lost in my thoughts, I suddenly realized that I needed to find a way to meet with him. But how? As a junior employee, I didn't have easy access to top executives like him.

Determined not to let this opportunity pass me by, I approached my manager and asked if there was any way I could have a meeting with Mr. Styles. She gave me a skeptical look but promised to see what she could do.

A few days later, she called me into her office with a smile on her face. "I spoke to Mr. Styles' assistant and they have agreed to give you 15 minutes next week," she said excitedly.

My heart skipped a beat at the thought of seeing Harry again after all this time. But what would I say? What would he think of me now?

The day of the meeting arrived and I nervously made my way up to the executive level. As soon as I stepped into Mr. Styles' office, my nerves disappeared - it felt like no time had passed between us at all.

As I cautiously entered his dark office, my heart pounded in my chest. The scent of tobacco and whiskey filled the air, mingling with the intense aura emanating from Harry's piercing green eyes. I could feel his gaze burning into me as I made my way to a chair by his desk.

"Y/N," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "I saw the name and couldn't believe it was you, bloody hell."

A chill ran down my spine at the iciness in his tone. Memories flooded back of our tumultuous past, the love and betrayal that had torn us apart. But now, standing in front of him again, I couldn't deny the powerful pull that still existed between us.

"Harry," I managed to say, my voice barely above a whisper. "It's been a while."

He leaned back in his chair, studying me with an intensity that made my insides churn. "Indeed it has, Y/N," he remarked, his eyes never leaving mine. "I must say, I never expected to see you here."

I shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, feeling the weight of unspoken history hanging between us. "I didn't expect to be here either," I admitted, my voice tinged with a hint of regret.

He raised an eyebrow, a flash of something unreadable crossing his face. "And yet fate has a funny way of bringing people back together, doesn't it?"

I nodded, feeling a mix of emotions swirling inside me - longing, apprehension, and a spark of unresolved desire. "It seems that way," I said softly.

Harry leaned forward slightly, his expression softening imperceptibly. "Tell me, Y/N," he began, his voice quieter now. "What have you been up to since we last crossed paths?"

I took a deep breath, trying to gather my thoughts amidst the whirlwind of emotions his presence evoked. "Well," I started hesitantly, "I've been working here at Pleasing. It's been challenging but rewarding."

A flicker of interest sparked in his eyes. "Impressive." He paused for a moment before continuing, his tone contemplative. "And what made you seek out a meeting with me today?"

I met his gaze squarely, steeling myself against the vulnerability creeping in. "I wanted to reconnect," I confessed quietly. "To clear the air and maybe... find closure."

Harry regarded me thoughtfully for a moment before speaking again. "Closure," he echoed softly. "Perhaps that's something we both need. And Teddy?"

My eyes drop to the ground, avoiding his penetrating gaze. "It's a messy situation, but I had to leave. I've been crashing at my friend Bella's place until I can scrape together enough money for a divorce."

His voice drips with insinuation and I feel my skin prickle with unease. "Oh, how convenient," he sneers. "I knew eventually you would come to your senses, although I thought our night together would have been enough to break you free." My stomach churns at his words.

The atmosphere in the room grew heavy with unspoken tension as their words hung in the air like charged lightning bolts ready to strike.

"You had no right to think that one night could define me or my decisions." I spat.

Harry's eyes flashed with a mix of surprise and something darker as my words cut through the tension between us. "And what right did you have to enter my life again after all this time, Y/N?" he countered sharply, his jaw clenched in frustration.

I squared my shoulders, meeting his challenging gaze head-on. "I didn't come here seeking your approval, Harry," I retorted, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside me. "I came for myself, to find closure and move on."

He leaned forward, his expression unreadable as he studied me intently. "Closure," he repeated, the word hanging heavily between us. "Is that truly what you need? Or is there something else driving you here?"

A flicker of vulnerability crossed my features before I could stop it, and I felt exposed under his piercing scrutiny. "Maybe it's both," I admitted quietly, feeling the weight of years of unresolved emotions pressing down on me.

Harry's gaze softened slightly, a hint of understanding creeping into his eyes. "I see," he murmured, a touch of regret coloring his tone. "Perhaps we both have demons to face before we can truly move forward."

I nodded slowly, acknowledging the truth in his words. "Maybe so," I agreed, a sense of resignation settling over me. "But facing them together might be easier than doing it alone."

Silence enveloped us for a moment, broken only by the sound of our breathing mingling in the charged atmosphere of the room. Finally, Harry spoke again, his voice softer now. "I never stopped thinking about you, Y/N," he confessed quietly. "Despite everything that happened between us."

My heart clenched at his words, memories flooding back with a force that left me breathless. "I never forgot you either," I whispered, a bittersweet ache settling in my chest.

A myriad of emotions played across Harry's features - longing, regret, and something else I couldn't quite decipher. "Then perhaps we owe it to ourselves to confront the past and see where it leads us, Pleasing has a nice legal plan I can lend to you for a divorce." he suggested tentatively.

I met his gaze, seeing a glimmer of hope reflected in those intense green eyes that had once been my undoing. "Maybe we do," I agreed softly, a sense of anticipation stirring within me.

I stood outside the courtroom, my heart racing with a mix of nerves and anticipation. Today was the day I had been waiting for - the day I could finally end this marriage and start a new chapter in my life. But as I took a deep breath and stepped inside, my eyes were immediately drawn to the sight of Teddy sitting at a table with his lawyer, confidently flipping through some papers.

Next to him sat Rosie, her perfectly styled hair and expensive outfit standing out like a sore thumb among the drab courtroom surroundings. She smiled smugly in my direction as if she knew something I didn't, and suddenly all my confidence wavered.

My lawyer squeezed my hand reassuringly as we walked towards our side of the court, but I couldn't help feeling like an underdog in this battle. How had Teddy managed to go back to Rosie so quickly while still begging for me just a few weeks earlier? And how long had this been going on?

As we began the proceedings, I listened half-heartedly as their lawyer presented their case - painting me as an unfit wife who refused to support her husband's successful career. The lies stung, but I held back from speaking out.

It wasn't until it was my turn to speak that I found my voice. My lawyer had prepared a strong case for me - highlighting all of Teddy's infidelities and emotional abuse throughout our marriage. As I spoke about his controlling behavior and manipulation tactics, Rosie's smug expression faltered.

But when it was time for Teddy to speak, he denied everything with such conviction that even I started doubting myself. His words were smooth and calculated, painting me as an unstable woman who couldn't handle his success.

I felt my anger bubbling up inside me - how dare he twist the truth like this? But before I could say anything, Rosie jumped in with her own version of events. She talked about how supportive Teddy had been during their brief affair, and how I was just a jealous ex who couldn't move on.

As Rosie spoke, her words felt like sharp knives twisting in my chest. The betrayal and deceit were too much to bear, she was the one who was sleeping with my husband. I clenched my fists, trying to hold back the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm me. But then, a familiar voice cut through the tense atmosphere.

"Objection, Your Honor!"

I turned to see my lawyer standing up, his expression firm and determined. "These allegations are baseless and unsubstantiated. My client has provided ample evidence of Mr. Teddy's infidelity and emotional abuse. I request that these false claims be stricken from the record."

The judge nodded solemnly, looking at Teddy and Rosie with a steely gaze. "I will not tolerate false accusations in my courtroom. Stick to the facts."

Teddy shifted uncomfortably in his seat, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face. Rosie, on the other hand, remained composed, a smug smile playing on her lips.

"I have evidence that will prove my client's case, Your Honor," she declared confidently. "I request permission to present it."

The judge nodded again, signaling for Rosie to proceed. She stood up gracefully, producing a stack of papers from her briefcase.

"These documents show that Mr. Teddy was out of town on the dates in question," she began, flipping through the pages with ease. "He could not have been at the locations alleged by Mrs. Y/N."

I felt a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. Could it be true? Had I been mistaken all along? Her proof was just texts from Teddy to her saying he was out of town. Which proves nothing, if anything it was more incriminating.

But then, just as doubt started to creep in, a sudden realization hit me like a bolt of lightning.

"Your Honor," I interrupted, my voice trembling but resolute. "I have proof that Mr. Teddy and Ms. Rosie colluded to fabricate alibis and deceive me. They were working together against me all along."

The courtroom fell into stunned silence as I presented the evidence that exposed their treachery. Teddy's face drained of color, while Rosie's mask of composure finally cracked.

"I-I can explain," Teddy stammered, but it was too late.

The judge slammed his gavel down with finality. "Case closed. Divorce granted in favor of Mrs. Y/N. You are to pay her a monthly settlement of alimony."

As I walked out of the courtroom, a weight lifted off my shoulders. It was finally over - the lies, the betrayal, the manipulation. I could start anew with a sense of freedom and clarity.

And as I glanced back one last time at Teddy and Rosie, their faces twisted with defeat, I knew that justice had been served.

Waiting outside of the courtroom was Harry with a grin, he did a sassy wave to Rosie and Teddy.

"Congratulations, Y/N," Harry said, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and kissing the top of my forehead. "You did it."

I couldn't help but smile, feeling a sense of relief and satisfaction wash over me. "I couldn't have done it without you, Harry. Thank you for everything."

"Always, love," he replied with a gentle smile.

As we walked out of the courthouse hand in hand, I couldn't help but feel grateful for having Harry by my side.

"I'm so glad this is all over," I said with a sigh, leaning into him as we reached his car.

"Yeah, me too," he agreed, unlocking the door and helping me inside before making his way to the driver's seat.

As we drove away from the courthouse, I couldn't help but feel a sense of closure. My marriage may have ended in betrayal and deceit but now I was free to move on and start over.

"So what's next for you?" Harry asked as we drove through the city streets.

“ I think we should celebrate.” I looked at him with a playful smile.

"Celebrate?" Harry raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise. "And what did you have in mind for this celebration, Mrs. Y/N?"

I grinned mischievously, leaning over to gently tap his knee. "Oh, nothing too wild. Maybe just a quiet dinner for two at a cozy little bistro."

"A quiet dinner, hmm?" Harry's smirk grew wider. "And what about later, when we're no longer 'quiet'? Any ideas for that celebration?"

"Well," I purred, eyeing him up and down playfully. "That all depends on how good of a date you turn out to be."

"I'll have you know," he countered confidently, "that I'm an excellent date."

"Oh really? And what sort of things do excellent dates do to impress their partners?" I challenged him with a teasing glint in my eye.

Harry chuckled softly before leaning closer to me. "I believe the key to impressing you, love," he whispered against my ear, sending shivers down my spine, "lies somewhere between your pasta and your dessert."

"And exactly how do you plan on pulling that off?" I asked skeptically but with undeniable curiosity piqued within me.

"Oh," he smirked wickedly as he brushed a strand of hair away from my face. "I'm sure I can come up with something...tasty."

We arrived at the bistro and Harry led me inside, his hand resting on my lower back. The smell of freshly baked bread and spices filled my nostrils as we were greeted by the friendly hostess. She guided us to a cozy booth in the corner of the restaurant before handing us each a menu.

As we perused through the options, I couldn't help but feel grateful for this moment with Harry. Despite the chaos that had been my life recently, he was there to make me smile and forget about all my worries. I was grateful to be able to be like this with him.

"You know," Harry said, breaking the comfortable silence between us, "I haven't had a proper date night in ages."

I smiled at him. Soon after the waiter came to take our orders and after much deliberation, we settled on sharing a few appetizers and ordering our own entrees. As we waited for our food to arrive, Harry reached across the table to take hold of my hand.

"I'm proud of you," he said sincerely, giving my hand a reassuring squeeze. "You handled everything with grace and strength."

I felt tears welling up in my eyes at his words. It meant so much to have Harry's support and encouragement through everything I had been going through.

"Thank you," I replied softly, unable to find any other words to express how much his words meant to me.

Our food arrived shortly after and we dug into our dishes with enthusiasm. We laughed and joked as we shared bites of each other's meals, savoring every moment together.

After dinner, Harry insisted on treating me to dessert at a nearby ice cream shop. We walked through the bustling streets hand in hand, enjoying each other's company in the warm summer night.

As we sat on a bench outside the shop, enjoying our ice cream.

My voice trembles as I stare at Harry, regret and guilt weighing heavily on my chest. "I should've left Teddy that night after the motel," I confess, tears welling up in my eyes. "But I was scared. Scared of losing my residency, scared of facing my family's disappointment. I thought I could endure it for a while longer, or that he would be the one to leave first." My words choke in my throat, coming out as a desperate plea for forgiveness.

"I'm so sorry, Harry," I continue, my voice shaking. "I never meant to hurt you or lead you on. I was just...lost and confused."

Harry's expression softens as he takes in my words. He reaches out to brush away a tear that falls from my eye.

"You don't have to apologize, love," he says gently. "I understand why you stayed with him. But I wish you had told me sooner."

The guilt bubbles up inside of me, threatening to drown me in its heavy weight. How could I have been so blind and selfish? How could I have hurt someone who cared?

"I'll make it right, Harry," I promise him, wiping away the tears from my cheeks.

Harry's eyes light up with hope as he grasps my hand tightly.

"We'll face this together," he says firmly, determination evident in his voice.

And just like that, the burden on my shoulders feels a little bit lighter knowing that I have Harry by my side.

"It's okay," he whispers soothingly, kissing the top of my head. "You did the right thing.”

We finish our ice cream in comfortable silence before heading back to Harry's flat.

"Can I ask you something?" I say, breaking the silence.

"Of course," Harry replies, squeezing my hand reassuringly.

"Why did you never tell me your feelings before?" I ask, feeling a little hesitant.

Harry pauses for a moment before answering. "I didn't want to pressure you or make things awkward between us," he admits. "I wanted you to be happy and if that meant staying with Teddy, then I accepted it. So I left, I couldn’t see you in that situation."

Tears prick at the corners of my eyes as I realize just how selfless and understanding Harry has always been despite his hardened appearence. He truly cares.

"I'm sorry for being so blind," I say softly.

"It's okay," Harry reassures me. "We all make mistakes."

My heart was pounding as we entered the safety of his flat, my senses heightened by the lingering scent of his cologne. Our fingers traced each other's as he deftly made two cups of steaming tea, every touch sending sparks dancing up my arm.

"Would you like a touch of cream?" Harry asked seductively, a teasing smile playing along his lips. His sultry voice sent trepidating waves through me, igniting an insatiable desire that twisted in my belly.

The sight of him leaning casually against the kitchen counter, bathed in soft light, stirred a primal need within me. I watched as he poured a dash of cream into my cup. The way it swirled and mingled with the dark liquid mirrored our own dance - two intricate beings melding to form something far more tantalizing.

"Thank you," I murmured, accepting the warm mug from his hand. My fingers brushed against his, eliciting a delicate shiver that rippled down my spine. "I couldn't have asked for anyone better..."

As we navigated our way towards the plush sofa, our bodies brushed together, the heat between us flaring like a bonfire on a cold night. The taste of our shared dinner still lingered on our tongues as we sipped on our teas; notes of cocoa and warm spices cascading over our taste buds.

He leaned back onto the couch, pulling me with him until I was nestled comfortably against his side. A silence fell upon us as we enjoyed our drinks; comfortable and yet teeming with an unspoken promise of what was to come.

"There's no rush," Harry purred into my ear, allowing his fingers to trace lazy circles around my wrist. His hot breath fanned out across my heated skin, setting off tremors beneath my flesh. "Let's just enjoy this moment."

His words washed over me like scalding water, igniting a yearning that threatened to consume us both. I finished my tea swiftly, setting the empty cup on the coffee table before turning back to Harry.

"Harry," I breathed out, staring into his deep emerald eyes. They were dark with desire, a mirror of my own want. "I want you...now."

With those words, our evening took on an entirely new flavor - one more intimate and fervently carnal than the most decadent dessert. And as I let go of all inhibitions and allowed myself to drown in Harry's love- the guilt and fear felt like distant memories.

Where there had been tears earlier now blossomed laughter and sighs of pleasure, echoing off the walls of Harry's flat. The heat between us couldn't be contained within mere cups of tea. It was a passionate flame that ignited every sense, searing through every inch of our bodies as we began to explore each other with newfound fervor and desperation.

The room seemed to shrink as my words echoed around us. I could feel myself growing wetter by the second, my heart pounding in anticipation of what was to come. Without another word, he stood up and pulled me close, our bodies pressing tightly against each other.

My hands found their way to his strong shoulders, digging into his skin as he claimed my lips once more. I moaned deeply into the kiss, tasting the tea we just drank on his tongue as he explored every inch of my mouth. His hands traveled down my back, over my ass cheeks, until they reached the hem of my dress.

I gasped as he lifted me off the ground with ease, carrying me towards the bedroom. My legs wrapped tightly around his waist, pulling him closer still. As we entered the room he kicked the door shut behind us, locking us in together.

As he backed me towards the bed, his cock growing hard, he paused to look down at me. His eyes dark and hungry as he took in the scene laid out before him. "You look so fucking sexy like this," he growled out, his voice rough with desire. I moaned in response, my fingers curling into the sheets beneath us as he lowered me onto the mattress.

His lips trailed hot kisses down my jawline and across my collarbone before moving southward. He nipped at my sensitive flesh while his hands explored every inch of my body, tracing patterns around my tits through the lace fabric of my bra. My breath hitched as his warm mouth hovered over my nipples, making them stand at attention.

"Please," I whispered, arching into him as he teased one of my hardened nubs between his fingers and thumb. His tongue circled around it before finally drawing it into his mouth, sucking on it with such force that I cried out in pleasure.

He pulled away slightly, looking down at me with a smirk that made my stomach do flips. "I'm going to fuck you so good, baby girl." His eyes bore into mine as he slowly undid his pants, revealing his already hard cock straining against his boxers. My mouth watered at the sight of him; all 8 inches of thickness glistening with pre-cum that reflected the light in the room.

I reached up to grab his shirt, pulling him down towards me as I wrapped my legs around his waist again. He groaned into the kiss, deepening it as he lowered himself onto the bed between my spread legs. His teeth grazed against my bottom lip before trailing hot kisses down my neck and chest.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath as he reached behind me to undo the clasp holding together my bra. It fell away from me revealing puckered nipples begging for attention which he eagerly obliged by taking one into his mouth while pinching the other between two fingers causing tiny whimpers to escape from deep within me.

His lips trailed down my stomach, stopping momentarily to press kisses to my belly button before continuing their journey south. I shivered with anticipation as his fingers hooked into the sides of my lace panties, pulling them down and off of me in one swift motion.

He took a moment to admire me, spread out before him, completely exposed and vulnerable. His gaze traveled over every inch of me, causing goosebumps to rise on my skin.

"God, you're beautiful," he murmured, before diving back in between my legs. His tongue flicked against my clit sending shockwaves of pleasure through me. I gripped onto the sheets tighter as he continued to tease and lick at my most sensitive spot.

I could feel myself getting closer and closer to the edge, his expert mouth bringing me to the brink. Just when I thought I couldn't take it any longer, he pulled away with a smirk on his face.

"Not yet," he said huskily, crawling back up towards me. He kissed me hard on the lips while positioning himself between my legs. I felt his tip brush against my entrance and I lifted my hips in response.

The room around us was hazy from the scent of our arousal, and I couldn't help but feel like I was in a dream as he continued to tease me. With every lick and nip, his touch sent shockwaves of pleasure through me. My body arched off the bed in response to his expert ministrations, my breasts pressed against his strong chest.

"You taste so fucking good," he groaned, his voice dark and rough with need. His hands slid up my thighs, teasingly close to my aching desire before moving away again. It was driving me crazy!

"Please," I begged him. "I can't take much more."

He chuckled deep in his throat, the sound sending shivers down my spine. "Oh, you think you can handle me?" He leaned down and flicked his tongue gently over my clitoris again, making me gasp in surprise at the intense sensation. "We'll see about that."

I couldn't believe how turned on I was by his dominance. As he continued to tease me, I imagined what it would be like to fully submit to him—to let him take control of my body and pleasure me however he saw fit. It was terrifying yet exhilarating all at once.

It felt like hours (or maybe just minutes?) before he finally eased himself into me, filling me up with his thick cock. I gasped at the sudden intrusion but moaned in delight as he began to move slowly inside me. Every thrust sent violent shudders through my body as we found our rhythm together—his hard and demanding possessions; mine willingly given submission underneath him amidst silk pillows and warm blankets scattered across the sheets beneath us.

I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper into me, wanting more, needing more. His hands gripped onto my hips, holding me in place as he continued to thrust into me with increasing speed and force.

I could feel the pleasure building inside of me, growing and swelling until it was almost unbearable. My nails dug into his back as I cried out his name, consumed by the intensity of our union.

He leaned down and captured my lips in a fiery kiss that only added fuel to the fire burning between us. Our bodies moved together in perfect synchronization, reaching higher levels of ecstasy with each passing moment.

The bed rocked beneath us as we gave into pure primal desire. He was an unstoppable force, taking everything from me and giving it back tenfold.

"Fuck," he groaned against my lips, his voice thick with need. "You're so tight."

"Oh, God," I moaned, my toes curling against the sheets. "Don't stop."

He didn't listen to me of course; instead, he continued to pound into me relentlessly, driving me towards the edge again and again until I couldn't take it anymore. My orgasm crashed over me like a tidal wave, consuming every ounce of my being and leaving me shaking in its wake. He followed close behind with a muffled groan as he spilled himself inside of me. He collapsed on top of me, both of us gasping for breath as we came down from our high.

We lay there tangled together for a few moments before he rolled off of me onto his side. He pulled me against him, his arm wrapped tightly around my waist.

"Wow," I finally managed to say.

We lay there panting for several minutes afterward, our heartbeats echoing in our ears above everything else around us.

Finally, he disentangled himself from me and collapsed next to me on the bed, both of us spent and covered in a sheen of sweat.

"Fuck," he breathed out as he ran a hand through his damp hair.

"That was..." I trailed off unable to find the words to describe the intensity of our union.

He let out a bitter, exhausted chuckle laced with satisfaction. "I swore I'd never marry again, but if this is what life could be like on a regular basis, I may have to reconsider," he muttered through gritted teeth. The thought of committing himself again brought a surge of both fear and longing, but for the first time in years, he felt alive.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the landscape, he turned to me with a mix of vulnerability and determination in his eyes. "I never thought I'd find someone who could make me question my own convictions," he said softly, reaching out to gently touch my hand.

I looked back at him, her own eyes filled with understanding and a hint of mischief. "Maybe it's time to rewrite those old promises," I suggested, a smile playing on my lips.

A sense of peace settled over him as he realized that maybe, just maybe, he was ready to take a chance on love once more. With a hopeful heart and a newfound sense of purpose, he whispered, "Maybe it is."

As the last rays of sunlight slipped beneath the horizon, their eyes locked and they both felt an electric current surge through their bodies. It was a sign that their journey together was just starting and would be filled with endless twists and turns, but they were ready for the challenge.

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yan-lorkai · 4 months ago

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God I just read your soft yandere Leona executing the people who tried to kill his s/o and I LOOOVE it! Could I have this scenario in the same format (ie long drabble) for Malleus? Where the council/high nobles don't approve him marrying a human and try to assassinate them and Malleus catches them. I need soft yandere Malleus enjoying a nice dinner with his love after he just finished publically torturing/executing the hell out of those nobles

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ A/n: That fic was a favorite of mine too. The softness, the death, it was a masterpiece imo. So I hope you like this too, darling! (^-^)

The grand hall was silent, save for the soft clatter of cutlery against fine china. Malleus watched you from across the table, his emerald eyes alight with a contentment that was almost unsettling in its intensity. The air was still heavy with the remnants of the afternoon's events and though you tried to focus on the delicate meal before you, it was impossible to forget the horrors that had transpired just hours earlier.

It had started when the council, with all their arrogance and pride, had dared to question Malleus’s choice.

“A human?” They had sneered, contempt dripping from their words, as you felt their eyes on you, hudging you for every single little thing. “Surely, the Crown Prince could do better.” Their words had been harsh, cruel and you could still feel the sting of their disapproval like a fresh wound.

But Malleus’s reaction had been instant and absolute.

“I see,” He had said, voice deceptively calm. “You believe yourselves fit to judge my decisions?”

His smile had been cold, empty of its usual warmth, and it was in that moment you saw the depths of his fury. “Very well. Then allow me to demonstrate the consequences of defying your future king.”

Now, as you sat across from him at dinner, he was all smiles and warmth, as if the day’s events had been nothing more than a distant dream. “You’ve barely touched your food,” Malleus noted, tilting his head. “Are you not hungry, my love? Or perhaps you want something else?”

You hadn’t been allowed to witness the executions; Malleus had ensured that much as he demanded Silver and Sebek to not let you in. But you had heard the screams, echoing through the castle walls, each one more desperate than the last. The very air had vibrated with his magic, raw and unrestrained, as he had dealt with each council member in turn, their cries a symphony of suffering that left no doubt of his power.

When it was over, the silence that followed had been deafening.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to look up at him. “It’s just… It’s been a long day,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. “I’m still… processing.”

You shivered, but whether it was from fear or something else, you couldn’t say. “But… did it have to be so… brutal?” you whispered, unable to shake the image of their twisted, broken bodies from your mind.

Malleus’s expression softened and he reached across the table to take your hand in his. His touch was gentle, the same hand that had so recently been drenched in blood now cradling yours with the utmost care. “I did what needed to be done, my love.”

His tone was so calm, so assured, as if he were discussing something as mundane as the weather. “They dared to hurt you, to question your worth. Such disrespect cannot be tolerated, for an offense upon you is an offense upon me.”

“Yes,” Malleus answered without hesitation, his gaze never wavering from yours. “Because they needed to understand. You are my chosen consort, my beloved, and anyone who dares to threaten that will face the consequences.” He squeezed your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “You deserve nothing less than absolute devotion and protection.”

He released your hand only to rise from his seat, moving around the table to stand behind you. Bending down, Malleus pressed a tender kiss to the crown of your head, his breath warm against your skin. “You are mine,” he murmured, his voice sending a shiver down your spine. “And I will not allow anyone to take you from me.”

The words were a promise, one laced with both love and a dangerous, possessive edge. As he returned to his seat, Malleus gestured to your untouched plate with a gentle smile. “Now, my dear, please eat. I had this meal prepared especially for you.”

You nodded numbly, picking up your fork and taking a bite. It was delicious, as always, but the taste was overshadowed by the weight of Malleus’s gaze, watching you with an intensity that made it clear he would do anything —absolutely anything — to keep you by his side.

And as you sat there, sharing a meal with him, you realized that this was your reality now: a life bound to a dragon who would burn the world to ashes if it meant keeping you safe.

#yandere malleus x mc #malleus x mc #yandere malleus x reader #malleus x reader #malleus x yuu #yandere malleus x yuu #yandere malleus draconia x reader #yandere malleus draconia #twst malleus #twst malleus draconia #tw yandere #lorkai imagine

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natalievoncatte · 4 months ago

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5. Alone

CONTENT WARNING: This ficlet includes themes of self harm and contains some heavy sexual content and themes.

The void called.

Lena heard its siren song for hours, even before she left the lab. She was sick, belly sick, soul sick. Running on fumes, running on whiskey for breakfast and rage. She’d been awake thirty six hours, fumbling with the Myriad module as she plumbed its secrets. Hiding within the alien metal bauble was what she wanted most, a world without deception, without pain, without crime or loss or hate or fear. No more wars, no more muggings, and no more lies.

Soon she could look Kara in the eyes and scream. Look what I did! Look at my work! I fixed the world, not you! No more crimes to stop, Supergirl. The world doesn’t need you anymore. I don’t need you anymore.

(but could she still say that in a world without lies?)

Lena stumbled into her apartment, head filled with dark thoughts, hateful thoughts, unwanted thoughts. Non Nocere would free her from them. No more pining for soft touches or stolen glances, no more dreams of feeling fingers slipping through silken sunny hair. No more waking up riding her own hand thinking about back muscles flexing or protective hands cupping her thighs.

No more more dreams of sunrise companions. She could rip it all out of herself and at last be alone.

Lena wasn’t going to look at the picture. She wasn’t, she wasn’t! Her hands betrayed her, her addled mind loosened by alcohol and sleep deprivation. She should have flung the fucking thing out the window but every time she tried her hand rebelled and she ended up clutching the shattered glass to her chest and wished she could impale herself on it.

The memory of the picture burned her. Alex had snapped it, an impromptu capture of the girls at game night. Kara’s cheek had been soft against hers and so very warm, just like her. She was soft and hard at the same time, the best hugger in the world.

Lena sobbed, because she was alone and she always would be.

It hit her all at once, crashing in from every direction. When she closed her eyes all she could see was the horror in Kara’s eyes, the terror of realization. That was what Lena wanted, right?

(It was what you wanted, you stupid bitch. Look at what you did.)

Fuck this, fuck it, fuck it all.

Lena stormed through her empty cold sterile apartment and onto the balcony. Grabbing a chair as makeshift stairs, she stepped up and onto the rail. Had to do it now. Had to.

Only to two people has she ever mattered. One slipped beneath the waves and left her and the other, she locked in a cage and robbed. She couldn’t save her mother and she’d backstabbed her best friend. It was in the blood.

Lena stepped into empty air and fell.

Below her, the street yawned wide, empty of traffic at this hour. It rocketed towards her and she had a horrific, bowel-watering realization.

The only thing in her life that could not be fixed was that she just threw herself off a goddamn building.

Lena screamed, shrieked for her life, the name tearing from the depths of her chest in a painful cry.

It didn’t matter.

She fell anyway.

Then she saw it, a red and blue streak in the corner of her vision. Too close, too low.

Goodbye, Kara. I’m sorry.

Kara flew beneath her, catching her not with her arms but her entire body, Lena’s jaw clicking and stomach flipping at the deceleration. Too late, too late.

No.

Kara slowed their descent, too fast, sending a jolt through her. The impact came and as Lena felt the shockwave pass through her body, she knew she was dead. All she wanted to do was tell Kara she was sorry, beg her forgiveness for making her see it.

Slamming to the pavement, Kara landed on her back, cratering the asphalt. It folded up around her like petals of a strange flower and sent up a cloud of dust and debris. Her arms closed around Lena and she cried out in shock and fear.

I’m alive, Lena thought.

Gathering Lena with her, Kara stood up and took off immediately. Lena crushed herself against Kara’s body as she lifted up, cresting above the balcony with a heavy thud of Kara’s boot heels. Kara said nothing, bearing her inside. Only then did Lena’s feet touch the ground.

Kara was feral, blazing, holding a quaking Lena by the shoulders.

“What happened?” she demanded. “Did someone attack you? There’s no one here. What the hell happened? Lena? Lena? Say something! God damn it answer me!”

Lena’s voice was small, broken.

“I jumped.”

Kara’s eyes went wide and her mouth fell open in almost comical surprise.

“Why… no, no no no Lena please no.”

Kara lunged into a hug, almost painfully embracing her. Lena’s walls fell, all the pain and hate shedding from her like skin from a snake. She was alive, alive and alive, and Kara was sobbing, her entire body shaking with grief and pain.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, please Lena I please, I love you I love you I love you!”

They both went utterly still. Lena blinked a few times; the blood rushing to her skull nearly stealing her from consciousness. It was like she’d been thrown into an ice bath.

There could be no mistaking Kara’s meaning. She didn’t mean friendship love, she didn’t mean side-hug brunch time love. There was a truth in her voice as potent and hot as her self-righteous arrogance and shocking, seemingly endless kindness. She meant love in the deepest sense of the word, the most raw, the most unbearable.

That was when Lena kissed her.

Kara hesitated, but something in her must have snapped because she kissed Lena so deeply, so filthily, that it was as if she meant to consume her entirely. Lena was dimly aware that property damage was happening- Kara simply tossed the entire sofa aside with a free hand as she stormed across the apartment.

She didn’t pick Lena up, Lena climbed her, locking her legs around Kara’s waist, shuddering at the feeling of powerful muscles flexing against her thighs.

No words were exchanged, only kisses that bordered on violent. Kara showed no more concern for Lena’s clothes than her decor, shredding through a designer outfit that cost as much as a car.

Only then did she stop, shocking Lena with the sudden withdrawal. Her restraint made her entire body shudder, stopping herself with same force as stopping a runaway freight train.

“Do you want this?” she panted.

Lena lunged up and grabbed the collar of her suit, yanking down. The most powerful being on Earth yielded to her without resistance.

“Yes,” Lena panted.

Kara shed her suit, wriggling out of it in a sensuous display that drove Lena wild. Once she was free and they were both bare, it began.

Kara held nothing back. She used her powers. Super-speed. Vibration. Even her freeze breath. It was as if she knew exactly what Lena wanted and needed, reading her body like an open book, playing her like an instrument, and she was relentless. It was like making love to a hurricane.

Only when Lena pressed a hand to Kara’s chest did it stop. Her entire manner changed in an instant and she became soft, handling Lena like something precious and irreplaceable, attending to her every need until her head landed on the pillow and sleep took her in an irresistible wave.

When her eyes snapped open, she was sure she would be alone. It had to be a fantasy or a vivid dream, but it felt real. She was loose and pleasantly sore at the same time, and felt an odd sense of weight around her.

Tears forced themselves to her eyes. She was damned, doomed to wake up alone forever, and then Kara moved, sighing contentedly. She pulled Lena closer, into her bare breasts and the silken embrace of her unclothed skin beneath the silk sheets. Lena’s heart almost seized.

“Kara?”

“Hi, baby.”

“You’re really here?”

“Yeah.”

“You saved me.”

“I always save you.”

Lena choked back a sob and rolled over into Kara’s arms, tucked into her, and buried her face in Kara’s neck as she swept her fingers up and down Lena’s back in a soothing gesture.

“Kara, I’m sorry,” she began.

“Shhhhh,” said Kara. “I forgive you.”

“But you can’t just do that.”

“I can, and I will. Can you forgive me?”

“Yes,” Lena whispered.

“Good,” said Kara. “Now I just hope Alex forgives me for plowing a fifteen foot wide crater in the street outside.”

Lena laughed through her tears, and she wasn’t alone.

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intrepidacious · 3 months ago

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about that night (the bugs and the dirt)

summary: You never talk about that night, and Bucky never asks. Even though he can't help but suspect something is wrong.

pairing: bucky barnes x witch!reader

word count: 1.2k

warnings: past character death and vague mentions of blood (yk, spooky stuff); there's no actual dialogue in this and the characters are worse for it 💛 please note that my blog is rated 18+. minors dni. ageless/empty blogs will be blocked without warning.

a/n: it only took me three years but i finally managed to finish a fic in time for halloween 😌🎃 i genuinely don't know how to describe the vibes of this except buffy the vampire slayer season six meets "if lisa frankenstein was a drama" meets hozier's like real people do. have fun 🫶🏼

masterlist | read on ao3

Something’s wrong.

Something’s been wrong for a while, but Bucky can’t quite put his finger on it. It’s a fragile thing, this knowledge, this certainty, lingering at the back of his mind like the dim light of a forgotten lamp, shimmering, seeping through the cracks.

Whenever he asks you, you tell him that everything is fine, and he wants to believe you, desperately. You wouldn’t lie to him, you with your luminous eyes and your soft smile. Deceptions would taste foul on your lips.

But something’s wrong.

It’s all wrong.

He’s always been too smart for his own good, and he’s going to find out, you know he will, but that’s precisely why you can’t let him. He’s going to know how far you’ve fallen, and he’s going to despise you for it.

So he forgets.

Sometimes, when he wakes up, his tongue is heavy with bile and dirt, his eyes crusted shut with something worse than bad dreams. Sometimes, when he listens closely, he can hear the air humming with lost hymns that are not from this earth.

Maybe he should’ve gotten used to that, by now; your walls have always had ears and mouths and eyes, after all. That’s the price for loving a witch, you’d say, back in the days when your smiles came easy. Wherever you are, you’re never alone.

It’s different than he remembers, though, even through the cracked and blurry pictures of his memories, his foggy mind, but he can’t put his finger on why. Darker. Colder. Damp. It’s like something has left.

Doubt follows his every waking hour, even more so when he tries to think of that night.

That night.

Oh, that night.

The taste of blood on your lips when you kissed him, desperately, like you hadn’t seen him in months. The muddy streaks on your arms when he looked at you in the pale moonlight, the scrape of dirt underneath your fingernails. It had been raining. You smelt like pain.

What had you been digging?

He needs to forget about that night and what it actually was you’d dug up, then. You’d told him you’d had to bury an animal that had gotten lost and died in the garden, and it was a half-truth even by the most generous account.

Dark, evil things happened that night, and no matter their intent, you were the sum of them.

You’d sacrificed a lamb to dig up a wolf.

He doesn’t remember your answer now, but it must’ve been enough for him, then. It must have been.

So he doesn’t ask again, no matter how hard uncertainty tugs on his lungs.

On that old, familiar path, he follows you home and feels like a stranger.

The blood itself was the easiest to wash off, and maybe that was the worst part. In the human world, crime rarely disappeared without a trace, but magic always left its mark.

You remember tumbling on your way back, almost tripping over your doorstep, a sudden pulse of energy pulling the breath from your lungs. These were your own four walls, the ones you’d blessed yourself, tended to and looked after for years, and they seemed to recoil.

Bucky caught your arm without even looking, catching you like he always had, and you crossed the threshold together. You looked at him, then, for the first time since the graveyard. You could feel his pulse under your grip, his heartbeat strong and loud enough to be mistaken for your own, but his gaze so uncertain, like he wasn’t sure he actually belonged here.

With you.

You made up your mind right then and there. He could never know.

You stir your tea as you always do, and you’ve set out his cup on the kitchen table. Alpine paws at it before he can pick it up, a fierce growl accompanying the sound of smashing porcelain.

She’s been angry with both of you, and he doesn’t know why. She keeps hissing at him, and she refuses to sit on your lap when you study your books next to the fireplace like she always used to. Like she’s punishing you in whatever little way she can for a crime he doesn’t understand.

You sigh, and you repair the cup with a flick of your wrist, and then you don’t reach out to pet that spot behind Alpine’s ears.

It’s little things like that.

And it’s your tired eyes.

Of course, no one else can know either; it’s not a risk you’re willing to take.

If Bucky notices the phone’s been unplugged all this time, he’s never said a word. He’s never been much for talking, anyway, but he does it even less so these days. You’ve both turned quiet around each other, but the only thing that matters is that you’re both still here.

Even now, you can feel the dark powers humming through your veins, just like you could that night. You hear the whispers calling out your name and see the shadows at the very periphery of your vision. They follow you into your dreams until you give up on them, slipping out of the warm embrace of your bed to hunch over the tome again, again, just a little more.

Perhaps you should worry about repercussions, but what for? After all, everything you did that night, you did out of love.

Everything you’ve done, you’ve done for him.

Sometimes, he doesn’t notice them for a very long time, and then it hits him all over again just how exhausted you look. When he wakes up in the middle of the night, your side of the bed is empty and the roof of his mouth tastes like ash and decay. In those moments, he thinks he might still be dreaming; his bones are heavy and cold and unyielding, and he lies there like something forgotten, and all of his thoughts revolve around you.

He’s so worried about you.

He wants to ask if it’s something he’s done. He wants to know if he can make it better, make you smile again like you always did at the sight of him, every time. But he’s afraid of the answer.

You’ve not been yourself and you know it, but at this point, you feel unable to stop it. It’s too late, anyway. The dead already walk to earth, and you’re the one to blame. You’re the one to thank.

Sometimes, the thought does hit you that there’s something a little wrong with you these days. But then he looks at you and he smiles, and you’re young and foolish and in love all over again, that weight of all those weeks of screaming and crying lifted with every glance, every touch, every kiss.

This, the uncertainty, is the worst part of it. It becomes his closest companion, and it only lifts slightly when you return to him, if only for a moment. When you do smile, when you put your hands around his neck and kiss him and he can feel real again, feel like himself again.

He barely notices that you will only look him in the eye when it’s dark, when he can lose himself in your touch, foreheads pressed together, breaths heavy and mingling, the only real creatures in the world. The sweetest thing he’s ever tasted.

Maybe you are wrong. Maybe you are wicked and evil and rotten to the core, and maybe there’ll be hell to pay for it yet.

But you’re not sorry.

hearing hozier perform "like real people do" as a duet with victoria canal changed lives y'all

thank you for reading!! if you want to see more of my writing, check out my masterlist or follow @intrepidacious-fics for update notifications!! also, comments are trick or treats that last all year long. just saying 💛

oh, before we leave, here's an extra shoutout to @brandycranby for telling me this was fun and the perfect length. i accidentally made it longer again. love u 🫶🏼

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes oneshot #marvel fanfic #mcu fanfic #about that night (the bugs and the dirt)

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reallyhatethiswebsite · 6 months ago

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act 2 raph/tav dream smut (kinda), jealous devil, mind games(?)🤷‍♂️

Read on AO3

Tav bit her cheek. Fought to stand still.

Don’t squirm, he likes it when they squirm.

This was Astarion’s moment. She was supposed to shut up and act supportive while he took the risk, pressing the devil on their tail for information about his terrible scars. She was trying. But that devil kept staring at her, even as he answered questions, posed some of his own, played with words as he was wont to do, saying much without actually saying anything at all. No one else seemed to notice, not even Astarion. It made Tav think she might be imagining it, that she was crazy. The shadows in this terrible godless place made her crazy. The tadpole eating at her brain made her crazy.

Except she could feel those dark, deceptive doe eyes on her, almost like the ardent caress of an angry lover. The little smirk pulling at the left side of Raphael’s pretty mouth also gave him away, but only to someone who paid attention. She was paying attention. Tav didn’t understand, didn’t know what he wanted. All of it just seemed different. He was different. Agitated, maybe, like a moody panther waiting to strike, or…something. If he were in his real form, Tav bet his tail would be thrashing. Whatever it was left Tav feeling strange, on edge – as if her nerves weren’t already pulled taut. It wasn’t fear that gripped her, though. Warm fingers of anticipation danced along her spine instead.

Anticipation for what?

That sensation didn’t ease even after Astarion made his deal and the devil returned to Hell. It curdled thick in her gut, buzzed in the back of her mind. The friends – Karlach in particular – peppered Astarion with demands to know what he was thinking, how stupid it was to make any kind of agreement with a devil. Before long the discussion turned into a spat, the tiefling’s fiery temper and the vampire’s sharp defensive sarcasm clashing. Gale stepped in to diffuse. Tav was too distracted to get involved.

“You alright?” Wyll stepped aside and asked her quietly.

“I’m fine.” Tav shook her head. Smiled reassuringly. “It’s just this place, you know?”

“Mm. I understand. Feels like there’s eyes on you around every corner.”

You got that right.

Tav’s feet were heavy as lead as she climbed Last Light’s staircase. Karlach and Astarion were still squabbling. She left them to argue, exhaustion luring her into a soft bed with musty sheets tucked away in a room on the second floor. Her pack dropped to the ground. She pulled her boots off and collapsed backwards, staring at the ceiling. After a month sleeping on the ground, the ancient mattress felt like heaven. Before she drifted off, she heard Jaheira scolding her companions, threatening to throw them out on their asses if they didn't stop acting like children, but the sounds were far away, as if she were hearing them from a great distance. She thought of Raphael, his smouldering stare, chocolate brown irises flecked with orange peeling away the layers of her soul.

A devil shouldn’t have such pretty eyes…

Tav was in an empty field, a clearing surrounded by impenetrable woods that bled fog and shadow. A swollen yellow moon hung low in the pitch-black canvas of sky. She was cold. Looking down, she saw her feet were bare; realised her entire body was bare. She knew she was dreaming, but she felt alert, aware in a way she normally didn’t experience when she dreamed.

She also knew she wasn’t alone. Something was in that forest, skirting the treeline. Watching her. She was nervous. Intrigued.

“Who’s there?” She called out. Her voice echoed, swallowed up by the darkness. No answer. “Come out! I know you’re there!”

“Little mouse…”

Tav spun around. That raspy, heated whisper came from somewhere behind. She knew that voice.

“Raphael?”

He chuckled. Deep, rich. This time she couldn’t tell from which direction. The sound carried everywhere.

“Show yourself, devil,” Tav snapped. “I’m not afraid of you.”

“Aren’t you?” Orange eyes blinked lazily in the dark. Tav could hear the smile in his words.

“No. This is just a dream. You can’t hurt me.”

“Just a dream? Hmm…”

The devil stepped into the clearing. Into the moonlight. He wore his true skin, shirtless, his broad chest spattered with dark hair. His huge leathery wings flexed. His serpent-like tail swayed to and fro. He dipped his head, peering at Tav through thick lashes, his crown of mighty horns. Hungrily consuming her visage with his gaze. Perhaps she should have been self-conscious, mortified that this awful creature was seeing her naked, but it wasn’t really happening. And truth be told...she didn’t mind. She liked Raphael, found him attractive. She could admit that in her own dreams, this deep little secret. No one else would ever know.

“What do you want?” Tav said. Crossed her arms beneath her breasts. She could be bold here. She wasn’t ashamed of her body. In fact she liked the way his hungry stare made her feel, and it didn’t escape her that her dream was presenting the devil in a near-identical way to the amorous encounter she’d had with Astarion at the tiefling party.

“Such an interesting question…” Raphael hummed. He sauntered closer. Circled her. “What do you want, little mouse? Love? Companionship? Or is it merely…attention you seek? Surely you could have asked for it from a better source. I doubt the little vampling’s cold, sticky hands did much to truly ignite your passions…”

“What would you know about igniting passions? Ah…” Tav’s waspish response melted into a breathy sigh when the devil loomed behind her, putting one huge warm paw on her soft belly. She let him. The heat of his touch was maddening. All her tiny hairs stood on end. The points of his cambion claws rested gently against her skin. Just a reminder.

“Plenty,” he promised, speaking right into her ear. She shuddered. At some point he’d lost his trousers, because she felt his hot, hard cock pressing against her back. Its size was intimidating. Promising. Its shape strange, ribbed. Raphael nuzzled her jaw. His other hand cupped her chin, turned her head the way he wanted. She gasped when his forked tongue licked over the faded bite marks on her neck. “The vampire’s stink is all over you. I smelled it as soon as you entered the inn. Do you enjoy the hurt, when he bites you? Do you enjoy feeling him drain your lifeblood with every pathetic, mewling gulp?”

“Maybe,” Tav breathed, allowing him to cup and knead her breast. Arched her back when he pinched her nipple, made it pebbled and puffy. “Are you jealous, devil?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Needy little harlot that you are,” Raphael murmured. He caressed the length of her body from her chin to her navel, claws leaving thin, shallow welts spotted with tiny beads of blood in their wake. His long thick fingers teased her patch of pubic hair. “But you know as well as I do, Astarion won’t satisfy you forever. A vampire’s bite isn’t the only way to dance with death so…erotically.” He settled the tip of his own fangs into the hollow of her throat. Fire danced around the fingers he held so near her clit, fat and flush with blood and desperate for touch. The flames licked, not burning – not yet – but tempting.

Tav sucked in a harsh breath, arousal scrunching her toes in the grass. She desired dark, dangerous men. Men who’d unrepentantly hurt her and then put her back together in their own image. Astarion was perhaps one of those things, but Raphael… She felt the satisfied upwards curl of his lips against her skin, as if he’d read her mind. He wedged his thigh between hers, forced her to spread her legs. His hot, rough skin against her flushed cunt felt incredible. She’d left a smear on him, no doubt. His leaking prick squashed between their bodies had him sighing when she writhed into it. She felt its infernal ridges and barbs, whined thinking about them inside her. It would hurt so good.

“Yes…I suppose you’ll have your fun for now, sweet pet. Let him bite you. Revel in your little deaths. And when you tire of him, when you realise he can’t fulfil your every desperate need…” The devil at last slid his fingers between her mons, rubbed and squeezed her clit, pressed at her soaked, ravenous entrance. Tav moaned, rolled her hips, chasing pleasure Raphael only teased her with. He moved his hand away far too soon, held his fingers coated in her slick in front of her face. Showed her the evidence of her twisted fantasy. “That’s when you’ll come to me. But will I be merciful? Will I sate your desires? Or will I have you beg on hands and knees for me? Beg until you can speak no longer, until your arousal renders you near-senseless? Hmm…I wonder…which would you prefer?” Tav wasn’t given chance to answer. Raphael stuffed his fingers into her mouth. The musky, tart taste of her own cunt and smoky infernal magic flooded her senses. Greedily she sucked those fingers clean, feasting on the breathless groan he released.

“Filthy thing,” he hissed, derisive and debauched, pinching her tongue until she squealed. He smeared her lips with her spit, gripped her throat, claws on her pulse point. “The vampling has no idea, does he? Such a shame.”

“Then fuck me yourself, you pompous asshole,” Tav snarled in frustration. Raphael laughed, low and husky.

“Oh, no. Not yet. You’ve things to do. Choices to make. I’m simply…letting you know what else might be on offer, you see. Giving you something to think about.” The devil nudged the bulbous head of his cock along the divots of her spine, marking her with his cum. His tail snaked around her calf, the tip slowly climbing up her leg like it had a mind of its own. “And you will think about it, won’t you?”

“Raphael…”

“Time to wake up, my dear,” he purred, the moment his tail’s tip pushed itself into her cunt.

Tav jerked awake. Blinked deliriously as the world swam into focus. Her clothes clung to her body, drenched with sweat. Her cunt was slick and aching, a throbbing coil of arousal heavy in her womb. She couldn’t tell how long she’d been sleeping. Someone was snoring in a bed nearby. She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, clenched her thighs together. Her body burned where the devil had touched her. Stinging pain on her belly made her lift up her damp shirt. She stared in sheer disbelief at five neat lines of red scratches.

What the fuck sort of dream was that?

-x-

Within the private walls of the devil’s study, the lewd sounds of skin rubbing against skin and heavy breathing filled the stifled air. He sat at his desk with his legs spread, teeth bared, tugging on his fat cock and full balls where he’d freed them from his trousers. His fist couldn’t compare to the tight, wet heat of his mouse’s little cunt, of course, but it would have to do for now. He thought of the way she responded, her body so pliant and her moans so sweet. He thought of how she’d wake up slick and confused and desperate. He thought of how, even if she fucked the vampire again, she’d think about him whether she liked it or not. He exhaled long and hard through his nose as he climaxed, face twisted with satisfaction. Spurts of cum shot over his knuckles, dribbled through his fingers, dripped onto the floor. He sat and basked, his twitching dick softening in his messy hand.

Soon, little mouse. Soon.

#baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #raphael bg3 #bg3 raphael #raphael x tav #fanfic #cringe

176 notes · View notes

wholoveseggs · 6 months ago

Note

hii

A gem was gardener part 1 wait ing for other parts desperately...

Also a tiny request plz make it a nice smutty happy ending cuz my heart broke after rules

Thanku love (in klaus voice:))))

The Gardener {Part Two}

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

Part Two

Your mission to seduce Elijah continues, and it's becoming harder and harder to separate your feelings for him from your duty. Your ancestors call out to you, warning of death and destruction, and tensions within the coven are high. Your time is running out, and you have to find the white oak ash, and soon.

♡♡ ...Hiii anon, don't worry about it darling! ... the end will be the end and I promise it won't hurt {a lot} ~xoxo.♡♡

4.2k words - Warnings: smuuuuut, oral sex {f!receiving}, interrogation with a side of breakfast, visions, angst, deception, lies, a stupid self referencing joke, blurred lines, Klaus ruining the moment and lots of tension...

{Part One}{Part Three}{Part Four}

{Elijah Mikaelson Tag-List }

@gorgeouslydangerous @starkleila @lydia1369sworld @notleylaaa @vampiresluv

@myanmy @xflowerbombxo @maryvibess @always-and-forever-daydreaming

@spnaquakindgdom @amournoir @meeom @damienmorton @wickedmuse

@cs-please @complicatedandconfusing-25 @youcanhavemybuckanyday @akala6670229 @yeaiamme2

@itsjulzandmydiamonds @witch-of-letters @elijahstwink @rosecentury

@amanda08319 @starshipcookie @li-da-savage @veggie-eggrolls @spideybv28

@sunkissedebony97 @idk00sblog @savannaounana @sekaishell @b1tchy

@loving-and-dreaming @fancycassie-stayfancy @hcqwxrtss123 @iamawkwardandshy @ziayamikaelson

@absolutemarveltrash @darkened-writer @nina6708 @evasmlp

The following week had been filled with work, keeping up the appearance of an innocent gardener. It was easy enough, the herb beds were finished and now all you needed to do was keep them maintained and watered. It was a pleasant task, especially compared to the tasks ahead of you.

You had been avoiding Elijah, Agnes told you not to use him unless absolutely necessary, and so far, he had left you alone. He had been polite, friendly, but his presence had been a constant shadow. Stolen glances and flirty smiles, he was clearly interested.

You had tried to ignore him, but every time you saw him, you felt a rush of excitement and dread. He was the enemy, and yet, his presence made your heart flutter and your stomach churn. It was foolish, reckless, dangerous, and yet, there was no denying the pull.

It was early morning when you arrived at the compound, the air was cold and misty, the sun had just started to peek above the horizon. The courtyard was empty, and the whole compound was quiet, almost eerily so.

"Gardner! Just who I was looking for," Klaus' voice rang out, making you jump.

You spun around to find him leaning against the railing on the second floor, a grin on his face.

"Good morning, Mr. Mikaelson," you greeted, trying to keep the fear from your voice. "What can I do for you?"

He strolled down the stairs and approached you, a cocky smile on his lips.

"I was wondering if you would care to join me for breakfast?" He asked, stopping a few feet away from you.

You looked up at him, your stomach twisting with anxiety. You had hoped to avoid him as long as possible.

"Come now," he said, his voice smooth and seductive, "don't be shy."

You nodded, giving him a forced smile. He led you to the dining room, holding out a chair for you.

"Please," he said, gesturing to the seat. "Surely, you're hungry, and we have some things to discuss,"

You sat down, and he sat at the head of the table, looking pleased with himself. A number of servants came and went, bringing plates and glasses. One stopped and slit their wrist, pouring blood into a glass for Klaus, their expression empty.

You looked away, your stomach churning, you hated the sight of blood. The smell of the food made you nauseous, and the thought of eating was unbearable.

"So, my brother tells me you are a witch, I don't recall seeing that on your resume," he said, picking up his wine glass and swirling the blood inside.

"I didn't think it was necessary," you replied, trying to keep your voice even.

"Yes, well," he paused, taking a sip, "I'm sure you are aware of the current...situation,"

You nodded, avoiding his gaze, trying to quell your nausea. Klaus chuckled at your unease.

"Eggs?" He offered, holding up a plate.

"No, thank you," you said, forcing a smile.

He shrugged, setting the plate down and digging into the pile of food in front of him.

"The witches have been rather troublesome, plotting against my family," he said, taking a bite of sausage. "Do you know anything about that?"

"I'm afraid not," you lied, looking at him.

"Hmm," he mused, chewing slowly, his eyes narrowed.

"Why do you think I would be involved in any sort of plots?" You asked, taking a bite of toast. "Awfully presumptuous to lump all witches together, like we are some sort of monolithic entity."

"You are a witch, and I am a vampire, and our relationship is...contentious at best," he said, his blue eyes sparkling. "Besides, I have heard rumblings, whispers, of a new faction, a new coven-"

"Brother," Elijah's voice interrupted.

You looked over to see him enter the room, his expression stern. He gave Klaus a disapproving look before sitting down next to you at the table.

"Y/n," he said, smiling at you. "How are the herb beds coming along?"

"Very well, thank you," you replied, relieved by the interruption.

"Eggs?" Klaus offered, holding up the plate again.

"No, thank you," Elijah said, a hint of annoyance in his tone.

"You love eggs," Klaus teased, shoveling a forkful of egg into his mouth.

"Yes, but I am not in the mood," Elijah said, his voice sharp.

Klaus raised an eyebrow, and Elijah shook his head.

"Are you planning on interrogating her the entire meal?" Elijah said, looking over at his brother.

Klaus shrugged, shoveling another forkful of eggs into his mouth. "Whatever do you mean Elijah? This is simply a friendly breakfast,"

"It doesn't seem friendly," Elijah retorted, "and I think the poor girl is uncomfortable,"

"You worry too much, brother," Klaus said, grinning. "She's perfectly fine, aren't you?" He looked over at you.

"Yes, I'm fine," you said, trying to hide the unease in your voice.

"See?" Klaus said, giving Elijah a smug look. "There's nothing to worry about."

Elijah sighed and poured you a cup of coffee, pushing it towards you.

"Please, drink," he said, offering a sympathetic smile. "I'm sorry, my brother can be a bit...difficult,"

"Hey," Klaus interjected, his expression indignant. "I'm sitting right here."

Elijah ignored him and continued, "how are the herbs? Do you need any help with anything?"

"Everything is fine, thank you," you replied, taking a sip of the coffee. "I... Do have a question though,"

"Anything," Elijah said, looking at you, his hand resting on the table next to yours. You could feel the heat from his body, the tension between the two of you.

"Your choice of herbs, was that intentional?" You asked, looking up at him.

Klaus' eyebrows shot up, his gaze curious. "What do you mean?"

"The herbs in the greenhouse," you clarified, "you chose them for their magical properties, didn't you?"

"We did," Elijah admitted, his gaze thoughtful.

"What did you hope to accomplish with them?" You pressed, wanting more information.

Elijah was silent for a moment, his gaze fixed on the table, then he looked at Klaus, an unreadable expression on his face.

"Call it a precaution," Klaus said, leaning back in his chair, his arms folded across his chest.

"A precaution?" You asked, confused.

Neither of them answered, but you could feel the tension in the room. There was an unspoken conversation going on between the brothers, and you were missing something.

"You worry about the wrong things," Klaus finally said, his gaze locked on Elijah. "Just get the job done and you will be well compensated,"

Elijah gave his brother a hard look, and then turned his attention back to you, a polite smile on his face.

"I can walk you back to the greenhouse," he offered, standing up.

"And leave all this food for me to eat?" Klaus exclaimed, his tone teasing.

Elijah ignored him and took your arm, helping you stand up.

"It was lovely having breakfast with you," Elijah said softly as he walked you to the door. "Perhaps we can do it again sometime."

"Sure," you said, not sure how else to respond.

The greenhouse was quiet when you returned, the sun streaming through the windows. You could smell the herbs, their fragrance filling the air. Elijah stood beside you, his hands in his pockets.

"Can we talk?" he asked, his tone gentle.

"Of course," you replied, looking up at him.

He smiled, and reached out, taking your hand in his. Your heart was pounding, your stomach churning. You had to keep reminding yourself that he was a killer, not the handsome and charming man he was portraying himself to be.

"I was hoping we could continue where we left off the other night," he said, his eyes dark with desire.

You swallowed, trying to push down the feelings that were threatening to overtake you.

"Elijah," you began, but he cut you off, pressing his lips to yours. You melted into the kiss, his hand resting on the small of your back, pulling you in close.

"I've been thinking about you," he murmured against your lips, "about that kiss,."

He stepped forward, moving you backwards until you hit the workbench. His hands rested on your hips, lifting you up and setting you down on the counter.

You couldn't deny how hot he was, or how much you enjoyed him taking control. You didn't have to pretend, not right now. The constant whispering of the ancestors fell silent, the stress and pressure you were under was lifted, if only for a moment.

You smiled against his lips, running your hands up his chest.

"I can't get you out of my mind," he whispered, his hand running through your hair.

You laughed softly, "Have I cast a spell on you?"

"If you did, I wouldn't mind," he said, his eyes dancing with amusement.

His hands moved slowly up your thighs, searching for the buttons of your pants. You giggled as he struggled, his fingers fumbling. He pulled back and looked down, frowning in confusion.

"You have to start up here," you smiled, biting your lip, pointing to the buckles of your overalls. "You probably don't hook up with a lot of women wearing these."

He smiled, mildly flustered. "I've taken off much more complicated garments than this," he said, flipping the buckles and tugging your pants down.

It was a bit of an awkward struggle to get them off, the two of you giggling and fumbling around. Finally, he was able to tug them past your hips, pulling them off and tossing them to the side.

He leaned forward, pressing his lips to yours, his tongue exploring your mouth. You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him closer. He chuckled against your lips and slid his hands under your shirt, caressing your breasts. You moaned softly, arching your back, pressing into his touch.

His hands moved down your sides, sliding over your hips and thighs, pulling you closer. You could feel his arousal, hard and insistent, pressing against you.

"Am I moving too fast?" He asked, his eyes searching yours.

"Not at all," you whispered, kissing him.

He grinned, his thumb gently grazing over the swollen nub peeking through your panties ,a little wet patch had formed, the cotton clinging to you. You grabbed his shoulders, pulling him closer. He chuckled and kissed you, his fingers moving slowly, exploring, teasing.

"Oh, you're so sensitive," he said, his voice low and seductive. "And beautiful."

Your fingers curled into his shirt, your eyes locked with his. He smiled, watching you react, enjoying the effect he was having on you.

"You like that?" He asked, his voice a deep purr.

"Yes," you whispered, your cheeks flushed.

"Good," he said, his finger slipping into you, making you gasp.

He hummed, his fingers moving in and out of you in a firm, steady rhythm. You were so wet, the filthy sounds were audible in the quiet of the greenhouse. He pressed his lips to yours, his fingers continuing their pace, driving you crazy. Your hands slid down, unbuckling his belt and fumbling with his zipper.

"In a hurry?" He teased, his breath warm on your skin.

"A little," you moaned, your eyes squeezed shut.

He chuckled, pulling his fingers from you, causing you to whine in protest. He knelt down, his hands sliding up your thighs, gripping the edge of your panties.

"Let me," he said, tugging the wet garment down and off.

You bit your lip, watching him, your heart pounding. He grinned, his hands pushing your knees apart. His tongue ran along the inside of your thigh, making you shudder. He paused, his gaze moving up, meeting yours.

"Is this alright?" He asked, his fingers tracing circles on the smooth skin.

"Yes," you whispered, your eyes fixed on him.

He smirked and then buried his face between your thighs, his tongue lapping at your swollen, slick cunt. You let out a moan, your hand grabbing onto his hair, pulling him closer.

He was good, infuriatingly so, his tongue licking and swirling, driving you wild. You could feel your climax building, the tension rising, his hands gripping your thighs, his tongue working its magic.

You were close, so close, your toes curling, your body trembling. You couldn't believe how good it felt, how amazing his mouth felt against your skin.

The silence in your mind was intoxicating, the freedom addictive. The only things that mattered were the waves of pleasure coursing through your body and the feeling of his fingers digging into your hips.

The pressure built, and you writhed, bucking your hips, grinding against his mouth. Reaching, reaching, reaching for the edge, desperate for release.

And then, you fell.

The world exploded in a blinding light, stars dancing behind your eyes. Your body shook, a tingling sensation spreading from your core, to the tips of your toes. The voices came rushing back, and with them visions of the past, of a life lived, of a future yet to be written.

You could see plants wilting, rotting in their pots, a tree splitting, its roots exposed, a forest fire, a raging inferno, consuming everything in its path. Ashes like rain, falling, blanketing the earth. You could hear screams of children, of a mother crying, a woman wailing. You saw blood, so much blood, the air thick with its coppery scent.

You screamed, your eyes wide, your body shaking, the images flooding your mind. It was too much, it was all too much. You couldn't breathe, the weight of it crushing you, suffocating you.

You felt two warm hands on your shoulders, shaking you, a soft, muffled voice calling to you.

"Are you okay? Come back to me, come back,"

Slowly, the images faded, the voices silenced, the pressure eased. Your heart was pounding, sweat covering your skin. You looked up, Elijah's worried expression coming into focus.

"Y/n?" He said, his voice laced with concern.

"I'm... I'm okay," you managed, your voice hoarse.

His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin.

"What happened? You went away for a moment," He asked, his eyes scanning yours, searching for an answer.

"Y-you are just really good at that," you said, giving him a small smile, your voice shaking.

He wasn't convinced, his expression concerned. He was about to say something when Klaus' voice echoed through the greenhouse.

"Brother! Are you still here?"

You and Elijah looked at each other, his hands quickly fixing his pants, before he moved away.You forced a smile, the visions still lingering, the voices of your ancestors had returned, the blissful silence gone. He helped you stand, his hands lingering on your waist, his eyes full of questions. You tried to give him a reassuring smile, but he could see through it.

"Do you need anything? Water, or..." He trailed off, searching for an excuse to stay, to make sure you were okay. "Did I upset you? I... I didn't mean to push."

You shook your head, trying to put him at ease. "No, it's not you, it's... I'm sorry, I can't,"

You were embarrassed, confused. You needed space, time to sort through the images and figure out what they meant.

"You're sure?" He asked, his voice gentle.

"Yeah, I'm fine, really," you said, trying to sound convincing. "Thank you, but I... I have work to do, I should go,"

"Okay," he said, reluctantly letting go of your waist.

You hurried to find your clothes, putting them on, ignoring the way the fabric stuck to your damp skin. He watched you, his expression thoughtful, his arms folded across his chest.

"Have dinner with me tomorrow?" He asked, his eyes hopeful.

You hesitated. "I'm not sure that's such a good-"

"Please," he said, his voice soft. "Let me take you out. We can have a nice, normal date."

You smiled, your heart fluttering. "Okay,"

He grinned, his eyes sparkling. "Great, I'll pick you up,"

You nodded, mustering your best smile. You couldn't shake the unease, the fear, the dread that was starting to creep in. There was a storm coming, you could feel it, and you weren't sure what to do.

Agnes lit the last candle, the soft glow filling the room. She closed her eyes and whispered an incantation, the air thick with the scent of herbs.

Maeve wandered in and sat down beside you, watching Agnes.

"Is she trying to commune with the ancestors again?" Maeve asked, her voice laced with irritation.

"She is," you replied, keeping your tone neutral.

"It won't work," Maeve said, her voice harsh.

"I had a vision," you whispered, not wanting to distract Agnes.

"Of course you did," Maeve scoffed, her gaze fixed on Agnes. "They're always visions. Never anything helpful."

"Maeve," you warned, not wanting to argue.

You heard the sound of the latch being pulled and the other coven members entered, filling the room. Agnes signaled for the members to gather around the altar.

"Welcome," she said, her voice low and calm. "I have called this meeting to discuss an urgent matter,"

The coven murmured, exchanging glances, a sense of unease filling the room. Agnes looked over at you, gesturing for you to speak.

"We have a problem," you began, your voice shaking.

"What's going on?" A member named Ava asked, her voice concerned.

"I think I know what they want with the herbs," you said, your eyes scanning the group.

"Spit it out, girl," Maeve said, her tone sharp.

"We know they have been escalating this war, first with suppression, then an outright ban on magic. They have executed some of our families, and now they are planning to use the last thing we have against us," you said, taking a breath, steeling yourself.

"Which is?" Another member named Liza asked, her gaze focused on you.

"They're taking complete control of the vervain supply," you replied, "They're growing it, cultivating it, with the aim of controlling it,"

"That would explain why they were in need of a gardener," Beatrice said, her brow furrowed in thought.

"But why would they need complete control?" Liza asked, her voice full of concern.

"To take the last thread of control away from us," Agnes replied, her eyes full of worry. "They will keep it out of our water supply, and be able to compel any person they please,"

"And they will kill any competitors," you said softly, remembering the vision.

"Including you, with your little shop" Maeve said, her lips curled in a cruel smile. "So, you might want to focus on getting us the ash before they cut your pretty head off,"

"Any progress with getting the ash?" Beatrice asked, placing her hand on your shoulder, her gaze sympathetic.

"Not yet," you replied, shaking your head. "It's a delicate process."

Agnes nodded, looking around at the seven young women. "We must prepare, we need to find another way to protect ourselves. Our coven, our legacy is all that matters,"

The witches nodded, their expressions somber.

"Our ancestors are looking out for us, guiding us. We will survive, we will persevere," Agnes said, her voice resolute. "Y/n has seen it,"

"Oh yes, the vision," Maeve said, her eyes filled with sarcasm. "What have you seen?"

"I... I saw death and destruction," you said, your voice shaking.

"You can't be serious," Maeve scoffed, rolling her eyes. "You have had those visions hundreds of times,"

"Maeve," Agnes warned.

"No, this is ridiculous," Maeve shot back, her eyes narrowed. "We need the ash, and y/n isn't getting it. So, we need to find someone else who can."

"I'm doing my best," you said, trying to remain calm. "I have earned Elijah's trust, he will-"

"When and how did you have this vision?" Maeve demanded, cutting you off.

"This morning," you admitted, knowing there was no point in hiding it.

"Please dear, tell us how, perhaps it can add clarity to what is to come," Agnes said, her voice soothing.

You felt yourself blushing, your cheeks growing hot. "I... I was with Elijah, in the greenhouse," you began, avoiding their eyes.

"Your visions are usually caused by stress," Beatrice chimed in, her brow furrowed. "Was he threatening you in some way? Was it an argument?"

"No, no, nothing like that," you assured them, a blush creeping onto your cheeks. "It was... I... It was after,"

"After what?" Liza asked, her interest piqued.

You cleared your throat, shifting uncomfortably. Everyone here knew you were trying to seduce him, that his blindspot was always with his lovers. But admitting that he had touched you, that you had let him, that was different.

"It was after he was intimate with her," Agnes said, her voice soft and understanding.

You could feel the judgment, the disapproval, the tension in the room. Beatrice took your hand and gave it a squeeze, trying to offer you comfort.

"How many times has that happened?" Maeve asked, her tone accusatory.

"Maeve," Beatrice warned, "she's making a great sacrifice for us,"

"Whoring herself out to an abomination," Maeve scoffed, shaking her head.

"That's enough," Agnes said, her tone sharp, cutting the argument short.

"It's fine, I understand her concerns," you said, trying to keep the bitterness from your voice. "I've been with him every day, I'm gaining his trust, it's only a matter of time before I find the ash."

The other members nodded, their faces grim.

"Y/n's way is the safest, they cannot know when we take it, or they will stop us with violence," Agnes said, her expression solemn.

"How long will it take?" Maeve asked, her frustration evident.

"I can't be sure," you admitted, shaking your head.

Maeve let out a frustrated groan and stood up, storming out of the room.

"I'm sorry," you said, looking around at the others.

"Don't apologize, it's a difficult task," Liza said, offering you a reassuring smile. "I could never have the will or strength to lay with a demon, much less one of the old ones."

You swallowed, forcing a smile, trying not to let the comment hurt. It wasn't exactly a burden to be with him, you couldn't deny that it had felt good. That there had been moments where the lines between what was an act and what was real blurred.

"He is a very handsome man," Beatrice added, trying to lighten the mood.

"That he is," Ava agreed, her eyes twinkling. "It's a shame he's so evil."

"Yes," you said, forcing a smile.

"I think that's all for tonight," Agnes said, giving you a kind smile. "As always, prepare, purify, for tomorrow could be the day we possess the ash."

You watched as the coven departed, their expressions somber, their shoulders hunched, each carrying the burden of your coven. You felt a wave of guilt wash over you, wondering if there was something more you could have done. If you should have tried harder, found a quicker solution.

"Are you okay, child?" Agnes asked, placing a hand on your shoulder.

"I'm fine," you assured her, mustering a small smile. "I'll get the ash, I promise,"

Agnes smiled, giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze..

"Do whatever it takes, sweet girl, and stay safe, we need you for the ritual," Agnes said, patting your shoulder before leaving the room.

You looked over at the altar, the candles casting flickering shadows across the walls, the vines, and leaves twisting and twining around each other. It was beautiful, and it filled you with a sense of peace.

You had made a commitment, a promise to your coven, and you were going to do everything you could to keep it.

It was an odd feeling, to walk around town on the arm of a man that everyone hated and feared. People's heads turned as you passed, and whispers filled the air. You wanted to tell them that you were on their side, that you would fight for them, for their freedom. But you knew it would only cause more trouble.

Days had turned to weeks, turned to months. Each one the same, each night spent in his arms. And yet, every time he held you, kissed you, whispered words of love, it felt like the first time.

You felt like two people.

There was the you that he knew. The one who smiled, and laughed with him. The one who melted into his strong arms. Who listened to his stories, his plans, his dreams. The one who woke up beside him, hair tousled and with eyes full of sleep. The one who loved him, even if you weren't supposed to.

And then, there was the other you. The one who had a duty. The one who had a purpose, a mission, a destiny to wipe out his family. The one who had to lie, deceive, betray him.

Neither of them felt like you. Neither of them felt right. Both felt like an act. Like a betrayal.

The worst part was the way he looked at you. Like you were the only thing that mattered, the only thing he cared about. You were raised to hate him, to expect cruelty, violence, abuse. And yet, here he was, always so gentle, kind and affectionate. It made it hard to believe the things your coven had told you.

He was charming, witty, and intelligent. He made you laugh, he made you feel safe, and cherished. He was nothing like the monster you had expected, nothing like the one the others spoke of. If he wasn't an abomination, you could see yourself falling in love with him.

You couldn't.

You shouldn't.

But you did.

And it would only make what you were about to do, that much harder.

{Part One}{Part Three}{Part Four}

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gorbo-longstocking · 1 day ago

Text

Do Not Blame the Sea | Chapter 6

Pairing: Emperor Geta/Reader, Emperor Caracalla/Reader

Summary: You are not yourself. How can you be after the realization that this is your life now? What you thought was a long, neverending dream is actually reality. At this realization, you find the world and your sense of self begin to slip away between your fingers. The emperors notice, and Caracalla attempts to help you. Poorly.

Tags: Very severe dissociation from a POV character including both derealization and depersonalization, major emotional breakdown, implications of period-typical slavery, self-harm via negligence, injuries, homesickness, Caracalla is bad at comforting, low self-worth from reader, and implications of reader’s toxic relationship with their parents. I think that’s everything.

Word Count: 6.5k Words

Read on AO3

Masterlist.

The days blurred together into nothing more than a foggy haze. Your head hurt. It hurt and that terrified you. There was only one reason why you could feel pain, and you struggled to keep it caged in the back of your mind where it shrieked and writhed as if it had a will of its own. Think, remember, realize, it screamed. You had to cover your ears to drown it out. Unbelievably scared and absolutely sick with terror, your stomach would lurch every time those realizations returned. It was only locked away in the safety of your clinic, the praetorian in the adjacent room, and away from prying eyes, did you allow yourself to curl in on yourself. To feel this horror, if only for a second. A single, relieving, aching moment in time before you locked it back away, deep inside your chest where it belonged. Where it clawed at your ribcage and tore at your lungs.

This was something you couldn’t think about, wouldn’t dare to ponder, and yet…

And yet—

Your hands trembled as you reorganized your surgical instruments. Again and again, for two days, you would complete your duties in a mindless haze, then return to your clinic to stare at your tools. They were deceptively sharp. Your hands were covered in little cuts, bandaged haphazardly. Carelessness got you hurt, and you tried not to think about how your hands stung with every movement. The room felt fake, it was proof that you were right all along. Your body didn’t feel like it was your own. When you stared down at yourself, the way it moved, seemingly stuttering behind your actual instructions in a way that made you feel you were in a bad video game. You knew the truth.

It was more proof that this wasn’t real. A figment of your stress-addled mind, that was all this was. You hadn’t defied all logic, all science, and time-traveled back to Ancient Rome, because that was impossible. One day, you would wake up in your bed and this nightmare would be over.

You looked down at your injured fingers, blood blooming across the bandages. Then why did it hurt? Why could you feel pain? It wasn’t until you felt an ache radiate down your spine did you realize you were picking at one of the welts Caracalla left behind. There was a scab over it, the cost of all of your inspections.

You looked at the scalpel, glinting sharp in the torchlight. It was time to count that one too.

The events of the past two days were strange. While you could remember what happened, it felt far away, as if it had happened to someone who wasn’t you. A person wearing your skin, speaking with your voice, but, in the end, was separate from who you were. A clone, or a puppet, dancing on strings that belonged to no one.

That was who you were: no one.

It was hard to be ‘someone,’ and it wasn’t until you became empty did you realize the complexities of being. The choices that came with every day, gone, the simplicity of wading through it all on autopilot as the world writhed and shifted around you, just as empty as yourself. It was intoxicating. Why would you ever go back to how it was before? For once, living was easy, you would be a fool to give that up. Deep down, you knew it was wrong. That you should be fighting to stay present rather than sink away into the swamp inside your head.

Right now, being a person came with consequences, ones you didn’t have the faculties to fight through. Not right now, maybe not ever. One day, you would wake up in modernity, and all of this nonsense would fade away like every other dream you had. You had to cling to that.

“My friend,” Aelius began, his tone soft. It wasn’t until he spoke did you realize his hand was on your shoulder. His skin was darker than the hair on his arms that if it wasn’t so prominent that it would be hard to see. Your gaze flickered from Marianus to stare at him. He looked worried. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Yes.” Your voice didn’t sound like your own. There was an emptiness to it that echoed in the open air. The first time you had patched Marianus’ wounds, Aelius was asleep. It made the situation easier to deal with. If you looked closely, you could see the concern swimming in Marianus’ dark eyes, though he didn’t voice it.

Aelius had no such reservations. If you didn’t feel so strange, maybe it would have made you angry. You didn’t know. There was a bite in your gut. “Marianus mentioned you were acting strange the previous day, and I see why now. I think you should rest, medicus.”

“I’m not done,” Came your reply. Your fingers twitched against Marianus’ chest. There was a hand wrapped around your wrist and you stared at it before following it to where it attached to the glenohumeral joint.

It belonged to Marianus. He was frowning, and you wanted to feel ashamed. “Medicus, you are no use to anyone like this.”

He was right. Distantly, you recognized how badly you were dissociating. This is worse than it had ever been, and truthfully, treating Marianus right now, you would be more of a hindrance than a help. Your pupils flickered when you felt a wave of shame wash over you before it was gone, replaced once more with a buzzing numbness.

“What’s wrong,” Aelius tried, his thumb attempting to soothe you by rubbing against your upper arm. “Perhaps we can help.”

“I am as I need to be,” You muttered. Gently, you ducked under Aelius’ arm and stood. The exit to the barracks looked distant, and each step you took, it seemed to get farther away. Behind you, Aelius and Marianus were speaking, but you couldn’t hear what they said. Maybe it was Marianus who shouted, or maybe it was Aelius. Like all things these days, they faded away into the background, simply more noise for you to drown out.

Static faded away into silence. Blessed, blissful silence as you walked down the palace halls, your unblinking gaze fixated in the distance. You were nothing again. For some reason, you felt embarrassed, but you couldn’t remember why. It was probably not very important.

The first night that you made Caracalla his chamomile tea, he wasn’t put off by your inability to speak. He was far too preoccupied by playing with your fingers, his own tangling with yours before he pulled away, again and again. You focused on the repetition. It was comforting. His soft skin against your own, damp with sweat, only to pull away. He would clench his fingers around yours, forcing a little resistance in the motion, almost as if you didn’t want him to let go.

He did this until he fell asleep. It was his snoring that jostled you. Caracalla’s mouth was open, drool seeping from between his lips onto his pillow. When you blinked, you were using the hem of your tunic to wipe his face dry. It was an effort in futility, you knew that much. He would only drool more when you left. Still, it felt like something you needed to do.

You didn’t know when you returned to your clinic.

The sun rose as blood from your fingers dribbled onto the floor. You had spent the entire night lining up your supplies, and your absent state left you more reckless than usual. Instead of patching yourself up, you watched the red liquid drip from the tips of your fingers and onto the floor. There was an audible, rhythmic plop. It reminded you of a clock ticking.

Plop, plop, plop.

When you looked down again, there were bandages where the cuts had been. You didn’t remember doing it, but it must have been you considering you were alone. You flexed your hands, and a whisper of pain sliced through your nerves. That awful realization howled in your chest as the world felt more blurry than before.

It was morning, you had to check on Marianus.

You were back in your clinic and the bleeding had stopped. Unfortunately, the blood you had forgotten to clean up before you left had dried to the floor. It would take a rag and some elbow grease to get up. There was a nagging sensation in the back of your skull that told you to clean up before the wrong person saw. Who was the wrong person? You didn’t know, you didn’t care.

Your arm ached from scrubbing.

The floor glistened in the sunlight by the time you were done. Sweat dripped from your face — or were those tears? — moistening the marble further. You felt yourself frown as you wiped it away. There, now there was no evidence that you had injured yourself. It wasn’t until you saw the bloody bandages draped around your fingers did you realize how stupid you were being.

“Alga!” The snap of your nickname startled you enough to wince. Pulling yourself so that you were kneeling, you stared up at Caracalla. He was frowning, his arms crossed. “Why are you scrubbing the floors? We have slaves for that. This is not work for a medicus of your caliber.”

Caracalla was angry with you. There was a strange squirming under your skin and your head throbbed, almost reminiscent of how he had beaten on it. Your lips parted and you blinked at him. His eyes darted to your mouth before his pupils dilated, taking in your position with a hunger that wasn’t there before.

“Huh?” You uttered.

That seemed to snap him out of his thoughts. Caracalla’s eyebrows furrowed and he reached down to brush his thumb over the welt on your forehead. A bit of anxiety sparked in his blue eyes, only to be drowned away by frustration. “Did I knock you stupid? I don’t remember it, but Geta tells me I threw a cup at you.”

“Oh. Yes, you did.” Now you were standing. Caracalla was a short man, and you didn’t know who was taller between you or him. Either way, you were eye level with him now. “You hit me, too. It h—” You cut yourself off with a choked noise. A split second of horror buzzed under your skin before it was gone, leaving you numb once more. “I’m fine, now. I think.”

“You think?” Caracalla repeated. He was scowling now. “Either you are, or you aren’t.”

“I don’t know,” You mumbled.

With an exasperated noise, Caracalla grabbed you by your upper arm and steered you toward your chair. There was no gentleness in the way he pushed you to sit. His eyebrows were knit as he glowered at you. Underneath it all, however, was an undercurrent of concern that he didn’t seem to know what to do with.

“Look around the room and tell me what you see!” He snapped and clapped his hands twice to signal it was your turn.

All you managed was to utter another ungraceful, “Huh?”

Caracalla huffed and clenched his fists at his sides. “You’re impossible! How did you do this? Smell me, medicus!”

You didn’t have time to lean back before he was in your space. With one hand, he tugged down the collar of his tunic to display his collarbone, and with the other, he yanked you forward by your hair. Practically limp in his grasp, you allowed him to drag your nose against your skin.

“Alga, tell me what I smell like!” He ordered, his grip tightening.

“Lavender. You always smell like lavender.”

Pleased, Caracalla let you go. He seemed proud of himself, almost glowing under the force of it. “There! You must feel better now, Alga.” When you didn’t look at him, your gaze fixated on the floor, his face split into frustration again. “This is ridiculous.” He shoved an accusing finger in your direction. “You’re being ridiculous!”

Again, you didn’t respond, though you did lift your gaze to stare at the digit invading your space.

“Say something to me,” He demanded.

“I apologize.”

That must not have been the response that Caracalla wanted because he drew back, puffed up like a furious cat. His fingers gripped your shoulders as he shook you with each word. “I do not want an apology, I want my medicus back!” A bit more desperate, he added, his eyes closed tightly. “Fix! Undo! Return to how you once were! If you are like this forever, I will never forgive you!”

Even after releasing you, he was breathing heavily. Nostrils flaring, he gave you a firm pat on the cheek in an effort to snap you out of your episode. Followed by another, harder this time. It did little to break the fog you found yourself in. Caracalla looked furious, his jaw set and his other hand balled tight at his side. In the end, however, underneath all of his fury, there was regret. He reached forward, gentle now, to run his hands over the knots he left on your head.

“Geta will know,” He mumbled to himself as he ran his nails over your scalp. You didn’t realize you were leaning into his touch until a cackle escaped Caracalla’s throat. “Yes, yes, you agree, don’t you? My brother will know how to make you better. Stay here, Alga, I won’t be long.”

When you looked up, Caracalla was gone. You were alone in your clinic again. Sitting in your chair, you began to unwrap the linen bandages that covered your hand to examine your cuts. Instead of with a scholarly mind, you were bleary, poking at the scabs with an experimental finger. If you pressed too hard on one, it would hurt, and your surroundings would tunnel even further. You didn’t remember why pain was such a bad thing, all you knew was that you didn’t want to think about it.

There was so much that you didn’t want to think about. It was all there, bubbling under the surface of your marrow, though you refused to let it run over. You couldn’t lose control like that, your parents would be furious with you. They’d find you even more pathetic than they already did. Geta and Caracalla would likely agree. Your parents were the smarter, better versions of yourself, you were simply a cheap knock-off. The thought of earning the emperors’ disdain even more than you already have made your heart squeeze tight in your chest.

Someone was snapping. Your eyes darted from your lap to see a hand directly in front of you. Caracalla was back, like he promised, with Geta bent at the waist, his brown eyes examining yours.

Satisfied, he straightened and allowed his arm to fall to his side. “He responds to noise. That’s a good sign.”

“Is it, brother? You are no physician,” Caracalla argued. His jaw was set in a hard line as he gestured to you. “Look at him! He’s in a state of— of—” He cut himself off with a frustrated noise.

“If you are going to be difficult, why fetch me? You wanted my help, so now you get it. Be happy with it,” Geta responded. While he was clearly displeased with his brother, his focus was entirely on you. “Medicus, are you in there? Your emperor demands a response.”

You parted your lips to reply, but you couldn’t bring your jaw to open. Ever so slightly, you felt your eyebrows twitch together. Geta let out a long suffering sigh.

“Alga, you…” He turned to Caracalla, lips pursed into a thin line. “What was his name again?”

“I don’t remember! It was some ridiculous, foreign noise, how am I supposed to remember that?” Caracalla was shouting now, his hands on his hips. His body shook ever so slightly as his gaze shifted from his brother back to you. With a vacant stare, you watched his expression morph from frustration to something imploring and sweet.

“Algacula,” He cooed. “Tell me and my brother what has happened with you, and we will give you a very generous treat.”

“There is nothing wrong with me,” You replied on instinct.

Both emperors drew back. Caracalla brought his fists to his face to let out a scream between clenched teeth, while Geta let out a disbelieving scoff.

“You are not yourself, medicus, anyone can see that. Now snap out of it, you are upsetting my brother.” You were back to being quiet. It made Geta’s eye twitch, and you noted that he had kohl smeared on the outside of his eyelid. It made him look more intimidating than usual. Without taking his gaze off you, he nudged Caracalla to the door. “Have a slave fetch your pet ape.”

A smile made Caracalla’s eyes light up with relief. “Yes, yes, Dondas. That is a good idea, brother, she always helps.”

Geta waited for Caracalla to be out of earshot before he gestured to your hands with a subtle sweep of his finger. “How did that happen, medicus? It looks like you have barely taken care of your own wounds. What use are you as a physician if you can’t even do that?”

“Huh?” You looked from Geta to your hands and softly closed your hands. A few scabs pulled taut, but none split open. All you could recognize was that it hurt. “I was not careful. It was an accident.”

Geta closed his eyes and released a breath. “Accidental, yes.”

Caracalla’s giggle, followed by an animalistic squeak drew your attention. Sitting on his shoulder in her own tunic, one that matched Caracalla’s in color, and a golden leash attached to the collar on her neck, was a little monkey. She was small enough to be cute rather than terrifying, you had heard enough horror stories about chimp attacks to ever want to be near one. Still, though, there was a Roman emperor standing before you with a monkey on his shoulder. You felt your brain throb as a stab of sheer disbelief cut through the haze, causing your nose to wrinkle and your eyes to widen.

“Is that a fucking monkey?” You asked in English.

Caracalla’s expression mirrored you as he ran his fingers through the monkey’s fur. “Brother, he is speaking nonsense.”

“That he is. You made it worse, Caracalla. Remove the ape.”

His hands tighten around the monkey’s golden leash. “You liar! Dondas was your idea!”

“It doesn’t matter whose idea it was, look at him, it’s obviously making whatever is wrong with him worse!” Geta threw his arm out at you, his patience fraying at the edges.

Caracalla looked at you, then back at the monkey, his disappointment coming off of him in waves. Carefully, he allowed her to run off his arm into the waiting hands of a young man, who graciously took her leash without a word.

It was silent for a moment, only to be broken by Caracalla. His voice was soft, barely a whisper. “Brother, you don’t think I caused this…”

“No, I recognize this,” Geta said, softer than you ever heard him. He placed a comforting hand on his brother’s shoulder. “This is what you are like after one of your outbursts, quiet and distant. I think what our medicus needs is time. He will come back, just as you always do.”

“He has been like this for over a day,” Caracalla hissed. “The praetorian I assigned to him told me.”

“We will assign guards to watch him at all times. Once he comes back, we will know immediately.” With a harsh sigh, Geta pinched the bridge of his nose. “Caracalla, we have duties to attend to today. Both of us. I don’t need you pining after an unresponsive physician while I juggle senators asking after you.”

Caracalla was ready to argue, glancing at you over his shoulder. “The senators are unimportant! We are the emperors, we should be able to do as we please. This is what pleases me.”

“Do not fight me on this, not now. Alga will be here when we are done, I’m certain of it. If they are not, the praetorian will fetch you.”

With narrowed eyes, Caracalla countered, “And you will allow me to leave?”

“Yes, brother, if that will get you to join me. Now, come.” Geta pressed his palm between his brother’s shoulder blades and began to force him out of your clinic.

Even as far away as you felt, you were able to recognize it wasn’t only Caracalla who gave you a final glance before the door shut.

It was dark now. Your reflection shone in the scalpel’s sharp metal as you held it up to the torchlight. The sight of yourself made your head spin. That wasn’t who you were, it couldn’t be. Dark circles lined your eyes and your hair hung in limp curtains around your face. If you looked closely, your roots were beginning to show. Once you woke up, you could dye it back to the green you liked so much.

“Wake up…” You murmured into the empty room. The sound of your voice almost startled you, it had been hours since there was another person in your clinic aside from yourself. Maybe days, maybe weeks, maybe months, maybe years.

There was a long cut on your palm. Blood bubbled from it as your scalpel clattered to the floor. Your hands were no longer bandaged, you didn’t remember when you removed them, nor why you didn’t bandage them once more. Staring down at the cut, you could only think one thing as it oozed red:

It hurt.

Inside your chest, your heart began to pound. It squeezed and thudded, filling your veins with adrenaline. It felt as though ants were marching under your skin, their little legs prickling along the folds of your muscles.

It hurt.

Tears began to flow down your cheeks, scorching and silent. Your lips trembled as your breath hitched and snot bubbled from your nostrils.

It hurt.

You couldn’t breathe. Weeping, heart thundering, you couldn’t breathe, no matter how hard you tried. Desperately, you clawed at your chest, an attempt to rip yourself open before everything you had been avoiding spilled from you in a white-hot frenzy. All you managed to do was smear blood in your tunic, settled next to the dried drool from Caracalla’s slumber.

You could never go home and it hurt.

“Oh, god!” You gasped. The speed at which you stood sent your chair clattering behind you. Your hands ached as you clutched at yourself, at your head, at your chest, at your leaking eyes. All you could hear was your own ragged breathing. “Oh, god! Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

This was no dream, you knew that now. There was no hiding from it anymore. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t fill your lungs with air. You weren’t dreaming, this was real. Rome was real, the emperors were real, Aelius and Marianus were real, every person who called this palace home was real. It was all disgustingly real.

You were running now. Out of the clinic and down the halls, you were sprinting like a mad man. Upon turning a corner, your body slammed into the wall and a sob ripped from your throat with a ball of saliva. It dripped down your chin, and you pushed yourself onward on shaking legs. You needed to see, to prove to yourself that you hadn’t lost your mind, and there was only one sight that you could think of that would prove that to you.

The one place you had avoided looking since you arrived.

Grass stained your tunic. You had tripped on the small step leading to the imperial gardens, causing you to skid through the foliage. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t force yourself to stand. Each time you managed, your knees gave out on you, sending you back to the ground.

In the end, it didn’t matter. You didn’t have to be on your feet to look up.

To see the stars in all their glory.

Above your head was a tapestry of glittering silver, more beautiful than you had ever seen it. The sky was a beautiful mix of purple and blue, the moon nestled in its edges, full and bright enough to cast a milky glow on the gardens. There were constellations you didn’t recognize, but so many that you knew the name for. Ursa major, Orion’s belt, Cassiopeia, Perseus, you listed as you felt a scream begin to form in your chest. It was a strange mix of uncanny and familiar that only served to make your tear ducts leak all the more. You squeezed your eyes shut before you opened them again to see nothing had changed. The stars, ever present, even when the modern city lights emptied the sky of their shine, laughed down at you.

You could never imagine a sight such as this. No part of your brain could ever conjure this night sky, not in a million years. This splendor, the pain that flowered from your palms, none of this could ever have come from you on your own. Pathetic, worthless you, so far from everything you knew, with no hope of return.

You would never get drinks with your coworkers after a long shift again. You would never see the rare bits of your mother’s approval, or your father’s awkward hugs. You would never have chocolate, or have coffee, or eat a burger again. You would never enter the hospital where you worked.

Everything you were, everything you had, you watched it fade away under the everpresent stars.

A sob so strong it was almost a gag caused you to double over. Snot and saliva mingled with the salty taste of your tears. Your hands clawed at your neck under the weight of the keening wails you couldn’t hear, but you knew you were making. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t turn it off this time. Weeks of repression had come back to bite you in the ass as a catastrophic breakdown. It wasn’t new, you had always been like this. Pushing onward, wading through the muck until you couldn’t take it anymore.

“I— I can’t— Breathe. I can’t— Help me— I can’t…” The words fell from your lips in sporadic English, followed with a bubble of snot when you tried to exhale through your nose.

So caught up in your own panic, you didn’t realize you weren’t alone anymore.

Not until a sharp bark echoed behind you, sounding both furious and scandalized, “Who made you cry?”

Now, more than ever, you wished this was a dream. You recognized that voice, it had become such a familiar one since you fucking time-traveled that you could never hope to forget it. Caracalla was here to see you break apart at the seams. Another gasp left you, and in a desperate attempt to hide, you curled your knees to your chest and covered your face with your hands.

“Alga! Who made you cry?” Caracalla was closer now. When he reached down to shake you by the shoulder, you realized he was next to you. His grip was harsh, just as Caracalla always was. Rough and unyielding. “Tell me now! Tell me who made my medicus cry!”

For some reason, his insistence irritated you. Ripping your hands from your face, you could taste your own blood on your lips. You must have smeared it across your face. “Me! I did! This is my fault, and now I— and now I cannot stop!”

Caracalla frowned. If he was taken aback by you shouting at him, he didn’t show it. He merely looked annoyed. “Yes, you can. Tell yourself to stop crying and you will.”

“Is that— Is that how it works for you, Caesar?” You sneered. It was cruel of you to throw his own issues back at him, but all you could think about was breathing again. Caracalla narrowed his eyes at you, though he said nothing. Talking irritated your throat, and you coughed a few times to soothe the ache. All it did was make it hurt more.

Everything hurt.

Your face crumpled again, and you must have looked pathetic because Caracalla’s scowl softened. Not enough to be kind, only enough to go from furious to frustrated. He crouched down and pawed at your face, attempting to wipe it dry. Each time he managed, more tears escaped from the corners of your eyes. It ruined his progress. Caracalla got rougher the more your body defied him.

“What is wrong with you, medicus? One moment, you will barely respond, the next, you are more hysterical than a woman in childbirth.” He was kneeling now, working tirelessly to clean your filthy face. Desperate for comfort, you grabbed his wrists and leaned into his palms.

By now, your crying had become miserable sniffles as fat tears rolled off your chin. “I can— I can never go home, Caesar.”

“Yes, I am aware.” He looked perplexed as the heel of his palm pressed into your nose. It wasn’t gentle, and it made you move to pull away. Caracalla didn’t let you, his fingers tightening against the flesh of your cheek. “It is as you told me and my brother when we hired you. Your strange little country will never let you pass through its borders again. Why is this a problem now, medicus? Or have you been lying to me?”

“I thought— I thought I could go back, I thought they’d let me in,” You choked out. It was hard to both speak Latin and weave lies into truth in the state you were in now. “I thought this was not—- not r- real and— How can this be real?”

Rather than use his own tunic, Caracalla lifted the hem of yours to wipe away snot from your upper lip. He was frowning again, eyebrows knit. “Of course this is real. I can barely make sense of what you are saying, Alga. You sound more ridiculous than usual.”

“I miss my mom, and my dad—” You were blubbering now, your fingers tangling with Caracalla’s. “— And my coworkers, and my superiors! I will never see them again!” There was an intake of air, signaling he was about to respond, only for you to bulldoze over him. “I will never be able to have chocolate, or coffee, or any other foods from home again.”

Caracalla placed his hand over your mouth and forced your lips shut. “I will have the kitchens make you whatever your heart desires if you will stop this crying! Who cares about your mater, or your pater, or anyone else. They are gone and I am here. That is better than what they have to offer. I can give you more than they could ever hope to, and here you are crying over them instead of being grateful for me.”

When you spoke again, it was muffled by his hand. Caracalla seemed to debate with himself, looking away for a moment, before he removed his palm from your lips.

“I have lost everything,” You whispered, glassy eyes staring up at him.

He huffed, and if you had to guess, he was frustrated his words didn’t sink in.

“Yes, you have!” He agreed bluntly. “Think of what you have gained, Alga. The favor of an emperor, a palace to lay your head to rest, skills that surpass every medicus in Rome! You are hopeless if you cannot see that you have gained more than you have lost.”

You wanted to keep crying. It couldn’t be that simple to soothe you, but his words, though harsh, were logical. Back home, back in the future, you weren’t happy. You had everything, yet, at the end of the day, you were miserable. Maybe that was how it would be in Rome, too. It was possible you were simply broken so completely that there was no hope of joy in your future.

It was also possible that your happiness laid in this miraculous event that defied every inch of your world view. That made sense, in a disturbing way. Everything Caracalla said made sense, even if you didn’t want it to.

“My parents didn’t even like me,” Your voice was thick as you spoke. At least the tears stopped.

Caracalla smiled, a sense of triumph in his eyes. “It is as I say, Alga. You are wanted in Rome, where in your country, even your parents didn’t want you. See how much you have gained? You should be rejoicing.”

“I am scared, Caesar.” You shook your head, far more calm than you were before. “Everything is so different in Rome. I fear that I will ruin everything by being here.”

“Then you will bring ruin.” Caracalla shrugged, his grin growing with each second that you weren’t crying. “Let it break, let it shatter in your grasp. Your Caesar will have it cleaned and you can return to his side, fat and happy.”

The assurance shouldn’t have steadied you as much as it did. Caracalla was unpredictable. While he may be attached to you now, how long would that last? You looked at his face, earnest and open in a way that betrayed his immaturity, his eyes gleaming as his thumbs traced the outlines of your face, careful to collect any wetness that remained. If there was one thing that you knew, now more than ever, it was that Emperor Caracalla was no liar. Even if the truth of his words changed in the future, for now, at least, he meant every word.

Hopefully, that would give you enough time to work out a backup plan. For once, you felt calm.

“Thank you, Caesar.” Against all odds, a tired smile made your lips twitch upwards. “I look forward to being your physician until you grow tired of me.”

Caracalla’s expression turned mischievous now that he was certain your outburst was over. Crawling closer to you, he pressed his hands against your thighs to uncurl your knees from your chest. With an ungraceful flop, he laid his head in your lap to stare up at you. “Good, good. I believe that I deserve a reward for suffering through your hysteria.”

“Would you like to watch the stars with me, Caesar?” Despite feeling better, you still sounded watery.

Impatient and uncaring now that you were no longer weeping, Caracalla grabbed your wrist to bring it to his hair. For a moment, he stared at the cut on your palm, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. His eyes flickered to your splotchy, still damp face. You startled when he tangled your fingers in his hair. “What is so special about the stars? They are the same as they are every night.”

“They don’t look so beautiful in my country.” It was grounding to play with Caracalla’s hair. His soft curls tickled the cuts on your fingers and his eyes fluttered shut with a soft hum once you began your ministrations.

“How can the stars look different in your country? Is it truly so far away?”

“Further than you could ever imagine, Caesar. In the cities, the streets are lined with torches that glow brighter than any you have ever seen. For the entire night, they are on, protecting travelers and showing off merchant’s wares. The city is so big and so bright, it drowns out the stars, making the sky empty, save for the moon.”

“Sounds like an awful place, melimelum.” Caracalla opened his eyes to search your face, testing you. “You are better off in my Empire. Here, you can see the stars in all their glory.”

“Yes.” Craning your neck, you took in the velvet sky one last time. “More beautiful than I’ve ever seen.” You took a deep breath, finally filling your lungs to the brink, then exhaled. “I apologize for my outburst.”

“You should,” Caracalla said, leaning into your touch. “I will not be so gentle next time. A good slap would have knocked sense into you faster.”

“Caesar, that would have made me cry more,” You weren’t able to swallow the incredulous laugh that bubbled in your throat.

Caracalla’s shoulders jumped in a lazy shrug. There was a hint of smug pride in his smile. “I would calm you, then. I have once already, how much harder could a second be?”

“I will be there to calm you as well,” You said, tugging at his bangs.

Before Caracalla could respond, the sound of footsteps on the walkway behind you drew your attention. When you turned, there was Geta, late to the party once more. He took in your red rimmed eyes and tear stained face with an air of urgency. It wasn’t until you gave him a small smile and a wave did his posture slump.

“Medicus, what are you doing in the gardens so late at night?”

Caracalla sat up to glare at Geta over his shoulder, your fingers still tangled in his hair. Your own expression was a juxtaposition to his, tired amusement etched into your features. “I needed to see the stars. They are beautiful tonight.”

“The stars? So, you can respond again,” Geta said, exasperated. “And somehow, my brother has found his way into your embrace for another night.”

“I calmed him down, brother.” Caracalla sat up, his breath was hot against the shell of your ear, making your face burn. It sounded almost like he was rubbing it in Geta’s face.

Geta glanced at you, his eyebrows raised. “Did he now?”

“Your brother has a way with words.” More so than you expected. Caracalla’s grin grew even more, showing off his teeth.

Rolling his eyes, Geta let out a scoff. “You are the first person to say that about Caracalla, and now he is certain to be insufferable because of it.”

“I have a way with words, brother. Perhaps I should be the one to speak to the senate tomorrow.” With his arms draped over each side of your collarbone, Caracalla rested his chin on your shoulder. You didn’t know if he was serious or not. Judging by Geta’s grimace, he was.

Now that Caracalla’s attention was on his brother, you mouthed a silent apology to Geta. He responded by pursing his lips at you, clearly displeased. With a flick of his wrist, he gestured to Caracalla. “Come, brother, off to bed. If you are to speak with the senate tomorrow, you must do so with a clear mind.”

“Come with me?” Came his whisper, lips brushing against your ear. The scent of lavender was stronger now. It made your head spin, not unlike earlier, but far more pleasant.

Gently, you pushed him away as you pried his arms from around your neck. “Tonight, someone else will make your medicine, Caesar. I must take care of my wounds.”

Disappointment and confusion made his face scrunch, though he stood with little effort on your part. “Tomorrow night, then.”

“Of course, Caesar.”

Caracalla stared down at you, his gaze heavy, before he let out a huff and trudged to Geta’s side. You offered both emperors a farewell. The relief on Geta’s features was too slight for you to notice in your exhausted state. Without waiting for either’s footsteps to fade, you laid down on your back to face the sky.

The stars were smiling now.

Only in the past could they do something so quaint to someone like you.

A/N: Helloooooo, this was a hard chapter to write, I’m not gonna lie. Alga’s dissociation is based off my own experiences with derealization and depersonalization, which made it hard to type out without accidentally making myself fall into the mindset. However, do not worry, my friends! I am fine, yay! I’m actually pretty proud over how I wrote their hashtag Episode. In an effort to convey just how disjointed time feels, along with their memory, I wrote events out of order in the first half. I hope it was conveyed well!

For anyone who didn’t catch it, Geta one hundred percent believed that the injuries on Alga’s hands were purposely self-inflicted. If they were, he would have assigned more praetorians to them and have them under supervision 25/8. Caracalla is clearly very attached and he’s not risking losing the only other person who can calm his brother. Speaking of Geta, I am sooooo sorry Geta enjoyers for the Caracalla wave we are under. Next chapter will have a major Geta moment, I swear to you.

And, finally, we can address the fact that Caracalla’s got a bit of a crush. It first manifested after the needle incident, stewing for a few days, and by the time he gives the needle back to Alga, it’s like a little sprout. After they calmed him down from his flashback, it’s a full ass rosebush. From how I’m writing it, I think it’s unfamiliar to Caracalla to have this particular feeling. He knows lust, but these feelings are far too innocent for him to really know what to do with. Like, of course He Wonts Them sooooo fucking bad, but also, he does just genuinely like being near them. It makes him feel giddy. It’s new and he may or may not be obsessed with how he feels when he gets to be near them.

During Alga’s episode, they are, uhhhh, way too out of it to truly understand the depth of Caracalla’s affections. Most of what he said in the gardens didn’t properly register, so they’re like both oblivious and aware as to how Caracalla is obsessed with them. It’s a mess. Also, he did NOOOOT mean for them to make him his medicine when he asked them to join him. Not in the SUH-LIGHTEST. Yesssss, come back to his bedroom so he can seduce you. You want to so bad, ooooooo.

Oh, and before I forget. Algacula is my attemot at making 'Alga' a diminutive petname. ‘Cula’ means little, and a lot of Latin petnames have that. Like melculum (little honey) and anaticula (little duck). Melimelum is another Latin petname that means “honey apple.” Most of Caracalla’s petnames tend to be overly sweet.

Finally, oh my god, thank you guys for the feedback last chapter!!! It was so sweet and I was rocking back and forth from sheer joy. Obligatory like, comment, and subscribe!!! You don’t have to, but I won’t lie. It does encourage me to write more 😭😭

Thank you for reading, bye, ily!!!!

taglist: @snazzynacho @t6gse370 @cherrysweets-world @justlibra @001mon

#emperor caracalla x you #emperor caracalla x reader #emperor geta x reader #emperor geta x you #gladiator 2 fanfiction

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ghostgirl-22 · 2 months ago

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Deck the halls 🎄💫

Day 3: Blow Job

CW: 18+ !NSFW!

Pair: Artrick

—-

Arts waking up mildly disoriented, feeling all warm and achingly aroused from his dream. Another one about the Junior US Open, the hottest thing about it every time he wakes up from one…is that it actually happened.

He hears Patrick sigh, Art’s been pressed up against him doing God knows what in his sleep. He blinks himself awake and remembers now that they fell asleep on the the living room floor, Patrick next to him spread out on couch cushions and blankets. His sister on the sofa. They’d had peppermint Jell-O shots. Disgusting but also really, really strong. Art sits up and looks over at the sofa… thankfully empty. The television is also off, fireplace put out. Only thing still on is the Christmas tree but outside is still deceptively light, it must’ve snowed after all.

Patrick sighs again and rolls over. “She’s been in her bed for hours, it’s okay.” He says, reassuringly, his hand falling on Arts waist.

Art feels the heat flood his cheeks. “I’m sorry,” Art murmurs. It might be embarrassing but it’s not the first time he’s shared a bed with Patrick and had a wet dream. Not even the first time he’s pressed up against him. It is the first time though that Patrick starts rubbing between his legs.

“Patrick, what are you—” Art gasps.

“t’s okay, lay down,” Patrick says, softly. It’s so quiet and warm Art feels oddly calm when Patrick moves in between his legs, sliding his checkered pajama pants down his thighs. So calm except his heart pounding in his ears.

“You were moaning in your sleep,” Patrick says, his breath ghosting along Arts bare thighs.

“I’m sorry,” Art whispers again. It’s bright enough that Art can see the way Patrick’s eyes sparkle from the light of the Christmas tree, as they fall over Art’s body. Art covers his face. It doesn’t stop the way his body is lighting up. Patrick doesn’t even have to do anything. Ever since the junior Open Patrick’s been looking at him like that. And every time it feels like a sin. Even messier on the floor of his parents living room.

“What time is it?” Art whispers, trying to ease the tension.

“Why? Do you want to know if Santa came?” Patrick teases.

Art rolls his eyes and then he feels it. Patrick kissing along his thighs, his tongue flitting along his balls. Teasing swipes along the underside of his cock. And after all the kissing that happened at the Open. And all the kissing that happened after… Art knows how good Patrick is with his tongue.

Art swallows down on a moan. His parents house is big, echoey. And god forbid somebody wake up and catch them. Art knows he should make him stop but Patrick is so warm and it feels so good. He feels the heat of Patrick’s mouth enveloping him properly before he lets it slide out. It feels and sounds so wet, Art can’t help moaning. He presses his hips up.

“Shh…You’re gonna get me in so much trouble,” Patrick says gently, rubbing Art's stomach and filling his mouth again.

Art plays his fingers into Patrick’s hair. He’s had blow jobs before but this feels surreal like an extension of his dream. Tashi’s lips, Patrick’s mouth, his whole body thrumming with need for both of them.

He pulls his knees up. Soon the only sound is the silent snowfall, Patrick breathing him in, the wet sound of sucking, and Art’s own stifled moaning, his voice foreign to his ears as he moves his hips helplessly into the feeling. Even as his body starts to sieze the force of it all takes him by surprise. He’s moaning so loud he has to pull one of the cushions over his face to muffle the sound as it moves through him.

“Fuck,” he whispers, as he’s coming down. He looks down at Patrick grinning up at him from between his legs. Hair messy, licking his lips, eyes still all sparkly and dilated. Feels too good.

Art sits up looking around to make sure it’s still quiet. “You think I’m gonna get coal in my stocking now?” He whispers, biting down on a grin.

“Getting drunk and then moaning like a slut on your grandmas rug the night before Christmas. Oh you’re going on the naughty list for sure,” Patrick smirks.

Art smiles gazing at him, the outline of his cock visible in his shorts. “You want me to try it?” He asks, shyly.

“Mmhm.”

“I’ve never done it before,” Art says, quietly.

“That’s okay, I can show you,” Patrick says.

“Okay but you have to promise to be quiet,” Art says softly, climbing onto his lap.

“Mm I promise,” Patrick says wrapping him up into a kiss.

#patrick zweig #art donaldson #challengers fic #challengers smut #art x patrick #artrick #deck the halls

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s4svnn · 1 month ago

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Out of bounds . JJK

↳ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬; his love subjected you to the true extent of deception, a merciless lie wrapped in the illusion of paradise, until the truth tore it apart - he was always out of bounds.

↳ Jungkook x reader

↳ 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬: ongoing

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

Chapter Ten

I woke up the next morning to the faint scent of cigarettes and the low murmur of a voice outside my door.

Blinking against the early light streaming through the curtains, I reached out instinctively—but the space beside me was empty. The sheets were rumpled and still faintly warm, but Jungkook was gone.

For a moment, confusion clouded my thoughts. Had he left? Had last night been some kind of fever dream brought on by my exhaustion?

But then I heard it—the unmistakable timbre of his voice, sharp and deliberate, cutting through the morning stillness. I pushed the covers off and slid out of bed, rubbing the sleep from my eyes as I padded toward the source of the sound.

When I reached the living room, I froze.

The balcony door was cracked open, and through the gap, I saw him—shirtless, cigarette balanced loosely between his fingers as he leaned against the railing, speaking into his phone.

His back was to me, broad and defined, and for what felt like the hundredth time, I took in the ink that stretched across his skin.

It was breathtaking.

Dark lines and intricate patterns wove together seamlessly, the tattoos rippling with every subtle movement of his muscles.

I didn’t even realize I was staring until Jungkook shifted slightly, and my breath caught when I saw the sharp angle of his jaw and the way his dark hair fell messily over his forehead.

“I already told you,” he said into the phone, his voice low and irritated. “It’s fine. Everything’s under control.”

He paused, exhaling a long stream of smoke before flicking the cigarette away and leaning back against the railing.

“No, I’m not backing out. You think I don’t know what’s on the line here?” His tone sharpened, but there was something almost lazy about the way he said it, like he was used to these kinds of conversations.

I lingered in the doorway, unsure whether to interrupt or retreat, but before I could decide, Jungkook turned—and his eyes locked directly on mine.

His brows lifted slightly in surprise, but the corner of his mouth curved into a slow, knowing smirk.

“I’ll call you back,” he said into the phone without looking away. Then he hung up and slipped the device into his pocket before stepping inside.

“Morning princess,” he said, his voice rougher now, like he hadn’t fully woken up yet.

I cleared my throat, my gaze darting away from his bare chest. “Morning.”

“Did I wake you?”

“No,” I lied quickly. “I usually wake up around this time.”

Jungkook grinned like he didn’t believe me for a second, but he didn’t call me out on it. Instead, he leaned back against the counter, arms crossing casually over his chest as his eyes dragged over me.

I suddenly became very aware of the fact that I was still in the oversized hoodie I’d thrown on before bed—I realised belatedly, as the faint scent of him lingered in the fabric.

“You’re staring,” Jungkook said, his voice cutting through my thoughts.

I blinked. “What?”

“You’re staring,” he repeated, his grin widening. “If you wanted to check me out, you could’ve just asked.”

I felt my face heat instantly. “I wasn’t—”

“Sure you weren’t.”

“I wasn’t!”

Jungkook pushed off the counter, stepping closer. “It’s fine, you know,” he said, tilting his head. “I get it. It’s a lot to take in.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but nothing came out.

“Don’t worry, though,” he continued, leaning in slightly. “You’re not the first girl to get distracted.”

“Oh my God,” I muttered, backing up instinctively as he advanced. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re a terrible liar, you were literally feeling me up all night.”

I glared at him, but he just laughed, the sound low and teasing as he stepped back and ran a hand through his hair.

“You stink of cigarettes,” I said, desperate to change the subject.

Jungkook smirked. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It is a bad thing.”

“Not to me.”

“Well, it is to me,” I shot back, crossing my arms.

He raised a brow, clearly amused. “Oh? And what do you suggest I do about it?”

I hesitated, suddenly feeling very aware of how close he still was. “I don’t know. Stop smoking?”

Jungkook chuckled, his eyes dropping briefly to my lips before flicking back up to meet mine.

“Not happening,” he said easily. “But I’ll try not to stink up your apartment too much. Deal?”

I rolled my eyes. “You’re such a nuisance.”

“And yet you asked me stay the night.”

I froze, my cheeks burning at the reminder. “That was—”

“What?” he interrupted. “An accident? A mistake?”

His tone was teasing, but there was something heavier beneath it—something that made my pulse quicken.

“I didn’t say that,” I muttered.

Jungkook grinned, leaning closer until I had to tilt my head to keep looking at him.

“Good,” he murmured.

I swallowed hard, but before I could respond, he stepped back again, leaving me flustered and struggling to keep up.

“So,” he said, leaning casually against the counter. “What’s for breakfast?”

I blinked. “What?”

“Breakfast,” he repeated. “You’re the host, right? Isn’t that part of the deal?”

I stared at him. “You show up at my apartment uninvited, take my bed, and now you want me to make you breakfast?”

Jungkook shrugged. “Pretty much.”

I groaned, turning toward the kitchen to hide the fact that I couldn’t come up with a decent response.

“French toast,” I said over my shoulder. “That’s all I can make.”

Jungkook grinned. “Perfect.”

He followed me into the kitchen, leaning back against the counter as I started pulling out ingredients.

“You don’t have to watch me, you know,” I said, glancing at him.

“Maybe I like watching you.”

I nearly dropped the carton of eggs. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re cute when you’re flustered.”

“Jungkook!”

He laughed, clearly enjoying himself.

By the time I managed to get the toast cooking, he had claimed the stool at the counter and was propping his chin on his hand as he watched me like I was the most entertaining thing in the world.

“You’re awfully quiet,” he said after a while. “Thinking about me?”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m thinking about how you’re going to dry the dishes after this.”

Jungkook grinned. “You’re bossy. I like it.”

“I’m not bossy.”

“You totally are.”

I pointed the spatula at him. “Fine if I’m bossy then you’re definitely cocky.”

“Obviously have you seen me,” he said, smirking.

I groaned, but despite myself, I couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at the corners of my mouth.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” I asked, flipping the pancakes.

“Not really.”

“Seriously, how is an f1 racer of your rank not busy?”

Jungkook shrugged.

I glanced at him, expecting to see a smirk plastered on his face, but for once his expression was neutral. Maybe that’s what the phone call was about. But before I could get lost in my thoughts the weight of his gaze sent my heart racing all over again.

“So, do I get seconds, or are you gonna make me beg?”

I laughed despite myself. “I wouldn’t mind seeing you on your knees.”

“I know you wouldn’t.”

I didn’t answer—but the truth lingered in the air between us anyway.

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

I stood at the sink, my hands submerged in warm, soapy water as I scrubbed at the dishes. The faucet hummed softly, filling the kitchen with the gentle sound of running water. It should’ve been calming, but it wasn’t. Not when I could feel Jungkook’s eyes boring into me from across the room.

He’d been sitting on one of the stools at the counter, watching me in silence for the past several minutes. Every now and then, I’d glance over my shoulder, only to catch him smirking like he knew exactly what he was doing to me.

“You know,” I finally said, my voice louder than necessary to drown out the noise in my head, “you could make yourself useful instead of just sitting there.”

“Useful?” Jungkook repeated, his tone laced with amusement.

“Yes. Useful. Like drying these dishes, maybe.”

He hummed, leaning back in the stool and crossing his arms. “I don’t think that’s my kind of job.”

I shot him a glare over my shoulder. “And what is your kind of job?”

“Supervising,” he said smoothly.

I rolled my eyes and turned back to the sink. “Unbelievable.”

“I’m good at it, though.”

“Annoying me?”

“Distracting you.”

My hands stilled in the water, the words hitting a little too close to home. I could practically hear the smirk in his voice without even looking at him.

“You think you’re funny, don’t you?”

“Funny? No.” Jungkook’s voice suddenly came from much closer than before, and I froze as I felt the warmth of his body press lightly against my back. “Charming? Absolutely.”

“Jungkook—”

“Relax,” he murmured, his voice low and far too dangerous.

I barely had time to react before his arms slid around my waist, pulling me back against him. My breath hitched.

“What are you doing?” I asked, my voice higher than I would’ve liked.

“Helping,” he said, but there was no mistaking the amusement in his tone.

“Helping?”

“Mhm.” His hands spread across my stomach, warm and steady. “You seemed stressed. I’m relieving tension.”

I twisted slightly, my soapy hands hovering above the sink as I tried to look back at him. “You’re adding tension.”

“That’s not what it feels like.”

I swallowed hard as he leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “You’re really red,” he whispered.

“No, I’m not.”

He hummed softly. “Sure”

I shivered, trying—and failing—not to lean into his touch. “You need to stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“This.”

“Define ‘this.’

I opened my mouth to answer, but the words caught in my throat as his hands slid higher, his thumbs brushing just under my ribcage.

“Jungkook,” I said, my voice barely a whisper.

“Hmm?”

“Let me finish the dishes.”

“I think they can wait,” he murmured, and before I could argue, he reached past me, turning off the faucet.

I spun around quickly, my back pressing against the edge of the counter as I faced him. He was closer than I realised, his dark eyes locked on mine.

I opened my mouth to argue, but his eyes dropped briefly to my lips, and suddenly my brain short-circuited.

“What’s wrong?” he teased, his voice lower now. “Cat got your tongue?”

“You’re so full of yourself,” I muttered, forcing myself to look away.

“And yet, you’re still standing here, letting me touch you.”

I swallowed hard, my heart hammering against my ribs.

“Why are you doing this?” I asked softly.

“Doing what?”

“This,” I said, motioning vaguely between us. “Flirting. Touching me like this.”

Jungkook’s expression shifted slightly, but the playful spark never fully left his eyes. “Because I like it.”

“You like teasing me?”

“I like seeing your reaction when I do.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but Jungkook beat me to it, leaning in just enough that I could feel his breath against my cheek.

“You’re cute when you’re flustered,” he murmured, echoing his earlier words.

I glared at him, but the heat creeping up my neck betrayed me. “You need to stop saying that.”

“Why? Does it make you nervous?”

“No.” I huffed, stepping sideways to put some space between us. But Jungkook followed, crowding me again with that same lazy confidence that was equal parts infuriating and distracting.

“Can’t you just—”

“What?”

“Give me space!”

“Why?”

“Because you’re—”

“What?”

“Annoying!”

Jungkook grinned. “You keep saying.”

“Because it’s true!”

He laughed, clearly enjoying how flustered I was. “Then ask me to leave.”

I hesitated, and Jungkook’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“That’s what I thought.”

“Annoying prick” I muttered, grabbing a towel and starting to dry off the plates just to have something to do.

“And you’re stubborn,” he shot back, leaning against the counter and watching me with far too much amusement.

“Can you stop staring at me?”

“Nope.”

I sighed, trying to ignore him as I stacked the plates. But it was impossible when I could still feel him standing there, completely unfazed.

Finally, I turned to face him, crossing my arms. “What do you want?”

Jungkook tilted his head. “Right now?”

“Yes.”

He stepped closer again, his gaze never wavering.

“You,” he said simply.

My breath caught, and for a moment, all I could do was stare at him. He didn’t move, though, and I could feel the heat radiating off him even from where I stood.

“You’re blushing again,” he teased.

“Shut up.”

He grinned. “Make me.”

I groaned, turning back to the sink, but Jungkook was relentless. He moved in behind me again, his hands settling lightly on my hips this time.

“Jungkook—”

“You’re fun to mess with,” he interrupted.

I tried to push him back, but he didn’t budge.

I wanted to argue—I really did. But the way he looked at me, the way he touched me, made it nearly impossible to think straight.

Instead, I focused on drying the dishes, doing my best to ignore the way Jungkook’s hands lingered just a little too long.

“You’re not helping anymore than you were before,” I muttered.

“Not trying to,” he replied, clearly enjoying himself.

I sighed, but before I could say anything else, he leaned down again, his lips brushing lightly against my ear.

“You’ll get used to it,” he whispered.

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

I had just finished drying the last dish when I felt Jungkook step closer again, his presence warm against my back. Before I could even turn around, his fingers brushed the hem of my hoodie, tugging it upward ever so slightly.

“What other tattoos do you have?” he asked, his voice low and far too curious for my liking.

I paused, my heart skipping a beat as I quickly pulled my hoodie back down, twisting away from his grip.

“Hey!” I smacked his hand lightly, my cheeks already heating. “Shameless much?”

Jungkook just laughed, completely unbothered by my reaction. “Oh, I’m the shameless one?” he teased, crossing his arms and leaning back against the counter again. “That’s rich coming from you.”

“Me?” I stared at him.

“Yeah,” he said, his lips curling into that all-too-familiar smirk. “You saw all my tattoos l—and don’t even try to deny it. I caught you staring.”

“I said I wasn’t staring!”

“You absolutely were.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but he just raised his eyebrows, daring me to lie again.

I huffed, crossing my arms. “Okay, fine. Maybe I looked. But you didn’t exactly leave me much of a choice, standing there shirtless on my balcony like you were posing for a photoshoot.”

Jungkook grinned. “You’re welcome princess.”

I rolled my eyes, but the heat in my cheeks only intensified.

“Still,” he added, stepping closer again, “it’s kind of unfair, don’t you think? You got to see all of mine, but you won’t even let me take a peek at yours?”

I took a step back instinctively, but he followed—just like before—until I was trapped between him and the counter again.

“That’s different,” I said quickly, tugging my hoodie down even further.

“How?”

“Because,” I began, but the words caught in my throat as his eyes dropped to where my hands were gripping the hem of my hoodie.

“Because what?” he pressed, his voice dipping lower.

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to meet his gaze. “Because I only let people who are close to me see my tattoos,” I said, my voice softer now. “Especially the ones in more… intimate areas.”

Jungkook’s eyes darkened immediately, and for once, he didn’t have a quick comeback ready. Instead, he dropped his head slightly, his lips brushing against the curve of my neck as his hands found my waist again.

“You’re such a tease,” he muttered, his voice warm against my skin.

I shivered, my fingers tightening around the edge of the counter as I fought the sudden urge to lean into him.

“You started it,” I managed to say, though my voice came out shakier than I wanted it to.

Jungkook chuckled softly, his breath fanning against my neck as he pressed a little closer. “Did I?”

“You know you did.”

He tilted his head, his nose brushing lightly against my jaw. “You enjoy it.”

I swallowed hard, refusing to give him the satisfaction of an answer.

“Admit it,” he murmured, his lips grazing my skin now.

“I don’t—”

“Just admit it,” he teased, his voice practically dripping with amusement.

“Shut up” I said blushing madly.

“And you’re still not denying it.”

I opened my mouth to fight back, but before I could, Jungkook pulled back just enough to meet my eyes again.

“Fine,” he said, smirking. “I’ll let it go—for now.”

“Good.”

“But only if you promise to show me at least one of your more hidden tattoos eventually.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Eventually?”

“Yeah,” he said, his grin widening. “I always win so I can wait.”

I snorted. “That’s a stretch.”

“You don’t think I can win against you at something?”

“Not even a little.”

Jungkook smirked, leaning in again until his lips were just inches from mine.

“Wanna bet?”

My breath caught, but I forced myself to keep my expression neutral. “What kind of bet?”

He shrugged, pretending to be casual, but there was a glint of mischief in his eyes. “If I win, you need to do something for me. If you win…”

I raised an eyebrow. “If I win?”

His smirk deepened. “You get to pick what I do. Anything you want.”

I blinked, suddenly hyper-aware of how close he still was. “And what exactly am I supposed to win at?”

Jungkook grinned, clearly pleased with himself. “I’ve got something in mind.”

“Great,” I muttered, but my pulse was already racing.

“You scared?”

“No.”

“Good,” he said, stepping back just enough to let me breathe again. “Then it’s a deal.”

I narrowed my eyes. “I never agreed to that.”

“You didn’t say no either.” He smirked walking out of the kitchen before I could get another word in.

“What did I get myself in to” I cursed under my breath, but the truth was, my heart hadn’t slowed down since the moment he touched me.

And as much as I hated to admit it, part of me didn’t want it to.

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