#foolish games smut

[zepskies]

Lost on You - Part 2

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Supe!Reader

Summary: 1983 is a big year for you. You’re finally chosen to join the ranks of Payback, led by the most (in)famous supe in the world: Soldier Boy. He’ll never admit that he’s trying his damndest to figure you out. You’ll never admit that he’s actually growing on you. But the problem with this game is deciding who’s the predator, and who is prey.

AN: As you can see, I switched up the posting schedule slightly (check out the series masterlist for new "coming soon" dates). Thank you, guys so much for all the responses on Part 1! I hope you have just as much fun with Part 2. 😉

Word Count: 5.9K

Tags/Warnings: "Lies, lies, lies, yeah." ‘80s references, a new mission (and violence), cattiness, and some more cat and mouse tension.  

🎙️ Series Masterlist || YouTube Playlist || Spotify Playlist

Part 2: Foolish Game

“You know, we really are a family here. The whole Payback team,” Crimson Countess said.

Her voice was filled with earnestness as she held the microphone to her ruby red lips with both gloved hands. She smiled and reached out a hand to you.

“But it’s truly my pleasure to welcome Sirena into the fold. It’s about time we got another badass chick on the team, am I right?”

She knew how to play up the packed crowd in the auditorium. They roused with cheers and clapping, and you stepped closer to her in the spotlight.

It wasn’t entirely an act when you gave them (and several cameras) a somewhat shy smile. You’d been on stages almost all your life, but never one like this. You knew you were being seen by the entire country right now.

On Countess’s other side was Soldier Boy and the TNT Twins, while on your side stood Black Noir, Swatto, and Mindstorm keeping himself in the back. Off at the far left of the stage were Arthur and Madelyn Stillwell, both seemingly patient and professional.

“And you look great, hun. I love the new suit,” Countess said, gesturing at you with a playful air.

You smiled a little more and affected some humility. You tried not to adjust the black mask sitting on the bridge of your nose. It felt like a pair of pool goggles.

“Well, a little leather goes a long way,” you joked into your own mic. It earned some laughs from the sea of flashing lights amidst darkness.

Countess laughed, a sultry sound. “I know that’s right.”

“I’m really just so grateful to be here on this incredible stage with you all,” you said, casting a hand at the rest of the team. “I’m just a girl from a dusty little town in Indiana. Seriously. Imagine Smallville, Kansas, but more tumbleweeds.”

Cue more indulgent laughter. The lie was well-rehearsed on your tongue, along with this next bit, as you looked into the closest camera.

“But if you all see some small greatness in me, then I’m honored and ready to serve,” you finished.

Enthusiastic applause met the end of your little speech. You smiled and lowered the mic. Countess nodded in agreement and offered her mic to Soldier Boy next. He stepped up to the center podium and leaned on it like he was John Wayne.

“Well, it’s a good day when another hero joins our ranks. I have a feeling that Sirena,” he paused, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, “Is gonna be a good fit.”  

You didn’t like that smile on his face, but instead of letting that show on yours, you gave him a grateful smile. He had the gall to wink at you. Then he handed the mic back to Arthur and stepped back from the podium.

“All right, one more time, you guys. Let’s hear it for Sirena!” Arthur said to the crowd, and they erupted. You accepted the praise with a demure smile and a congenial wave, like you were Princess Diana or something.

The rest of your team gave perfunctory claps as well, but Soldier Boy was the first to head off stage. Countess and the rest of them followed suit, so you did as well. She and Soldier Boy didn’t even share a glance when she stopped off into the women’s restroom. An idea struck you, and you decided to join her.

“Hey, Countess,” you began to say, but she let out a humorless huff.

“What, are you going to follow me into the fucking stall?” she said dryly.

You were momentarily taken aback by her acidity. You blinked, and she turned to give you a bored look.

“I…just wanted to say that I really look up to you,” you said.

“Do you?” she asked, with a slightly mocking smile. Her gaze briefly ran down your form. “Is that why your suit looks like a Dollar Store knockoff of mine?”

Ah…okay, you thought. You saw what this bitch was about. She’d supported you in the public eye, but she didn’t actually want another woman on the team. She’d been a powerhouse for over a decade, and not just her years at Vought.

But for every icon, there’s the threat of becoming an old has-been, you thought. 

“Well, you’ve got a point there. I asked for a cape too, but they thought it was a bit too…retro,” you remarked, hinting at a smile as you gestured at her suit, and the long red cape that draped down her back. “But really, I’m a big fan. I actually grew up watching you when I was a kid. I remember that little documentary you did with Vought Geographic. The one with the baby chimps? So cute.”

Countess’s brow twitched, ever so slightly. Both her fake smile and yours remained the same.

She broke first with a roll of her eyes.

“Just stay out of my way,” she said. Her cape brushed your arm as she breezed past you. Your smile remained until she was out of the room. Then you took a deep breath.

Be careful, you reminded yourself. You had to prove that you wouldn’t easily bend to whatever bullshit might get thrown at you, but you were still the rookie here. You had a feeling that this was just the first test of many.

You kept your guard up, even at the afterparty hosted at a nearby hotel. Tessa followed Countess’s lead and gave you fake smiles when you passed by her. Otherwise, she ignored you. Mindstorm was the only one who seemed truly indifferent towards you. (You barely ever saw him out of his room anyway.)

You couldn’t much tell with Black Noir. He’d never taken his helmet off in the few days since you’d met him, but you sensed nothing but vague interest from him. The other three men were more obvious in the way they looked at you.

In fact, you could’ve predicted the way Soldier Boy found you in a slightly quieter corner of the banquet hall. His gait was relaxed and arrogant as he made his way towards you.

He annoyed you on sight, no matter how damn attractive he was. All broad shouldered and brown hair coiffed, his face mostly clean shaven, save for some stubble. With his military green supe suit, the silver decal of an eagle stretched across his broad chest—he certainly looked the part of America’s first hero. Too bad he was also a chauvinistic ass.

But you also had a plan. It had started to form after that first encounter with him in the break room.

You kept your true thoughts off your face as you turned to greet him. He was holding his fifth tumbler of whiskey, and he smelled like it too. You sipped at a glass of red wine.

“Small town girl, huh?” he said, smiling with old-world charm. “I happen to be a city boy.”

“Born and raised in South Detroit?” you teased. “I didn’t take you for a Journey fan.”

“The mean streets of Philly, actually,” he said, with a tip of his imaginary hat. “I may be a Sinatra kind of guy, but I don’t mind a little rock ‘n roll.”

You inclined your head. “Same here. Not that my parents approved. Growing up, I had to hide my Rolling Stones records under the bed.”

That much was true.

“Ah, a little rebel,” he remarked. His gaze roamed down your form, and back up to your eyes, shaded by smokey makeup. “Who knew they made ‘em like you in Indiana.”

Your lips curved. “It’s not just cows and cornfields.”

“Evidently,” he said, taking a swig of his whiskey. “How do you like the big city so far?”

“To be honest, I haven’t had a chance to see much of it yet. This whole thing has been a whirlwind,” you said.

Lie.

The truth was, you were born and raised in Brooklyn. Maybe you had never lived in Manhattan before, but you were no stranger to the city.

Ben not only ate up the lie; he took the bait.

“Maybe I’ll give you a tour of the city one day,” he said. He thumbed at your chin once again with half-gloved fingers.

You tipped your face up to him, and you smiled.

“I’d like that.”

Your first mission with Payback was not at all what you expected.

To start with, you’d expected to do some patrolling, run down some leads, do some investigating. Instead, they had a Surveillance & Security team to do all of that for the team. Plus, they were patched in via the local police scanner of any new crimes in progress.

Arthur had paged you to come to his office. There he told you that you’d actually be going for your first save today. You were excited, until he told you that you’d be on a “team up” with Crimson Countess.

Great, you thought.

She didn’t look happy about it either, when you met her in the lobby downstairs. She gave you another frigid look before she swiftly exited the double doors.

Stay out of my way. You got the message loud and clear.   

A black SUV took you two to the Lower West Side, where there was a robbery in progress. The front window of the jewelry story had been shattered, and tens of thousands of dollars in merchandise stolen by two masked men according to the store clerk. He’d been shot in the shoulder before the men took off. The police had yet to find them.

The most unnerving part of this was the cameras that followed you and Countess while you canvassed the area—like catching criminals was some kind of reality show.

“I think I can feel them,” you said, with your fingers on your temples. “They’re headed south through the alley.”

“Which alley?” she asked, waving a hand at the several blocks ahead of you. “And what do you mean you can feel them?”

You shot her a look, endeavoring not to be snarky. “I can sense them.”

Let’s just say, your powers were particularly potent when it came to men. That’s what allowed you to feel the robbers’ energies, set high with adrenaline. They were close.

You pointed the way, and Countess begrudgingly went along with it.

“Follow my lead though,” she said.

You agreed in the moment, but you were filled with maybe too much anticipation and excitement yourself when you turned the corner into the alley without waiting for your companion.

You found yourself staring down the barrel of a gun.

You froze, your breath stilling in your lungs. The safety clicked, and the man holding the weapon quirked his head.

“Haven’t seen you before,” he drawled.

“But you know me. Don’t you, handsome?”

Countess’s fist landed squarely across the man’s jaw. He yelped as the weapon clattered out of his hand. You jumped back as the gun fired, ricochetting off the brick wall. Countess rolled her eyes and tossed a fireball at the next man, who jumped out of his hiding place behind the dumpster. He screamed and dove to the side.

She didn’t wait for him to recover. Grabbing him by the collar with a gloved hand, she threw one hard punch that broke the man’s jaw. You winced at the telltale cracking sound. The other man just held his hands up in surrender, wide-eyed and afraid. You felt his fear radiating off of him. With another swift punch, she knocked him out as well.

You could only stand there with your mouth open in surprise. You managed to close it when Countess turned your way.

“I told you to follow my damn lead,” she said coolly.

The police filtered in shortly after, as did the camera crew. The director sighed at Countess.

“This was supposed to be Sirena’s first save,” he said. Countess turned to him with a sharp look.

“Train her fucking better then,” she snapped.

You chewed the inside of your lip, but you fought not to outwardly show your embarrassment. Why’d they have to partner you with her, for fuck’s sake?

The car ride back to the Tower was just as tense and silent. At least there was a black partition between you two in the backseat and the driver.

Finally, you sighed and tried to offer an olive branch.

“Look, I’m sorry. I just got a bit excited,” you said.

“You almost got yourself killed,” she drawled, not even looking at you as she gazed boredly out the window. “Even that would’ve been a challenge for the PR team.”

Your lips pursed in irritation. Oh, my God. Is she that insecure?

“Countess, I think we got off on the wrong foot. I’m not trying to replace you. I’m not trying to take anything from you.”

“Except my boyfriend,” she shot back. Finally she turned her head towards you with cool disdain. “You think I didn’t see you flirting with him last night at the afterparty?”   

You rolled your eyes, though you hid a sliver of embarrassment. You should’ve known she’d spot that.

“He approached me, okay?” you said. Maybe you were about to let your pettiness to get the best of you, but you couldn’t help it. You smiled slyly. “And from what I hear, I’m the least of your worries. Looks like Ben has quite the appetite.”

The cracks of Countess’s cool façade finally broke through to anger. She glared at you tightly.

“He may have his little toys, but they never last long,” she said pointedly. “The only reason he’s giving you the time of day is because you’re new, and shiny, and full of silicon.”

“And young,” you added with a wink. “Don’t forget young.”

She seethed, and you were almost concerned that she might toss a fireball your way. Mercifully, the car rolled to a stop in the back entrance to the Tower to make it easier to navigate past any paparazzi. You slid out on your side, and you didn’t bother waiting for Countess when you went back inside the Tower.

All the way back up the elevator to your floor, you thought about the way you’d frozen at the sight of the man’s gun. You did have proper combat training. Your dad had paid for the lessons.

“You’re gonna pay us back one day,” as he’d said. “We’re investing in our future, just as much as yours.”

You shook your head and sighed. You should have grabbed the robber’s arm and reached for any flash of skin you could touch to compel him into submission.

The thought continued to unsettle you as you went into the breakroom first for something to eat. You ended up making yourself a sandwich and sat down at the nearby dining table with an unsweetened tea. Swatto happened to fly in for a coke and an old slice of pizza. When he noticed you, his insect-like wings folded back into his back after he landed on the ground.

Out of everyone, his suit looked the most cumbersome with the big shoulder armor and the condom-like mask over half his face. You understood why he wasn’t wearing it now. He was dressed down in an old Ramones shirt and a pair of jeans. He ran his fingers through his short hair and slid into the chair closest to you.

“Hey. How’s it going, beautiful?” he asked, with what was likely meant to be a charming smile.

You were close enough to sense his salacious thoughts. You restrained a sigh. Ordinarily you’d entertain him a bit more, but frankly, he was making a bad day worse and you weren’t in the mood.

So you smiled. While your hand slid over his on the table, you leaned in close to his ear.

“Shoo, fly,” you said. Your words held power as your eyes glowed violet.

Immediately, you felt the way Swatto’s body sat up straighter. With a blankness falling over his face, he got up from the table and left the way he came, forgetting his snacks on the table.

You shook your head and continued eating your sandwich in peace.

A few minutes later, there came an even rarer sighting—Mindstorm snuck into the breakroom next. He glanced at you with wary eyes, like a deer pausing before it took a drink from the pool. When you just stared at him in slight bewilderment, he quickly rucked through the cupboards for a bag of Bugles labeled:

MINDSTORM’S – DO NOT EAT!

As if anyone would want to steal a bag of Bugles.

Just when you opened your mouth to offer him some kind of greeting, Mindstorm quickly ducked out of the room. You blinked in confusion.

“Odd,” you said to yourself. “So very odd.”

“Right?” came a voice behind you. You screamed and nearly jumped out of your skin, but you realized it was only Black Noir, holding a beer.

“Jesus…” You held a hand over your beating heart. It wasn’t the first time he’d snuck up on you like that. Can this guy wear a bell or something?

“Don’t mind him. He’s got a few dozen screws loose,” said Noir.

Unlike the other two, he was fully suited up. However, he took his helmet off and set it on the table so he could drink. You held in a breath, as you were pleasantly surprised to see the face of a handsome black man. It was the first time you’d ever seen him unmasked.

Wonder what else he’s hiding under there, you thought. Your gaze briefly dipped down his chest and strong-looking thighs.

You both chatted over small things at first. According to Noir, Mindstorm’s apartment was completely soundproof, but it didn’t do much good for the guy, since he had a hard time keeping people’s thoughts out of his head. You thought New York City was probably a terrible place for him to live, in that case.

“And you’re smalltown, right?” Noir asked.

You offered a half-smile. “Guilty.”

“Yeah, same here,” he said, raising his beer. “From a nowhere town in Georgia.”

For the first time, you felt slightly bad for keeping up the lie. Noir seemed like a decent guy so far. You clinked your iced tea with his beer.

“Well, Nowhere, it’s nice to find a kindred spirit,” you said.

You two drank for a bit in a comfortable silence, until he turned to you with curiosity in his dark brown eyes as he took you in. 

“So, what made you want to join Payback? The pay, or the free shit?” he asked.

You quirked a smile. You decided to give him the easiest answer he’d believe.

“Well, the free shit is a big perk. But…as vapid as it sounds, I wanted to get out of the background, make a name for myself,” you said. Noir nodded.

“Believe me, I get it. Around here, it can be hard to stand out,” he said. His brows knitted together while he stared hard at the table. You watched him, wondering what he meant.

After a beat, he perked up and met your gaze. “You know, I’ve been wanting to pitch a movie idea to Arthur.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, just trying to…you know, find the right words.”

Your expression eased, and you crossed your arms and turned towards him.

“Okay, let’s go then,” you said, waving at him in a bring it on gesture.

Noir’s brows popped up. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, why not?” you said. “Give me your best elevator pitch.”

Black Noir stood up from the table, nearly knocking over his empty beer bottle as he went. You grabbed it so it wouldn’t tip over. You were amused by his slightly flustered state. He set his hands on his hips and couldn’t quite meet your eyes when he started speaking.

“So, I’m thinking it could be like 48 Hours meets Trading Places. Except instead of a wise-cracking criminal or a guy down on his luck, I’m like, a wise-cracking ninja.”

“But ninjas don’t typically talk, do they?” you said. Clearly this guy had a thing for Eddie Murphy. “Aren’t they supposed to be stealthy?”

Noir raised a finger. “Okay, yes, but it’s a comedy. So that’s the ironic part, in a funny way.”

“So you’ll make witty quips before you kill your targets?” you said, holding in a laugh. You brandished an invisible sword. “‘You’re gonna need a new carpet.’ Fshh.”

You mimed a cutting motion, then blood spraying from your neck as you made some mock death throes. Noir stared at you blandly. You bit your lip.

And you were the first one to break with a laugh. The sound was infectious enough to break him too though. Noir couldn’t help but shake his head and chuckle along with you.

You were almost too distracted to hear a pair of heavy boots, and sense the male presence at the door. You turned at the flash of green in the corner of your eye.

Of course, the cast wouldn’t be complete without Soldier Boy. Or Ben, as he’d insisted you call him.

His gaze roamed the room with feigned disinterest, but you could tell when he looked over at you and Noir that he wasn’t pleased. He clung to stoicism as he approached your table with his usual gait: calm, controlled, and arrogant.

“What’s going on in here?” he asked with a raise of his brow. “Could hear you all the way down the hall.”

“Just working on a pitch for Noir’s new movie,” you said, though the man in question gave you a hard stare. One that warned you to stop talking.

“Noir’s new movie?” Ben said, with a curl of his lip. He turned to the other man. “Trying to compete with Red Thunder before it’s even out in the box office? That’s not very good form.”

“No, no. Of course not,” said Noir. “Just…throwing some ideas around.”

“Oh, yeah, I heard. Some kind of samurai bullshit,” Ben said dryly. His green-eyed gaze was sharp, however. “Why don’t you stop wasting people’s time on tragic fucking ideas, and find something actually fucking useful to do.”

You watched carefully between the two men. Was there some kind of bad blood here?

Noir’s lips pursed, but despite the spark of anger in his eyes, he kept it all inside when he lowered them. He got up from the table and left without another word, putting on his helmet as he went.

Ben shook his head and drew closer to you. You frowned up at him as you stood and crossed your arms below your breasts.

“Well, that wasn’t very kind,” you remarked.

“This is the real world, sweetheart. He still needs to learn his place on this team,” Ben replied. But then, his charm was back. His face eased into a smile. “I’m glad I found you. It’s time I made good on my promise.”

You tilted your head. “What promise?”

“To take you out,” he said. “Give you a little tour of the city.”

After that little display, you had even less interest to spend any more time with this man than absolutely necessary…

Remember the plan, you reluctantly reminded yourself.

“Come on,” he prodded, extending a hand out to you. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

Releasing a breath, you uncrossed your arms and slipped your hand into his.

“Okay. I would appreciate you showing me around,” you said, giving him a smile with some feminine charm of your own.

His lips curved into a grin. He raised your hand up to his lips, and despite yourself, his stubble ignited small tingles across your skin.

“Meet me downstairs in half an hour,” he said.

After taking the time to change out of your supe suit and into something dressier, reapplying your makeup and fixing up your hair, you met Ben downstairs out front. He was waiting for you there on a motorcycle, of all things.

“Really?” you asked, giving the vehicle a dubious look. “I thought you’d be a limo kind of guy.”

“Oh, I am. But today we need speed if we’re going to cover the whole city,” he said with a grin. He revved the engine, and it let out a loud, rumbling sound. It looked like a death trap.  

“I don’t know, Ben,” you said, for the first time using his name. You were actually nervous enough to show it.

He chuckled and motioned you over. Reluctantly, you went to him. His hand smoothed down your arm and held your elbow. He peered into your eyes.

“You think I’m going to let you fall on my watch?” he said. 

You held his gaze. Eventually, you bit your lower lip, and you accepted his offer of a helmet (even though he was going without one), then his helping hand to climb onto the motorcycle behind him. You tentatively held onto his waist.

“That ain’t gonna cut it, baby doll,” he said. He grabbed your hands and tugged you closer, until your arms wrapped around his middle. You made a small sound of surprise, feeling the solidness of his frame. You had a feeling he was grinning.

“All right, hold on,” he warned, revving the engine once again.

Your teeth clenched with dread. “Please, go slooow—ahhh!”

Ben peeled out of the curved landing in front of Vought Tower with a screech of tires. You gripped onto his jacket like a lifeline and pressed yourself to his back as closely as you could—something you were sure was his intention.

You sensed his amusement, though he at least had the decency not to laugh at you. He merged onto the street and zipped through the layers traffic, heading towards the center of the city.

Ben didn’t just show you the city. He showed you his world.

He first took you to Top of the Rock at Rockefeller Center. Instead of the normal group tour to the observational deck, he had a short chat with management that had them letting you two up to an even higher level, into an exclusive bar. It was apparently so high up that only twenty people could be inside at a time.

You two enjoyed a couple of drinks along with the amazing view of the city, and of Empire State across the way.

“You don’t get views like this in Indiana, do you?” Ben asked.

You nodded indulgently. “You do not.”

Never mind that you had never even been to Indiana. Yet, you had also never seen the city like this either.

“Thank you for taking me out like this,” you said. You reached out and softly touched his hand. You met his eyes with a subtle smile. “I didn’t know what to expect when I got here, but you’ve been really nice to me. Makes me think I can actually belong here.”

He seemed pleased as he sipped his drink, brushing his thumb over the back of your hand.

“What can I say? I’m a nice guy,” he said.

You smiled, affecting demure as you ducked your head. It was an act you’d long ago perfected. Men tended to underestimate you, and you always used that to your advantage.

From there, he took you to clubs you’d never even knew existed, then to a restaurant so old, it still had a dress code. (And it was the best surf and turf you’d ever had in your life.)

When you got to Times Square, however, you were delayed practically an hour by all the fans who wanted Soldier Boy’s autograph. Once the first couple of young women recognized him, even out of his suit, it was all downhill as more and more people got excited by the world’s most famous superhero.

You stood off to the side, watching him be flirtatious to women of all ages, ruffling kids’ hair, and shaking hands with men, and even veterans who thanked him for his service.

You signed a couple of autographs and took some pictures with people yourself, but you knew you wouldn’t be recognized as much. You had to be content with waiting for Ben off to the side. Though admittedly, you were getting bored and more than a little annoyed that he was taking so long.

He seemed to realize it when he finally looked your way.

“Hey, Sirena!” he called out to you by your supe name, drawing your attention in front of a few of his fans. He waved you over, and even introduced you to the small crowd still gathered around him. He set a hand on your lower back.

“I’m sure you all know about Sirena, the newest member of our team,” he said. You looked up at him with some measure of gratefulness. Maybe this part of the day was working in your favor even more than you’d thought.

You intentionally leaned closer to him, laying a semi-innocent hand on his arm as you smiled at the others.

“I’m taking some time to show her around,” he continued, glancing down at you. “She’s from a small town, so this city can be pretty daunting. But it’s my home. My favorite place in the world. Especially because I get to see all of you.”

He swept a hand out towards the crowd, and they ate it up with cheers, clapping, and some flirtatious whistling. He shot a wink and a raised finger at that one.

“If you’ll excuse us,” he said, with one last parting hand at the people. He ushered you back onto the motorcycle, and off you went.

He was trying his damndest.

He wore that fake, debonair charm like a second skin as he got you a private tour of the Met, and treated you to rich food and expensive wine. He was showing off his wealth, his fame, and giving you the “best” of him.

However, you had already seen glimpses of the true man underneath the gaudy show. And it was ugly, with an edge of darkness.

You had that thought in the back of your mind, even while you two sat side by side on a ledge. He’d brought you to a spot near the Hudson River, close to an overpass. It wasn’t an area meant for parking (according to the No Parking sign), but he didn’t seem to care.

Neither did you, really. The view was too beautiful, with the large orange sun halfway sunk below the water. It cast shades of yellow and red and purple across the sky, even over the dark waters.   

Ben was working on his third hotdog. You were licking your way around a scoop of cookies and cream ice cream on a waffle cone, letting the end of it swirl off your tongue. You resisted a smile, feeling the warmth of his gaze on the side of your face.

“So tell me,” he said, after he finished off his snack. He crumpled his napkin and tossed it somewhere behind him. “I heard you were making a name for yourself as a singer. What made you want to join Payback?”

He was giving you a little too much credit. You’d been making your money by being a background singer for various artists, but your last big break going on Whitney Houston’s latest tour was what finally put you on Vought’s map.

You considered his question with a tilt of your head. Black Noir had asked you the same thing, more or less. You’d given him an easy, predictable answer. With Ben, you edged closer to the truth...or part of it, anyway.   

“I don’t just want people to know who I am,” you said. “I want to be remembered for something good. I want to prove it to my family too, that I can do it. …Is that naïve?”

Ben hummed in understanding, though he shot you a certain look.

“Not if you play your cards right,” he said. 

His leading tone didn’t surprise you. You slid him a smile. 

“And how should I do that?” you asked. You turned to him, setting your finished cone aside. Ben took the opportunity to reach out and draw a line down your cheek with his thumb. He wiped a small smear of chocolate from the corner of your mouth. 

He smirked. “By sticking close to me, baby doll.”

You had to admit, his proximity was stirring you more than you liked. He was devastatingly handsome, and he knew it too. With his face inching so close to yours, it was hard for you to remember the things this man had said about you to Arthur, how he clearly didn’t give a fuck about Countess, and even what a dick he'd been to Black Noir.

Not to mention, how he acted all the time, as if the whole world was his.

Just as his lips neared yours, you leaned back. Your eyes met his knowingly.

“You already have someone close to you,” you pointed out. “What about Countess?”

Ben stilled. He sighed, but he didn’t let go of your cheek. He traced your jawline with the sensuous promise of a practiced hand. It made your breath difficult in your lungs, rising into your throat.

“Ah, Donna,” he shook his head. “We’ve been on the rocks for a while now.”

I’m sure, you thought wryly.

“What you and I have, right here, right now,” he said, leaning in to press a lingering kiss to your cheek. “It’s special. The moment I saw you, a pure connection.”

Your brows furrowed. Those words triggered some kind of familiarity in you. A pure connection…

Wait, isn’t that a line from one of his movies? you thought. Oh yeah, A Gentleman’s Promise. 1949.

You had to bite your lip to stifle your laughter. This man did not just quote himself.

Ben took your reaction for a different kind of inner conflict, as he continued pressing tantalizing kisses down your neck. You cleared your throat a little, fighting a sigh of pleasure.

Stick to the plan, you thought.

Because he was right. The fastest way for you to get what you wanted was to be close to him, to use his status to your advantage. Timing was everything, however.  

You slipped your hands between you two and pressed gently, but firm against his chest.

“Ben,” you implored.

You were grateful that he actually stopped. His lips stilled against your skin, and he pulled away with a frown.

“What?” he said.

You looked up at him through your lashes, before you leaned in, stopping just shy of his lips.

“Maybe I’ll consider your offer when there’s a real place for me by your side,” you said with a smile. Then you backed off.

You gathered yourself and stood, coyly sauntering back to the motorcycle. You’d wait for him there.

Ben turned to watch you go, unwilling to admit he was both equally aroused and irritated. His jaw clenched, then eased.

After a moment, he joined you and drove you back to the Tower in silence. All the while, he couldn’t stop thinking. About your lips, your eyes, your voice, your soft body, your smile, and worst of all, the way you’d denied him. For fuck’s sake, you’d given him an ultimatum.

He couldn’t remember the last time someone had that kind of audacity, let alone a woman. He wouldn’t let show, or even admit to himself, how much it affected him. But the same thought kept turning through his mind as the streets of New York passed by in a blur.

Just who the fuck does she think she is?

AN: 😅 Lol Ben's got his work cut out for him. Think he'll be able to figure out her game?

Next Time:

“What’s in it for me then?” he asked, crossing his arms.

You blinked your eyes wider. Really?

“I doubt whatever you’re thinking, Soldier,” you said, a little more snidely than you meant to.

Ben's cocky smile said it all.

Your lips pursed in exasperation. You hadn’t thought you would have to bargain to get him to be nice to a kid. 

“Okay, I’m sorry. Clearly you’ve had a long day, so I’ll just get out of your way,” you said, raising your hands in surrender. You turned to leave.

“All right, don’t get your panties in a twist,” he said.

You paused at the door, tossing him an annoyed look over your shoulder.

His smile deepened. “I’ll do it.”

His steps were measured as he approached you. You turned back to face him, albeit warily. As he seemed to like doing, he gently grasped your chin between his fingers.

“I’ll do it for a kiss,” he said.

▶️ Keep Reading: PART 3

Ko-Fi Me ☕

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[nsfwstolas]

I'm making a side series of smut for a song I like. What minecraft youtubers or other gaming youtubers should I do for this new series. P.S. I'll still focus on the main series as well but I really wanna do a side Series.

[cavillscurls]

wherever you stray, i’ll follow

alpha!joel miller x omega f!reader

Joel resents the choice to allow an unmated omega into Jackson—until he’s the only one who can help her feel at home.

warnings/tags: MDNI. Jackson era. Joel’s POV. Alternate universe: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics. Implied Soulmates. Alpha!Joel. Omega!Reader. SoftDom!Joel. Sub!Reader. Enemies-ish to lovers. Grumpy x Sunshine. Joel is emotionally constipated. Unspecified age gap. Stereotypical gender roles. Fluff. Angst. Self-flagellation. Poor coping & communication skills. Explicit smut. Dub-con elements due to the nature of heats, but everything is explicitly consented to. Size kink/size difference—Joel is huge in this, like 6’5, thick, broad, and burly. Reader has pubic hair. Pet names. Dirty talk. Scenting/scent marking. Man-handling. Fingering. Squirting. Drinking bodily fluids. Oral (f receiving). Multiple orgasms, somewhat uncontrolled. Unprotected PIV. Tummy buldge. Knotting. Breeding kink. Pregnancy implications. Adult Alpha!Ellie, Beta!Tommy, & Alpha!Maria make an appearance. Ambiguous-ish ending. wc: 10.7k

➻ a/n: this fic has been a long time coming & means so, so much to me. this won’t be for everyone, & that’s ok. i pictures game!joel for majority of this, but he is left to your imagination as always. thank you to @kiwisbell for beta reading and supporting me during the writing process. any feedback is so appreciated enjoy. x

playlist | fic inspo tag | read it on ao3 | art by @kiwisbell

Tommy Miller had always been the foolish brother, but even Joel found his particular lack of cautiousness that night out of the ordinary. 

There were three members. What was left of a pack, likely separated or raided. They had entered the walls of Jackson that fateful evening—the walls Joel and his brother happened to be manning—dirty and famished, overly emotional and outwardly grateful for the sanctuary. The first two, an elderly woman and a teenage boy, betas. He could tell just by the way they walked, the monotonous way they carried themselves, crossing the threshold of their haven with Maria at the helm of the herd. 

“The boy’ll be a good addition to routes, whenever he’s old enough,” Tommy had remarked. Ever the optimist, too keen on seeing the good in people to even acknowledge the risk that was posed every time another body came through those gates. 

And a risk it was. 

Joel Miller had experienced a fair share of fear in his life. Real, unadulterated fear, enough to bring a grown man to his knees despite his efforts to rise above it. A fear contrived by something entirely out of his control, forces working against the walls he’d built around himself, the rough exterior that fought, and bled, and killed, and protected. But the fear he felt that ghastly night remained unlike any other. It was entirely from within, something deeply embedded in himself. Fear, once harnessed as a means of survival, reduced to a shackle, left entirely at its disposal. It rose from his toes into his head where his ears rang and his face burned. 

Time stalled. His senses were numb to everything but this walking force of nature that, at first glance, was an indiscernible canvas of shivering limbs. But as it drew closer, the details were impossible to avoid. The shape of lips and sad eyes. The foreboding sound of a beating heart. Oxygen was no longer a necessity of survival, but vanilla and lilac and something so distinctly, uniquely sweet became the vice in his lungs. 

And it happened so fast, the way fear turned to panic and panic into anger—angry that he had no control or say over how the thing inside of him responded to the thing emerging before him. Powerless. He watched at a standstill as each body lining the wall stiffened upon your entrance. Even his brother, whose composure hardly faltered, could be heard inhaling a sharp breath of disbelief.

Omega. 

She isn’t stopping. Why isn’t she stopping? 

Joel’s eyes shot toward Maria, her indomitable gaze remaining forward on the parting doors. He had to fight the sudden urge to jump the gate over how seemingly unfazed she looked. His sister-in-law was a lot of things, but foolish wasn’t one of them. How could she be so foolish? 

A question left unspoken, unanswered, because his body was not his own. The sound of pounding rattled in his chest, blaring in his ears. A flame ignited. A switch flipped. The world as he knew it became mute to the battling voice that rang inside his head. 

Why isn’t she stopping? What is she doing here? It’s not real. There’s no more. There’s not supposed to be any more. It’s cold. It’s too cold, she’s not wearing a proper jacket. Where’s her jacket? She can’t be here. She’s not allowed to be here. How could she survive this long? Alone? She’s alone. No Alpha. Alone—

He vaguely recalled the sound of his brother shouting his name; a growl settled low in his chest and the heels of his hands pressed against his temples as he tore himself away from the perimeter and stormed through town. 

He needed to get away. Put as much distance between him and that thing that poked and prodded at what was to remain untouched. That stirred him, that set him quick to anger as those of his kind were notorious for. What he worked hard to not be. 

He wasn’t sure how long he paced. How many glasses of whiskey he downed, or the number of curses he threw at his walls, but later that evening, when he had subdued himself to some sort of composure, Joel sought after his brother and his wife, making it a point to address the issue head-on. He burst through their door without knocking: 

“Are you out of your fuckin’ mind?” 

“Joel—!” snapped the younger Miller, bouncing to his feet from the couch where he sat beside Maria, already engaged in conversation over what Joel could assume was the reckless decision at hand. 

“It’s fine, Tommy,” Maria interjected, extending a cautionary hand toward her husband. Her focused eyes took a once over of the fuming man in front of her. “Joel, I’m not turning away perfectly capable people. They pose no threat to us; we’ll find each of them a place here.” 

People. Them. Joel knew his sister-in-law wasn’t so naive as to think he was distressed over a couple of betas. The patronizing calm of her voice stirred him on, and he flashed his teeth at her when he spoke, low and gritty. A fight for dominance. 

“She’s an omega. Unmated.”

“And we’ll be sure to make accommodations for that.” Maria nodded slowly, carefully. She was all too familiar with the taming of beasts. 

Joel shook his head, his lips pressing into a thin line. “There are twelve goddamn unmated alphas in these walls, Maria.” 

“Yeah, you included,” she clipped, and that shut him up good. “And with the way things are progressing, soon enough, Ellie.” 

That made him nauseous. 

Ever since her eighteenth birthday, she had been showing all the tell-tale signs of an emerging alpha. Joel knew—despite his unpreparedness and objections to the thing called nature—there was nothing he could do to stop it. The only other option was to prepare. And up until that point, Joel had thought his adopted daughter's presentation was the worst of his worries. 

He wasn’t prepared to reevaluate his own self-control. 

He hadn’t dealt with a rut since Boston; it was only the start of FEDRA’s reign, before the suppressants had been sufficiently pumped into the population, and fiery instinct was reduced to a dull nuisance. And while his access to the aid was now nonexistent, he still hadn’t considered it possible anymore before you showed up. Upon his and Ellie's arrival, the measly two other omegas in his vicinity had already inhabited Jackson. Both mated. 

Joel assumed the next time he encountered the type, it would be when one in the community presented. And by that point, he hoped he’d be far too old for the monster inside his head to have any more biological control. 

The solution had been to set you up in the cottage furthest from the center of town. It was a decent little space that had been used for storage until late, having cleared the fireplace last fall for ample central heating and restoring some of the rotten infrastructure. As deliriously naive as he saw it, the belief appeared to be that the distance of your dwelling from the rest of Jackson would prevent any complications if they arose. When they did. Joel couldn’t decipher what genius course of action his sister-in-law had for when the time came, but his protests were silenced by the majority. And by morning, you had claimed your corner of sanctuary. 

That was six months ago. 

And while the winds of winter kept the newcomers isolated with adjustment, the summer's heat brings livelihood—and much more of you. 

Your voice, your laughter, your scent. It permeates Jackson’s walls like a disease, saturating Joel’s life despite his efforts to avoid your very existence. 

You contribute your share at the daycare, of all places, often seen with a young pup clinging to your neck. Sometimes, the little ones chase after you in the center of town—running towards you with excited, grubby hands and beaming smiles. You always grace them with an embrace. It’s in your nature, the ability to comfort, to nurture. 

You’re gentle. Kind. Considerate. A smile brighter than a thousand stars. Perfection didn’t appear to have a name until the universe made you, and there is no denying the intrinsic effect you have on those around you. 

Because the rest of the town fucking adores you. 

There is no escaping you. As hard as he tries, you linger at every turn, in every breath of the wind that creeps down his back and stands the hair up on his skin. Most are in awe, admiring the creature that glides before them, whose presence adds to balance the very nature they all endure. A missing piece of a puzzle, something delightful and pure. 

Rare. 

Not diamonds, or rubies, or gold can compare. But in tandem comes those who feed on things that shine, and he knows that some—a very specific some—leer with less adoration and increased selfishness. Some who believe they are owed for the mark you bear, whose pride and lust drive their ambition, whose power is unmatched in the face of something so helpless. 

He’s aware, by the principle of semantics, that he falls into this greedy some. Though he could not identify further from it. And while the monster may heave and thrash within the dwindling confines of his chest, lured to all that is so rare, Joel had decided the moment you walked through those gates he would have none of it. He would not reduce himself to the thing he worked tirelessly to tame, nor would he entertain the force of nature that drove someone like you to something like him. 

You’re aware of his distaste for you. That much is obvious in how you blatantly evade him in town, skirting around when you are forced to share the vicinity, a terrified thing, so easily spooked. 

Once, a few months prior, he had been asked to repair some of the leaky ceiling panels in the schoolhouse. Unbeknownst to him—and you, he assumed, judging by the way your eyes nearly bulged out of your skull at the sight of him and how the honeyed stench of the room turned sour—they were all located in the daycare room. 

What followed could only be described as two hours of slow, burning torture. He tried his very best to stay on task, he really did. But he was hindered by the discernible discomfort you exhibited and all it did to the thing inside of him. You tripped over your words to the fellow attendants in the room, couldn’t seem to locate anything you were looking for, and at one point, had to excuse yourself for what turned into a twenty-minute-long disappearance. And where he stood, high up on the ladder, trying to balance his body and his mind, Joel hated how worried your absence made him. He couldn’t see you, couldn’t hear you, couldn’t smell you for those agonizing twenty minutes, and that anger he felt the first day he laid eyes on you returned. Because he was not a man that gave up control. 

And you, for whatever reason, wielded a great deal of it over him. 

The first day of summer promises a bonfire. Dusk, in the open plain beyond the stables, the laughter of children and the strum of music are bringing the community to life. These are cherished moments amongst the whole of Jackson, and Joel isn’t the kind of man to be so self-absorbed that he can’t understand why. He had, up until six months ago, once enjoyed the camaraderie. It was the first time in decades he felt a semblance of impulse to let go. No more running, fighting, grieving. 

He can hardly remember that feeling now. In its place returns caution, unpredictability. Six months and the work of years lost. He feels insane—the lurking monster that haunts his own shadow. And as hard as he tries to shake it, he fails every time. The feeling is embedded, brought to life by its complimentary fragment that, much to his dismay, walks the very same walls. Lurks in the same shadows. 

He used to feel stable, steady. Not any longer. 

Your hair is tied half up today, out of your eyes—he’s watching you. Not watching, observing. This is the trade-off, the compromise to keep the beast satiated. Always from afar, and never with the intent of action, he observes you and all you are. It’s a part of his routine, studying the way you move, the way you exist in this space you’re both forced to inhabit. Constantly drawn to one another, even in distance, even without trying. Magnetic. 

Frustrating. 

You’re smiling at something. And then laughter, like the sweetest song rattles his eardrums. You sit on a blanket across the mountainous flames, your legs tucked under you, beside two other girls he couldn’t care to remember the names of. Briefly, he wonders what it is that you find so amusing. 

A misfortune at the hand of another? 

No, he cannot imagine you to be so cruel. 

An anecdote from the daycare? 

Seems far more likely. The type to find joy in what you do, in all that is around you. 

He’s envious of this, maybe. The effortless way of being attracted to what is deemed good. He tries to remember a time when he knew another person like that; all that ever follows are brief memories full of sorrow. The hazy outline of something, someone, so perfect in a way no one should be. He always dismisses the thought. He would never know what it means to be that way, after all. 

“Nice night.” 

He damn near jumps out of his boots. Tommy’s sudden materialization beside him diminishes any spirals of imagination, a blessing in disguise. 

Still, Joel is bothered by the disturbance. His little haven of borderline-stalker tendencies crushed under his brother's obnoxious foot. He merely grunts in response. 

“Glad we finally got this event together,” Tommy continues nonetheless, a hand on his hip, sipping his beer bottle and glancing similarly across the flames. Joel’s eyes have already left you, his arms folding taut across his chest while he casts his gaze anywhere else, if only for the sake of avoiding his brother's inevitable chastising. “Good to get the kids out… good to get everyone out, really. Nice chance to mingle.” 

Subtle. Real subtle. 

“Out with it, Tommy.” He doesn’t feel like playing this game tonight. He wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for the sake of appeasing his brother, or rather, his brother's wife. “Whatever it is you wanna say to me… out with it.” 

Tommy shrugs. “Nothin’ to come out with, Joel. Just that y’all have been here two years already and still seems like you have a tough time with these things.” 

He doesn’t miss the chosen emphasis. And it’s true, to an extent. While precarious in her initial adjustment, Ellie has been far more social than he. He talks to people. He just doesn’t trust them. Not those outside his immediate circle. And why should he? Joel does his work. He lends a hand to the community where he can. He’s polite. Punctual. Reliable. But he’s still living in the end of the fucking world, a world he has seen more brutality and injustice in than he ever would have cared to. So what if he doesn’t want to roast marshmallows and sing campfire songs? 

“What is it that you want from me, Tommy? I’m here, ain’t I?” 

“Don’t want nothin’ from you, brother,” Tommy says with a shake of his head, and Joel still can’t pinpoint just when his little brother finally grew the fuck up. Twenty years of lost time will do that to a person. “Just wanna be sure you’re livin’ this second chance to the fullest.”     

A second chance. 

He can pinpoint a time where he would have killed for one of those. 

And perhaps he did just that, and the real fault lies in being unable to embrace the outcome. Or maybe, the misery he lives in is the price he pays for the choices that led him here. Second chance shrouded in self-loathing. 

His brother persists: “Take advantage of how lucky ya are to be here, how lucky we all are to be here, to have…options.”  

Has he ever been good at weighing those? Twenty years ago, he would have had a different answer. Twenty years ago, he wouldn’t have known the debilitating options of life or death. This isn’t the first time Tommy has presented the topic of conversation, and he’s certain it won’t be the last. He wonders when he’ll find a response that appeases him, if ever. 

“Just try to enjoy yourself a little tonight, alright?” 

He doesn’t answer. He lacks the discipline to say something of substance. Instead, he turns his head forward and strains his arms against his chest, silent and brooding, until his brother sighs, pats him on the shoulder, and slips away. 

This is enjoyable enough; left to his own devices, keen to observe the joy around him, a silent hope that some of it may permeate, keep an eye on—

He’d been too preoccupied with Tommy’s noise to notice you’d disappeared from his line of sight. His brows furrow and he scans the perimeter of the bonfire. Your friends have moved to the beverage stand, but the spot you had occupied beside them is vacant. 

He cocks his head left, then right, scanning for signs; the cadence of your voice, the shape of you, your scent. And he’s frustrated. Because how could he let you vanish so fast? Where? Why? 

It’s something instinctive that compels him to act at the first sign of trouble. It’s the faintest thing, a subtle waft in the wind he’s certain no one would catch unless they were searching for it. Sour and burnt, his nose wrinkles. 

He does a one-eighty and panic seizes his chest.

Your silhouette may be foreign to the common eye, but he’s learned it well. It tramples and scrambles through the foliage, distressed; a good two, three hundred yards away from the crowd and headed in the direction of your dwelling. 

He’s honed in. A nerve fires inside his chest. His heart ticks to a beat that suffocates his eardrums, and there’s a churning in his gut that threatens to yank him forward. 

He turns back toward the flames, only once, before his footsteps fall in stride with you. 

He wonders just how long he’s been blind. How many days had passed since the tell-tale signs began to emerge. When you knew, if you knew, or if this very moment, here and now, is the one mother nature decided to take you by the hand and guide you down the imminent path. 

Joel always watches you. Observes. How could he have let this slip under his radar? 

He’s imagined this exact scenario numerous times before. Though in his head, havoc rained, blood was shed, and carnage laid bare across the whole of town. A wreckage for all to witness, to acknowledge the barbarous creatures that walk amongst them. Twelve starved, selfish alphas seeking a single, undeserved prize. 

In theory, his expectations aren’t all that far-fetched. In a time before, they may have been a reality. When there was no order. When creatures with perceived power could take and take, and others would be remiss to challenge them. 

But here, in the haven he occupies, those expectations are mere theatrics. 

Here, the air is frighteningly quiet, save for the joyous voices in the distance, the whistle of the breeze. He’s aware of the sound of his boots crunching against the ground, how the weight of them seems to melt into the earth with each daunting step. They follow after lighter, fluttering tip-toes; a scared, scampering thing on the run from all that could harm her. Alone.

Vulnerable. 

The closer he follows, the clearer your labored huffs reach his ears. The aroma in the air loses its earthy notes and adopts the sweetness you shed. A trail of seeds yet to sprout, bathed in moonlight, beckoning him closer. A single lantern is left lit on the cottage steps, a beacon. You clamber up them two at a time, and in tandem, his careless foot snaps a twig beneath his boot. 

Your head whips around, sharp eyes pinning daggers to his chest.

“I ain’t here to hurt you.” 

He puts his hands up in careful defense, leaving the vast space of the porch steps between you. Your chest is heaving and your temples are already damp. Your eyes have glossed over, a crazed look, and he knows the fever has taken the reins. 

But there is no urge to pounce. No incessant need to satisfy a selfish craving. It’s there, it lives, but it does not drive him the way he always suspected it would. It’s evicted from the home of fears that feed on his consciousness, and in its place, emerges something just as innate. As plain and clear as all other parts of him he once tried to diminish. 

“What do you need?” he asks softly, carefully. Unprotected prey are easily spooked. 

Your eyes dart every which way, searching for the complimentary predators. They glisten with tears under the porch lights, sweat reflecting off your forehead the more you lose yourself, and he knows that you’re afraid. He can feel it. 

“Omega,” Joel commands, and your wide eyes snap right back to him. Drawn to him and all that he is. If his instincts weren’t so hellbent on curbing your fears, he would’ve scolded himself for abusing such a power. “What do you need?” he repeats, a bit more pointedly. 

He watches the way your throat constricts when you swallow, brows twitching together in study of him. Searching for some ulterior motive, no doubt, but the trepidation is brief. Your nostrils flare in deep inhalation, and he wonders what remedy he must exude to ease you so effortlessly. 

You trust him. 

A terrifyingly naive mistake. 

And yet, there is no denying the way his chest swells with pride and how the monster inside of him roars to life. 

“Keep the rest of them away,” you say finally, and it’s all he needs to hear. The rest is second nature. 

He nods dutifully, lingering at the bottom of the steps. He waits until you blink the haze out of your darkening eyes, giving him a final once over, and scramble the door open and shut, before he climbs to the top of the steps. He turns his back to the door, his arms crossed over his chest like they had been while he watched you through the fire, his eyes forward—focused. An unmatched mode of protection activates. He hears the deadbolt lock, and he’s grateful for your diligence. Though he knows it’s useless. Every alpha in a ten-mile radius would smell you within minutes. 

And that smell. 

It’s only now that he notices its potency. It grows and swells the longer you’re hidden inside; waves of vanilla and citrus that are almost too sweet. They burn his nose. Coat the back of his throat in thick tar, making it impossible for him to swallow without a taste of you. 

The beast grows, a second skin now. It occupies him further as each moment passes by. His fingers twitch, his own brow dampens, and an unrelenting ache settles low in his stomach. 

He gruffs out a breath, shaking his head rapidly. He needs to keep it together. He needs to move. 

He’s stalking the perimeter in a craze, eyes and ears on high alert. He leaves his mark behind wherever he can, brushing up against trees, allowing the dense pheromones that seep out of his skin to pollute the air. It isn’t foolproof, but it’s enough to dampen the sweet nectar radiating off your walls, at least for a time. 

He starts to panic when he finally hears the first little moan slip through the walls. A soft, restless thing, and the ache in his gut flourishes, threatening to send him to his knees. He seeks purchase on the rail of the porch, having made his way back to the door. He squeezes his eyes shut. This cannot be happening. 

Clarity becomes overshadowed by instinct, and the ache expands into his chest, his fingertips, his toes. It’s been years, and the onset is no less overwhelming. He’ll do what he can to prolong it, ensure that he is of his right mind when the height of the fever takes you. He can’t imagine what he’ll do, otherwise. 

But his patience is tested. The soft scratch beyond the front door makes sure of it. 

His ears perk up and his nostrils flare. He can make out a faint creak, weight shifting. Palms to the panes, a body pressing against the wood. Warmth seeps through the cracks. 

“Joel?” 

There you are. 

His body carries him up the steps–he doesn’t have to think about moving. His muscles and joints, his very soul seem to be linked to your command. He stands with his toes pressed to the bottom of the door, and it’s getting harder to breathe. Harder to discern what’s right in front of him. He squeezes his eyes shut. 

“I’m here.” 

Your breath wavers, a sigh of relief. He zeros in on what he can make of you through the barrier, the last shred of sanity. 

“I’m sorry,” you finally croak, and his eyes shoot open, brows laced in confusion. 

“You have nothin’ to be apologizing for–”

“No, I do,” you press, and the words come with great difficulty. Heavy and strained, as if it is critical you say them now. 

Perhaps it is. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows it’s only a matter of time before you’re not entirely yourself. Before he won't be able to get a coherent answer out of you, when every action you take relies solely on relief. 

He’ll take the opportunity to listen to what you have to say while you still can. You seem to realize it too as your words start to pour out, staggered and rushed:

“I know I’ve done something… something to upset you for all this time, and—and I’m sorry. Whatever it is, I’m sorry, and I’ll fix it. I’ll fix it, Joel. I promise. Just please—”

“Stop that.” 

He can't even begin to believe what he’s hearing. Can’t possibly fathom the damage he’s caused, all he’s insinuated with his behavior, his choices. 

Him. He is to blame. 

Yet, you’re the one near tears. You’re the one who begs for forgiveness, where no plea nor apologies need be. You’ve convinced yourself, or rather, he’s indoctrinated you into believing you are the one to blame. 

That you are the monster. 

And oh, does it make his blood boil with well-acquainted self-loathing. 

“You don’t—you haven’t—”

Now he’s the one sputtering. Where does one find the words to right infinite wrongs? 

You’ve reached an impasse, and this is surely the desperation speaking. He’ll have to be the level headed one, steer you in the right direction. A chance to redeem himself, as great a feat it’s proving to be. He musters up the courage, sets his pride aside. 

“You ain’t done nothin’ wrong, you hear me?” His lips are near pressed against the wood, seething through them, desperate for you to latch on to each painful word. “You needa know that, all right? You… you ain’t the one to blame here.” 

The admission is ash on his tongue. Speaking it aloud, bringing it to life. His ears strain for any sign of you, fallen silent. Something inside possesses the urge to break clean through the wood. 

“Help me.” 

Forgiveness. Guilt welded to his chest now shattered and set free by the capabilities of kindness. You hardly know one another, and yet, there is mutual understanding. An agreement that surpasses time, bonded to what you’re made of. 

“Alpha,” you call, and Joel has to brace himself against the frame to keep from falling. His chest beams, his belly stirs, and the sting of desire plagues him. “Please.” 

He had read about the process once, long before. Disorientation. Excruciating aches that make it nearly impossible to stand upright. A tingling sensation so intense, that it replicates that of burning on the skin. 

Pain. 

You’re in pain, and he knows he can stop it. 

And soon enough knowing turns to needing, and he can feel a fraction of the pain you’re enduring. It’s enough to shatter his resolve. 

A heavy hand rests on the doorknob. A beat. And then, as if on cue, he hears the deafening sound of the deadbolt unlatching. 

He hesitates, opportunity served on a golden platter. Sifts through the repercussions of what could follow. But when the door opens and shuts again, he’s on the other side of it. The lock latches, this time, under his own hand. 

You’ve shuffled your way back from the door. Standing, though by the looks of it, with great difficulty. You’re no longer in your pretty summer dress, but a t-shirt large enough to swallow you and little shorts so short he can smell right through them. 

Even from a distance, his height climbs above you in the way only predators leverage prey. But he knows you’re unafraid. He can sense your fascination with him just by observing you; it’s as plain as the air he breathes, something intrinsic and right as hard as he’s worked to deem it wrong. It’s in the way that you stiffen, your body having no other choice than to respond to him. Wide eyes appraise every inch of him, and you trouble your bottom lip with your teeth in a spot he would very well like to taste. 

The aroma is suffocating; it seeps into his pores and wraps its eager hands around his throat. He won’t be able to rid himself of you for days, even if he tries. 

He’s grown pompous, it seems. For the thought of those he passes enduring a whiff of you on his skin stirs his cock in his jeans. The idea that awakens him, the prospect of becoming his. 

“I’m scared,” you hiccup, and he suddenly remembers he has greater things to tend to. 

He has a million questions, torn between action and rationale. 

When was the last time this happened? Do you have enough supplies prepared? How long is it expected to last? 

But none of that matters right now. She matters. And she needs you. 

“I know, baby.” He’s terrified, and the words spill out. “But you’re gonna get through it, ya hear me?” He takes another step closer. “We’re gonna get through it.” 

And there is a glimmer in your eyes, that of hope, and he knows that he is powerless in this battle he’s fought against himself for so long. He’s only prolonging the inevitable. 

“You’ll help me?” It's all pleas and hope and teetering near the symphony of begging, but he can’t hear you beg. He can’t bear the sound nor the implication, as he’s certain it will ruin him. But: “Please,” you whimper, plucking his kryptonite out of thin air and wielding it against him. And it’s only then that he notices the way your thighs tremble together, desperately searching for some sort of friction. “It hurts.” 

And he loses, loses the fight. He is lost to you. He always has been. 

“Turn around,” he beckons, and you obey him because you’re good. You’ll be so good for him. 

Because you know exactly what she needs. 

The floorboards creek beneath his feet, and when he reaches you, fingers drag the bulk of your hair over one shoulder. He watches the muscles flex below his touch, the way your hands ball into tight fists at your sides. He’s hit with the overwhelming scent of your exposed gland, and his mouth waters. 

Focus, the thing inside him chastises. You’ll have plenty of time to taste. 

He takes a final step, flushing the front of his chest with your backside. Greedy hands latch on to your waist, followed by the slump of your body into him. Your head lolls back onto his shoulder, and your lips part in a sigh—a pretty little sound, though he’s determined to alleviate the burden it stems from.

He reaches for one of your fists, taking you by the wrist. Your fingers unfurl upon his touch, and he uses it as an opportunity to fold his own overtop your knuckles. He guides your joint hands, settling them low over your belly. 

“Show me,” he murmurs, dipping his head to the crook of your neck. His lips dance over the skin, and your legs begin to tremble. He keeps the hand at your hip firm, an anchor. “Show me where it hurts.” 

Your breath catches and your eyelids flutter, half-open. Your fingers squeeze around his, and without hesitation, he squeezes back. He’s here. He’s got you. He won't let you go. 

And with that reassurance, hands descend, following your lead. You claw away the t-shirt hem, idling above the waistband of your shorts before sinking underneath. A low growl rumbles in his chest at his findings, muffled into your hair. You comb his fingers through soft curls, the flesh below hot and throbbing. Together, you cup the little seam of your cunt, and Joel has to fight the urge to fall to his knees, pry you open here and now. 

You’re dripping. Warm slick pools in his hand, sticky against your thighs. He feels a pulse of it spill out of you when his fingertips prod at your hole, your back arching off his chest, another devastating gasp of air choking you. 

He’s already dizzy, high on the fumes of you. He shuts his eyes when his vision begins to blur. And he’s hard. So achingly stiff against your back, if he thinks about it for too long, he's sure to lose control. You’ll send him into a full blown rut, he’s certain of it. Likely, you already have, teetering at the edge. And as these minutes tick, the less time he has to prepare you. To warm you up and slather you in pleasure before brute nature runs its course. 

“Joel,” you whine. His eyes flash back open, pupils doubled in size.

“Bedroom. Now.” 

He releases you, but only after giving a handful of your ass a terse squeeze. You squeal, nearly leaping out of his touch. You flash him your eyes only once before tiptoeing forward, and he’s hot on your heels, stalking after you. Patience drowned deep, mangled by desire. 

Your room is to be expected, cozy and warm, entirely you. Under any other circumstance, he’d have more appreciation for the homemade candles and delicate tapestries, the various posters displaying your interests and the native plants you’ve taken the care to pot and house. 

But he’s immediately drawn to your mattress, the piles of pillows and blankets strewn about in a fashion only you are to understand. You’ve been busy since you left him on the porch. 

You stop a few feet shy of the bed, glancing over your shoulder at him, uncertain. There’s a shift in your aura, suddenly grown timid. There’s a guilty sort of gleam in your eyes, but he recognizes it for what it really is—shame. That you cannot control your erratic breathing, or the heat that creeps over your brow. That your body faces the impulse of preparation for something beyond your control, and now, you’re forced to lay it bare for him to witness. 

He holds no judgment, only empathy. There is beauty in this vulnerability, and for the first time, he understands the gravity of your trust in him. Something in the shape of fulfillment blooms. 

“Here?” he asks, nudging his chin toward the heap. 

You nod once, and he shrugs the flannel off his shoulders. An offering, and you accept it wordlessly, eagerly. You eye it in your hands, then him, back again, hesitant. You’re shy now that he’s indulged you.  

That’s alright. She just needs you to take your time with her. 

Finally, you slowly bring the wad of it up to your nose and inhale. Your eyes droop shut, lashes kissing the apples of your cheeks, and his chest beams with pride at the notable fall of your shoulders. Tension evades you, replaced with the comfort of his scent. His. 

“Go on,” he instructs gently, once he has your eyes again. He wishes he could peer inside your head, decipher the wary thoughts that live so plainly on your face. 

Nonetheless, you shuffle your way to the mattress, carefully crawling on top of it. It’s painfully adorable, the way you gnaw at your bottom lip and analyze the space, his flannel still clutched in your fist. 

He also recalls reading about this, how it’s imperative that your space be designed to your exact liking. The assistance of a trusted alpha’s scent is a surefire way to heighten comfort. 

So when you drape his flannel over the pillow you lay your head upon at night, and tuck it in tight around the edges, he’s overcome with a mighty wave of emotion. He is strengthened, his affliction no longer a weakness, but a gift. A means of sustaining your well-being. He almost feels unworthy. Almost. But when you sit up on your knees at the edge and give him those expectant eyes, he imagines what it would be like to rid the town of the eleven other hungry beasts who could have ended up outside your door. So that they may never get a breath of you. 

That they may never touch what’s his. 

He approaches with caution—slowly, toeing off his boots in the process, fighting every urge to pounce. Droplets begin to roll down your temples, and he thinks you’re the most beautiful like this; wild eyes, a little frenzied. Awaiting some treat like a starved puppy who's already forgotten how to chew, how to swallow. He will remedy this. He’ll feed you, satiate you. 

You’re an antsy little thing now, nearly bouncing up and down, toes curling and uncurling beneath you. And as soon as his shins meet the bed frame, you’re rising on your knees, nearly his height now. You study one another and the heat between you, the uneven breath and the palpable compulsion to touch. His brows rise on his forehead, surprise, when you reach out first. Shaky, dainty hands coming to rest upon his shoulders that glow under your willing gesture. 

He can’t help himself; his hands splay over your ribcage, curving around your lungs, and yanking your chest against his. You yelp out, but the tiny grin that follows on your lips and the way you wind your arms around his neck flash a million green lights. He can hardly keep up, and he realizes now he’s the one panting; his fingers bruise into your skin, and his tongue seems to swell three sizes with need, starvation.  

And he hesitates, because if he proceeds, he’ll finally know the sensation of kissing you. He’ll have a taste of you. He’ll understand what it means to have your body pressed against his, and how the scent of him will change, saturated by pieces of you. 

But it’s you and your willingness to be so kind, so undeniably what you are, that breaks him from the mold he’s cast. You scratch him gently just below his ear to get his attention, and his worried eyes find yours—a pure contradiction, only certainty and peace to be found. 

It’s alright. She’s ready for you. 

This voice is different, warped. A mixture of two. He’s not sure if he hears it from him, or you. 

He doesn’t care. 

His lean into the kiss is measured, but it’s not long before it descends into madness. You’re wound and fiery against him, clawing at the nape of his neck, baring tongue and teeth. He’s willing, eager to keep up, bending you at the small of the back and crowding over you. Licking you open and shoving his tongue between your lips, until the sharp sounds of saliva echo through the room and his palate is coated in sweetness. 

He loses himself a bit, winding a hand up your back until it’s latching around tendrils of hair and pulling taut. You gasp, arching into him, and he growls at the opportunity of more of you, to taste all of you. 

His lips clamber down your throat, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses in their wake. You’re mumbling something, indescribable under the mask of your flourishing heat, but the pliancy of your body is all he needs to make way for instinct. 

When he reaches the base, the tip of his nose traces your clavicle, sniffing like a mad dog. He continues up the curve of your neck until he finds the rough little patch behind your ear. Here, he inhales deep, audibly; your scent is most potent here and it clouds his judgment. His tongue juts out from his lips, salivating, searing across the gland and sealing his invasion with a gentle kiss, and oh, you like that. He hears the strangled sound that rips through your throat, feels your sharp nails dig deeper into his skin and the weight of your body shuddering against him. 

He yanks at the hem of your t-shirt. “Arms up.” 

You heed his command, and he pulls the fabric over you, tossing it into oblivion. 

He’s got you on your back, sprawled amongst the nest of your things and his, in no time. He sinks to his knees, huffing at the stiffness of them. He bullies himself between your shaking thighs and drags his paws across your torso. He cups both of your tits in an unforgiving grasp, heaving himself forward and suctioning his lips around one. You howl and pant, pain and pleasure, weaving fingers through his locks of hair and tugging just as hard as he sucks. He switches to the other, leaving welts behind, memories of his ardor. 

He wants them to linger. Knowing that he can’t mark you—won’t, not while you’re like this—in the way he longs to. A greedy act of ownership he hopes will ward off the others until he can map out this newfound territory. 

Your thighs suffocate his hips, radiating warmth. He feels the little gyrations of your hips, seeking friction, and he can’t find it in himself to deny you any longer. He licks a trail down your sternum, the tangy taste of fever, peppering kisses over your belly. His fingers curl over the waistband of your shorts, taking two fistfuls, and he rips them in two. Joel doesn’t think you’ve even noticed the destruction, already pawing needy hands across his shoulders to guide him where you need him most. 

Your legs part instantly, willingly, and his mouth drops open at the sight. He’s suddenly reminded of his own struggle, his cock seeming to swell another size in his jeans at the sight of your bare, swollen cunt. Creamy liquid coats your wet skin, pearly clit swollen and wanting. He rests a cheek upon your inner thigh, latches his hands around the outer to keep you steady, and admires. Lets his eyes fall shut and leans in, burying his nose in the soft curls on your mound. He inhales long and groans; the earthy musk, the inviting sweetness. 

“God, look at this pretty fuckin’ hole.” He starts blathering aloud, but you smolder under his praise. Bucking your hips and grabbing at all the bits of him you can find. “This all for me, Omega?” 

Yes, yes, yes, you pant, speaking with your body and your mouth, nodding so frantically. He enjoys the way your cunt flutters around nothing, each little pulse oozing another drop of sweet slick, coaxing him in. 

He wets his lips, takes another whiff of you. He’s certain he’ll lose his mind if he doesn’t taste you, so he does. Flattens his tongue against your impatient pussy, and watches as you all but combust when he suckles up the nectar seeping out, all for him. 

It’s more heavenly, more euphoric than he could’ve imagined. The stain of you against his tongue, ambrosia, a remedy for all ailments. He laps into you, dehydrated and desperate for every drop, smearing his tongue all over your cunt, your mound, your thighs. A feast for the taking. 

You wail above him when his lips latch onto your clit, and heavy hands force your thighs back against the mattress—he needs you spread, and still. Needs you to understand the severity of this famine he’s experienced for so long; maybe, as long as he’s existed. You yank at his hair and your heels dig into his back, pushing and pulling all at once, and when he finally comes up for air, he’s feeding you his fingers. Catches your eyes and the way they grow when he sinks two, thick digits inside of you, groaning at the squeeze of your plush walls, ripe and ready for him. 

“Gonna open you up for me, darlin’,” he rasps, lips and cheeks and chin gleaming with you. You hastily prop yourself up on your elbows, getting a view of the way he learns you. Moonlight glows across sheen skin, angelic. 

“B-but Joel—” you whine, but he silences you with a thrust of his fingers, curving them up, up, up, and beaming when your legs jerk and your eyes roll back. He taps his fingertips against the spongy little spot he’s discovered.

“Hush, now,” he bites, but his taunting fingers promise a better outcome than his tone. Your head has already fallen back into the pillows, hands mindlessly grabbing and twisting the sheets around you. “M’gonna open you up, get you nice and ready to take me.” He starts his steady pace then, gradually pulling his fingers back and rocking them forward, maintaining the hook, searching for the sweet little spot that makes you cry out every time he bumps it. “You’re gonna be patient, let me make it all better, yeah?” 

“Yes, Alpha. Yes, yes.” 

He’d be lying if he said he doesn’t enjoy this descent into submission. How the further you slip away from him, the further he is from himself. Two parts of a whole lost to what nature made them, somehow, finding one another to latch onto. 

He leans into it. Embraces it. He needs to make this last. Take advantage of all that it is, fearing it may be the first and only time he’ll be lucky enough to have it. 

A heavy hand, his free one, presses against your lower belly. He can feel the drag of his fingers inside of you, just below his palm, sending his blood to a boil. Sweat graces his own brow; these are shared symptoms, that of your fever and his rut. Cosmic, burning from the inside out, like stars. Everything he is, created for you. 

He can feel the wave, the buildup of pressure in your gut that makes his own ache. Feels the wet tip of his cock in his jeans when you start to pant his name, when a flimsy hand reaches for the flannel you tucked away so neatly, and yanks it toward your face. Smothering yourself with it, shoving your nose to his scent. 

“Alpha—nghh!” 

“C’mon, baby. C’mon,” he chants; a mantra. Presses harder onto your burning belly, extends his thumb to circle over your throbbing clit in time with his flexing wrist. 

Your body seizes, soft, full breasts rising and falling as you desperately gulp the air. Your poor legs tremble so hard, you can’t keep them upright anymore without his help, so they drape over his shoulders. Squeeze them tight, claws nearly drawing blood against his scalp, and your pussy sucks him into the knuckle. Grips on like a vice before the wave crashes, and you’re gushing around his fingers. Crying out ecstasy, soaking his chin, his chest, your limp legs. 

“Fuuuck,” he’s growling, in awe of the little spurts of cum that keep flowing out of you with each measured jingle of his digits. He wants to see how much he can drain you before he removes them, how much pretty, perfect, omega slick you’ll make for him, every drop an homage to your yearning for what he’s preparing to give you. The thing that swells, and aches, and burns at the base of his cock, and he can’t help but rub it up against the side of the mattress, desperately seeking some of his own relief. 

You’ve lost yourself entirely now, he knows this. The orgasm he’s granted you sets your full heat into motion, and you’ll require more. Can sense it in the haze of your eyes, the delirious babbling of his name mingled with Alpha, Alpha, please. Tears coating your cheeks, an emptiness in the pit of you only he can fill. 

But one taste isn’t enough, and he’s greedy. Greedy, greedy alpha of a man, who needs more. Can’t help it as he watches the liquid pour from around his fingers, so he unsheathes them, quickly replacing them with his open mouth again to drink the goodness right out of you. A fountain of excellence he’s certain he’ll never tire of. 

He must be lost in this, the incessant need to quench his thirst, for some time. Because you start to whine and thrash below him, strings of pleas and sorrow alike. Pulling at his t-shirt, trying to tear it from him at this awkward angle. Telling him over and over that it hurts, Alpha, it hurts—and that just won’t do. 

He quickly replaces your wandering fingers, tugging his shirt up and off of him and retreating to his feet to battle with his belt buckle. You jolt up at this, suddenly alert, perching at the edge of the mattress, wet hair sticking to your face, eyes taking a curious path down bare skin. 

There’s a momentary wave of self-consciousness; he can’t remember the last time a woman saw him naked, let alone after the safety and comfort that Jackson provided. 

He’s aged. Gained a few pounds in his belly, muscles bulky and lined with fat instead of the lean mass they once were. But then, you place your palms on his chest. Flutter your eyes up at him as you glide your hands slowly over his torso, and make sure he’s watching when you lean forward and press a chaste kiss to his sternum. His eyes go dark, his insecurity silenced. 

“Wanna taste it, Alpha,” you demand, voice breaking at the edges. Sounding simultaneously foreign and never more like yourself. Shaky fingers reach down, cupping him through his boxers, making his dick jump, and he sucks the air through his teeth. “Can I taste it, please?” 

He grins down at you, because yeah, you’re good. So good. So polite. Just like he knew you would be. Good, kind, generous little omega, too much so for her own good. You rake at his bare chest, start to palm him slowly, batting dangerous eyes up at him. So tempting. He reaches down, takes your chin between his fingers, and pets your bottom lip with his thumb. Hoping to soothe away disappointment. Because as much as he wants to be selfish, he needs to be inside of you. 

“No time for that now, sweet baby. Not this time. Wanna give it to you somewhere else.” He drops his hand, splaying his fingers low over your abdomen. “Right in here, huh? Isn’t that what you want?”

Oh, yes. Yes, it is. You nod up at him, frantic, mouth hung open and drool spilling out the sides. Ravenous thing you are, just as hungry as he. 

“C’mere. Let me help you.” 

He’s got you by the hips, lowering you properly back against the pillows. He shuffles out of his boxers, and you watch him, dazed; your fingers in your mouth, chewing on them. Knees up to your chest, thighs rubbing back and forth, slipping so easily with all the pretty slick he’s pulled out of you. 

Vulnerable little creature you are, you welcome him into your nest. Pull your fingers out from your teeth and extend them towards him, and spread your legs for him to settle his mass between. And when he does, there’s a shared sounding of pleasure. He sits back on his heels, guiding the weight of his heavy cock over your cunt, and fuck, if you aren’t just perfect like this. 

Your body burns, a fire he must extinguish. He leans forward, exasperating you a bit when he drapes his weight over you, caging you in with elbows on either side of your head. His knees still cradle your ass, and he uses the mounted leverage to grind his cock against you. He huffs, his knot blazing, painful and stiff, and his gut is on fire. You’re so warm, so wet, and he slips so easily between you. He can’t help but growl out when you begin to meet his thirst with needy rocks of your own. 

Your eyes droop shut, hands seeking purchase on his shoulders, and he uses his to cradle each side of your scalp. He presses his forehead to yours, captures your parted lips in a searing kiss. 

“You’re gonna give me another one,” he mumbles, drawing back from you, reaching for his stiff cock and gripping it tight. His eyes drop to where you’re nearly connected, so close. You glisten along his shaft, and he uses it to rub the angry tip of him back and forth over your folds, parted petals that threaten to suck him in each time he catches on the opening. He taps it on your tender clit; you quiver and clench, wailing out frustration. 

“N-no please—please,” you beg, eyes brimming with tears again. You slide your hands underneath his arms, digging your nails under his shoulder blades. “Please put it inside me, Alpha. Please, please.” 

“You can do it, baby.” 

“I can’t, please. I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.” 

And you do. You chase the high vigorously. The jerks of your hips follow him, taking great precision in the way he slides his shaft up and down your swollen little seam, paying special attention to your clit. He can feel the way it jumps and throbs, all the juices flowing out of you dowsing over him, dripping down onto his knot. 

He can’t look away, an obscenely beautiful sight. And the next time you quiver, clench around nothing, and call out his name, he just can’t help himself. 

He slips inside of you with one, tenacious thrust. Met with no resistance, only warmth and fullness. Your entire body goes rigid, eyes bulged and lips hung open in surprise, before relaxing entirely. You melt into him, the fury of your need thawing with his gift, and you sigh a beautiful sound of reprieve. Vanilla melds with leather, interwoven, and he knows he’s ruined you for any others. 

And he. He’s sweating, and panting, and the shudder won’t leave his spine. He’s never felt anything quite like it, the flutter of a fertile omega’s cunt around his cock. He was dreaming before, and now he’s awake. Startled by all that is perfectly right. 

“That’s it, sweetheart. That’s it.” He rolls his hips once, the tip of him bruising your cervix, and you sigh his name. “Promised I’d make it all better, yeah?”

You use the leverage of his shoulders to crane your neck up, pressing your forehead to his. Your thighs straddle his ribcage, clinging to him, needy little pet that you are. 

“S-so full, Alpha. It’s so big.” 

“I know, baby. I know,” he coos. “But look.” He parts with a fleeting kiss to your chin, sitting back on his heels and dropping his gaze to where you’re connected. A thick ring of cream sits above his knot, and it pulses at the sight. “Look how well she’s taking me.” 

You shakily bring yourself to your elbows, peering with drunken eyes and O-shaped lips. Your brows knit at the center of your forehead, and the precious, fucked-out look you cast up is enough to send him into motion. 

He grunts, wrapping his hands around your hips and yanking your bum up and onto his thighs. His pace is slow but deep, focused on kissing your womb with every thrust. Now that he’s inside of you, he can focus on nothing but the result. How imperative it’s become that he fills you. Satiate the ache by pumping you with his seed. He bares his teeth, images of his spend dripping out of you flashing before his eyes. He needs it. Chases it with fury, a conquest. But he won’t let it go to waste. No, he needs to knot you. Be certain that every drop of it touches your womb. How it would feel to have you latched to him, the prospect of its ramifications—a swollen belly, a piece of you carrying a part of him—sounding nothing but appealing.  

“JoelJoelJoel.” You’re repeating his name like a prayer, looking at him with such devotion. 

He’s picked up his pace, instinctive. Hard enough now that your flimsy mattress springs squeak, and the headboard thumps against the wall. You’ve fallen back into your pillows, your hands coming up to knead and pull at your breasts, and fuck, if it doesn’t gratify him to see you lean into the pleasure. 

He knows you're close when the tears at your waterline begin to stream down your cheeks. He scoots you further up his thighs, places a heavy hand back on your belly, and sure enough, on his next thrust, he can feel the bulbous tip of his cock through the skin. He grits his teeth, and he knows you must feel it too because you gasp as if he’s committed some sort of crime, shock and disbelief. 

“Feel you—haa—in-in my stomach, Alpha.”

“That’s right, baby,” he grunts. “In your fuckin’ guts. Just where you needed me.” 

His thumb drops to your clit, circles it with the rhythm of his thrusts, and makes you sing. There isn’t, and he’s sure there never will be, anything like the way you feverishly clench around him. Actively trying to suck him in, the steady flow of tears and cum, your incoherent babbles, beyond your control. He needs you closer, he needs to saturate you with every part of him. 

He rolls onto his back, scooping you into his chest and dragging you along with him. Gets you good and propped on his bent legs before he drives up into you. You collapse onto his chest, desperate hands clinging to his pecs. You burrow your nose into his neck, and he nearly bursts at the seams when you tease your teeth across his beating gland. 

“One more,” he seethes, bouncing you up and down with a great force; you needn’t even help him. He takes palm-fulls of your ass, secures the reins. Your hips will bruise by morning, but he doesn’t care. It’s worth the desperation in the way you cling to him, call to him. “Give me one more, Omega, and I promise I’ll give you what you need.” 

You wail out, half protest, half pledge, and you’re actively clamping down on him. Working your tight cunt over his shaft, milking him closer and close to the shining edge, and he feels his belly begin to boil. His head pounds and his gland aches, and as soon as you release again, unable to curb yourself from the pleasure he vows, the voice worms its way back into his ear. Chanting now, now, now. 

He spills into you with a mighty roar, stuffing his knot up inside of you as soon as it expands. He digs his teeth into your shoulder, pushes your hips further, and further down, nowhere else to go, but he has to be sure he’s filled you tight. That he can keep you here, locked onto him for as long as it takes to eradicate the delirium, as many times as you need him to fill your fertile little womb. 

And you come again, all from just this. Tight, soft, and bruised, you clamp around his knot as if you’re worried you’ll lose it. And he squeezes his eyes shut at the overstimulation, bites on his tongue to curb the pain, and lets it flourish in glorious pleasure. His cock releases another string of cum, and Joel groans. 

You’re hardly lucid on his chest, trembling, breathing heavily. One of your hands wraps around his sticky shoulder, clutching into his skin, trying to steady yourself. He works carefully to soothe you, to nurture the heavy come down, and avoid a dangerous drop. He scoots himself up the mattress, taking you with him until you’re both comfortably propped against the headboard; there’s no telling how long you’ll be united like this, but he has no intention of rushing it. He drags his large palms over the length of your spine, litters kisses along your hairline, and you both share a whining sound each time he stiffens and spurts inside of you. He allows his eyes to shut, focusing on steadying his breath, the sound of your beating heart. 

Eventually, your body settles. You start to breathe evenly again, grow limp, purring little sounds of contentment. He lifts a hand to push away the hair that sticks to your cheeks, and you reach for it, latching your bony fingers around his wrist. You nuzzle your nose into his palm and wrap your lips around two of his fingers. He lets you suck on them like this for a while, humming, the salty taste of him seeming to quiet your nervous system and ease you back into a state of equilibrium. 

There will be consequences for what’s transpired here. The post-euphoric clarity lays his transgressions bare and forces him to examine them. He feels, quite regrettably, the return of war. That between himself and his nature, though here and now, they are far more intertwined than they’ve ever been. 

He has a decision to make, one that months, days, hours ago seemed so clear. That he will not give way for the monstrosity he harbors, if only to save you from a lifetime of horror and regret. 

But the hours, minutes, seconds have passed, and they dwindle to this moment where he realizes, almost jarringly, how wrong he may have been. That the great fight against what nature bestowed him retreats within your stronghold. The worry is silenced, the weight lifted, the burden removed. He isn’t a soldier, but a man. 

Only a man. So simple, and so freeing. 

“Stay with me?” you mumble as if you can read his mind, letting his fingers slip from your lips, and already drifting to a place somewhere deep between sleep and wake. It’s a single question worth a million, holding the weight of your existence, the entire world. 

He knows he shouldn’t. He knows that if he stays, no amount of self-control will prevent him from indulging your needs over and over again. He knows how brittle his distaste is—was, a façade—and how quickly he will devote himself to you. 

You’re all he would require to live and breathe. 

Most terrifying, he knows the primal urge will only continue to spread. And for some purpose far beyond him, while he’s coated in your scent and slick and the haven of your arms, he won’t be able to find a reason to stop himself from sinking his teeth into that sweet spot upon your neck. 

He doesn’t deserve your forgiveness, your kindness, you. You’re a chance at redemption, something he is certain he relinquished decades ago. You’re an opportunity, an outlet to release his grief, his anger, his hatred for this world and his place in it, and turn it into devotion, protection. 

He doesn’t deserve it. 

But the way you look at him now, head nuzzled against his chest, pupil-blown eyes the picture of vulnerability, it satisfies the beast. Sets every nerve ending on fire. Tugs him forward frighteningly taut, unable to recoil. 

You look at him like you need him. 

And he needs to be needed. It’s all he’s ever wanted. 

“Alright,” he whispers. “I’ll stay.” 

[strawberrymochin]

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 ☀︎

Rockstar!gojo x art student!femreader

synopsis- satoru gojo fell in love with you when he was 17. He tried everything to gain your attention—joining the student council, participating in every extracurriculars, performing well in academics yet nothing worked. That was until high school. In college, having been forced into a band, he needed to find a new artist for their posters which he requested shoko to take care of. What he didn't expect was shoko to bring you as a volunteer—

warnings- college!au, satoru being heads over heels for you, he’s so damn in LOVE save my boy, friends to lovers, misunderstanding, SEMI PUBLIC SMUT, fingering, oral fem receiving, PUSSY DRUNK GOJO, dirty talk, creampie, BALL OF FLUFF, ANGST, mentions of smoking and alcoholism, super cute ending

w.c- 8.2k (have faith)

a/n's note- i'd poured out my heart in this (especially the smut). i hope you all do like this. your comments and reblogs are highly appreciated as it helps motivating me for writing long ass fics. taglist is open you can ask me to join. love ya' all!!

When satoru met you for the first time, he was 11 years old. 

You were the daughter of his mother’s friend whom he heard of so many times. Though the accidental reunion in the mall while grocery shopping was the first time satoru ever had the opportunity to meet you face to face. 

It was a totally random encounter, coincidental even, you can say when your mother recognised satoru’s mom and both squealed like teenagers. They'd a lot to catch up with, thus having their kids entertain each other in the play section was convincing enough for them to chit chat in a cafe.

And this is how satoru ended up being stuffed, hand in hand with you, to go enjoy in the play section as his mother patted his back, asking him to be good to you. 

“Don't leave her hand, okay toru?! Make sure you both stay together.” His mom said before scooting herself with your mom. 

Satoru looked at you, his hand locked in yours as you made eye contact with him before shying away, looking in the other direction. He stood confused before pulling you to the gaming section, without any word. 

He scanned amongst the box of video games, before pulling out one which caught his eyes with his unoccupied hand. He gave a side look to you, reluctantly asking “you want to play this?” 

You gaze down at the video game he held in his hands, eyes sparkling a bit, if satoru wasn't seeing things, then raise your head to look at him again. “It has vibrant colours.” 

Satoru nodded, feeling a little giddy that you liked his preference. “It's called mario kart.”

“Oh.” Your eyes widened as he revealed the name. 

“Do you know how to play it?” You shake your head at his question. “Then I can teach you!” 

“Really?” 

“Yeah, let's go and install it on the playstation.” 

By the time satoru’s mother returns with your mum, they find satoru giggling along with you, hands still locked with each other, as he points to various stacked video games. 

That day slowly came to an end and satoru didn't get to see you for the next two years till your giggles became a distant echo and your face a blur. 

By the time he was 14, he almost forgot you. 

Until that one day when he noticed you, sitting alone with your lunch staring at the sky at the campus of his high school. 

You were biting on your chopsticks with dreamy eyes as recognition drew in satoru's mind. 

Y/n— he thought. His brows frowned, thoughts slowly going in a muddle. How are you here? eating lunch in his high school campus unless— you're a student over here too! Satoru felt foolish, his lips slowly curving in a smile lifting one hand, abandoning the basketball in the other to greet you. 

However, before he can get his words voiced out to you, gaining your attention, a brown haired girl comes up to you dragging you along with her in a hurry. 

Satoru's hand froze in mid air, awkwardly stretching it above his head before bringing it down and turning towards his friends. He sprinted back to his group resuming the game, yet his mind stayed with you and your dreamy eyes. 

He wanted to say ‘hi’ and watch your eyes grow wide before nodding your head just like you did back then. He wanted to show you the basketball he was holding and maybe teach you how to play ball just like he did back then. 

“Oi satoru! Why are you missing the catch?!” one of his friends shouted, breaking him free of his daze. “sorry…taking a break!” He said, excusing himself, before going and plopping himself down on a nearby bench. 

He recognised the brown haired girl—Yura. She often came to him asking for little favours. Did she know you? A friend? You studied in the same school and yet he only saw you today. Where were you all this time? Satoru was the same age as you. So you were bound to be in the same class, maybe different sections but he knew students from the other sections too. How come he didn't notice you yet?

The recess was over soon and he ran back to his class. Before entering the class, he noticed you again, hurrying to the class next to him. 

Class 1-2.

Satoru felt silly as he read the classroom name in his mind. 

As the final semester rolled on and a new semester started, satoru found out class 1-2 changed to class 2-2 and this year he was in the same section as yours. 

He was excited to finally be able to talk to you without any awkwardness. After all, you were in the same classroom now— which means you will know him when he introduces himself on the first day of class. You will see him, introducing himself aloud and clear and recognition will draw on your face as you remember him. 

That's what he initially thought the night before the first class. Until satoru felt the urge to perfect his speech and kept on practicing it, holding the crumpled sheet in his clammy hands, past midnight. 

As a result he woke up late and by the time he hurried himself to school, the self introduction was half-over. He mumbled his apologies to his homeroom teacher, before hastily introducing himself and going to his assigned seat. 

With that his perfect speech plan of gaining your attention bombed miserably. He raised his head in the direction of your seat—first row second desk, way far than his— fourth row last desk. 

That's when he decided with the determination inclining in his heart to get your attention and make you remember that it's him. 

The plan was simple. He just have to wait till recess and watch his chances closely. Once you're free and alone he will go make a move saying ‘hello’! Maybe even ask for your number. 

Recess hour came by and his plan chose to bite the dust with girls and boys swarming around him to get his number and be friends with him. The group kept him occupied for the entirety of the recess and by the time he was done you were no where to be found in class. 

Similar things happened the next day and the next day and the next day, never ceasing to leave him alone. 

Satoru eventually came up with another plan— excelling in academics. The more he's good in academics, the more are the chances for you to come up to him wanting his help to understand a problem. And the plan worked exceptionally well with girls frequenting him with a doubt in their lesson— except for you. 

This time satoru came up with his active participation in extracurriculars and sports. The more he active he is the more is the chance of you joining the same activity or maybe seek his assistance for the upcoming sports day.

This plan too, was indeed prodigious and did attracted a lot of attention except yours. 

His last option was of joining the student council. As the spirited member of the top student council, you might come up to him with a problem you're facing or anything you want to change. 

So, without thinking much he did joined the student council, hoping to finally gain your attention. However the following week, concerns and requests for changes decreased promptly. The other council members sighed, few scrutinizing satoru. After all no one in the entire school would want their so very handsome, energetic and popular Satoru Gojo to have a heavy work load after school. 

“Since we don't have any work to do now, thanks to gojo-kun, I'd gladly like you all to only maintain the regular class desk arrangement.” the student council president announced before leaving the council room. 

Satoru sighed, this isn't what he thought. He just wanted your attention not the entire school’s. Everyone looked at him, when he walked, when he sat, when he ate, people always turned around to take a second look. Yet you never laid your eyes on him. Even being in the same class you never came up to him to chat. 

Back slouched, with his tie undone, he slammed the door open of his classroom to pick up his bag. 

You flinched. 

Hand covering your mouth, a dust wiper on the other, you looked at him as he froze. 

One entire year, was how satoru spent to gain your attention, to get you look at him, and when it finally happened the time seemed to halt. The sun rays pooled into the room with slow breezes messing up your bangs and satoru couldn't mutter a word but stare.

Conscious about him gaping, he tore his gaze away from you before shutting the door, this time gently. 

The council president asked them to take care of class desk arrangements. However, the desks in his classroom have always been arranged, even before he joined the student council.

“you…um arrange the desks everyday?” He said fixing his tie, slowly walking up to his desk, wiped clean by you. “Yes.” 

Satoru accompanies you cleaning and arranging for the rest of the time in complete silence. Soon you take your leave, and so does satoru but this was the time he was happy like really really happy. 

He didn't exchange any words of recognition with you, from the day at the mall. He didn't talk. Yet he was beaming radiant, for just being with you, momentarily alone, in peace. 

That day soon came to an end and another year passed by. Satoru did nothing but admire you from afar. This was the only way he felt the closest to you. He saw how you wiped and arranged the desks everyday; help people without even letting them notice; lend the only pencil you have without a word; and care for the garden whose garish flowers were disregarded by others. 

The more he saw, the more he knew you. And the more he felt his heart slipping away. 

You were kind, gentle and soft. You noticed people behind their masks. You regarded the smallest of the things with such care. And your delicate hands, often smeared with paint, held the responsibility of others without complaining. 

He often saw yura asking favours from you, shoving her cleaning duties to you, sending you to get her lunch from the 7-eleven nearby and never once you said 'no'. You were so so precious. 

He knew he’d to stop; the way you engrossed him, linger on his mind all day to the point that he was unable to think of anything but you was straight up creepy but his eyes never stopped searching for you.

Even in the midst of the crowds on a random road his eyes would unconsciously seek for you. 

And by the time he was 17, satoru was hopelessly, absurdly and miserably in love with you.

Another year passed by and he could do nothing but stare. And the fact that you often looked at him too made things even worse. 

He was so down bad for you that he couldn't keep on going like this anymore. He was so sure he'd confess to you on the day of graduating the high school, not caring about rejection. 

Satoru stayed up an entire night, perfecting his confession. But by the time the graduation ceremony ended and he went to look out for you, you were nowhere to be found. 

He asked yura about you, to which she replied that you went back home early and satoru had his heart broken at 18. 

He couldn't move on easily but giving you up was the only option left. Unwillingly, satoru made his devastating decision of giving you up. He never thought he would see you again until a few years later in college, shoko brought you right in front of him. 

“We need a new artist to cover up for this concert.” said geto suguru, stuffing his phone back in his pockets. “Why? What happened to ren?” 

“Got himself into an accident and fractured his right arm.” Geto plops himself back down on the couch beside satoru, before pulling on the fretboard of his bass. 

“Should visit him then.” 

“Forget it.” 

“Why?” frowned satoru, geto suguru—his best friend, the one he went to middle and high school with, was not the type to feign indifference. His behavior indeed had satoru confused. 

“Nanami informed he got drunk at the last concert before getting himself into the accident. Drunk driving it is.” 

“Did yaga find out about this?” 

“Fortunately, he didn't. Nanami covered the case before him finding out,” geto brought his hand, swiping back his string of bangs, “if it reaches yaga, he will ban us from using the campus stadium.”

“lucky I'd say…so what now?” The next concert is in 3 days and the band poster is still incomplete. 

Shortly after satoru joined his college, suguru started a band along with two other guys. The band was doing well but due to a disagreement they decided to split up. Suguru then suggested satoru join the band and the following year they gained another member named nanami kento. 

They used to hold performances at random pubs but as its popularity increased, the college decided to give them the campus stadium to hold their concerts. Something they did extra was hiring an artist to do their band poster— hand-drawn. It'd become a little tradition— a lucky charm says suguru, and now that their artist had broken his hand right at the eleventh hour before the concert they will have to— 

“Find a new one.” 

“nana—” geto shuts him before he could finish his sentence. “Nanami is trying his best, so am I. So, you try finding one too.”

“How am I supposed to?” 

“Well I'm sure if you go with a face like this to the art department, people would volunteer in a line.” 

“Same goes with you, why don't you go and ask. I'm sure if you could wear your shirt a little loose you can surely get your clingy ex find a good one." Gojo says in a mocking tone, grabbing his guitar and looping it around his back before leaving the club.

He was sure annoyed, but he will have to find one, geto wasn't in a mood to joke earlier either. Rather than going by himself, he decided to ask shoko get it done for him; he was sure she'd agree for a few packs of cigarettes. 

Walking on his way to the parking lot he texted shoko to meet at their regular cafe. 

“Sup!” 

Satoru smiled knowing shoko could never fail him, even if she didn't agree right away a little guilt trip will do. 

“All good?” 

“Yeah, what do you need?” 

“Just a little favour.” 

“And what that might be?” 

“Get an appropriate artist from the art department. Ren broke his arm and suguru's so down about going himself, ya’ know about his ex,” shoko started grabbing her cup of iced coffee to retreat when gojo slammed two packets of cigarettes on the table. “I've two more packs to offer.” 

Shoko returns to her seat, a big smile on her face. “Okay! Since I'm your empathetic, gracious and compassionate friend, I will try and see what I can get done.” 

“Yes please…” 

“I'm not doing it for cigarettes ya’ know.” 

“Mhmmm” satoru nods his face dramatically.

“Get the other two packets out.” 

“Sure.” 

Satoru knew four packets would get the job done as he parted away from shoko, driving his way back home. 

And the next day when shoko texted him that she got a volunteer and is bringing her to the club, he didn't expected it to be you.

Shoko looped a hand around your shoulders “so this is the club,” chewing a gum, “and this is satoru gojo.” 

“Hi…” you said looking at him, before taking a look at those instruments laying behind. 

It’s you. It's really you. He couldn't believe his eyes yet stood unblinking as if you were some mirage and will fade away once he closes his eyelids.

“Gojo?” Shoko waved a hand infront of his face and realizing he didn't respond to you, he bent his torso bowing to you. 

“Woah,” shoko’s face scrunched up, cringing at his behavior, “when did you start being all formal?” 

You giggled at her comment while satoru hushed her with a series of ‘shut ups’. 

“I'm—” 

“Y/n.” satoru whispered almost as if reminding himself the way your name sounded in his lips. “Y/n, i know.” 

You chuckle at his words, tugging a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“You know her?” shoko tilted her head at him, not expecting you to be acquainted with him. 

“We went to the same high school.” You say when satoru does nothing but gape at you with dreamy eyes. 

His heart did a whole somersault at your sentence. You remembered him; you remembered his name; you remembered he was in the same high school as you. The fact that you regarded him made him so giddy that he was practically ready to throw his hands up in the air or kiss the floor on which you walk.

“Kay’ I'll leave you guys to talk then.” She smirked before raising a cocky eyebrow at satoru, excusing herself from the club. 

“So…you're the only one?” 

“Huh?”

“In the band— i mean…”

“Oh no” he dragged, “there are two more members along with the back musicians…” 

You humm, taking a proper look at the club. 

“You like it?” 

“It has vibrant colours.” 

Your words echoed in his ears, the same which you said to him at the mall. Oh how bad had he wanted to hear those.

“The jazzies,” you read the name of their band aloud, “why jazzies? You only play jazz?” 

“No…we play all sorts of music…it's just a name suguru chose for the band.” 

“you do originals?” 

“Both originals and covers. Anything suguru comes up with.” 

Your mouth forms a little ‘o’ as satoru explains to you. 

“geto seems to be doing all the stuff, what do you do?” 

“You know him?” satoru’s brows furrowed. “Whom?” you ask.

“geto…geto suguru.” 

“Ofc, he was in the same class as us.” 

“Oh.” 

Ofcourse. Both he and geto were in the same class as you. It was no big deal for you to remember both of them. However, accepting that he wasn't any special was bitter. 

Satoru’s eyes followed your figure as you went out to reach for his guitar, mindlessly drawing your finger on its printed patterns.

“You didn't answer my question…”

“I guess I found you for our band.” 

When none of you says anything, satoru breaks the ice, clearing his throat.

“You know how to play?” 

“Err…no.” 

“I can teach you.” 

He slided his index among the few string instruments before pulling out an acoustic one, bringing it to you. 

“Hold the fretboard with your left hand,” satoru pulled the strap over your shoulders, “and bring your right hand over the body, fingers near the sound hole— yep that's right,” he turned your back to him, gently holding the back of your palms. 

“Now, pluck the chords for me,” his chest was against your back as he guided you through the strings. 

“Like this?” you ask him.

“Yes, you're doing very well.” 

The guitar in your hands, played smoothly as satoru guided you through it. 

Just like when he taught you how to play mario kart. 

Satoru looks down at you smiling in excitement. Oh how cute you looked like that. He could admire you twenty-four seven, never wanting to tear his gaze away, for you're that ineffably eesome in his eyes. 

Time almost ceased when you looked up at him, eyes crinkling with a smile that soon died as red creeps up your cheeks. 

Satoru’s face was mere inches away from you, his eyes wavering down to your lips. 

“SATO—RU— oh,” geto bursted in along with nanami causing you both to flinch. 

He quickly leaves your hand. 

“Y/n??” Geto dragged out your name, looking at you with his eyebrows knitting and lips forming a silly smile. 

“Hi,” you pull the strap over your shoulders abandoning the instrument on the nearby couch. “I'm here to volunteer.” 

“You do?” 

“Yeah…” 

“That's great! I can't believe satoru even managed to talk—” satoru smacked him mid sentence. 

Nanami, for some reason, found the ceilings very interesting today, totally ignoring his two seniors.

Geto explained to you about their little tradition of hand drawn posters and showed you the posters they used for the last concerts. You, then, asked them to send them a group picture of the three and their preferences for colours and themes. 

“For that I might need your number—” 

“I- i can send it to her…” Geto passed a suggestive smile at satoru, which he ignored and awkwardly forwarded his phone to you. 

“Yeah that sounds fine. Here's my number, save it and text me later.” 

“Kky!” 

You pull the sling of your tote bag up to your arm, giving them a little nod, before turning your back to leave. 

“Wait!—” satoru held your arms frantically pulling you back. He hurried to the back near the couch you plopped the guitar and shoved it to you. “T-take it.” 

“Ah— no I can't do that.”

“Take it. You can learn how to play and I- I can teach you.” he tried not to stutter yet failed miserably. 

“No i rea—”

“consider it as a gift— from me.” 

You frowned a bit but agreed anyway. 

“That's really sweet of you satoru! I will wait for your text! Bye!!” 

He waved back to you. 

“What was that?” Geto implies in the direction of the exit door through which you just left. 

“nothing.” 

Later, You sent the photo of the finished banner to satoru. It took you 42 hours to finish it. 

Satoru on the other hand was practicing really hard, totally different from his half hearted performances from the previous ones which wasn't unnoticed by the other members. 

He has to be the best. After all, this concert will be different from the previous ones. This time you will be there to see him, cheer for him, and notice him. 

You soon bring the banner rolled up to the club. “Woah! You really did a great job.” 

“This is much better than ren’s.” says nanami before going back to his drum set, giving you a thumbs up.

“Satoru?” 

“Y-yes.” 

“You liked it?” 

“I loved it. It has vibrant colours.” You giggled at his answer, shifting your direction to his gaze. His fingers seemed to flake off any dust on the surface of your work, handling it so gently. 

It wasn't his fault he felt so overwhelmed. All these years he'd yearned for one kind word from your lips yet he was left starving. 

And now you'd drawn him with such precision, that it was as if you were accustomed to drawing him for the hundredth time. 

His heart fluttered at the thought. 

“I will be there at your concert,” you say, turning your back to him. “All the best!” 

The campus stadium was full with a bunch of students and hippies, it was really hard for satoru to try locating you amongst the sea of crowds. 

The music rang loud, brisking fiery cheers from the crowd, full of vim and vigor. The spotlight shone on the three— geto with his vocals and string of bass; satoru with his acoustic guitar; and nanami with his drum set. 

The crowd roared in excitement as music coursed through their veins. 

Will you be cheering too? 

Satoru raised his head from the guitar, plucking chords effortlessly, to his audience. 

And as if it was fate that drew both of you together, his eyes found yours. You were there in the vip section, along with shoko and another girl. You were moving with beats, swaying your arms in rhythm to their music. 

His eyes locked in yours as you waved a hand at him. Oh how, how pretty you looked. Everything except you was a blur to him. 

The crowd goes even more wild, seeing satoru blush, not sensing it was you who caused it. 

The concert continued till past midnight as the vibrations thrumming around the air slowed and wrapped up with their ending song: “Where Our Blue Is.”

As the applause slowly start to dissipate, satoru pulled off his instrument, running to the edge of the stage, and hopped down the raised platform. 

The college girls shrieked baffled, some even reached out, grabbing on his wrists and clothes. He politely got out of their grip making his way to the vip section, geto and nanami following him. 

The still air felt electric as he approached you. 

“you liked the show?” 

“Ofc it was amazing!!” The girl beside you answers in your stead, whom he now recognised as yura.

“It was really good.” you say swallowing a laugh bubbling up your throat at his huffed out appearance. 

“Thanks to your banner, it even attracted more audience.” geto remarked, placing his arm around satoru’s shoulders.

“Thank you.” 

“You should thank me for bringing her in.” Shoko reclaims, looping her hand around your arm, “let's go steal some shots.” 

“Oh no i can't— i don't drink. And I need to hurry back home it's late.” 

“Kyaahh— you've let me down y/nniee. Only two packets of cigarettes can get my mood uplifte—” 

“I will bring it tomorrow.” You say shutting up her whines. 

“kk bye and text me when you get home the rest are joining me right ?”

“Count me out. I'll be driving her home tonight.” Satoru says sheepishly, ignoring the smirks and exchanged looks of his bandmates, a slight blush creeping up his cheeks.

“No but I was about to go home with her —” yura interrupts.

“Satoru’s fine. You're coming with us.” Shoko dragged her along with geto and nanami, which satoru was glad of. 

Finally he'd be alone with you.

He guided you to the parking lot from the back of the stage, before getting his car keys out. 

It's metallic jingle echoing softly as he presses the button on his key fob. The car responds with a soft beep unlocking as satoru opens the passenger door, holding it open for you. 

“Here,” he gestures with his other hand, “get in.” 

“Sure.” You say gulping thickly.

The thick smell of your cologne mingling with the leather scent of the car.

He closes the door before sprinting to the other side, getting himself in. “Don't— ” he stops you when you reach out for your seat belt. “Allow me the honor” his finger brushes against your skin as he reaches out for the seat belt. 

Your heart practically jolts at his action. 

The click of the seat belt buckle echoes softly in the quiet car, as he straightens back to his former position. 

“Where do you live?” He clears his throat, starting the car engine and flicking on the headlights before pulling out the car into the driveway. 

“In the downtown.” 

“That's quite far from the campus, how bout I drive you everyday back home?” His eyes suggestive, making you chuckle.

“I can't let you do that.”

“Why?” 

“Since it's far from the campus and you won't be visiting often.” 

“Who knows, I might be visiting your place often.” 

You turn your face from the window to look at him. 

“What?” 

“I will have to— to teach you guitar.” 

You crack up at his silliness, finding yourself melting again.

“Okay fine. But that still doesn't counts.” 

“Why not!” 

Since that day, satoru did visited you often, sometimes barging in with shoko and sometimes alone teaching you how to play guitar, plucking on chords and notes. 

And you attended all of his concerts. Their previous artist has recovered now and has resumed his work, so you no longer work with them. However they insist you tag along each time and it's not like you complain. 

You liked satoru’s company. He was handsome, charismatic and popular. You'd watched him your entire high school. He was the one of most popular students, good in a millions of things, starting from academics to being athletic. He'd win every sports competition and even participate in all the extracurriculars. You'd admired him for he could do the things which you didn't had the courage for. 

You liked how he didn't judge people, helped them in their need, and even took care of those garish flowers nobody seemed to double take.

You'd previously met him before high school, though he never brought that up. You wondered if he even remembers the day at the mall. You wanted to ask him so bad, however—

Your world was only limited to papers and paints.

So you painted. 

You painted him so many times that you'd have more than five sketchbooks with paintings full of him.

You wanted to be friends, maybe even more than friends.

But that didn't matter now. He was near you and you would do anything to keep your thumping heart in control and not have satoru cut you out of his life. 

But how can you?

How can you control it when satoru so gently, so lovingly, takes your hand in his. When he smiles so sweetly at you. When he teaches you how to pull chords and other instruments. When he drops you home from college almost everyday. When he hugs you and tells you to take care. 

How are you supposed to be just friends when he's so overly affectionate to you?

Or maybe it's just your overthinking.

Satoru was always polite and sweet, he'd always been sweet to others and you were no special. 

“What are you thinking baby?”

You come out of your daze, rolling your eyes at the nickname.

“How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that…” 

“Not my fault you aren't paying attention to me…” he pulls you closer to him, resting his face on your shoulder. 

“Have you always been this hungry for attention?” you ask, getting yourself comfortable abandoning the guitar beside you on the couch— of the club.

“I've been starving.” 

You cringe at his words. Satoru has another concert today and they just finished practicing an hour ago and now they are taking a break. 

Geto and nanami and other back artists wanted to get some fresh air so they left you and satoru alone to entertain each other. 

“Are you really skipping on me?” He looked at you with puppy eyes. 

“I've a gallery exhibition tomorrow.” You need to scoot back home to get ready for it. It's a big event for you to showcase your arts. 

Satoru hummed, nuzzling his face on the crook of your neck, “I'll be there. You're going to do great.” 

An uncertain lump forms in your throat, hard to swallow, you say nothing. Your heart was in a conflict again, no matter what you can absolutely not—

“I will be going then. All the best for your concert.” 

You push satoru away, reaching for your tote bag from the side of a random arm chair. “Wait I will drop—” 

“Who's leaving?” shoko barges in with yura and others. 

Satoru points at you. 

“I just got here. You can't leave already.”

“Yup! Yup! Please stay a little longer, baby. I'll drop you back home, no worries.” 

Shoko exchanges suggestive glances with geto and they somehow persuade you to stay a little longer.

They start practicing for another round when shoko pulls your head closer, “what do you think about gojo?” 

“Huh?!” You shout over the music, unable to hear her. 

She grabbed your hand and pulled you outside, with Yura following closely behind you both.

“What— “ 

“What do you think of gojo?” 

A burning sensation hits you slowly as shoko’s question registers in your mind.

You ears turn red. 

“Eh…um h-he’s a nice guy. A nice musician…and—”

“And?” Shoko wiggled her brows at you, a sly smile on her face. 

“A-a nice friend.” 

“Just a friend?” You nod at her, seemingly more embarrassed at her implications. 

Shoko's face literally radiated disappointment. It was as if someone told her that cigarettes are now banned in the country. “I think he's interested in you,” you choked on air at her remark. “No?” 

Yura shrugged. 

The music slowed down and then paused, bringing your conversation to a momentary halt. 

Satoru rushed outside, complaining about why you left in the middle of his practice.

“Bruh, chill, I'm not trying to steal her away from you. We're just talking!” Shoko jokes as you laugh all flustered. 

Just when you were about to leave one of his fangirls suddenly appeared from nowhere and threw herself into his arms, wrapping hers tightly around his neck. He stumbled back a step, surprised, before regaining his balance but he didn't put her down rather he spinned her around before setting her back down, with a polite smile on his face. 

The other members just saw the scene unfold with amusement. Nanami was surprised at the fan’s boldness and geto simply observed the scene as shoko rolled her eyes, finding it hysterical.

“What do you think of shoko’s remark?” said yura, looping her hand around your arm. 

“What?” You say suppressing the slow tinge of jealousy. 

“About gojo being interested in you…” 

“I-i don't think so.” 

You try to laugh it off.

“Yeah, he's just polite. To pretty much everyone.” 

Her words felt like a splinter to your heart. You shouldn't feel like this. It'd happened before— not now again. 

Yura’s right, satoru is just polite and will do the same for everyone what he does for you— because he's kind. And you're no special.

The entire ride was silent. Satoru kept asking you if anything was wrong but you just guised a smile at him, insisting it was nothing.

The next day at the gallery event, you behaved oddly. You smiled at him but  didn't reach your eyes, your answers to his question were of one word, even avoiding his touch. 

“Did I do something wrong?” he asked warily.

“No.” 

Days passed by and you distanced yourself more from him. 

Satoru, on the other hand, was almost losing his mind. His world turned upside down. You stopped coming to his concerts, ignored his texts and even refused to let him drop you back home. 

It was yesterday you’d allowed him to teach you the guitar yet today you behaved as if you'd long forgotten him. You were cold and distant, leaving him puzzled by his own thoughts upon your sudden change in demeanor. 

He couldn't help but wonder whether he'd done something that made you this upset? 

You'd said it was nothing.

Then why?

What the fuck did he messed up?

Satoru missed you terribly and violently.

He eyed you from the inside of his car parked a bit far from your department. Today was another day you refused his offer to drive you to class. ‘I'm kinda sick so I won't be going.’ This was what you'd texted him the morning and yet there you were getting off your uber. 

You lied to him. 

“Come with me to their concert today.” Shoko urged you, her lips pursed in a thin line. 

“I'm sorry—”

“No you're not so sorry. Tomorrow’s Saturday, come with me, gojo’s getting mad without you.”

You suck in a breath at the mention of his name.

“What's wrong?” shoko says sipping the last of her drink before plopping it on your tea table. 

“Nothing.” 

“Then come.”

You agreed eventually. Attending the concert won't be a big deal. 

And it wasn't, except for satoru’s piercing gaze burning holes in your back. You accompanied Shoko backstage and casually greeted everyone— including him. 

“God, haven't seen you in so long.” geto side hugged you as nanami gave you a nod of acknowledgement before running off to the stage for some last minute preparations. “Satoru missed you like crazy.” 

You attempt a weak smile in satoru's direction, darting a hesitant glance his way. His gaze was fixed on you, but his expression was unreadable, almost giving shivers down your spine. 

One of the other members suddenly hurried over to Geto, urgently speaking about some issue, he politely excused himself and exited the room, closely followed by Shoko. Now, you were left alone with Satoru, the only two remaining in the room. 

“I should go and check what's the proble—” you try sprinting your way out the door, “wait—” when satoru stops you. 

His hand on your arm, preventing you to go any further and when you struggle to get out of his grip, he tightens his grip even more slamming you to the wall,  pinning you caging your body. 

“What's wrong with you?” 

“Gojo you're hurting m—” 

“Gojo?” His voice cracked, grip losing before letting your arms go, “why? Why must you do this to me?” 

“Do what?” You drift your gaze away unable to look at satoru, who's this close tearing up.

“This— why must you do this? Why must you ignore me? Why must you be distant from me? Why must you lie to me so that I won't bother picking you up or dropping you home? Why must you reject my affection?” He sucks in a breath “You know I can't live like that—” 

“why?” 

“Don't pretend like you don't know…” 

“no no don't say it,” you throw your hands up in the air frantically, “don't— I can’t fall again…no— I know you're just being polite and you will do this for anyone, but I can’t help it if I don't—”

“I love you—” he whispers, bringing your hand up, placing the palm flat to his chest.

“No you don't.” 

“Yes I do— what do you mean you can't fall again,” he suppresses your struggles of wrenching free your hand from his grip. “You have no idea how crazy I'm for you. I love you and I've loved you since I was 17. I was about to confess to you on our graduation day but you just disappeared leaving me alone. And now that I have you I'm not letting you go— make no mistake baby, if there's anyone I’d ever kneel for— it'd be you.” 

Thick silence covered the entire room, except your heavy exhales. Satoru gojo was inches close to you, your hand still laid flat against his heaving chest. 

“B-but I wrote you a note confes—” 

“What note? I never….” confusion twisted on his face bitterly. 

“You threw it in the dustbin— the one I wrote to you the day before graduation.”

His face told the truth, as he shook his head denying it. He never received any note from you— nevertheless having the audacity to throw it in the trash when he'd been hopelessly in love with you all these years.

“Yura told me—” you shut your mouth as the realization hits you. The person whom you considered as a friend backstabbed you long ago. 

She lied about him discarding it while it was actually her who had stolen it off his desk before satoru even noticed.

Your head raised in embarrassment, ready to apologize for the misunderstanding when suddenly, Satoru's lips met yours in a tender kiss. The kiss was filled with such affection and tenderness that you felt as if you might melt in his embrace. His arms held you close, firmly yet gently, as he deepened the kiss. Your heart pounded in your chest as you responded to his kiss. All thoughts of the misunderstanding were forgotten in that moment of pure intimacy before satoru pulled away with frowned brows and a dazed smile. 

“Tell me, would I kiss anyone the same way I kiss you?” he pulled you again, smacking his lips on yours as he snaked a hand around your waist, the other, still firm, holding your palm. 

You could feel his heartbeat going rapid the more he deepens the kiss, sucking on your upper lip. 

He pulls away again.

“Tell me, would my heart beat the same way as it beats around yours?” He smacks his lips again, this time pinching your waist making you gasp as he slips his tongue in.

His hand fumbles with the hem of your dress, pulling away again, a string of drool connecting both of your lips. “Would I be breathless the same way as I'm now?” 

His hand travels up your inner thigh, till it reaches the wet blotch of drenched silk. You grasp his shoulders, when he starts drawing circles over the fabric, smirking before nuzzling his face on the crook of your neck. 

“Satoru, what if someone walks in—” your body jolts, nails digging into his back as he pulls the fabric to the side, plunging a digit in without any warning. “Let them…” he goes back to sucking your skin while rubbing his thumb over your swollen clit. 

Your teeth sank on your bottom lips, his finger slowly plunging in and out of you. “Nngh ‘toru, you’re—” small trembles quivered through your body as he plunged with a faster rhythm. 

“Shh baby! Let me take you” he inserts another digit as your teeth dug even deeper into your lip, stretching you and filling you so well. 

He was stroking you, curling his fingers inside until hitting your most sensitive spot. Sweat beaded your forehead as your trembles gave way to full body shudders, shutting your mouth with your hand not wanting to be loud. 

Satoru drew himself back from your neck, satisfied marking and suckling, withdrawing his digits, slick from you as you wince at the loss of his fullness. 

He brings them up and sucks your essence off his fingers with a pop. “I want to eat you out.” 

Before even you can make out his words he kneels down bunching up the fabric to your hips pulling your panty down properly and latching onto your swollen clit. 

“Fuck ‘toru.” he lapped his tongue on your clit, drawing circles, tasting your sweet before drawing himself back, “I am fucking you baby.” He says, licking a fat stripe on your vulva, his rigid tongue swiping back and forth over your clit sending sensations that make your body jolt. “Here and raw” he hummed against your pussy, his breath warm and hot sending vibrations to your core, before vacuuming on your clit. 

Your hand grasping his hair, as he worked on your orgasm.

He plunged his digits again, rhythmatic with the little pants escaping your mouth, along with the slick sounds of your hips buckling down his fingers. 

He smirked internally at your enthusiasm.

“So fucking nasty for me huh?” He said against your pussy, licking and sucking till you were nothing but withering in mindless pleasure. You were taking it well, suppressing your moans into breathless pants until he sucked, fingers pressing the most sensitive spot inside you. 

A shriek fell past your lips, knees buckling, followed by a string of moans and whimpers. “Oh— fuck..” you try closing your thighs which he prevents with his iron grip of one hand, forcing it open till he has better access. “Don't even dare closing on me…” 

The wet sounds of his fingers, plunging in and out of your gummy walls, echoed throughout the empty room.

Something coiled hot and fuzzy in the lower pit of your stomach. You clenched hard around his finger, when the bass-heavy beats of the band's concert began, causing you to involuntarily shove satoru’s face deeper into your cunt as you heard voices from the stage outside. 

Geto's unmistakable voice rang out, accompanied by the heavy drumming of nanami. They had started performing without satoru. 

“Nn’toru they start—” your voice died down into a breathless gasp as you felt your pelvic muscles clench, tension looping around your entire body as fiery sensations erupted. You arch your back against the wall, unable to stop your toes curling at the intensity of his tongue lapping, finger fuckin' you, as your vision gets blurry. 

“Yeah…cum for me baby” his velvety murmurs were all it took for you to turn into a mess of sensations, your body erupting as your high came down bursting, dripping and spilling down your thighs, his chin and his neck. 

Satoru lapped up the drops carelessly strewn about your skin, his tongue tracing a path along the droplets splattered on your inner thighs as he savored everything with anticipation.

“Tell me, would I kneel infront of anyone and let them cum this hard on my fingers?” He straightened himself up, “and then drink it up like a pussy drunk male whore?” his gaze never left yours, wiping the leftover slick from his chin with the back of his hand before licking it clean.

The music from outside has now gained its intensity, thrumming even louder.

No— you mouthed. 

Satoru’s gaze was still fixed at you, when he unzipped his pants, his aching cock sprang out red, already leaking precum. 

You gape at his girth. 

It was big.

And fucking thick. 

Leaning in, Satoru brings his lips close to your ear, his voice clear over the blaring music from outside, “Like what you see—”

You didn't get to answer him before he slammed right in. 

A cry of pleasure tore from your throat, as you loop your hands around his neck, nails digging on his back.

He hissed out a breath, restraining himself from moving till you adjusted to his size. 

Only then did he slowly pull it out leaving only the tip inside. You grimace at the loss of fullness until he slams back in causing you to clench around him. 

He let out a low guttural moan which was almost inaudible to you over the roar of music if you weren't so close to each other, feeling the raw desire of his voice vibrating on your skin.

“Tell me— hahh- would I let anyone clench this hard on me if this weren't you?” 

You were at a loss for words. 

The kind, polite, sweet satoru you knew was gone. In his place was someone who fucked hard. 

When you don't answer he pulls out and slams right back in harsh, eyes gleaming with wicked intent. 

Satisfied, satoru guides his one hand to tapping on your thigh suggesting you wrap your legs up around him. 

He repositions his dick on your entrance, before supporting your weight with one hand, pinning your body completely to the wall, while the other hand grabs your neck, choking you before giving you a sloppy breathless kiss. 

“You like it don't ya’ hmm fuck— so tight—” 

Your cries came out choked as he pounded into you, in an insane manner, desperate and primal.

“Tell me—” 

Thrust 

“do you—” 

Thrust 

“still think I'm just being polite?”

Thrust.

The roar of geto's voice singing out aloud different notes masked out the filth of your moans. 

The sensation was in again, hot and uproar, coiling beneath the core of your consciousness. Satoru sensed you being close to your climax, continued to plow into your pussy, now supporting your weight with both hands against the wall. 

Your toes curled again, nails digging down his back almost scratching the fabric, “yes that's it love,” your eyes rolled back as you arch your neck unable to handle the pleasure, “cum for me…” 

Your mouth forming a little ‘o’, mind blank as your eyes saw stars. The only consciousness left in your body directed you to the burning of your heat, till it came crashing down.

You came hard letting your head fall on his shoulders too spent for anything.

Satoru too chased his high, thrusting into your swollen pussy, his cock twitching inside you, till you felt him getting sloppy and tense before cumming into you.

The music was still very loud, beats thrumming your flushed veins. 

None of you said anything, remaining in the same position. Satoru pulled himself out, his cum dripping out your vagina, before walking over and placing you on a nearby chair. 

He cleaned you up gently tugging your clothes back and fixes himself before cleaning the mess near the wall. 

“They— they started performing without you…” you huff out, drained still in the very euphoria of your pleasure satoru showed you. 

“I told them to do so…” he shouted over the noise. 

You remain stunned for a while, letting out a breath. “I'm sorry…I avoided you.” 

“Here I thought you were giving me a thousand kisses as an apology.” 

You chuckle at him, back to his normal self— your sweet, kind and maybe not so polite satoru…

He came over to you, lifting you effortlessly before plopping himself down on the chair with you on his lap. 

“I missed you.” 

“I missed you too.” 

“No but I missed you like crazy…” he pouted. “y/n be my girlfriend…please.” 

Tears start forming in your eyes, overwhelmed, you never thought the satoru gojo you met at the mall, the satoru gojo you loved your entire high school would someday ask you to be his girlfriend.

To paint his heart with your love.

“I will.” 

“no wait— marry me instead!”

You dug your face deeper into his chest, laughing at his playfulness. And satoru just smiled.

Finally he would be yours. 

you and Satoru started dating since then and things couldn't have been any better for him. He practically announced to the world that you were his girlfriend, always picking you up and dropping you off from campus, and claiming a kiss as his reward. You’d also cut Yura off, not wanting any more negativity in your life. Satoru was yours, and you were his. And He couldn't be any happier.

Tags: @cccandynecklaces @secretfankoala

© strawberrymochin 24 | plagiarism won't be tolerated |

[anyarose011]

Et tu, Brute?

Pairing: Emperor Geta x Reader x Lucius

Summary: You went by many different names: "Rome's Delight", "The Woman with the Golden Mouth", "Geta's Favorite Whore", and "Julia". None of these were your true name; all used just to dehumanize you as nothing more than a slave. When the General Acacius returns from conquering Numidia, and you meet one of the slaves that was brought from the bloodshed, you hope to reclaim not just your freedom...but power along with it.

Part 1 of 2 (Masterlist)

Warning(s): Depictions of rape and SA [not shown], slavery, cannon typical violence, minor Stockholm Syndrome, major character deaths, historical inacuracy [but I tried my best to make it somewhat accurate] and Spoilers for Gladiator II

I saw this movie once, watched Game of Thrones at the same time, and cranked out a story where you, the reader, know how to play "The Game" (but also not because let's keep it kinda realistic) I'm gonna be honest, this might be a hot mess, and I used a script I found online (but Idk how accurate it is). Also, this first part is just mainly story based with the events of the film the SECOND part will focus on reader and Lucius' relationship (including smut, you sluts {I am also slut, don't worry}.

I do want to say though that the depictions of SA are in no attempt to romanticize them. I also decided not to write out the specific scenes because I myself am a survivor, and wanted to focus more on the protagonist's growth. The trauma still affects her story, but I do not want to write rape scenes merely for shock purposes.

Also, if you name is actually "Julia"...no it's not :)

Word Count: 16.1k

It was your own fault, that was what they tried to make you believe.

How dare you not wish to participate in the public baths, how dare you desire to bathe in the place you felt most safe.

Foolish, foolish girl. You were not even safe on your own porch in the house you grew up in.

Your father hadn’t been the wealthiest of merchants, but before he passed into the Elysian Fields after his death that year, he had made a fortune; so much as to buy a bathtub for your house.

If anything, you had bathed at night when you believed no one could see you not for your own modesty, but to prevent anyone from stealing it.

Yet, one particular night, a man had spotted you.

The Emperor Geta of Rome had watched your naked form glisten in the moonlight as you washed the most intimate areas of your body; sighing at the feeling of being clean after the day, only for your soul to feel tainted once morning broken.

Guards had nearly broken the hinges off the front door to your house, and dragged you to the palace. You had lived in that house for your entire life, the same neighbors beside you, yet as you kicked and screamed…none helped.

You had grown tired once in the palace, and the eldest of the twin emperors stood before you. He cupped your chin.

“What is your name, girl?”

You answered him, attempting to speak with venom, but the quaking of your voice betrayed anxiety.

He hummed, repeating your name. “Why are you all alone?”

You huffed. “My mother died in the battle that is childbirth, and my father was lost to an ailment in his loins.”

“You have no brothers?” Geta questioned, his eyes running down your form. “No husband?”

“They called my father strange for leaving me his possessions.”

“He mustn’t have passed on so long ago.”

“Why does the death of my father concern you if you only seek my body?” You questioned.

A smile twisted upon his lips. “Perhaps I like to know my fruit before I devour it.”

And he kissed you.

You had been kissed before, but this was the first time you hadn’t wanted to be. You hadn't expected him to be serious about devouring you. His teeth sank into your chin, then your cheeks, until they were finally upon your lips.

It was the first time, in all your life, you felt your body grow cold and freeze despite his hands wandering over you, pulling at the thin fabric of clothing that covered you.

You fell to the floor, clinging to it desperately as he tried to lead you to his chambers. You had expected him to order one of his men to kill you, or have them carry you…

Instead, he took you right there. He simply lifted his own robes then yours and stole what wasn’t his to take.

All you remembered of that was counting how many pillars were in the room.

You were one of his several concubines. Yet, despite being the newest, you were his favorite.

“Julia,” he whispered to you in the night a month after he had made you his. A month after he had decided to call you by his mother’s name instead of your own. “are you awake?”

You mewled, sitting up. “I am now, my love. What is it?”

Geta smiled, holding out a stack of parchment. “Look at what some of the men found in Carthago.”

You rubbed your eyes as the lamps in his room brightened before looking down at the crudely written words. Geta looked at you in earnest.

“Can you read them?”

A few days prior at him and his brother Caracalla’s birthday festivities, it was revealed that you spoke five languages: Latin, Phoenician, Aramaic, Hebrew, and Greek. Your father had taught you every single one of them to fend for yourself amongst all kind of people.

Now, it was nothing more than a shameless trick Geta used to his amusement.

“Rome’s Cleopatra,” he deemed you in front of the crowd. “the Woman with a Golden Mouth”.

Everyone in that room and all of Rome knew that your ability to speak so many dialects was not the only reason he gave you that title.

Still, as you lay in his bed with crumbling parchment in hands, you forced a tender smile. “Yes, I know what it says. Would you like to know?”

He laid his head in your lap without another word.

Months passed, and he had grown kinder…only when it was night, and even so, that was only when the moon was full.

There wasn’t a day where your body hadn’t ached from the turmoil he put you through. It was hard to discern when he would want you to be small and subservient to him, or confident and commanding in matters of the bed.

The handmaids that were blessed to not be in bed with him would bathe and coddle you as best as they could, for even through your suffering, you tried your best to treat them with kindness.

You didn’t even know who you were after the fourth month of being Geta’s slave.

Gone was the girl who had a peaceful life; there was now the Emperor’s Pet.

General Marcus Acacius returned to Rome after overtaking the kingdom Numidia in the emperors’ names, and it was the first time you were in his presence. It was certainly a surprise that Geta would string you alongside him on personal matters that had nothing to do with sex.

The general would glance at you every so often, and his look of pity felt more violating that any of the times Geta, or his brother, or anyone else in all of Rome had looked at you.

Upon the general’s return, a series of games at the Colosseum were to be hosted, among parties that would last for the remaining week.

The first was at Senator Thraex's home.

“My little Julia,” Geta caressed your cheek as you sat upon his lap in the makeshift throne. “might you fetch me another cup of wine?”

You nodded, taking his cup and kissing his hair. “I shall, my love.”

He ran his fingers down your neck as you got off of him and made your way to the barrels. Yet, as you passed an open door, something caught your eye. Peeking around the somewhat crack in the door, you saw a few men sat in the room, chains around their ankles and their wrists.

One of them, more muscular than the others with brown curls, held his head low. His skin wasn’t as dark as other men from Africa Propria, but not as pale as the Germanic lands.

When his eyes met yours, you saw a pale blueness only seen in the sky on a summer’s day.

Gasping, you hid behind the door for only a moment before looking again. His gaze was still on you. Deciding to end the strangeness of the situation, you spoke.

“I’m sorry.” You apologized.

He said nothing; you tried again.

“I’m sorry.” You said in Greek.

The look in his eyes changed to confusion, but he said nothing.

“Hebrew?” You questioned. “Aramaic? Phoenician?”

“You speak Phoenician?” He asked as if he hadn’t heard it in forever.

You nodded. “I speak five languages.”

“Ah,” he answered in your native tongue to your surprise. “Rome’s Cleopatra.”

Your nose scrunched as if you smelt something rotten. “You understood me the first time?”

“I did.”

“So why not say anything?”

“What am I to say to your pity?”

You hummed. “I do not pity you, I was showing respect.”

He scoffed. “Respect? Am I a man that looks as if I deserve respect?”

“I believe every man deserves respect so as long he is kind.” You glared at him.

The man shook his head, sighing. “You are a foolish child if you believe that men can be kind.”

“I haven’t for quite a while.” you stated. “I pray that it is the hope that kills me.”

He questioned. “And not one of the emperors?”

“What is your name, slave?” You crossed your arms.

He huffed, drawing his eyes away from you and clenching his fists before relaxing them. “Hanno.”

You nodded. “They call me ‘Julia’.”

“But that is not your name.”

It was blistering hot that particular day, but you felt your body run cold; the same cold you felt when Geta…when he first…

“Who says it is not my name?” You challenged.

“You are merely a concubine,” he said. “you are not a part of his lineage, and therefore, your name is not ‘Julia’.”

You do not know why you seethed with so much rage from his words. You did not even spit on him; you merely stomped away from that door, filled up the emperor’s cup, and went back to Geta.

“It took you nearly a millennium to come back, my sweet.” He scoffed yet kissed your bare shoulder. “I was beginning to worry.”

You shook your head, leaning against him as you sat on the arm of the throne. “You mustn’t over me, my love.”

“You seem distressed.” Caracalla teased beside you. “This is a festivity; you should be merry!”

All you did was smile and nod. It was a pleasant change from the parties you were forced to attend in the past; you weren’t the center of attention, and this was the first time Geta dressed you in the bright colors everyone else wore instead of white.

You could pretend you were royalty for a day.

Not so long after you came back, both Thraex and Macrinus, a stable master who traveled far and wide for new gladiators, approached with their own champions to fight.

You were not even at the Colosseum, and yet, violence still had to be played for everyone’s amusement.

Hanno entered from the door you had previously been at, and another man entered from the opposite side of the room. Both were given swords.

“Brother,” Hanno began. “let us not kill each other for their amusement-.”

The other man struck him without hesitation. You had seen fights before, but none like this. It was ruthless, quick yet drawn out. Hanno lost his sword in the middle of it all, leading to him smashing a flowerpot over his opponent’s head.

The fight was still not done, he rose up on his feet and took his sword from the ground, raising it high above him. Hanno, against all odds, knocked him back onto the ground and took the sword just as they both sood, stabbing his opponent in the chest.

A chorus of cheers and groans echoed in the room. Geta arose from his seat, laughing and applauding as you sat there, eyes as wide as they could be at the bloodied sight before you.

“Remarkable! Gladiator, which part of the Empire do you hail from?” He questioned Hanno. Hanno stood stoically, glaring at the emperors before him. Geta tutted, turning to you. “Julia, open your golden mouth and-.”

“-The gates of hell are open night and day.” Hanno interrupted in the common language. “Smooth the descent, and easy is the way: But to return, and view the cheerful skies, in this the task and mighty labor lies.”

Geta smiled. “Ah…a poet!”

The rest of the world fell away as you could not tear your gaze away from the man laying on the floor. If he hadn’t died from his wounds, he would’ve from choking on his own blood.

“-You understand, don’t you?” Geta asked.

You sat in your own personal chambers that night for the first time in a while. You were never overjoyed to be in his bed, but being sent to your own perplexed you.

Then, he simply told you that you were to be General Acacius’ for the night.

“He’s sacrificed so much, my little Julia.” Geta combed his fingers through your hair to soothe you. “I refused him once already; I cannot do so again. Do you understand?”

The emperor had never shared you with anyone. He wasn’t delicate with you, but at least you knew what to expect.

He clenched your jaw. “I do not care to ask you a third time, girl.”

“Yes,” you squeaked. “I understand, Geta.”

Nodding, he softened his hold, leaning his head against yours. “You are still mine alone; I promise, it will only be us after tonight.”

You swallowed thickly. “Okay.”

“There she is.” He kissed your lips before pulling away and standing. “He will be in right away. Do not fret, I told him to be gentle with you.”

Geta left through your chamber doors without another word. There you were, sitting on your bed, draped in silks you should have known were given to you out of lust and not out of kindness. Your eyes trailed to the empty vase on a table beside your bed.

You didn’t know what possessed you that night, but you yanked it off the table, and smashed it on your bed. The handle of the door began to rattle. Quickly pushing the shattered pieces under your bed, you hid a shard behind your back and sat at the head of the bed.

In came General Marcus Acacius, wearing only a thin overshirt that went down to his knees. You’d done this game of seduction many times with Geta, how different could it be for him? Grabbing the bottom of your night dress, you raised it until it bunched up your thighs, revealing your bare center to him.

He took a hitched breath. “My lady-.”

“-What troubles you, general?” You asked then smiled with gritted teeth. You felt your hand begin to ache as you squeezed the vase shard.

Marcus furrowed his brow, and as if he already knew, he said. “Cover yourself and show me what is behind your back.”

Your eyes dropped along with your heart. Still, as his face turned into a scowl, you cooperated. Handing him the shard and quickly pulling your dress back down, you spoke with intensity.

“If you will not stab me before you rape my corpse, then I shall throw myself from the nearest window and allow the people of Rome to defile me. I will not lie on my back and take it anymore.”

He took a deep breath, holding the sorry excuse for a weapon in his hand. “It is unwise to tell the enemy your plans.”

…What?

“It would serve you greatly to control the faces you make before harming a man as well. Yet, above all,” He held the shard out to you. “your enemy is not afraid to kill you; you should feel the same.”

“Why do you tell me this?” You asked, still not believing it.

Marcus sat up. “I believe we can help each other, my little dove.”

“How?”

He lowered his voice. “You have heard of the gladiator Maximus, his dream of a free Rome, yes?”

“Yes.”

“A dream that cannot be obtained from the rule of two emperors.” He lamented. “My wife and I, along with several others, plan…to fulfill our shared dream.”

They were going to overthrow Geta and Caracalla.

“What gives you reason to believe I won’t say a word of this to them?” You asked.

He smiled for the first time since you’d seen him. “That freedom belongs to you.”

“I…I’m still lost. How will I be of any use?”

“Emperor Geta favors you considerably. He is a man, and not a cunning one at that. There are ways to wear foolish men down.”

You nodded, beginning to understand. “There’s always a woman.”

“There’s always a woman.” He solidified. “Gain the trust of the public; make them love you, and they will not see the emperor’s whore but a woman of the people.”

“And how will that dethrone them?

He smiled. “My wife and I will meet with the counsel tomorrow night. I will send for you.”

You scoffed. “Geta said that after tonight I am just his alone.”

“Then I’ll refuse to give him Persia and India.”

“He’ll have your head.” You berated. “Besides, I don’t think he’d believe my cunt would be worth two countries.”

Marcus shrugged. “Considering he only wants you to himself, I have no doubt that it is worth that much. But I am unable to confirm it.”

You sighed. “Even if he’ll allow it, he’ll send a guard with me.”

“I am not one to invite a third into the bedroom.”

“Then where shall-?”

“-Little dove,” he interrupted. “the city was not built in a day, therefore it cannot be emancipated in one.”

Gods help and forgive you for being impatient on wanting to be free. Still, you composed yourself. “Alright.”

He nodded, standing up. “I will be seeing you on the morrow, one way or another.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

“For what, child?”

You swallowed thickly, avoiding his gaze. “Not forcing yourself upon me.”

Marcus’ face softened, and he lowered himself to your height as you sat on the bed. He took your face into his hands, and you immediately tensed when his face drew closer to yours.

“Don’t be afraid,” he whispered. “it’s not that kind of a kiss.”

With a tenderness that reminded you of your father, he placed his lips on your forehead and pulled away. Giving you one last knowing nod, he promptly left your chambers.

You wanted to do nothing more than shed tears of happiness, yet for no reason at all, you could not cry.

Your father had only taken you to the Colosseum to watch mock animal hunting. Even when your friends invited you to watch gladiator fights or other public executions, he had found ways of making you stay far away from them.

There was a strange humor in sitting in the best chair for your very first gladiator duel. That being in the front as Emperor Geta ran his hand up and down your back.

In utter honestly, you tried to stray your attention away from the fights, speaking more with Caracalla of all people. He was more erratic than Geta by far, and it was more difficult to tell when he would be kind one moment, then out for blood the next.

Yet at least he was open about being cruel, unlike his brother.

When you would watch the fights…a familiar face seemed to catch both you and the general’s wife’s, Lucilla, eye.

The man with light skin yet hailed from Numidia…Hanno.

You hadn’t recognized him at first, for it wasn’t his mere presence that drew you to finally look at the event before you. No, it was the way he fought.

Most men previously had attacked with brute force; just stabbing the beast and hoping it would die. Hanno fought with wit. Simply using the sand beneath his feet as an advantage, blinding and tricking the rhinoceros to run directly into the wall.

He was cunning…he commanded the men beside him as if it weren’t the first time he’d done so in his life.

Then, when it came to deciding his fate when all seemed lost…Geta turned to you.

“My love,” he played with a strand of your hair. “shall I show the poet mercy, or bloodshed for your entertainment?”

Even if it weren’t Hanno, your answer would have been the same. “Mercy.”

As a hush fell over the crow, Geta rose his thumb up, sparing him. As cheers erupted, Hanno shook his head.

“No, no mercy.”

Geta furrowed his brow. “Gladiator, we have spared your life. No one refuses-.”

“-I would sooner face your blade than accept Roman mercy!”

Thus, the fight continued. An act of defiance…Peculiar…Quite peculiar.

Both you and Marcus were correct about the night; Geta did indeed allow you to go to the general’s house, but only if you were escorted by a trusted guard. When you arrived, Marcus immediately draped you in a cloak, practically covering your face and had excused as not wanting the staff to tell his wife of who he was bringing into their house.

Marcus led you into his chambers, and there you saw two people. Apparently, they weren’t even apart of the counsel; simply paid to pretend to be both you and the general as the guard would listen outside, assume it was the two of you fucking.

He had certainly thought through every little detail.

Marcus pushed on a stone in his chambers, revealing a hidden door. You had only heard of these within stories, and as he led you down the darkened passage with only a torch in one hand, and the other holding yours, you had never felt more alive since your past life had been stolen.

You were welcomed to a room filled with dozens of the senate you had passed by in the palace. How strange it was to see them all huddled into a dimly lit room, plotting the demise of the men they initially swore to serve.

An arm looped through yours, and it was Lucilla. She whispered into your ear.

“Whatever you have to say, speak it to me, and I shall speak to them.”

You turned. “Why must I not speak for myself?”

“I only allowed you to be here if Marcus agreed to not let your voice be heard.”

“What?”

“I will explain more to you soon after, I vow it.”

Thus the meeting began. In all truthfulness, you were only able to understand the bare minimum: In a few days’ time, Marcus would lead five-thousand men into Rome to overtake the thrones of the empire, and thus destroy them, restoring the Roman Republic.

When the conversation turned to you, you were merely referred to as an informant who had the closest relationship to the emperor.

It still perplexed you as to why you needed to remain anonymous; there was an excellent chance they would know you as ‘Geta’s Favorite Whore’.

Yet, you did your best to inform the counsel of a plan you had simply created on the spot (they did not need to know the latter part of it).

You would gain more favor from the public, while at the same time, putting Geta’s worries to rest about any uprising or dislike from the majority of the empire.

How you would do that…it was fortunate that they didn’t ask you to give specifics.

Once the meeting ended, you were taken back up from the secret passage, yet instead of going back to the chambers, you felt Lucilla take your hand and lead you down another path.

You couldn’t even get a sound out before she said. “It is alright; he knows I want to speak with you in private. We will not take long.”

She led you up into the bath area of the house. It was quite beautiful; the tub wasn’t made of porphyry, but that did not make it any less exquisite. There was something about it being lesser of the baths you’ve had in the palace. It wasn’t entirely reminiscent of the one you had at home…

But you felt safer.

Lucilla had been gentle in pulling off your robes, and never once did it feel wrong. You were a woman and so was she. She never pulled or scratched your skin, and you knew that she only felt sorrow when she gazed upon the bruises and wounds you had received from Geta.

“How long have you been at the palace?” She questioned as she carded herbs through your hair.

You glanced at her, sighing. “I’ve stopped counting…months, I know.”

“Were you forced to leave any family? Brothers, sisters, children?”

“No. My mother died birthing me, and my father was taken half a year ago to an ailment emperor Caracalla also suffers from.”

She hummed. “Have you ever been in love?”

You laughed the most genuine laugh ever since you became a slave. “Why on earth would you ask that?!”

“I am merely curious!” She teased. “You are truly beautiful, and there is no doubt that men would throw themselves off cliffs for you; but it matters most of who you would choose.”

Her question scraped your mind. There had been times you were fond of, even lusted over, men both your age and older…but love? The only one you experienced would be storge; perhaps philia…but eros? Agape?

“I don’t think I have been.” You answered. “Have you?”

She nodded, a forlorn look in her eyes, but smile upon her mouth. “Twice.”

“Twice?” You couldn’t help the nervous giggle that left your throat. “It can happen twice?”

“It’s possible, yes.”

“And who have you willingly fell captive to?”

“Marcus is the most recent, though there are days I do not understand what he sees in me. Then…the father of my child.”

Lucilla poured water upon your head to wash out the soap in your hair, and a silence fell over both of you. One that was broken when you spoke a name.

“Lucius…”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“He-he had gone missing all those years ago, hadn’t he?”

“He had.” She ran the bar of soap over the top half of your body. “I believe he must’ve been around your age when he ran away.”

“And there hasn’t been any sign of him since?”

“No.” She answered right away.

You curled into yourself. “I apologize if I upset you my lady-.”

“-No. I…I love talking about him.”

You managed a gentle smile to soothe her. “What was he like?”

“Headstrong.” She chuckled. “Wanted to become a gladiator more than anything in the world. Yet, he was gentle, and kind as well. He…I believe he would’ve adored you.”

You shook your head. “Maybe when we were children, but I don’t think so now.”

“It’s hard to judge.”

Whilst the air between you turned into more intimate topics, the question that had weighed on your mind was brought to light. “Why did you not allow me to speak or show my face tonight?”

Lucilla stopped her ministrations. You looked up at her, and the look she wore bore an exhaustion that you had felt recently.

“I know too well the cruelties of men.” She began softly. “My brother had done everything to keep me from ever resisting him…he had done everything. I had only wished for someone to be there with me at every moment when I faced his abuse.”

Words; simple words that meant everything to you was what made you weep.

There was no warning at all. Once she was finished, tears sprang to your eyes, and you felt your sinus clog up. Even as you tried to tear yourself away from her comfort, she merely wrapped her arms around you in an embrace from a mother you had never felt.

“I don’t want to go back.” You begged. “Please don’t let me.”

She kissed your hair. “I’m so sorry.”

“No!” You sobbed. “I-I don’t want to! Please, please, you can’t make me. I-I-I-!”

Lucilla shushed you, rocking you back and forth. “Do not weep. You will be free beside all of Rome, and the past months of your life will be nothing more than a distant, horrible dream.”

You pulled away just enough to look at her. “You-you must promise me something.”

“My child-.”

“-Promise me and I shall help you overthrow them until my last dying breath!”

She stared for a moment before nodding. “Yes. What is it?”

Your lip quivered. “When I die, you must bind my legs with chains or ropes when you bury me. I have,” you whimpered. “I have been told of men who dig up the bodies of girls and…”

Lucilla kissed your forehead before holding you once more. “I vow I will honor your wishes.”

All you could do was believe her.

There were more times than not the Emperor Geta would talk about filling you with his seed as he bedded you. You never were able to discern if he was serious about wanting to give you a child (they would be his, not yours).

It all became too real when you didn’t bleed that month.

Yet, you also did not feel sick in the morning, and your breasts hadn’t swelled. You still had urinated on wheat seeds for several weeks, but they had not sprouted.

You weren’t with child…yet there was nothing stopping you from convincing Rome you were. It would certainly be a risk; for there was no telling how Geta would react. But that was a risk you were willing to take.

Once a week, you were allowed to go outside the palace during the day, and you had chosen then to venture out into the numerous markets. It was nice to speak with the merchants you knew from your childhood. Some were elders who would watch over you when your father was busy, others were friends who had grown up with you.

“Now what would a little empress want with commoner’s food?” A man’s low timbre voice asked behind you.

Turning your head, you saw Macrinus standing before you with a curious grin. You mirrored it. “That’s not an appropriate title for me.”

“Ah, you are correct.” He nodded. “My apologies, ‘Lady with The Golden Mouth’. Or do you prefer ‘Rome’s Delight?’.”

“You may call me whatever you wish if you’d like.” You forced a laugh and turned back to the merchant you had known since you were a babe. “I’ll take a sack of wheat and small bag of garlic, Gaius.”

“Of course, lady Julia.”

Not even a childhood friend could say your real name. A tight smile formed upon your lips when he turned to sack the wheat before you. Macrinus spoke again.

“You still didn’t answer me about why you’re exactly here.”

“I am not an empress.” You turned to him. “I am not a queen from another realm, I am not even a lady. I am a lowly whore that was fortunate enough to be chosen by the emperor. I like to keep my own schedule from before, so I am aloud to bake my own bread.”

He hummed. “Is that so?”

“Yes.”

Gaius handed you the sack of wheat and garlic, and you held out three silver coins. He shook his head. “No, just a copper-.”

“-Please.” Was all you said.

He hesitated, then took them from you, smiling. “May Fortuna rain a thousand blessings upon your head.”

“And unto you as well.” You curtsied and turned on your heel to leave.

Macrinus walked beside you. “How generous you are.”

“I try to be.” You decided to change the topic. “You are in charge of Hanno, are you not?”

“I certainly am, why do you ask?”

“Just out of interest.” You shrugged. “There is talk of him being similar to the one Maximus from years ago. Many admire him already and it has only been a day.”

Macrinus laughed. “It is my duty to entertain the people. I noticed though that you are more prudish of the games.”

“I must admit, I am not used to the violence.”

“A sheltered girl?”

“Ashamedly so.”

“There is no shame at all. So, it is the Numidian that has captured your affection?” He teased. “How scandalous for the young empress to fall for a slave.”

You chuckled. “Nothing of the sort, I just find him amusing.”

“Oh, I am more than happy to let you see him alone if you ever so desire. You don’t need to wander upon him at another party.”

Your carefree air fell once he asked that. “I don’t know what you-.”

“-It’s alright.” He interrupted. “There’s nothing wrong with being curious, I am only concerned for your own safety.”

You stood taller, a shy smile upon your lips. “I am capable of taking care of myself, sir.”

“Of course my lady, why else would you be out here in the streets of commoners without a chaperone?”

Purposefully, you turned onto one of the crowded piazzas where the music and laughter was the loudest. You grinned from ear to ear.

“Oh please, don’t tell me you volunteered yourself to keep me safe.”

He laughed. “No, just wanted to say hello.”

You didn’t have time to respond, as one of the performers had recognized you. Ah, a girl that lived in the house across from yours when you were children! You still remembered her name, and after you passed your belongings to Macrinus, she pulled you into the circle of performers, dancing with you.

You laughed the most you had that year; in fact, you swore your bruised your ribs just from the sheer joy you felt. You don’t know how long you danced and sang with those who were your neighbors and friends, but just as you felt your feet begin to give out, Macrinus put his hand on your shoulder.

“I believe you should go back to the palace and rest.”

Nodding, you said farewell to your companions and took the bag of wheat and garlic back from him. “You are right, thank you so much.”

He grinned. “Let me escort you back.”

“No,” you walked ahead of him. “I wish not to bother you anymore. Good day, Macrinus!”

You lost yourself in the crowd, purposefully making it harder for him to follow. Once you were in the palace, you rushed into the kitchen, holding the sack of wheat behind your back, you greeted the cooks and snuck into the small pantry. You set the sack down on a shelf and pocketed two single reeds, along with an onion.

That night, Geta had called you into his chambers. Before going, you had cut the onion and brought it to hover around your eyes. You were crying by the time you were at his door. Immediately, he took notice of your reddened eyes and tear-stained cheeks.

“What is it, what’s wrong?”

You shook your head, only crying more. It was less because of the onion now, and just everything coming down crashing onto your shoulders once more. Geta pulled you into his chambers by your shoulders, sitting you on the bed.

“Tell me now what is bothering you.” He commanded.

You shook your head. “I-I can’t-.”

“-Now, Julia!”

Taking a deep breath, you reached into the pocket of your breast, taking out the two reeds and setting it in his hand. He furrowed his brows.

“I do not understand.”

You took a deep breath. “The handmaids have given me wheat and barley seeds ever since I have arrived. If they grow, then that means…that means I am with child.”

The look on his face spoke it all. You were certain you were dead.

“I-I didn’t know how you would feel, and-and so I-.”

He crushed you in an embrace, attaching his lips to your jaw. “Jupiter has blessed me.”

It was the first time you felt happiness in his presence. Of course, not because of him, but still joy. You returned his embrace, sighing in relief. “You are happy?”

“Happy?” He pulled away, holding your face in his hands. “There is nothing in this world that could sadden me right now. I will have an heir.”

As long as it was a boy (if it were real at all).

You feigned your smile and leaned into his touch. “I am fortunate to give you one.”

“And I am most fortunate to have you.” He laid down and brought you with him.

Perhaps, in another life, he was kind to you and didn’t only value you until you gave him a child. Perhaps you would be in love with him, and he would make you empress

But you weren’t fortunate to be born into that fantasy.

You wished nothing more than to sit with Marcus and Lucilla as you made your way into the emperor’s booth of the Colosseum. The three of you had managed to speak to one another, but only about meaningless things. Still, you just enjoyed their company.

 It would be more exciting that day. A naval battle, the Naumachia. The arena was filled with water and sea creatures you could never even possibly imagine. It was a wonder in and of itself how all the ships managed to fit themselves in the arena.

“Caracalla,” you said to the brother beside you as you were about to take your seat. He looked up upon hearing his name. You handed him the bag filled with garlic. “I finally found some for you.”

He grinned from ear to ear. “And you say that if I mix this with myrrh, I shall be cured?”

“It should treat the lesions on your skin.” You corrected. “This is what I did for my father.”

He died of the same ailment, but Caracalla didn’t ask; simply smiled. “Thank you, dear sister.”

You nodded, sitting down on the arm of Geta’s throne that would have put you in the middle of him and his brother. He wrapped his arm around you.

“You’ve been far kinder these days.” Geta pointed out.

“Perhaps that means I’ll be the most agreeable mother.” You jested, kissing his cheek.

He smirked, and as the man on the far end of the Colosseum began to announce the games, Geta stood up and rose his grail.

“I would like to propose a toast!” He yelled. The crowd fell silent, and you felt your skin crawl away from you. Geta continued. “To the health of wives and to mothers. Especially to my lover, Julia, who carries my son the moment as we speak!"

An eruption of applause and cheers filled the stadium. You blushed upon the praise, and genuinely wanted to hide yourself from the gaze of everyone; especially the ones closest to you. You could feel both Marcus and Lucilla’s eyes on you, attempting to hide their shock and perhaps horror. The worst was that of Macrinus.

He knew. Just from the look of him (or perhaps it was your own paranoia), but he had to have known from the moment you bought the wheat.

Still, they all applauded, and ones the excitement of your supposed pregnancy died down, the enthusiasm for the battle was born.

It was perhaps the one event you could stomach. While you could still clearly see men dying, it wasn’t as horribly bloody as the prior. Were you becoming numb to the cruelty of these games because you were pretending…or were you letting the game invade your head?

As several ships collided within the growing chaos, men would either die from their fellow man or would simply fall into the water and be devoured by beasts you had never seen until then. Your eyes had been following Hanno the whole time, whether purposefully or not.

Words could not describe the terror that had been brought upon you as you saw him aim his crossbow at the booth you sat in.

You did not think the arrow would pierce you, but it did. It longed into your right shoulder, and a cry you had no idea you were capable of making tore through your throat.

Tears blinded your vision, but the screams from the whole arena deafened your ears you could not even hear what Geta was saying to you.

You could barely make out Marcus’ in front of you as he snapped the body of the arrow and then hoisted you into his arms. You’d never been carried like this as a woman; only as a child by your father.

The heat of Rome felt hotter that day as the pain in your shoulder only grew tighter and tighter as if your skin was going to stretch away from you. The next thing you knew, you were laid upon a cold, solid surface, and sound returned to your ears.

“It’s alright, you’re alright.” Geta shushed, brushing your hair. “You’ll be okay.”

Someone stuck their fingers into your wounded shoulder, and you could only scream. A tender hand laid itself on your cheek, and just from touch alone, you knew it was Lucilla.

“Do not touch her!” Geta hissed, swatting her away.

“No, no!” You whined, reaching out and holding onto her.

Lucilla dropped to her knees, kissing every part of skin that was available, mumbling. “I know, I know. This too shall pass, you are stronger than you believe, my dear.”

Then, just like that, you felt the arrowhead leave your body. The pain was still excruciating beyond belief, but all that was left was for your arm to be wrapped in cloth, and to rest.

One of the guards in charge of the gladiators approached you when you were finally able to sit up.

“My lady,” he began. “did you happen to get a look at the man who shot you?”

“She’s only starting to recover!” Geta snapped. “How dare you. She carries my child, and-!”

“-It’s alright, Geta.” You soothed.

You could’ve done it. Told him with full confidence that it was Hanno. There would have been your chance of power; to kill the man who had nearly killed you.

Yet…you were vindictive and wanted to do it yourself.

“I have no memory.” You told him. “It happened so fast.”

How horrible it is that Geta would stop forcing you to pleasure him only when you were supposedly with his child and injured. You assumed that if you were suffering from only one of those ailments, than he still would’ve held you down and used you.

You thought nothing else would happen that night. You would simply speak to one another, pretending to be completely enamored by his existence, and then lie down to sleep.

Of course, that would be too peaceful.

You were awoken gently, to your surprise, by Geta shaking you. Humming, you rubbed your eyes. “What is it?”

“The general and his whore wife.” He gritted his teeth. “They planned to kill us.”

You shot right up, forgetting about your injured shoulder, and let out a cry. Geta helped you stand, and that was when you saw Caracalla standing before you, his monkey companion Dundus perching upon his shoulder.

“How-how do we know?” You stammered, not having to feign your terror.

Neither of them answered, and the three of you were led out into the throne room. There before you in their night clothes just as you were, Lucilla and Marcus.

Geta approached them first, seething. “The honor, the dignitas that Rome has bestowed upon you. All this you have forfeited by your treachery. Thanks to the civic virtue of men like Macrinus and Thraex your insurrection has been revealed-.”

 “-Torture me if you want,” Marcus shook his head. “but please, don’t lecture me.”

Geta’s face turned almost as red as his hair. “Your name and deeds will be forgotten, lost to history! You are damned to oblivion!”

“You damn me?” He laughed. “I don’t care. Everything is forgotten in time. Empires fall… and so do Emperors.”

Caracalla rose from his seat, reaching for his brother’s sword. “Why wait? I'll gut him right now!”

Geta grabbed onto him. “Brother! Brother! His death must be public.”

“Public, yes. Hang his entrails from the city gates!” He pointed at Lucilla. “Crucify her!”

“No!”

All eyes fell on you after your outburst. Even you froze in place, feeling bile begin to rise up within you. Geta let go of Caracalla. “‘No?’ You say? What would you have me do then?”

Swallowing thickly, it was hard to speak as tears began to fall. You held your stomach. “Crucifixion is…it’s…”

His face dropped into a scowl. “You aren’t saying I should let them live, are you?”

“No-!”

“-Then which is it?!”

Your voice fell silent as your chest constricted, and you could barely breathe. Your mouth would move, but nothing came out; not even strangled noises of desperation.

“If I may, your grace,” Macrinus stepped forward. “I believe she means to bring equal punishments to the crimes committed.”

Geta furrowed his brow. “I do not know what you speak of.”

“Please, let the rest of them out of the room so I might explain more clearly.’

He considered his words, then turned to his guards. “The criminals to the dungeons, my brother to his chambers, and my love-.”

“-I wish to be alone tonight.” You stated.

The emperor scoffed. “What?”

“The babe.” You began. “I-I have helped many women deliver their children, and what has always caused an early birth is stress. I-I cannot take any-anymore of it, or I fear…”

Finally, he took in the sight of your fearful face. Sighing heavily, he said. “Put my lady in her chambers for tonight.”

“Thank you.” You kissed his hand.

You were led into your own chambers, and once the door was shut, you threw yourself onto your bed and wept. You wept until you were wailing into the night, you wept until your eyes were as red as the sun in the morning, you wept until it hurt to continue to do so…

It was unknown how long you had cried, but the opening of your bedroom door is what alarmed you. Snapping your head over in the direction, you were shocked to see Macrinus.

“The general and his wife’s fate has been decided.” He stated.

You held a pillow to your chest, rubbing your reddened nose. “And what is it?”

“The emperor has chosen to let the gods decide, and Acacius will fight against Hanno tomorrow in the arena.”

“You mean you convinced him to.” You glared.

Macrinus approached you. “May I try some of the bread you have baked, my lady?”

You held no confusion when he asked you that. Surprise, yes; but you knew what he asked. You took a deep breath. “I believe I don’t understand.”

“The wheat you bought only days ago.” He reminded. “You said you would bake your own bread. Surely, you didn’t use it as false proof of you carrying the emperor’s heir?”

You didn’t dare look at him. Even when he laid his hand on our back, rubbing circles over your nightdress. “I wish to help you, my child. You must be willing to help me first.”

That was why he also didn’t alert Geta of your betrayal…unless, he had no idea of your alliance with Marcus and Lucilla.

“What is it that you want?” You asked.

“All in time.” He soothed. “I wish to give you the privilege to speak to someone.”

You finally looked at him, your eyes wide. “General Acacius?”

“No.” He shook his head. “I am unable to escort you to the dungeons below the palace. Yet, I can take you to the pit of gladiators.”

“It is easier for you to take me out of the palace than below it?”

“Take you to the man who nearly overthrew the emperors?” He chuckled bitterly. “Not possible. I cannot grant you the gift to say goodbye, but I can allow you to bargain for his life.”

You blinked. “Hanno?”

“Correct.”

“How can I leave the palace at this hour, after what has just happened?”

“You underestimate the silence men will take when it is weighed in gold.” He tutted. “I can only give you ten minutes with him. Will you go or not?”

You were forced to decide quickly…This could be your chance. He had nearly took your life the other day, and the pain in your shoulder was just a growing reminder of that. If he were dead…there was no way you could overtake him.

Yet, you learned that, in a world of men, you didn’t have to be stronger than them: Only smarter, and faster.

“I will go.”

You had hidden a kitchen knife under your bed the moment you had your own chambers. Geta had gifted you several colorful ribbons he loved to see you wear in your hair. He perhaps did not expect you to tie one around your waist under your gown, securing the knife.

Macrinus led you swiftly from the palace to the gladiator pit, which was thankfully not a long walk. You ignored the stares and intrigued calls from the other men as you treaded the halls. You were stopped by a door. Macrinus didn’t even warn Hanno who stood shirtless in his cell, only opened the door and let you enter.

“I’ll rattle the door when it’s time.” That was all he said and left.

Hanno didn’t even seem alarmed. “And what is Rome’s Delight doing here?”

Your blood boiled upon seeing him, yet you remained calm. “I have come to make a bargain; a plea.”

That was when the puzzlement appeared on his face. “And what is that?”

“The man you will fight tomorrow, you must spare him.”

“Why should I?”

Your grief and despair had made itself known to everyone around you for the past few days; yet, in that cell, only with Hanno as your witness, did he see your rage.

“He is the one who saved my life when you meant to steal it!”

The only change you saw in him was his jaw clenching. Other than that, nothing. “The general?”

You only nodded.

He sighed, brushing past you and shaking the door. “Macrinus!”

“What are you doing?” You hissed.

“I will not have you waste your breath on that man.”

“I will give you anything you desire.”

Hanno faced you. “Then you can deliver his head on a platter for me.”

You gawked as he walked away.  “What have I ever done to you?”

“What?”

“Do you truly hate me that much?!” You turned back to him, getting closer. “Kill the man that is the reason I am still here?”

The last thing you thought you would hear left his lips: A laugh. No, not a genuine one. One that you yourself have released on multiple occasions when you have been in disbelief.

“You truly believe everything that happens is because of you?” He taunted. “Has the emperor been filling your mind with so many delusions of grandeur, you can no longer conceive a world where you are not the center of it?”

“Is it so difficult for you to answer my question because you are a fool, or because you wish to not admit it?” You hardened your tone.

“What is your question, my empress?”

“Why did you shoot me?!”

“The arrow was not meant for you!”

You felt your shoulders drop upon the confession. Your aggression ceased only because of your bewilderment.

“Then who?” You asked.

He backed away. “The general you so wish to defend.”

“Whatever it is that he has done, it can be solved with-.”

“-He murdered my wife.”

Hanno said it so easily. No pain, no rage, nothing. It was a fact, and that was what he wanted you to know.

And how stupid you had been. No one in all of Rome was pure of heart; including Marcus. He was a war general; how could you think he wouldn’t have committed sins against the innocent?

“Why so silent, my lady?” He asked. “Are you in disbelief that he has enemies?”

“I didn’t know that.” You admitted.

“That the general is too a monster, or that he killed the only thing in my life worth living for?”

“And that is your desire?” You prodded. “Take his life so that he may die knowing his wife will be ravaged by wolves?”

When he charged at you, you barely had enough time to reach in your dress and unsheathe your knife. Hanno stopped himself just in time for the tip to kiss his chest. Nothing to cause any more harm than a scratch.

Even though you were not the one hurt, you breathed as if you were. He stared down at you as you shrunk under his gaze, and the two of you remained frozen. That is, until he grabbed both your wrists, and rose them above your head.

“I am only merciful because the general still breathes.” He spoke so only you could hear. “If your bastard of a lover had put him to the sword this night you chose to visit me, you would be dead before you could scream.”

Your nose was an inch from his, that was how close he stood to you. His breath caressed your skin, and you turned away in disgust. He let go of your empty wrist, yet still held the one with the dagger.

“Did you believe you could kill me tonight?” He asked, yet you said nothing. Hanno then brought the dagger to his breastbone, angling it upward. “Do not stab head on; stab up.”

Silence and an iron gaze was your reply.

He then hovered it to the pulse point of his neck. “If you want a quick death, right here; with a thinner blade, preferably.”

Then, he placed the tip just above his brow. “If you need information out of a rat, and you have the stomach to do so, drag it across. It will make the mightiest of men cry like a child in the night.”

“You are clever and a skilled warrior,” you finally said. “what is it you want me to tell you?”

“That you will leave it up to the gods and to me if your general lives or not.”

“But I cannot.” You dared to dig the blade just a little into his skin, and his breath hitched. “My desire for him to live is stronger than for you to die.”

Hanno finally let go of your wrist, and you immediately retracted the knife from his brow. “So do you wish to try again to kill me?”

“I wish for you to show mercy.”

“Mercy?” He questioned. “Mercy upon the man who pillaged my home and killed my wife? Mercy for the one who has made me a slave?”

“I too am a slave and-.”

“-And?!” He cried. “And there is nothing! You are draped in silks whilst I in chains and are bathed in clear waters while I in blood, yet you say we are the same?!”

You swallowed your anger, knowing it would bring you nowhere. “You entertain the horrid creatures of Rome; I am forced to pleasure the emperor. We perform differently, but we are still slaves.”

“You are with child.” He stated. “Will that child also be a slave though the emperor is quick to claim it is his heir?”

The crackling of the torches in the room only added to the fire th in your soul. If not contained correctly, you would surely burn and take him with you.

 “A child…yes.” You relaxed, folding your hands. “A child that I could command to be Geta’s. Perhaps, if I wanted to have the brothers slaughter one another, I could say it belongs to Caracalla. Or, if I despised you anymore than I do at this moment…I could say that it is yours.”

Hanno’s eyes dropped in recognition, saying softly. “You carry an empty womb.”

You nodded. “It is the same as your honor.”

Moments later, the door behind you rattled, and Macrinus spoke even when you didn’t. “The time is up, my little empress.”

You bowed your head to Hanno, curtsying. “Sleep well.”

He said nothing in reply, and you turned on our heel, leaving the cell. You pulled your hood back over your head as Macrinus led you through the darkened streets of the city.

“Did you get what you came for?” He asked.

“No.” Was your immediate reply. “And I do not know truly what I wanted.”

The day was as blistering hot as the others, yet the stare Lucilla gave you as she was being led into the emperor’s viewing box made your blood turn to ice. There was not a hint of wrath upon her face; there was nothing at all.

She already looked as if her soul had been stolen.

“How does your shoulder fair, dear sister?” Caracalla brushed his fingers over your arm.

A watery smile was upon your lips like second nature. “It still aches, but it heals, thank the gods. And your overall health?”

He sighed. “I do not know how much longer I have upon this earth.”

“Do not say such things.” You squeeze his hands. “If the gods will it, you shall live for another hundred years.”

He kissed your hands that held his. “I hope so, my love.”

Your grin fell upon the title, and Geta immediately sat you down on the chair behind him that was beside Lucilla’s. He gave an apologetic look.

“He only grows more confused by the day.” He caressed your cheek. “You are well?”

You were far from it, but you could not say that. “Your son feels better now.”

Geta smiled, lowering his head down to kiss your womb. “He will need all his strength.”

The announcer on the other side of the arena yelled to gain everyone’s attention. “From the vanquished city of Numidia, the victor of three contests in the Colosseum, the barbarian Hanno!”

You watched as he ran up from the pit, sword in hand. On the other side, you watched at they brought in Marcus. You could barely look at his already beaten figure. The announcer continued. “Will challenge General Marcus Acacius for his treason against the lives of the Emperors and the enemy of the State!”

The two approached one another on the sandy field. Even from where you sat, so close to them, you could barely make out the look in their eyes. You assumed their was hatred, but your own eyes must have deceived you, because you swore you saw a hint of regret within Marcus’ own gaze.

You blinked and the battle between the two had begun. It was a different level of insanity at how they fought. Marcus was decades older than Hanno, and yet, there were moments where the Numidian had to keep up with him.

Than, the roles would be reversed.

Blood stained the floor of the Colosseum as they fought. Then, when all feel silent between them, and Marcus could barely stand, his lips moved as he spoke to Hanno, then raised his hand.

He yielded.

The patrons of the arena began to mumble amongst themselves, growing louder and louder. Geta rose to his feet. “Romans! What say you?”

In an instant, choruses begging him to be spared overpowered the few that wanted him to be killed. Geta shut his eyes, raising his hand, and they were silenced.

“The gods have rendered their judgement.”

His thumb pointed downward, and the crowd erupted in dissent. Your heart was forcing itself to beat out of your chest as you could only stare at the sight of Hanno glaring down at the general before him.

He tossed his sword to the side.

You hadn’t even noticed Caracalla stood until you heard him yell. “Kill him, kill him!” Like an angered child.

“Is this how Rome treats its heroes?!” Hanno shouted, staring at the audience all around him and pointing his sword. “If his life has no value, what are yours worth?”

Geta stepped up onto the barrier, balancing between the viewing box and a fifteen-foot drop into the arena. He held his arms out to his side, his sleeves dropping to the ground, and his pale face was red. “The gods have spoken! Kill him!”

From all sides of the stadium, hundreds of archers aimed their bows at the center of the battleground. Yet, none fired. Caracalla jeered.

“In the name of Jupiter, kill him!”

The arrows were released, and they screamed like none other as they fired into the center. As they pierced Marcus’ body, you did not know you had been wailing in fright until Geta had slapped you.

“You mewling cunt!” He cursed. “You wish to weep over the man who nearly had you killed?”

Blood fell upon your tongue from your bruised lip, and you did not dare to look at him nor Lucilla.

“Death will be too good for you!” She cried with all of her heart.

The noise from the crowd died as if the people themselves had done so. Then, just like the confused murmurs when Marcus yielded, the same began to grow and grow into a call of rebellion.

It was all in your ears. Lucilla’s weeping, the curses from the crowd, the panic of the emperors…but you stood absolutely still.

With hooded eyes, they drifted up to see that Geta stood just on the edge of the barrier, his back turned to you. Your gaze fell to the ground below you, and it was only then you realized how high up you truly were.

You do not know who or what willed you to, but you then looked at Hanno still the center, covered in blood. As if he knew what you would do, he shook his head.

“Ah, ah, ah.” Macrinus grabbed your arm roughly when you took one step towards Geta.

The emperors turned to him upon his appearance, and Macrinus loosened his grip on you before saying. “For our safety’s sake, we should leave.”

“Yes.” Geta stepped down, wrapping his arms around you. “We should.”

You never knew there was a safe house in Rome until you were forced into it. Perhaps that was the reason for it being a safe house, so that no one knew of it. Yet, apparently, almost all of the roman citizens found it that night. Or, they were simply rioting wherever a free patch of land was.

The cries played in your ears despite them being behind heavy walls of the safe house, and you dared not to peek out the windows as the several fires would temporarily blind you. In the house was you, Macrinus, Dondus (Caracalla’s pet monkey, although he’d call him his other half), and the twin emperors.

“How is the babe?” Geta asked as you sat with your head hanging low.

Of course he would ask that. You didn’t look at him. “He is in fear for his life.”

“I understand,” he sighed. “but there-.”

“-But what?” You finally looked at him, hissing. “Chaos has fallen upon the city because of your actions.”

“There was nothing else to do.” Geta glared at you. “He and his bitch were plotting to kill us! If I’d let him live-.”

“-Don’t you hear them?” Caracalla cried out from his seat, holding Dondus. “They’re calling for our heads! She is right, you brought this upon us!”

Geta placed his hands on him. “Calm yourself, brother. The Praetorians will put down this crowd like they have others-.” The money upon Caracalla’s shoulder chirped out in anxiousness from the people outside. “Keep the ape still!”

“Beware of how you speak to Dondus!” His brother berated.

“Perhaps,” Macrinus finally intervened. “you should take Dondus and Julia elsewhere. The noise outside is too much for them; you should comfort one another someplace quieter.”

Caracalla nodded, gathering up Dondus and moving to help you stand, but Macrinus reached his hand out first. You took it, and as you stood, he said into your ear.

“I will find you on the right side of the hall.”

This was not the time nor place for riddles, but you could not react in any sort of way. You looped our arm through Caracalla’s and walked out of the room, hoping to find somewhere quieter.

“I’m afraid,” you confided in him, truthfully.

“I am as well.” Was all he could say.

You stopped in the middle of the hall once he found an open door. “I…I need time with my own thoughts. Please.”

He nodded, cradling Dondus closer to his chest before entering the room, shutting the door tightly. Within the minute, you watched as Macrinus approached you from the other side of the hall.

You spat. “What do you want?”

“I know I stole your moment of vengeance, and for that, I apologize.” He stood before you. “But let me make it up to you.”

“How could you possibly?”

From his cloak, he brandished a knife, holding the handle out to you. You took it without hesitation, yet question was still upon your face. “I do it myself?”

“You could,” he shrugged. “or, you could have his own brother do so.”

“Caracalla? He is senile.”

“Then I have a proposition for you.” Macrinus pointed to the door Caracalla was behind. “Convince him that Geta will destroy all of you if he is not disposed of. Convince him that, as the new emperor of Rome, he will need more trusting subjects. I shall be his second in command, and you shall be free.”

You furrowed your brow. “Who shall be first?”

“The monkey.” He smirked. “Do you believe he would put me above him?”

It sounded so simple; too simple. Yet, as the crowd began to die down, and you could no longer hear their protests from outside, the quietness brought to you what you had always known: You would never be your own person again so long as Geta breathed.

You held the dagger to your heart, saluting him. “I shall do my duty.”

He nodded. “May the gods be with you when you do, Brutus.”

An insult to most, and while it shocked you, you took it in stride as you stood outside the door. You made yourself look smaller, more afraid, and hid the dagger within your cloak as you entered the room.

There, sitting upon the floor, was Caracalla and Dondus. Like a scared child, he held the monkey close to him, grooming one another as if it was the only thing to bring comfort.

“Caracalla?” You whispered.

He stared up at you, and you noticed he had been crying. Immediately, you sat before him, bringing him into your arms.

“Nothing was ever mine.” He cried, embracing you. “Everything was ‘ours’, always. Even in the womb, he gripped the umbilicus in his tiny fist to deprive me of air.”

“He did?”

“Certainly, one cannot forget.”

You pulled away only to hold his face tenderly in your hands. “You must listen to me, for what I tell you is dire. Your brother wishes to blame you before the Senate; for what happened, for the chaos in the streets-.”

“-That is a lie!” He tore himself from you. “I didn’t do it!”

“I know that, but they don’t. No testimony is more damning than that of a brother against another.”

“He lies! He always lies!” He sobbed.

“He’s very persuasive.”

“What will they do to me?”

“I don’t dare imagine, but…gods above, I don’t wish to know what they will do to Dondus.”

His jaw quivered with the rest of his body. “What-what shall we do?"

You sighed. “I…I have a proposition, but it is most outrageous and-.”

“-Julia,” he begged, grabbing your hands. “dear, sweet sister, please tell me.”

Breath shuttering, you reached into your cloak and held the blade out to him. “Slay your brother tonight. You shall be crowned the sole emperor of Rome when morning comes, and Dondus, the child I carry, and I will be safe.'

He took it, yet still had that look of terror. “This…It has always been he who led everything. I do not know who to trust or-or who to command.”

“Then let me-.” You stopped yourself, eyeing the monkey that lay at his legs. You held your hand out to him, and Dondus climbed into your arms. “Let us help you. Claim Dondus as your first in command, and I your second.”

You wished the same as Lucilla and Marcus; to have Rome be a free empire. Yet, you would have to free Lucilla yourself before that happened.

Caracalla nodded yet said. “You-you are with child. You will become delirious as time progresses.”

And he was the epitome of having a clear mind.

“I will need a third.” He settled.

You shook your head. “That has never been done before-.”

“-I will be emperor!” He screamed. “If it is to be done, it shall be done!”

Raising your hands in surrender, you pleaded. “It shall, it shall! For a third…Macrinus. He has been loyal and informed us of the general’s betrayal.”

“Yes, yes Macrinus will do.” He grabbed your face and pressed his lips against yours. It didn’t even truly feel like a kiss, yet it shocked you nonetheless. “You are the wisest woman I have ever met, dear sister.”

You nodded, forcing a smile. With that, he stood on his feet and left the room. IT would have been easy to stay in there and wait for his return…

Yet, you wanted to be the last thing Emperor Geta saw.

No fear toiled within your body as you approached the throne room, not even when you hear the cries that you knew belonged to Geta. You walked through the doors, watching as Geta held his hands up in fear, begging his brother to spare his life as he was forced onto his knees, trying to stop the knife in Caracalla’s hand.

“I love you!” Geta squealed, staring up at him through tears “You are my brother, I love you!”

You moved to stand behind the younger twin, glaring at the man before you. Geta’s eyes dropped in relief.

“My love, my love, please help me!”

There was nothing uncertain about how you grabbed Caracalla’s hand that held the dagger. With eyes unblinking, you guided the blade into Geta’s throat, pushing it further and further as blood drained from his mouth.

The emperor was dead, and you would sleep like a child once more that night.

There was something inside of you when you awoke that morning. Not the child you had lied to all of Rome about; it felt like a parasite. You threw up an hour after you woke up, but when you checked with the healers, they said that there was nothing ailing you.

Was it…guilt? No, no it could not be.

Was it possible to feel guilt for the act of killing someone, but not feeling it for who was killed?

You had no time to debate these issues as if you were a philosopher.

Dressed in your finest silks, you made way into the room where the hundreds of senators met, carrying a hefty sack beside you. You sat in a chair next to Macrinus.

“You have done well.” He said softly.

You smiled. “Only because of you.”

Your gaze turned to Caracalla, who sat in one of the two thrones that were there for him and Geta. He looked like the worst you had ever seen him be. A blood rag had been placed at his feet.

“Now I am the only one.” He began, voice low. “I was the true us, and he was the false me. We were always ‘we,’ all our lives, but now I am only I, me, alone.”

The senators look at one another in silent terror. The only ones to not feel fear were you and Macrinus.

Caracalla continued. “My hand held the blade, but my father’s hand guided mine. I was the puppet, dancing on his string. As Emperor, I have convened the Senate to appoint my First Consul and bestow upon him the power to administer the military and civic functions of the Empire.”

He tossed his hand to the second thrown, revealing his fury companion. “I name Citizen Dondus!”

Where the senators were beyond terrified, they were now confused. Macrinus was the first to rise, applauding. “Hail Dondus!”

You repeated his sentiment, clapping with vigor. Caracalla and the rest of the mortified senators applauded all repeating ‘Hail Dondus!’.

Once the excitement died down, Caracalla resumed. “As is custom, I am naming a Second Consul to advise the First and to assure his integrity. Though you will find that Dondus is incorruptible! As Second Consul, I name…”

Macrinus took one step forward.

“The mother of the future heir to the throne, Julia!”

All eyes fell upon you, standing taller than you ever had done in your life. How strange it was though, that the same reaction to a monkey being assigned first in command, was to you, a woman.

Utter silence, until Caracalla applauded enthusiastically. Like sheep, the senators followed; all but Macrinus.

“Yet, as mother to the heir,” the emperor said after finishing. “it is apparent she shall be incompetent for majority of her advising. So, for the first time in the history of Rome, I name Citizen Macrinus as my third!”

Even with this third twist in a counsel, the senators seemed more so relieved at the decision. Macrinus did not smile or even acknowledge the honor, simply stared ahead. Caracalla gathered Dondus in his arms.

“There will be a triumphal parade to celebrate. There will be games and mass executions! Long live the Empire!”

“Long live the Emperor!” You and the senators all yelled.

The Emperor Caracalla carried the First Consul Dondus sweepingly out of the hall, to the Senate’s terrified silence. You picked up the sack that had been beside you this whole time, then making your way to the center of the room.

You opened the sack, and out fell Geta’s decapitated head. The Senate gasped and gagged at the sight of the former emperor’s head. You almost felt sorry for the horror they felt that whole time. Yet, there horror is what would bring you fortune.

“This is what befell your emperor.” You pointed to the head at your feet. “He was slaughtered by the one who shared a womb with him. Tell me, senators, is this who we must trust to maintain the greatness of the Roman Empire?”

They did not glance at one another in uncertainty; no, no they were listening to you.

You continued, your heart stammering. “I am not the one who will stand with you for the rest of my days, it is the son I carry within me. And if it is my son who will become emperor, then there must still be an empire for him once he is born. Hysteria has poisoned the streets for decades now, it is time to put an end to it!”

Murmurs and nods of approval began to echo amongst the counsel.

“Every single one of Rome’s children matters; from the beggars to the emperor himself. If one falls, so shall the rest of the Empire. I have walked beside the lay people of the city, and they feel betrayed by the former emperor for the murder of their beloved general. To right this wrong, I call for the release of Lucilla, daughter of Marcus Aurelias.”

Not one of the hundreds of senators made a sound. Deep within you, you knew that there wouldn’t be much rejoicing over Lucilla’s freedom, but you still had to try.

“The people adored her for far longer than they adored the general!” You pleaded. “If we kill her only for the amusement of the elites, then the children of Rome-!”

 “-Shall live.”

You turned to Macrinus, who finally stepped all the way forward.

“Forgive me,” He bowed mockingly. “my lady, but for a woman complimented to have a golden mouth, you have no idea what you are saying.”

A few of the senators chuckled.

“You wish to free the woman who mean to have you, and the emperors killed?” He questioned.

You refuted. “I wish to show the world that Rome is capable of forgiveness.”

“A desire so foolish, only the emperor’s favorite whore could have it.”

“Another word of slander out of your mouth, and I will have your tongue removed!” You stood toe-to-toe with him.

He grinned like the devil, and just from your outburst alone, no matter how warranted it had been, he had you. Macrinus stepped away, looking around at the senators.

“Me thinks the little girl believes she is Marcus Aurelius himself born again.” He straightened his tone. “What say you, senators? All in favor of releasing a traitor to the Empire, speak.”

Not one of them said ‘aye’. If you weren’t under a sheer amount of duress, you would’ve seen perhaps a few faces of inner turmoil, debating on calling for Lucilla’s release.

Yet, no one said a word because they shared the one thing that will contribute to the death of humanity: Cowardice.

Macrinus tutted. “Now, dear Julia and I happen to have, through good fortune and not a little skill, the remaining emperor’s ear. We can speak reason in it and tame the madness in the street. Yet, I will leave the domestic work of calming the emperor to his second in command. As for myself, to restore order to Rome, I will need power over the affairs of the state. Including command of the Praetorian Guard. The decision is in your hands. Ballot or hand?”

One hand rose immediately. Another followed, then ten, then thirty, and then, all of them. He provided no evidence for his cause…yet there was a unanimous decision.

Macrinus held his hand out to you, and you could only stare up at him in question.

“I believe we shall take the seats that are rightfully ours.” He said lowly.

Carefully, you slipped your hand into his, and he led you up the stairs to sit upon the chair that belonged to Geta, while he took Caracalla’s.

This would be the first and the last time a woman ever sat upon the emperor’s throne.

After being embarrassed that morning, you paced around your chambers. Perhaps you could have found Caracalla and gave him the same reasonings the senate did not listen to. Perhaps he could somehow see to the logic that would be in setting Lucilla free.

No, of course he wouldn’t. Even if his mind was sound, he still knew she was apart of the coup to try and have him dethroned; killed in his mind’s eye.

As your mind grew heavy with existential possibilities towards the future, the door to your chambers opened. Stopping where you stood, you watched as Macrinus entered.

“Now, try to make me understand this," he shook his head. "I let you have your vengeance on the man who used you as a slave, I promised you freedom, and yet you wasted it.”

You clenched your jaw. "How dare you-."

“-How dare I?” He tensed his voice. “How dare I keep silent about your lie? How dare I give you the privilege to take your revenge? I have saved you more than you believe I have harmed you, lady Julia."

The name had always bothered you, but with one emperor dead and the other incapacitated, you assumed it would stop.

Now, it only enraged you more; or perhaps that was just because it was Macrinus saying it.

You glared. “It was your own mistake to believe you were the only one who desired power.”

He took a deep breath, then moving to sit on your bed. “Sit beside me, Rome’s Delight; I have a story to tell you.”

“I am not a child, you may tell me in short.”

“You are not the only slave wishing to be free.” He pulled back the collar of his clothing, revealing a branded ‘M.A’ “You are lucky enough to not carry your master’s mark, but were a slave nonetheless. Marcus Aurelius spoke of peace while still using violence against those who served him.”

Swallowing your pride thickly, you said. “I’m sorry.”

“You have learned now, that is all that matters.”

“But Lucilla will still be dead.” You tried to keep your voice steady. “She wanted the emperors to be gone as much as you, but she will-."

“-Her father enslaved me.”

“Her father is dead; and if taking his empire wasn’t enough, than killing his last child will satisfy you?"

Macrinus clutched your arm, fingers tightening with every word. “I would be careful with how you speak to me. I wish to offer you one last ounce of kindness before I regret it. Now tell me, Brutus, will you accept me as Rome’s new emperor?”

You had all the right to say it was Caracalla, but you thought better of it. So, with the softening of your entire person, you nodded. “I accept you.”

He dropped your arm. “I’ll let you say goodbye this time.”

Macrinus led you down into the dungeons of the palace, and he was right; somehow it was more heavily guarded than the gladiator pit. Even when the worst of the worst prisoners sneered or jeered at you, your sorrow and anger could not stir your fear.

The door to one of the cells was open, and you ran in just as Lucilla turned to see you.

“Five minutes.” Was all Macrinus said before locking the door and leaving.

You embraced one another when he left. Neither of you said anything, just clung to each other as if the world itself would tear you apart.

“Forgive me, mother Lucilla.” You choked up.

Lucilla pulled away, taking your face into her hands. “Sweet child, there is nothing to forgive.”

“I failed you.” The tears finally came. “I was right there in the senate’s room, I-I told them the chaos that would befell Rome if-.”

“-You were in the senate’s room?” She sounded as if her breath had been stolen.

You nodded. “Yes, but they wouldn’t listen!”

“My dear girl,” she smiled. “if you were able to even get half a sentence in, than they listened! My father but sixteen years ago said that it was a shame I had been born a women, for I would have been a magnificent emperor. Yet, here you stand; you who had been once a slave, rose above into having a sear in the senate council.”

Still, no matter how much pride she held, your own shame outweighed it. “I still have failed you.”

“I have already accepted my fate.” She whispered. “I must take care of those who matter to me before I leave this earth.”

“Do not say such things!” You cried. “I’ll still find a way to save you.”

“Hanno is my son.”

You expected her to deny your attempts at rescuing her, you even expected her to coddle you, curse you…but this?

“What?” You uttered.

“He is Lucius Verus Aurulius,” she said gently. “second of his name, but the first son of Maximus Decimus Meridius.”

“The-the gladiator?” Was somehow the first question you asked.

“Yes.” She nodded. “Lucius didn’t run away, I sent him. With him as heir to the empire, I know many would not rest until he was dead. How was he to fight for a claim he knew nothing about? Now, he is here; and I am no longer frightened of dying.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to!”

She shushed you, combing her fingers through your hair. “I can speak to you until the earth is burnt by the sun of how I have made peace, but I know that will not work. So, I have two final requests for you.”

“Anything.”

Lucilla walked to the small desk she had in her cell, then picking up a scroll loosely wrapped in twine. She handed it to you. “My first is to give this to my son before tomorrow. It…explains a great deal of things I do not have the time to say to him.”

You took it, holding it to your heart. “And the second?”

She smiled, wrapping her arms around you and kissing the side of your head. “To take care of him as I intend him to take care of you.”

It was not the first time that day your eyes had grown. “He despises me.”

“If the gods are merciful, then I truly believe you will both come to see eye to eye as the only two who remain.”

“I nearly killed him.” You admitted. “The night before his duel with Acacius, I brought a knife with me and stabbed him; well…not enough to harm him.”

Lucilla shook her head, giggling. “He will need someone who disagrees with him.”

You found yourself laughing along with her, even through your sobs. She pulled away from you, wiping your tears. “He is a good man. He may deny it but believe me when I tell you.”

“I trust you.” You nodded.

She took a deep breath. “I will be with you, even when I’m gone.”

“I…I know.”

“Now go before I beg you to stay.”

You forced yourself away from her before you could change your mind. You could not even look at her as you left her cell and went up the hall. Just in time, you remembered to hide the scroll as Macrinus approached you.

“Leaving so soon?” He asked.

Sighing, you said. “She’s…inconsolable. I couldn’t bear another moment with her.”

Macrinus nodded. “You should rest for the remainder of the day. It has been quite exhausting.”

“Yes,” you agreed. “it certainly has.”

It was the first time that night you were forced to sneak out of the palace on your own. Fortunately, you remembered the route you took to the Gladiator pit and managed to dodge any of the guards on patrol that night.

The pit proved to be more difficult as the overseers of it had less space to watch over, yet you still somehow managed to maneuver them.

Perhaps the gods were on your side.

“Hanno.” You whispered once you found his cell.

The man turned over his shoulder once he heard your voice and approached with a scowl. “What are you doing here?”

You wasted no time, holding out the scroll. “Your mother told me to give you this.”

He paused for only half a beat. “My mother died when-.”

“-Your mother is Lucilla, daughter of Marcus Aurelias.” You whispered fiercely. “And you are Lucius, the lost son.”

His eyes didn’t leave yours as he reached down to the latch of the door, and cracked it opened. “Get inside.”

Though you wished to, you didn’t question how he had unlocked it and only walked in. He shut the door tightly, then took the scroll from you. You stood there as he unraveled it to read. His face changed every few seconds, ranging from distress to downright confusion. When he was finished, he looked at you.

“She gave this to you?” You nodded. “Why?”

“I was allowed to say goodbye to her.”

“From Macrinus?” He tested. “Was this before or after you attempted to steal his power?”

“I was cruel to you.” You admitted. “Even after discovering Acacius had pillaged your home and murdered your wife, I expected you to show mercy. I am astounded you did, but as I look back, I wouldn’t have blamed you if you didn’t. My desire for the general to live extends to your mother; if not more. She did not give up my name at any moment despite the fact I too was apart of the coup to try and overthrow the emperors. I cannot simply let her die.”

Lucius stared at you, his gaze intimidating yet at ease. He approached you. “You wish to save her life?”

“More than anything.”

“It is a rumor that Macrinus was the one to puppeteer Caracalla in slaying his brother. But…it wasn’t him, was it?”

Breathing deeply, you looked at the floor. “It was I.”

“Look at me.” He commanded softly, and you did. “Would you kill again if it meant protecting her?”

Your mind said ‘yes’ without a moment’s hesitation, but your heart only sunk into your stomach at the thought. It must have been apparent on your face, for he said.

“There is no shame if you are unable to.”

“I will be with him in the emperor’s box.” You said, determination in your eyes. “I will simply need you to buy me time in the arena. It shall be done.”

Lucius nodded, and released along breath before saying. "I treated you harshly. I...I don't believe I would have survived what you have been put through."

You picked at your fingers. "I think you would have."

"No." He solidified. "I wouldn't."

A silence fell between the two of you. There wasn't a hint of discomfort; as if, for the first time, you felt seen.

“You never told me your name.” Lucius uttered.

You pressed your lips together, shrugging. “It was never important.”

“It has been,” he said. “and it is now. You know my true name, if I am to understand you as how my mother wishes I do, then I must know yours.”

Your mouth parted to speak the first syllable, but even that had felt foreign. You instead lied. “I do not remember it.”

As he looked at you, the steely gaze you always knew began to disappear. “You must remember how it sounded from your mother’s mouth.”

“She died before she could hold me.”

“Then your father.” He walked closer to you, yet you felt no fear. “It does not matter if he was wretched or kind, he spoke your name and your name alone. What did it sound like?”

Like he loved you. Even when he was cross, he never raised his voice. You hated more than ever how tears started to build within your eyes.

“Geta had beaten me until I could no longer use it.” you confessed. “It will feel like poison upon my lips.”

“Then whisper it to me so you will scarcely have to move them.”

You had been lain down on a bed and had every bit of a man touch and invade your body. Even before the emperor, you had lain with people in the past of your choosing…

But none of that amounted to the intimacy you felt in that cell as Lucius stood nearly chest-to-chest with you, hovering his ear over your mouth as you finally (finally) spoke your name aloud.

If the heat of his body lingering over yours did not set your entire being aflame, it was the breath he released once he said.

“It’s a kind name.”

It was all too much for you, so you pulled away from him, drying your eyes. “I…I will pray for your safety.”

He outheld his hand to you. “Strength and honor.”

A saying you had overheard people use as they entered the stadium. You shook his hand. “Strength and honor.”

You didn’t expect to be in the parade Caracalla raved about the day prior. Yet, there you were, draped in the finest and most colorful silks with jewelry in your hair. Inside your sleeve, you’d hidden the same kitchen knife you attempted to stab Lucius with.

You were sat beside Caracalla, who had Dundus upon his shoulder, and who had only grown more delusional since the day prior.

“Where is my brother?” He pulled on your sleeve like a child as you were escorted from the float and into the Colosseum.

A watery smiled pulled upon your lips, and you soothed him. “He feels most unwell today.”

“He should be here.” He sulked as you walked. “He would be happy for me.”

“And he is.” You lied. “You will see him again shortly.”

That managed to ease him, and you both were seated in the emperor’s box with Macrinus. It didn’t escape your vision how hundreds of Praetorians also circled the entire arena. As the time to the match grew closer, you did your best to calm your own nerves. This would be for the good of Rome. Once it was done, you would be able to rest easily again.

It was then you watched as, on one side of the Colosseum, a wagon was rolled out into the center of it. Tied to a pole, dressed up as if she were Venus herself, was Lucilla. All that attempt at soothing yourself was gone once you saw her eyes.

“Must we kill Lucilla?” Caracalla questioned.

You couldn’t even snidely repeat his question to Macrinus you were in such a state of anxiety. Macrinus responded.

“Until she is dead, you will never know peace.”

Thus, the event commenced. The announcer himself even sounded guilt-ridden as he spoke of the crimes Lucilla was being charged with. Treason, betrayal, all of it only anguished the spectators even more to see her being prepared for execution.

“Let it not be said that the Emperor is not merciful!” He yelled. “The queen will be granted a champion to defend her!”

Out from the other side of the arena came Lucius. Half of the Praetorians held their weapons to the man, while the other half faced the civilians as if expecting them to riot. Once again, at the sight of the scene before them, it would not surprise you.

You had been taught one a many myths by your father, mainly belonging to the Greeks. You were Cassandra; blessed by Apollo to speak of prophecies but cursed to not be believed.

When it seemed that hope was gone…Lucius rose his sword, and hundreds of gladiators sprinted from all sides.

The crowd and Caracalla were in an uproar at the excitement. Pandemonium ensued as the gladiators began to climb the barriers and civilians were attempting to enter the arena. The sound of arrows screaming entered your ears; so much so you could not hear what Macrinus was saying to another man, and why Caracalla was screaming.

You simply blinked, and once your eyes were open, you watched as Macrinus dove a needle into the side of Caracalla’s neck, killing him.

Only a gasp tore through your throat, having no ability to scream. Your body soon found reason to move, and you rose to your feet, remembering your duty. Macrinus had acquired a crossbow, aiming it towards Lucilla and Lucius now at the center of the arena.

You rose the knife from your sleeve, charging towards the man. The arrow was fired, and you leapt upon his shoulders.

He moved wildly, trying to force you off of him. You made attempt to slash his throat, but it made contact with his eye instead.

Still…he overpowered you. Flipping you over him, you dropped down into the arena, your head colliding with the ground.

The sky was orange above you when you opened your eyes. Your head had never felt so awful before, and you were surprised you could even sit up. All around you, bodies littered the Colosseum floor. If there was not blood laid before you, there were swords and shields.

Your eyes drifted to the center, and now sunken to the floor, was Lucilla on her wagon. You forced yourself to stand and walk towards her.

When you could see the arrow sticking in her chest, you began to run.

Climbing atop the wagon, you untied the ropes around her hurriedly.

“Mother,” you begged. “mother, can you hear me?”

“I am still here, sweet child.” She whispered weakly.

“Save your energy now.” You managed to free her, and then pulled her to your lap.

“I will be seeing my beloveds now.” She smiled.

“No,” you hissed. “you are going to live.”

She reassured. “It is alright. I have fulfilled everything that was asked of me, and what I wished for.”

“Mother-!”

“-You will look after him, won’t you?”

You wanted to cry; you wished that sadness was the first thing you felt. But no, it was anger. Still, you nodded. “I will, but you will be there to make sure he takes care of me too!”

“He shall.” Was all she said.

“You will live, just please stop talking.”

“I love you.”

“Lucilla…” Your voice broke.

“Tell Lucius I would do this all again for him.”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Lucilla rose her hand to your cheek, brushing it tenderly one last time.

Her eyes were held open as she went limp in your arms. You closed her eyelids, knowing her gaze would haunt you.

You did not move for the first hour, nor did you cry out in despair. It was when the sun was completely gone, and you tore yourself away from her corpse did you collapse into a fit of sobs.

The ugliest sounds were released from your mouth as you could barely stand. You do not know how long you cried, but when you could finally move again, you crawled to the nearest sword, and trailed it behind you before climbing back up onto the wagon.

You tied the rope from her body around her legs, and brought her back into your lap, sword in hand.

There was no rest for you that night. You would nearly drift off into sleep, but you couldn’t bring yourself to give in until you could bury her properly. You also couldn’t bring yourself to bury her at the same time.

When you had lost time altogether, and the sky was purple as twilight broke, a gentle hand shook you.

Raising the sword in surprise, you felt your body relax once you saw Lucius. You should have asked how he survived, what happened to Macrinus, anything else…but all you said was.

“I wouldn’t let anyone touch her.”

He nodded, tears threatening to fall as he gazed upon his dead mother. He took a deep breath. “May I take her?”

You handed her to him, and he took her into his arms. You scooted off the wagon, your eyes reddened and exhausted.

“Where,” you cleared your throat. “Where should she be buried?”

“I…” He heaved. “I know where my father’s grave is.”

“Okay.” Was all you managed.

And you walked by his side, neither of you knowing what your fate would befall in Rome.

Yet…once both slaves, you were now free.

[prael]

Rivalry

Kinktember Day 8: Hate Sex

(G)I-DLE Shuhua x male reader smut

words: 4,799 Kinktember Masterlist

School rivalries can get fierce, but none as fierce as this one.

It's been drilled in since the very first day, no matter what class you were in. From math tournaments to football games, these schools live and die by their standing. If one of them wins, the entire school wins. If they lose, then the school loses with them.

The fun in this rivalry has long since been drained from the system, replaced with spiteful desperation and a toxic desire. The sort of thing that has spilt well beyond the competition hall or the sports field, so much so that local authorities have had to step in for the safety and peace of mind of the students who might've gotten hurt in the chaos.

Needless to say, no individual is really to blame—or maybe all of them are.

You're coming off the back of a crushing victory at the start of this year's Summer Cup, bringing home an early advantage that, to you at least, has meant you could finally take a breath of fresh air, relax, and support your school the rest of the way. You had been chosen for the bits of media coverage (some of this actually makes national TV) such as the post-game interview spots, something not particularly fun, but something that gives you a chance to enjoy the win and rub it in the face of the rivals. Meaning that you were late to the ice bath and the shower and you're now walking through the corridor alone, while everyone is outside awaiting the next game.

Everyone except her.

There's a girl, wearing an outfit in the colours of your rival. Her yellow (really short) shorts, and white top, rolled up to just below her bust.

"You're in the wrong place," you call out as she walks closer, but she says nothing and gives a casual side-eye as she tries to walk on by. This pisses you off, so you move to block her. "I said you're in the wrong fucking place."

"Funny," she replies through that contemptuous smirk is there. She doesn't even try to mask it. "Since you're the one that's in my way. Get lost."

"See that?" You point to the wall, to the crest of your school. "This is our building. You aren't supposed to be here. What? Can't you read?"

The girl, having fully shifted her attention to you at this point, folds her arms beneath her chest. "Oh, grow up. It's an athletics competition. This is an athletics centre. You can take your tribalism elsewhere, bud."

The nickname and condescending tone, the absolute nonchalance that this girl seems to be able to project when speaking to you...it does something. It sends a twitch through your fists. "My tribalism? You're the one sporting your colours in our building."

The girl makes a brief, sarcastic sound. "I hate you all the same, but that doesn't mean you can deny me using the toilet in here. Move."

"Why don't you walk your pretentious arse back out the door where you came from, find the one next door and use it instead? Just seems like some foolish excuse to come in here and sabotage us, you people have a track record of this shit."

"Yeah, or," she responds, giving the most fake smile, before taking a step forward into your space. "Maybe I really need to use a toilet. Ever consider that, smart guy?"

This close, you can really take a good look at her. From her petite and lithe, athletic figure, to her soft skin, and messy ponytail. Her demeanour, too, along with her hazelnut eyes and pouting lips. It takes a moment, but soon, you recognise her. This is Shuhua. Maybe the most vocal of your rivals. Known for her antagonistic behaviour, her temper, her endless mocking and recently her frustration with always coming second.

"I know you."

"Congratu-fucking-lations, now step aside unless you want me to piss down your leg."

You grit your teeth at her crude words, "Toilet huh? Okay. Use it, but I'm escorting you there and then back out of the building. I don't trust you as far as I can throw you."

"I don't know, I'm a pretty skinny girl and you're a strong guy, maybe you could throw me pretty far..." Shuhua says as she steps past you. "You can wait by the door, fucking pervert."

You roll your eyes but don't dignify the insult with a response. Instead, you make sure to walk closely by her side and lead her to the ladies toilet. "You've got five minutes."

"Oh no. So scared," she drones before you swing the door open for her. She's about to step in when she stalls and glances up at you. "Sure you trust me? What if I... Oh, what if I leave the tap running and waste your water? How's that for sabotage?" Shuhua absolutely drenches her words in sarcasm.

You pull the door closed, forcing her to step inside without waiting for a reply. Once more, your fist twitches at the annoyance.

A couple of minutes pass before the door finally swings open and you watch as the girl saunters back out with a self-satisfied smirk. "There, that wasn't so hard, now was it? Want to come in and check the taps?"

That, funnily enough, does make you laugh, if a little humourlessly. "Don't you ever get sick of yourself? Actually, scratch that, that was stupid to ask, of course not," you mutter. "You know, I almost feel sorry for your school. Having to deal with you must be a real fucking burden. Hey, what's that they say, one bad apple and all that."

"Ugh, the fucking ego," Shuhua shakes her head as if she can't believe the nonsense. "You're even worse in person." She sighs and gestures in a bid for you to lead the way back towards the exit.

"Sounds like jealousy to me," you retort and start walking, and she follows behind. "Doesn't feel great, does it?"

You don't have to look, her exasperated scoff speaks volumes. "Wow. Is this really what your school thinks? Of course, it is, why would I ever have thought differently. You are all so fucking alike. All stuck in this same, boring headspace. And for the record, no, it isn't 'jealousy'. There is no jealousy here because I, unlike you, can pull my head out of my arse."

She's nothing if not stubborn, and while you know she's trying to get a rise out of you, you bite, "You're all the same at that fucking school, this is who they raised. Vocal, obnoxious, bitter. Too much time caring about how you look rather than results—"

A door slams behind you. You turn. The door to the locker room. Shuhua has disappeared.

You rush into the door, throwing it open. Empty, or so it seems, but she has to be in here somewhere. You walk down the left row of lockers, taking slow, quiet steps. Listening, hoping to hear the smallest bit of movement. The crunch of feet, a giggle, the slight jangle of coins.

Nothing.

You're approaching the end of the row of lockers and nothing so far. You get right up against the corner, readying to quickly round it when you think you hear a small breath from just the other side.

Three, two, one, and you launch yourself around the corner.

Shuhua is right there, waiting, she grabs you by the shoulders and pins you against the lockers with a crash, before smiling sweetly.

"What the fuck are you doing—"

You're immediately hushed by the feeling of something soft pressed against your lips, followed by the press of a hand against your groin and a thigh, nestled right between yours.

It takes a moment. You're not quite sure how to process this. It's instinct more than anything that makes your hands come to grasp and clutch Shuhua's ass firmly. She grins and lets out an approving hum, slipping her tongue in while squeezing harder against your groin and getting another equally pleasurable response of you tightening your grip on her.

There's a few moments of this, kissing, back against the lockers, Shuhua against your chest. Then, your tongue meets hers, and she lets a soft moan into your mouth. A moment of weakness that allows you to shove her backwards against the wall with a thump. It takes less than a moment and you're both back at it again, clawing away at each other. Your body presses her into the wall, lips parting before briefly, quickly reconnecting. Shuhua doesn't resist, and not long after, you've parted the kiss, she's moved her lips to your neck and you're running a hand down her thigh.

"What the fuck are you doing?" you growl into her ear as your fingertips approach the edge of those frustratingly short shorts. "Did your little brain figure out you can't win these events so you have to find other ways to know what winning feels like? If you can't beat them, fuck them?"

The girl pulls herself from your neck and takes a fist full of your hair. "You piece of shit," she seethes. "Like you aren't desperate for this pussy."

You aggressively push your hand up under her shorts and she squeaks as you clutch the flesh of her ass in a tight grip. You pull her and she raises a leg around you. "This pussy? You have got to be kidding me. Have you seen the cheerleaders at our school?"

She uses her legs to push you aside, forcing you to swap positions with her. She has you against the wall now, and her hand has dipped down the front of your shorts. She's grinning, groping you in a tight, frustratingly wonderful, fist. "Bunch of bimbos who fall to their knees as soon as you turn on the charm."

"I didn't even have to turn on the charm for you. What does that say about you?"

She takes a firmer grip on your length and a loud groan escapes from deep within you. Shuhua can't help herself, her lips quirking into that insufferable smirk, her eyes shining. "It says that you couldn't take your eyes off my ass the entire walk down that corridor, you fucking animal. You were practically salivating. Just like you're doing now."

She uses her free hand to swipe her thumb against the corner of your mouth.

"Pretty sure that's yours," you tell her before you slide your hands up her exposed sides and slip your fingers under her shirt, pulling it up and she quickly raises her free arm so you can slip it over it and over her head, leaving it around the arm still buried into your trousers.

There she is, bra and tits on show and being fucking annoyingly hot.

Even if she doesn't stop you from undressing her, she still berates you for it, "Look at you, can't wait to touch them, can you. Are you really that simple? See a pair of tits and you get hornier than a fucking dog in heat?"

"So says the girl who can't get her hand off my cock," you reply, hand slipping beneath her bra and your fingers closing around her nipple.

She raises an eyebrow and looks down at her chest, "Did I say you could touch me there?"

"So now we're talking consent, Miss 'Grab-cock-ask-questions-later'?" you snarl, fingers rolling the nipple in between them. "A bit late, don't you think?"

Shuhua's really stroking you now, even with limited space inside your shorts, she's able to use her thumb to circle around your sensitive tip with each jerk. "Yeah, well. I didn't sign up to get molested by a dickhead like you."

"Right back at you."

Shuhua laughs a little then cracks a wicked smile, one that is as seductive as it is contemptuous. The girl shrugs, reaches a hand behind her and unclasps her bra. She takes her hand out of your shorts and lets it fall off with her shirt. Bare little tits with stiff nipples stare at you—and you stare back. "Never seen a pair before? Or just not a pair on a girl as hot as me?"

"I've seen better."

"Yeah, sure you have sweetie." Shuhua tugs at the waist of your shorts and underwear until she pushes them down to your knees. "You know..." she starts as her gaze drops down to your aching shaft. "There's a rumour at our school that all the guys in your school are decidedly average down there, and are real bad at using them," she looks you in the eye with an eager smile, biting her lip.

"Want to know what they say about girls at your school?" You grab a hand full of her tit in a tight grasp and squeeze her flesh firmly, eliciting a sharp gasp. "They say all the girls are sluts but are fucking terrible at giving head. Funny, since all you seem to do is run your mouth." You push her back until it's your turn to have her pinned against the lockers. "Here, I'll show you how you can put that mouth to better use."

Pushing down on her shoulders, you guide her to her knees. "Hey, I never said that I—" You jerk your hips and you hit her on the cheek with your length. "The fuck?"

"You've been licking your lips since you pulled my shorts down. Stop pretending this isn't what you wanted." You rub yourself against her cheek.

"I should tear this ugly cock right off," Shuhua says as she wraps her fingers around the base of it. Then, before you have time to register it, her mouth is already on you, engulfing your head. The sudden wetness around your most delicate part, her tongue dancing along it, the suction her mouth produces; it's hard to comprehend all of it. What she says and what her mouth is doing contradict one another.

Then her head begins to bob, her lips firmly wrapped around your cock. As she sucks, she simultaneously strokes it, making sure no bit of you remains unserviced. It doesn't take long for her to build a tempo, and it doesn't take long for you to want more.

Your hand locks around her ponytail and she shivers when you pull at it. She glares at you but doesn't complain and continues working your length. Her mouth feels absolutely exquisite—warm, wet, and tight. With every stroke, the desire to be buried inside her gets stronger. You groan, moving her faster on your shaft.

"Rip it off, huh? Look at you sucking me off like the needy little whore you are. Just look at you."

Shuhua moans into you and she keeps on sucking. The vibrations the noise creates are an absolute pleasure. Your hips buck and the motion takes the girl by surprise, who immediately gags as you hit the back of her mouth. She immediately goes to draw back but the hand locked onto her ponytail refuses her release.

"Where the hell do you think you're going," you force your hips forward.

And you're off. You begin facefucking this annoying girl, who struggles and chokes every time you go balls-deep into her mouth. Still, not once does she try to push your hips, or her teeth to bite. Not once does her head make any gesture to signal that she actually wants you to stop, or even ease off. It seems she's determined to prove that she's not only better than all your cheerleaders, or your classmates, but she's also determined to prove that she's capable of taking everything you give, and all without needing to ask for respite.

"You're so much prettier when you aren't talking," you taunt her.

As a response, she stabs her nails into your ass. Hard. The pain makes you roar, both in surprise and anger. Shuhua simply responds by sucking you harder.

As fun as this is, the urge to ravage her more is still incredibly high, even if that means pulling out of the confines of the girl's sinful mouth. You give it a good couple of minutes before you finally relent and let her go. You pull your hips back and Shuhua instantly coughs, splutters and falls backwards onto her rear.

"The fuck do you think you're doing? I'm not done with that. Get it back here." She spits those words at you angrily, looking almost disgusted, with spit drooling down her chin and coating her lips.

You look at her, hunched over the floor, panting, in only her little yellow shorts. Looking more beautiful and desirable than you ever remember her doing on camera or out on the track. You fall on your knees in front of her and push your hand into her shorts, causing her breath to hitch and her pupils to dilate.

"Well aren't you eager?" she hums, letting out a husky purr as your fingertips tease the delicate lips of her entrance. "What's up, couldn't take any more of my mouth? We're you going to cum so quickly? I know you've never had anyone quite like me before."

"Not even close to cumming," you sneer. "In fact, let's get one thing clear. I don't have standards as low as the boys in your school, I don't just cum at the sight of some tits and the feel of your trashy mouth." Your finger slips past her lips and a surprised moan escapes her throat. "God you're fucking soaked."

"Trashy?" she scoffs and slowly rolls her body in response to your intruding digit. "Should have seen your face with my lips around you, you fucking adored it, dickhead. If you want disappointment, try being in my shoes. This pathetic excuse for fingering? It's like when I did it for the first time."

"Yeah?" You drive a second finger into her and curl your fingers as you begin to stand, forcing her to follow you to her feet. You push your body against hers, pinning her to the locker, squishing those tits against you.

She lets out a taunting, "Yeah" this time, huskily, while arching her back a little, raising those beautiful breasts. "And my first time was real bad. I couldn't even make myself cum. Maybe we do have something in common." While she's talking, you're using your other hand to free her shorts and panties from her hips, sliding them over that juicy ass that you press against the cold metal locker. "I doubt you have ever made a girl c—"

You move fast and hard. Your fingers curled into her cunt, palm pressed against her clit, thrusting into her, and your eyes fall right onto hers, piercing, right into her soul. Her eyes widen with shock and then quickly darken and roll back. Those sweet, vicious lips of hers open as her mind is stunned into silence and her face contorts in pleasure. "Cute," you smirk, speeding up.

"I—I'm fine. You—" You push your other hand against her neck and you lean right against her ear.

"Shut your pretty mouth," you growl, you thrust your fingers deeper. Shuhua can't control the shocks of her own pleasure as she grows limp, her eyes rolling back, her moans coming out uncontrollably and rapidly. Her pussy is quivering, pulsing, you can feel her orgasm growing inside.

You push closer and kiss her as the muscles in her lower belly spasm, and she trembles as her cunt clamps down on your fingers. Shuhua pulls and scrapes her fingers along your skin. "Fucking god, fuck," the girl tries to continue to speak, but she is in total ecstasy. You drink the words directly from her mouth.

When you pull away, her body falls away from the locker, but you hold her tightly and dip a hand right under the curve of her ass, keeping her standing. You smirk triumphantly. "Who can't make you cum, bitch?" you tease her.

"Fuck you," Shuhua mumbles into your ear.

"Oh, you will." You shuffle across the room, finding the nearest bench and falling back onto it, pulling Shuhua onto you. "This is all you're good for, I bet." You pull your shirt over your head and then Shuhua throws herself against your naked body. Her tits press against your bare chest, and your stiff cock is trapped between your stomachs.

"We'll see," she breathes, running a hand into your hair and yanking at the locks as she pulls herself upright.

Your lips meet hers, a passionate and desperate union as the need to be in her consumes your every fibre. Tongues dance and your hands explore one another's bodies. Groping, stroking, touching, squeezing, grinding. When the kiss ends, she leans her forehead against yours, her eyes lidded.

"I hate you," you growl into the space in front of her.

"You too," she says, hoisting her hips up over your cock. With a mischievous and playful look in her eye, she furrows her eyebrows. "But you won't when this is over. You're gonna fucking worship me."

Before you can think to retort, she sinks herself onto you and, after what feels like a torturously long series of minutes of teasing and waiting, your bodies finally unite. Her inner walls are unbelievably hot and wet, squeezing down around you as if desperate for you to remain buried within her. Shuhua makes no attempts to hide her expression, her head rolls back and her teeth press down on her lip to conceal an enchanting whine. Her breasts press firmly into your hands as you hastily reach to cup them.

It doesn't take long at all for the pair of you to adjust, and you begin to pump your hips beneath hers. She's fucking down onto you too and it's a mess, there's no rhythm, two different bodies fighting to control a single movement, all the while searching desperately for the best result. You're on different wavelengths, and it's glorious, the chaos is addictive. It's raw fucking, and it's fucking amazing.

As frustrating and confusing as it is, nothing in the world feels better right now. Your chest heaving with every desperate gasp as she grinds onto you and around you, her lust-filled gaze still struggling to fight away your shared frustrations, it's raw and incredible.

"Oh God, right there." Shuhua squeezes her eyes shut and buries her forehead into the crook of your neck, her body shuddering and tensing with every push you make into her. Her pace on you is irregular, sometimes slow, sometimes fast. But as her orgasm grows inside of her, she sinks harder and deeper down upon you, taking you as deep as she possibly can and as often as you will give it to her.

"Bad at using it, am I?" you jest with a strained voice, slapping her ass hard as the impact causes it to ripple. "So bad that you're cumming already?"

"Tch." She goes to speak, to say something witty and defiant, but the sensation hits and her eyelids flutter, she twitches and lets out a shuddering moan as another climax hits her, "Ah fuck. God." Her nails dig into the skin of your chest, hard, painful enough that you hiss. "I'm doing all the work here."

"As you should be. Getting the privilege to ride my cock, the least you could do is break a sweat," you tell her.

She opens her eyes to flash you a glare and she slams her body down on your hips a bit faster. "You just know— that you couldn't— fuck as good as me."

Shuhua rides you mercilessly, completely lost in her desire to get herself off again. You enjoy the way her tits bounce and the way you can freely land a series of spanks on her bouncing ass.

"Guess that makes me more of a winner than you'll ever be." She tries to bite her lip, to hide it, but the pleasure that shines through her features is impossible to miss. She cums again, harder, no doubt about it.

This time, when the climactic orgasm subsides, she fights against her exhaustion with ragged, heavy breaths. You can see her lips twitch. Words escape her, so instead, she focuses on attempting to ride your cock even more mercilessly, just like earlier.

"Looks like you're all spent," you continue and push a hand onto her hip, steadying her before shoving her aside and away, pulling out. Shuhua topples and stumbles onto the floor, with her hands on the bench, breathing heavily. She's bent over the bench and her back glistens with a thin layer of sweat, her ass up in the air. Her body trembles with anticipation.

You don't hesitate. Not for a single second.

Before Shuhua can so much as open her mouth, you're behind her, your hands on her hips, her skin slick.

"Here's your loser's prize," you tell her as you slide back home, back inside her, feeling yourself plunged so deeply. Her thick ass presses against your hips and you spread it to push in deeper. You take in the beautiful view of her well-toned, petite back. The outline of every muscle stretches and flexes as she claws desperately at the benches as her pleasure is recharged, and restored, as though the fire is reignited with your touch. She lets out a soft little hiss, the briefest hint of displeasure that's quickly overcome by her passion for the raw sensation of sex. She relishes your presence and your length, and as she relaxes once more, she allows herself to sink into the rhythm of the rut.

You fuck her, taking pleasure in the way her body pushes back against yours, your balls slapping against her, and the obscene wet noises as you take her from behind. It's a dizzying crescendo, a desire so great that it cannot possibly be contained. To both yourself and Shuhua, desire cannot be denied, for you to cum inside her.

All you have left now is to pound the life out of this smug bitch's tight cunt, one hard, sharp, aggressive thrust after the other.

"Finally—" You raise a hand and bring it down upon the cheek of her arse. Hard, harsh, jiggling. The skin flushes and burns an angry red. She squeals in delight, she arches her body up as she takes the rough fucking. "Finally something useful has come out of your fucking school. One good pussy, just for me." Another slap. Another cry.

"Making me cum, is all you're good for. Just a cock," she spits back as her body shakes and bucks back onto your hardness, "One good fuck, just for me."

Shuhua straight-up shrieks when you wrap a fist up in her ponytail and yank her backwards, arching her spine. She cums again like this, and the hot rush of pleasure sends you spiralling off the edge yourself. It is utterly satisfying, the burning in your loins, and the immense pleasure that follows as your dick unloads in powerful spurt after powerful spurt. All of the tension evaporates, and all the negativity flows away as you find absolute pleasure. Shuhua takes what you give to her and it's absolute bliss.

For the longest moment, there's nothing but moans and grunts as you cum together before you let her collapse against the bench and you fall over her. Shuhua heaves beneath you, your warm fluids slowly leaking out around your exhausted cock. You suck in deep, gulping lungfuls of air as you grind out the final dying sparks of a well and truly mind-numbing orgasm.

"Still feel the same way about me now?" you groan. Your cock slips out, followed by a mixture of your combined orgasmic release.

Her head lifts. Hazel eyes focus and then fixate on yours. She almost manages to mask the grin, but she can't help it. Shuhua bites her bottom lip and glances at the space where, moments ago, your body had been conjoined.

"I still hate you. Don't think this means I'm suddenly a fangirl."

"Of course not, it's in your DNA to hate me. Just like how the sight of you still makes me sick." You place a kiss against the top of her spine and savour the brief hum of approval she gives.

"Uh-huh." Shuhua laughs. "Shame you couldn't last a little longer... I was just about to let you fuck my virgin ass." She lays her forehead against the cool wood of the bench, and you rest your head between her shoulder blades. "I guess my pussy is just too much for you."

"Or maybe," you hiss into her ear. "Maybe I'm saving that for the next time I catch your obnoxious ass around here."

"You think there will be a next time?"

"I know there will."

[entitled-fangirl]

Game of Thrones Masterlist

Back to Main Masterlist

Cregan Stark

#drew drools over cregan stark

Cregan Stark masterlist.

Robb Stark

A change of sigil.

Jace Velaryon

#drew drools over jace velaryon

I won’t burn you. SMUT

I can't promise that.

Unknown.

Staying warm. SMUT

Aemond Targaryen

I hate you.

The middle of war. Part 2

Thunder.

Reading late.

Chance. Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

The crown.

Gwayne Hightower

Lady Hightower.

Cheeky. SMUT

Never happier.

A good father.

Foolish.

Sweet nephew.

Benjicot Blackwood

Devotion.

Violence through his veins.

Aegon Targaryen II

A ratcatcher's wife.

Rumors and the bastards of one Aegon Targaryen II.

Alicent Hightower

#drew drools over alicent hightower

Choose a side.

[cattordi]

a/n hi i have explanation as to why i was gone for so long please don’t sue me. i wrote this after watching saltburn and watching 2037633 felix edits. but i honestly forgot how to write so im getting back into it. don’t judge :P

summary it’s 2006 and you’re an american who recently decided to study overseas in england at oxford and there’s one person who just won’t leave you alone

pairings felix catton x american!reader

warnings smut, orgasm control, begging, foul language, creampie/breeding, overstimulation, slight choking, oral sex, not proofread, smoking cigarettes(not reader), unprotected sex, fluff, angst, name calling, daddy kink, praise, 18+ MINORS DNI

chips or crisps?

“can i just get a vodka martini?” you ask the bartender. he nods and quickly scurries off to make your drink.

england is not what you expect it to me. it’s nice. nicer than america in your opinion but the people were something.

one person you just couldn’t shake stood in all his glory across the pub. “he’s gorgeous right?” a redheaded girl says as she walks from his direction towards you.

“uh no not really” you lie. no one in their right mind could think that felix catton was unattractive. he’s 6’5, has a gorgeous smile, and a very very hot body. the only thing about him that bothered you was how he teased you. m

you didn’t know if it was because you liked him or what. “no one thinks felix is unattractive. felix doesn’t even think felix is unattractive.” the redhead continues saying.

“um do i know you?” you ask as the bartender slides your drink across the bar and you had him 4 pounds. “oou an american. i’m annabel” she says.

“hm.” you say and turn to look in felix’s direction again. hes now looking over at the bar where you and annabel are. first hes staring at annabel and then his eyes wander over to you; catching your gaze. you quickly look away not wanting to hold eye contact but for some reason your eyes wander right back to him.

he’s now smiling at you goofily because you got caught staring.

you roll your eyes and turn back facing the bar. annabel walks away after getting her drinks and now you’re officially by yourself again.

just the way you liked it.

you finish off your drink and quickly get a new one.

times passes and more people start filing into the pub; which calls for more drinks. “chips or crisps?” you hear next to you and you already know who it is.

“what do you want felix?” you groan and throw your head back.

the way your mouth is open and your neck is exposed makes felix feel a way inside. “is it chips or crisps?”

“felix i swear-“ you begin but he cuts you off. “you swear what love?” he begins and you finally look at him, “you’re you’re slap me? you’ve done that before.”

“what is your fascination with me?” you snap and he looks so amused.

“that,” he says a points at me, “what you just did is my fascination with you love.” furrowing your eyebrows he continues, “the way i get you all riled up without even touching you.” he says and his mouth is next to your ear at the point.

the smell of bourbon wraps around your head and into your nose. “you’re drunk.” you say and he chuckles.

“i’m not. lighten up y/n, you know i like teasing you.”

you can’t really tell if he’s lying so you just stop talking hoping he goes away after he gets his drinks.

newsflash: he doesn’t.

“y/n?” he says.

“what could you want now felix?”

“talk to me, love.”

“don’t call me that.. and no.”

“you just spoke to me.”

you don’t speak this time and he chuckles, “this little game we’re playing,” he begins and gestures between the two of you,” is lovely.” his accent warms you inside.

“i’m leaving.” you groan and push off your chair. you quickly gather your purse and coat before walking out; all while not even glancing at felix.

the cold england air hits you like a truck as you step outside. “it’s awfully cold.” felix says.

you jump at the unexpected sound of his voice. “felix what the hell are you doing?”

“don’t be foolish y/n. it’s 10 at night. i’m walking you back to your dorm.”

“i don’t need you to walk me back.” you say and he shrugs, “i didn’t ask you that did i?”

“whatever.” you begin walking and you can hear felix walking behind you.

after about 5 minutes of walking he finally speaks, “so y/n why don’t you like me?”

you ignore him but he won’t take that for an answer, “y/n answer the bloody question.”

you still don’t answer.

“for fucks sake,m y/n.” he says and he sounds upset. “whatever.” is all you hear before a hand wraps around your wrist pulling you between a small alley.

“felix let go.” you groan in annoyance that he won’t just leave you alone. but behind your little act, you want him to bother you; in more ways than others.

“stop acting like i don’t exist.” he begins as he gets close to your ear, “stop acting like i don’t have an effect on you.”

“you don’t.” you whisper and that pisses him off more.

“y/n,” he scoffs and you feel yourself beginning to get wet,”you act the way you do because you know, everything i do makes you feel good.”

if only he knew how true that statement was.

you shake your head, looking up at him. “listen, im not like every other girl who bows down to you. you can’t think i’m just gonna give out.”

“and why wouldn’t you love? i see the effect i have on you. i try to be so nice to you love.. and you push me away.” he begins as his hand slides into your mini skirt. “i bet you’re soaking for me.”

you refuse to make eye contact so you look down at his chest. “look at me love.” you shake your head now causing him to grab you by your jaw. “i said look at me.”

you whimper quietly at the feeling of his hand now touching the wet spot of your panties. felix’s eyes soften at your sound, “do i make you this wet love?”

after a few seconds, you finally give into all the feelings. so you nod your head but this doesn’t satisfy him, “words.”

“yes.”

“good girl. now,” he begins before pulling his hands out of your panties; causing you to whimper again at the lost of touch, “let’s go to my dorm. i’m not taking you in a bloody alley, darling.”

with that, he grabs your hand and begins walking quickly in the direction of the dorms. you can’t help but notice how big his hand is compared to yours.. and how long his legs are. one of his steps is 3 of yours.

after another 30 seconds of walking he stops. “you walk awfully slow love.”

“well sorry i’m not-“ you begin but yelp as your feet leave the ground and felix throws you over his shoulder. “felix put me down!” you groan.

“darling we are like 3 minutes away. just let me carry you.” he says and smacks your butt. the stinging feeling after keeps you quiet.

those three minutes pass so quickly you don’t even realize he’s walked the stair of his dorm and is now unlocking the door.

slowly, felix sets you down and points to the bed. “take your skirt off.”

you hum in response before pulling your skirt down. he’s watching you intently with his arms crossed. his button up shirt is unbuttoned halfway down; revealing his sculpted chest.

“now your,” he begins and points at your panties. as you slide them off the moon shines on your glistening folds and a low groan comes out of him.

as you discard of you panties, felix walks over and stands between your legs. “look at me.” you do as he says, “is this what you want?”

felix begins squatting down slowly. “do you want to be mine y/n?” he ask when he’s parellel with your pussy. his hot breath sends shivers up your spine. “hm y/n? answer me love.”

his hands wrap around your thighs. “yes felix.. that’s what i want.” you moan out as he begins kissing your inner thigh.

“well before we start.. call me daddy.” he lips your pussy in between words, “and you only cum when i say so. understood?”

you whimper lightly, “yes daddy.”

you’d never called a guy daddy before but it got you off more than you expected.

“well then,” with that felix’s mouth attacks your folds and clit causing your back to arch in pleasure.

your hands find his hair as he continues licking up and down your slit; ever so often he’ll hum and the feeling it gives almost pushes you over the edge.

“can i cum please daddy?” you ask and he hums something that sounds like a no. “please, please i want to cum.”

the begging and humming goes on for another minute or so until felix stops. “what happened?” you ask breathlessly.

“you tasted delicious darling, but i don’t want you to cum until i’m in you.”

he quickly pecks you on the lips before rolling you onto your stomach. you can’t see what he’s doing but his shadow cast on the wall as he stands.

you hear his belt being undone and soon his hand cupping your ass. “god, you’re perfect darling” he groans as his hand slides down; his accent is music to your ears.

“thank you..” you moan as he moves his dick between your wet folds. “thank you what?”

his hand wraps around your throat, “say it y/n.” the way your name rolls off his lips makes you feel so good. “thank you daddy.”

“good girl.” with that he slides in. you couldn’t see how big it was but you could definitely feel it. you moan in pleasurable pain as he stretches you.

doggystyle wasn’t always your first choice of positions because after a lot bit it was too much. every thrust would hit your cervix and begin hurting but with felix: it felt good.

“so- damned- tight.” he says and thrust harder in between words. you dig your face into the comforter moaning.

his hand snakes around your body to the front and begins rubbing your clit in small agonizingly pleasing circles. “felix-“

a sharp smack hits your ass, “that’s not my name y/n.”his hips continue to smack into you as he fucks you senselessly. “what’s my name?”

“fuck i need to cum.” you moan and he smacks your ass again, before grabbing you by the neck and pulling you up towards his chest continuing to fuck you. the new position caused him to hit your g spot in more ways than before. “what’s my name?” he ask through gritted teeth.

you’d never felt this kind of pleasure with anyone before. “can i please cum, daddy?”

“that’s what i like to hear.. but no.” his hand continues massage your swollen bud as he breathes heavily on your neck; fucking you maliciously. “god, do you feel god. all wet for me.. letting me fuck you to no avail like daddys slut.”

“please can i come daddy? please.. you feel so good.” you moan,

he pushes you back onto the bed, holding your by the neck; keeping you in place. “please daddy can i cum?” the feeling of release deepens so much and you can’t take it.

“i can’t take it.” you say through pleasured cries. the way he rubs your clit and hits your g spot repeatedly overstimulates you.

“yes you can and you will y/n.” he begins, “you’re mine now. all mine. no one could fuck you like i do. don’t you agree?”

you nod while whimpering out hushed “yes daddy”’s

“good. do you want to cum?”

“yes, yes please.”

“beg. and make sure it’s loud. i want everyone in this dorm to hear how much of a slut you are for my cock.”

“please daddy. please can i come? i want to make you feel good.” you plead and you have to admit: you can be louder.

“that’s not loud enough darling.” he says and stops rubbing your clit. the lost of friction causes you to whimper. “louder.”

“please daddy. i need to come. please, i can’t take it anymore.” you grab the sheets of his bed and grip them tight as an anchor as he fucks you.

“louder y/n, you’re almost there.” he groans. you can tell he’s getting close as well. his grip on your hips has tightened and you can feel his shaft pulsing slightly against your walls.

his fingers touch your clit again and you moan loudly, “oh my gosh, can i please cum daddy? you feel so good in me. i want to cum all on your dick.”

this time you’re so loud he’s even threatened to cover your mouth. “cum love. milk my cock like i know you’ve wanted too since we met”

at the sound of his permission, you release your orgasm. white flashes take over your vision as you release what felix has took his time to build up.

he continues to fuck you through your orgasm causing more pleasure. moaning loudly, you arch your back towards him. “holy hell, you’re so tight around me.”

he groans and pushes your hips into the bed. his thrust begin to slow and become sputtered movements. “you were made for me y/n.. so perfect.” he groans as releases hot white spurts that coat your walls.

the way he talks to you turns you on even more as you come down from your high. he continues to fuck you slowly as his cum drips out of you and onto your clit.

“fuck y/n..” he moans softly as he pulls out slowly. you continue laying down trying to catch your breath as he stands.

you hear things being more behind you but you’re too weak to turn your head and look. after a few seconds, you feel felix straddling you. “roll over.”

you do as he says to reveal he’s holding a cloth. “open your legs for me..”

slowly, you open your legs to reveal your swollen sex. “you did so good love.”

felix squats lowly and begins wiping you up. “thank you.”

smiling at you he continues,”but you know.. you never answered my question.”

“hm?”

“chips or crisps?”

[yuujispinkhair]

I WANNA BE YOUR ENDGAME – Chapter 13

🏒❤️ A Hockey Romance feat. modern!Sukuna

Pairing: HockeyPlayer!Sukuna x Reader (female) Genre: College AU, Hockey AU, fluff + smut Playlist: I wanna be your Endgame Word Count: 4.5k Warnings: 18+, smut, cigarettes, alcohol. Fuckbuddies to lovers. Reader is a creative writing student. Sukuna is an ice hockey player + history student. This story will have approximately 16 chapters. Minors don't interact. Header by me. Divider @/benkeibear

MASTERLIST

When your boyfriend is an ice hockey player, finding time for a date can be tough. Sure, you and Sukuna always spend lunch breaks together, meet in the library, or tumble into bed together in between practice or assignments. But planning something that goes beyond those everyday things is quite the challenge.

Sukuna's days are filled with a busy schedule. Hockey training, team meetings, morning runs, daily gym sessions, and seemingly endless hours of watching and analyzing his opponents' games. Sukuna doesn't just give 100% but 200%. It's a trait you find incredibly hot, but it also makes it hard to find time for a date.

Sukuna says he would skip practice for you. But you don't want that. It would make you feel guilty. You know how important hockey is to him, and you love how invested he is. But you certainly can't say no when he stands in front of you with his sexy, boyish grin and tells you,

"If you don't want me to skip practice for a date, then join me at the gym or on my morning runs."

So yes, you blame Sukuna's charming personality and your own foolishness for getting yourself into this situation: jogging down the dark road long before the rest of the campus comes alive, panting loudly and coughing as you run as fast as you can, in your desperate attempt of trying to keep up with your super athletic boyfriend, who jogs several meters before you at a, for his standards, very leisurely pace.

You know he is holding back for you. It makes your own poor attempt even more pathetic. Sukuna doesn't even break a sweat. When he turns to smirk at you, he looks perfect, as always, winking at you and making flirty teasing comments as if he is chilling on the couch with you and not jogging across the campus at an ungodly hour in the morning.

Sukuna looks mouth-watering. As if he is grinning at you from the cover of a Men's Health magazine. Sleeveless black compression shirt and red shorts that give you the best view of Sukuna's firm ass and those tantalizing thigh tattoos that still make you lose your mind every time you see them. His buff muscles flex attractively with every move. His lopsided boyish grin only adds to his overall handsome features. Sukuna looks sexy as hell.

Something you don't think can be said about you at this moment. You were skeptical from the moment Sukuna suggested joining him on his morning runs so you could spend more time together. You are fully aware of how unathletic you are and how super athletic Sukuna is. But it touches you that he asked you to join him, obviously wanting to spend more time with you. And so you agreed.

But right now, you regret saying yes. It's six in the morning, you have had no breakfast yet, and you feel nauseous from all the physical activity. You are panting and sweating heavily, but no matter how fast you run, you can't keep up with your hockey boyfriend.

Sukuna looks over his broad shoulder as he slows down even more, a playful smirk on his face, as he calls out to you,

"Come on, princess, catch me!"

"I.. ah...ah, I can't..."

Sukuna just laughs and turns around fully, running backwards now so he can look at you. You feel embarrassment creeping over you, knowing full well that you must look like a mess. Sweating and out of breath. Completely at your limit.

"Don't look at me, Kuna!"

But your boyfriend just smirks even broader, his maroon eyes filled with amusement, as he teases you,

"Why? I thought you like to get my attention?"

But the teasing playfulness vanishes from his face a second later when you suddenly stumble over your own feet, overcome by a sudden wave of dizziness and nausea. You gasp loudly, but before you can fall, Sukuna is already in front of you. Catching you once again before you hit the ground.

"Careful, princess. Are you okay?"

His strong arms hold you up, his low voice that was so teasing a second ago now filled with genuine worry.

You hum weakly, seeing black spots dancing before your eyes as you practically slump into Sukuna's muscular arms, unable to stay upright by yourself.

"I... hate... running. Especially in the mornings. I don't think my blood circulation is made for this."

You turn your head, burying your face in Sukuna's broad chest, clinging tightly to him, hiding your face in his chest. You feel his strong arms tightening reassuringly around you, and you slump bonelessly against his tall, firm body.

Sukuna laughs softly, a low rumbling in his chest that you don't just hear but also feel against your cheek,

"Why didn't you tell me you don't like morning runs? I would have never asked you to join me if I knew."

"Because I thought it was really sweet of you to ask. And I wanted to spend more time with you."

Sukuna laughs again, hugging you even tighter to him as he rests his chin on your head.

"Yeah, well, I only want to take you on dates you actually can enjoy. Not ones that make you pass out."

You shake your head, laughing into Sukuna's chest,

"I guess this date failed. Sorry!"

"Don't be sorry, sweetheart. I will find a better idea. Hey, if I let go of you for a second, can you stand, or will you fall over?"

You lift your head, looking up at Sukuna's tattooed face, nodding slowly as you loosen your tight grip on his tanktop,

"Yeah... I can stand."

Sukuna watches you for a long moment as if he needs to make sure, but then he carefully takes a step back, slowly letting go of you. But only to turn around and bend down and point a long tattooed finger at his muscular back.

"Come on, princess, hop on. I'll carry you."

You don't even try to turn down his offer. You are too exhausted and too wobbly on your legs to even think about walking home by yourself. And, after all, Sukuna is strong.

You climb onto his broad back, grateful for his strong, large hands that wrap around your calves, helping you and giving you a feeling of safety as Sukuna straightens up to his proud 6'3" height.

You let out a relieved breath as he starts walking, carrying you piggyback seemingly without any problems. You slump against Sukuna's muscular back, hugging him tightly and wrapping your legs around him, feeling like some koala with the way you cling to him.

"Thank you, baby."

Sukuna snorts, followed by a low chuckle,

"You're welcome, princess. Just don't puke over my hair!"

You groan loudly, but it turns into a laugh when you reach out to ruffle Sukuna's pink hair playfully,

"Wouldn't that be a cute date?"

Sukuna carries you all the way back to his dorm and into his apartment, past his brother, who stands in the kitchen and grins at the two of you as he lifts a coffee mug in greeting.

"Interesting new morning workout, bro."

"Shut up, brat. The real workout will happen in the shower, so you better fuck off and give us some privacy."

Making you hide your face in Sukuna's broad back while the twins bicker with each other about their sex lives or lack of.

Sukuna really carries you into the bathroom and slams the door shut behind you, finally letting you carefully slide off his back. Only to corner you against the door with a flirty smirk on his handsome face and his large tattooed hands pulling your t-shirt up.

"I wasn't joking, you know. Be my workout partner in the shower."

His lips find yours, kissing you heatedly while you both tear at each other's workout clothes. And only a short moment later, you get swooped up again and carried into the shower, where Sukuna has you pushed up against the shower wall in no time at all, swallowing your moans with his lips while he fucks you with fast, deep thrusts.

Twenty minutes later, you stand next to Sukuna in front of the bathroom mirror, applying your skincare while stealing slightly flustered glances at your boyfriend, who just fucked your brains out even after carrying you across campus.

Sukuna doesn't look flustered at all but instead grins at you when he catches you staring in the mirror,

"I guess I made up for our failed morning-run-date, huh?"

You splutter helplessly, but Sukuna's grin just turns bigger. He grabs his cherry-scented hair gel, applying it meticulously, while he tells you in a much more serious voice,

"I promise you, I will take you on the best date, princess."

But before the two of you find time for a date, Saturday rolls around, which means ice hockey. The Tigers play at home, and so you and Nobara stroll to the arena to watch Sukuna's game. Of course, Nobara complains on the whole way, but you just grin to yourself, knowing that she would never let you down and will always drag her pretty ass off the couch to keep you company at your boyfriend's games.

She is in the middle of a rant about how stupid she finds hockey players when you receive a text message from one of said players. A smile spreads over your face as you read it. You jerk your chin towards Nobara and stop her monologue by telling her,

"Sukuna arranged for us to have special seats."

Nobara's eyes widen, and she lunges towards you, grabbing your hand to yank your phone towards her before you can stop her. Her eyebrows shoot to the sky as she reads Sukuna's message with the casual "Love you, baby" and your reply, which is equally lovey-dovey.

"The two of you are so disgustingly cute. It makes me want to puke!"

You huff, feeling your face get hot even as you start to argue with her, but Nobara shuts you down by laughing and linking her arm with yours, pulling you along into the already super crowded arena. She grins at you, yelling over the loud noises in the arena,

"At least your Kirby boy got us better seats! I hope we also get free drinks and snacks!"

"I don't think that's how it works, Nobara!"

But you can't stop smiling broadly as you make your way through the crowd. The new seats are really amazing. They are probably the best in the whole arena, with a perfect view of the rink and the snack stand only a few rows away.

The players enter the ice a few minutes later, and you feel the familiar adrenaline fill your veins. You have come to absolutely love the atmosphere in the hockey arena. The excitement, the loud cheers, the sound of the metal blades on the ice, and the hockey sticks meeting each other.

Sukuna enters the ice, and your eyes are instantly glued to him. His helmet is casually tugged under one arm as he lifts his head proudly. He looks so hot. Tall and broad with that sexy conviction written all over his tattooed face. Everyone can see how intent on winning he is. Ambitious and confident.

The whole arena chants his name, but his gaze immediately strays to you. A lazy, sexy smirk spreads over Sukuna's tattooed face as he lifts a large hand in greeting.

You draw in a sharp breath, Sukuna's intense, deep gaze hitting you so hard somehow, making everything even more real at that moment. This is Sukuna's first game, that you watch since the two of you became a couple. This sexy guy on the ice isn't just your fuckbuddy anymore, not just the hot hockey player who somehow decided you are his lucky charm. Sukuna is your boyfriend!

A stupid smile lifts your lips. You feel light-headed all of a sudden as Sukuna's smirk softens into a smile, too. He winks at you, making a kissy face in your direction, completely unashamed about this very public display of affection.

A happy giggle escapes your broadly smiling lips as you beam at Sukuna. You mouth the words "Good luck!" and Sukuna smiles broadly at you, mouthing something back while pointing at you, and you think it means, "I will score a goal for you, baby."

You blow him a kiss, hearing Nobara next to you make a retching noise.

But you don't care about the groaning coming from Nobara as you sit down on your seat again, getting ready to watch your boyfriend's ice hockey game.

Sukuna is marvelous as always, leaving you starstruck with his fast and brutal play style. He's skating across the rink at neck-break speed, skilled and confident, like the King that he is. Yuuji and Todo are on his left and right, body-checking their opponents to keep them away from Sukuna. And Sukuna takes on the rest of the players who dare get in his way, slamming them into the boards or onto the ice with his full body weight, not letting anyone or anything stop him on his way to the goal.

When Sukuna scores the first time, the puck hits the net so hard it almost seems to tear, and the whole arena is on their feet, screaming and cheering, celebrating their star player. Sukuna pushes one hand in the air in a victorious gesture, his brother jumping onto his back, yanking Sukuna's helmet off to ruffle his pink hair, making Sukuna laugh, looking so genuinely happy that it makes your heart thump wildly.

You are in the stands clapping and cheering, smiling from ear to ear, when Sukuna's maroon gaze finds you, and he grins proudly at you. He says something again, and this time, you can read it unmistakenly off his lips,

"For you."

It sends the butterflies in your stomach fluttering crazily, and you laugh and lift your hands in a big heart, laughing even louder when Nobara elbows you,

"Oh, stop it! You are so embarrassing! I swear he looks so fucking stupid like that! And now you also join in. I cannot do this! I will get a sugar shock from all the disgusting sweetness!"

But you keep laughing and feel your heart race when Sukuna grins and winks at you, making another kissy face in your direction. He doesn't mind that the whole hockey arena sees what he is doing. Everyone can know that you are his, and he is yours. And you know 100% that anyone who dares make a rude comment about Sukuna being so soft for his girl will receive a brutal body check that sends them facefirst onto the ice or into the boards.

It's a thought that makes you smile even more broadly. You are Sukuna's official girlfriend. His number-one fan. His lucky charm. His girl.

You get your cute date a week later. The perfect date.

Sukuna sends you a text message while you are in class on Monday morning, casually informing you about his plans.

Sukuna 🏒👑❤️: Make sure to be free this Friday at 8 pm, princess. I'm taking you on a date. And I promise it doesn't involve running this time ;)

You: Where are we going?

Sukuna 🏒👑❤️: It's a surprise. But wear your best dress.

When you ask Sukuna later on about the location, he just smirks smugly at you and ruffles your hair, making you squeal and pat this hand away while he says,

"Don't even bother, baby. My lips are sealed. You'll find out on Friday."

So, on Friday evening, you pace up and down the living area of your apartment impatiently, wearing your best dress after spending an hour on your makeup, which Nobara even helped you with.

Sukuna's taking you to a restaurant, you are pretty sure about that. But you are low-key worried that you will be overdressed with the pastel pink cocktail dress with the chiffon sleeves and the glittery flowers sewn on the waistline. It's a dress you bought a few years ago for a wedding party.

But then Sukuna knocks on your door, and you yank it open impatiently, only to gasp when you see him. You were definitely right to wear your most fancy dress. Because your boyfriend is also dressed to the nines. And he looks hellishly attractive!

Sukuna is wearing a black suit that sits snugly on his tall and muscular body, accentuating his athletic figure perfectly. Combined with a dark red dress shirt that brings out his maroon eyes, a black tie, and some really nice black shoes. In his hands is a huge bouquet of red, pastel pink, and white roses that he pushes into your arms as he leans down to kiss your cheek.

You automatically take the flowers but are too busy staring at Sukuna. He looks so handsome that you can't stop yourself from letting your gaze slowly travel over his body. When you finally reach his tattooed face, you are greeted by Sukuna's broad grin.

"Like what you see, princess?"

"Yeah, you look really good, baby."

He grins broadly at you, raising an eyebrow cockingly as he shrugs,

"I always do."

"Oh, Kuna!"

You roll your eyes, smacking his broad shoulders playfully, and groan dramatically, which turns into a happy chuckle when you feel Sukuna sneak his strong arms around your waist and pull you to him.

You wrap one hand around Sukuna's tie to lightly tug on it as you get on your tiptoes to kiss him. You can feel his lips lift in a smile when he kisses you back, slow and teasingly, licking into your mouth in a way that makes you a bit dizzy.

But Sukuna pulls away again after a moment, only his large hand stays on the small of your back, caressing you lightly. His low voice is a velvety murmur,

"You look absolutely beautiful, princess. Clearly stealing the spotlight from me, and that is not something I say lightly."

He winks at you, making you burst out laughing happily as you finally take time to look at the flowers in your hand, bringing them to your nose to inhale their scent.

"The flowers are so pretty. Thank you so much!"

And as smug as Sukuna usually acts, you see his face turn into an almost flustered expression. To your surprise, your bad boy makes a gesture that you only knew from his twin brother so far. He averts his gaze, lifts his large hand, and scratches his neck, staring at a space slightly left to your face while he informs you,

"I wasn't satisfied with the bouquets that woman at the flower shop showed me, so I had her make one exactly how I wanted it for you. Pink is you, and red is me... and the white is for my Tigers hoodie that I wore when you slammed into me at our first meeting."

You are sure your heart just melted into a puddle. A little squeaky noise escapes your lips as you lunge at Sukuna, wrapping your arms around him and hugging him tightly. And he chuckles and asks,

"What?"

"Oh, nothing... I just think you are the best."

And you know he can feel your smile against his chest just like you can feel his smile when he leans down to breathe a kiss on your forehead.

"Did you win the lottery?"

You look incredulously at Sukuna as you stand in front of the fanciest restaurant in the whole region. Sukuna just grins at you, lifting one eyebrow playfully,

"Only the best is good enough for my girl."

"But..."

"Shhh. This is a special occasion, so let me spend a little money. I swear it's okay. I know someone who works here. He used to play hockey with me, and he gives me a discount."

You are sure that even with a discount, the meal is still too expensive for a college student, but you don't say it and instead just smile at Sukuna and thank him as you bump into his side.

The guy at the reception desk waves over a waiter, who leads you to your table for two. You feel your pulse race as you walk on Sukuna's arm, feeling as if you got teleported into a romance novel where the main character gets introduced to the fancy life at some Mafia prince's side or something.

The thought makes you laugh softly under your breath, and Sukuna only adds to that little fantasy, acting like a true gentleman. He pulls out your chair, helps you sit down, and then holds your hand atop the table, occasionally bringing it to his lips and kissing your fingers, giving you crazy butterflies with everything he does.

The food is incredible, and Sukuna is a charming conversation partner, who is funny and smart, just like you know him from your lunch breaks in the dining hall. But tonight feels different. Special. Almost magical. Both of you are dressed in your fanciest clothes, sitting in this exclusive restaurant, surrounded by an elegant and luxurious atmosphere, while your table is filled with the fanciest meal you have ever seen.

Sukuna really went all out. He truly meant it when he promised to take you on the best date.

The four-course meal he booked is delicious, and the wine that goes with it tastes amazing, even though you doubt you have the exquisite taste buds for actually being able to tell which wine is good and which isn't. You eat the delicious food, drink your wine, and toast to your newly updated relationship status, joking around and flirting playfully the whole time.

By the time your dessert arrives, you feel completely happy and satisfied, exhilarated by the luxurious meal and Sukuna's company. The waiter places a huge plate with various desserts in front of each of you, making you go, "Ooooh!" which brings a super pleased grin to Sukuna's face.

You both dig into your desserts, but you realize that Sukuna doesn't touch one of the variations at all. The one which you like the most. A knowing smile plays around his lips when he scoops some of it onto his spoon and offers it to you wordlessly.

You smile at Sukuna, whispering a thank you when he brings the spoon to your lips, and feeds you your favorite dessert. It's cute, loving, and even sexy, given how sensual the act of it is. Your heart beats even faster, making you feel so light-headed and happy that you can't stop smiling.

Sukuna looks happy, too, and it makes your heart flutter. He must have really wanted to excel at this whole date thing and make this evening special. Because you are special to him.

You watch him eat, soon finding out which dessert is his fave, and safe it up for him, too, which leads to both of you playfully reaching across the table to feed each other the other's favorite dessert, laughing and joking around until both of your plates are empty.

Sukuna's large hand wraps lightly around your wrist, holding it as he lets you feed him the last spoon of the cherry chocolate pudding he liked the most. A small grin plays around his lips as he takes the spoon carefully into his mouth, and his maroon eyes look deeply into yours.

It makes you flustered somehow, feeling like a teenager on her first date, and you giggle nervously as you feel your face get hot. But you don't look away, too transfixed by how good Sukuna looks and by the warmth in his eyes when he looks at you.

"This is the best date I've ever had, Kuna."

His smirk is smug as hell when he replies with a,

"That was my goal."

At the same moment as you add,

"But you really didn't have to spend so much money on me! I would have also been happy with eating your home-cooked dinner."

Sukuna laughs softly, that low rumble that makes the hairs on your arms stand up and makes that delicious tingling feeling flow through your veins. His maroon eyes gaze deeply into yours, so serious despite his cocky attitude,

"This is our first real date, princess. I want it to be one you will never forget. Not my everyday cooking in my kitchen, not a stupid hockey party or a mediocre restaurant that you can just visit every day. I want it to be special."

You are sure Sukuna can see the little hearts in your eyes because that's how you feel. Overflowing with affection and love. No one ever put that much effort into being with you.

Just when you are about to get too emotional, Sukuna adds with a little smirk,

"And I definitely had to find something better than a morning run that almost made you puke."

You look into his eyes for a long moment, trying to control yourself, but you can't hold back and snort loudly, bursting out with laughter. Too loud for this solemn atmosphere. You press a hand over your mouth, but you can't stop, tears welling up in your eyes from how hard you are laughing. And Sukuna joins in, laughing the kind of laugh that he only allows you and his twin to see.

It earns the two of you some scandalized stares. The tables around you seem to be so calm and collected, so professional and restrained even at a private dinner, and your loud laughter is so completely opposite to that and carries through the whole room, making everyone look at you. But it makes you laugh even more, unable to stop, while you still look at Sukuna.

The guy at the table next to yours clears his throat loudly, catching Sukuna's attention, who cocks his head at the man while raising an eyebrow slowly,

"What? Are you allergic to fun?"

The man and his wife both inhale sharply, eyes widening, both opening their mouths but then closing them again without saying anything after taking a good look at Sukuna's tattooed face. And you hide your face in your hands as more loud laughter bubbles out of your mouth.

You feel exhilarated when you walk to Sukuna's car, a bubbly feeling in your chest and a smile on your face even as the chilly nightair hits your naked shoulders and makes you shiver. But Sukuna is perceptive as always, immediately taking off his suit jacket to drape it over your shoulders before he wraps his arm around you and pulls you against his side to keep you warm.

You are sure anyone who walks past you can see how smitten you are. It's a wonderful feeling, the kind that makes you smile nonstop. Even more so when you reach Sukuna's car, and he holds open the door for you and closes it carefully behind you before he jogs casually around the car and gets into the driver seat with a dazzling smile on his tattooed face.

The drive back to campus takes about an hour. You spend most of it in comfortable silence and the occasional laugh when you remember the way the other guests reacted to your laughing fit. Sukuna lights a cigarette, smiling as he takes a deep drag and slowly exhales the smoke. He quickly turns up the heat, making sure you stay warm despite the open car window.

And you sigh happily as you snuggle into Sukuna's jacket and lean back in the comfy leather seat, reaching out to put one hand on Sukuna's muscular thigh, where it stays the whole drive home.

Sukuna parks in front of your dorm and walks you to your door, still the perfect gentleman. But before you can remark on it, he kisses you. A sweet, deep French kiss, where both of his tattooed hands cup your cheeks, and he tilts your head back to kiss you even deeper.

You feel weak in the knees, grateful for Sukuna's tall, strong body to lean against, sighing softly into the kiss, wishing it will never end.

When Sukuna pulls away, you reach out immediately and grab his tie, smiling at him as you let your gaze trail over him again. He really looks fine as hell. You tug on his tie, pulling him closer again, and tilt your head to grin up at him,

"Hey, where do you think you're going? Stay the night, baby. I want this date to last the whole rest of the day."

And Sukuna's eyes twinkle playfully as he grabs your chin and slowly leans down,

"I'm going nowhere. As long as you'll have me, I will always stay the night, princess."

SIGHHHHHHH 💗💗 That date with him would make me melt, too. I hope you enjoyed it!! The thought of Sukuna dressing super nice in a suit and tie is always very delicious to me.

Thank you so much for reading and for all the love! I hope you liked the new chapter. Comments and reblogs would be very sweet 💗

In Chapter 14, we will see our dear dormmate Nobara maybe becoming a bit softer for our hockey boyfie lol + Reader taking care of a pissed-off Sukuna, who lost a game ;) He needs us so bad 😘

[reverieblondie]

Book Club

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ Minors do not interact! explicit smut, Porn with plot! Oral (fem receiving), P in V unprotected sex (please wrap before you tap people), dirty talk, reader is loud and Bucky loves it.

Summary: Working at a library and at times be boring... but what happens when one of your regulars wants to make a book club? Just you and him?

A/N: Self indulgence like always! Please let me know what you think! Never have written for Bucky but he's slowly consumed mt soul and I got this silly idea on a whim so I hope you all enjoy! If you like How I wrote for him send me an ask, request are open always!

Word Count: 5,723

‘The feeling of the cold metal is at first such a shock to her skin; it makes her whole body snap… and her thighs spread wider with need. He’s sliding his armored hand up so slowly… his ardent eyes drinking her in, relishing in all her sounds.

His princess, his lady he swore to always keep safe from anything, the one he promised to keep pure… now gasps and pleads for him to grace her with his touch. 

Their game of stares and honeyed teasing finally had a result; they both lost… 

She dragged him from the party, desperate for fresh air from the stuffy ballroom, but he knew the truth. She did it for him and his hate of crowds. Nothing ever gets past the princess he’s learned… but now, as she is so sweetly moaning and bucking your hips further, he’s learning more than he ever dreamed he could. 

He brings his lips to her ear, kissing lightly before he whispers gruffly, “Shh Princess,  we wouldn’t want anyone to catch you out here… with your skirts bundled up on your hips. With your knight’s hand in your cunt… They might get the wrong impression of you, my lady.”  

She rolls her eyes as she squeezes his shoulders, her frustrations building. “Stop teasing, and please just touch me!” 

He smirks as he brings his metal-covered finger to tease her clit, beaming as a moan rips from her throat as she-’ 

Ahem…

Entirely lost in the book’s text, you hardly notice the tall figure in front of your desk. It isn’t until a gruff clearing of their throat that it knocks you from your book, meeting your eyes to the piercing blue ones of Bucky Barnes. Who stands so patiently with his book in hand, waiting for you to do your job at the library instead of wasting time.

Fumbling with your bookmark, you hastily place it inside before awkwardly slamming your book down. “I am so sorry, Bucky. I was just…” Your cheeks burn with embarrassment, and you can’t help but feel a bit foolish in front of him. 

“Getting lost in the story? I understand a good book can take you away from the present. No need to apologize.” He kindly offers you the right words with a smile that always makes you want to swoon.

“Exactly,” you say with a sigh of relief, taking the book from his hands. Feeling the slight warmth from his fingers as his skin brushes long yours. Such a contrast to the usually frigid library… you bet his whole body is perfectly toasty to curl up with. 

You must force yourself to stop your obvious gawking to look at the book he’s checking out. When you see the familiar front, you can’t help but giggle. “Checking out the Hobbit again?” 

Bucky shrugs, keeping his smile as he looks at the book in your hands. “It’s my favorite, plus it helps comfort me.” 

You bite your tongue, suddenly feeling like a complete idiot. Of course, he checks this book repeatedly; it’s like a memory of his former life… everyone knows what he’s been through, and now you’re teasing him like a jerk… 

The start of an apology is on the tip of your tongue, but Bucky cuts you off before you can say anything, “I am starting to remember all the lines, though, and will need to start reading something else. Do you have any recommendations? Like what are you currently reading?” 

He looks at the book you placed on the side, eyeing the title Iron Promises. “Sounds like a fantasy, which is right up my alley. What’s it about?” he asks, his curiosity piqued. 

Bucky reaches over and opens the book right on the bookmark, but you’re quick to slap it closed and drag it back to your TBR stack, “Wait! Um… I don’t think it’s… your kind of book…” 

“Why?” he asks, his brows furrowing, showing you that cute crease on his forehead. You fidget with it momentarily, feeling the awkwardness of the situation, trying your best to avoid his icy blue eyes. 

“Well, it is a fantasy but also a romance…” 

He tilts his head, “What’s wrong with romance? I can read a little romance.” 

Internally, you grimace, More like a lot of heavy smut…

Bucky leans casually on the counter, his vibranium arm taking the weight as he gets closer. “Plus, it will be fun to read something together that we can talk about maybe… kind of like a book club… if you’re interested…” 

The last part comes out a bit unsure, timid of possible rejection. You feel your cheeks blooming with a blush. A book club with James Bucky Barnes? This was something you could never even dream of. 

You have been working at the library for a while now, and having the former Winter Soldier check out books was certainly a surprise. However, as time passed and he continued to visit, it became less shocking. In fact, you both began to form what felt like the beginning of a friendship as you talked more.

Over time, you discovered some fascinating aspects about him. He’s strict about returning books on time, surprisingly quite friendly once he’s opened up and got to know someone, revealing a sweet playful side to himself. And to your delight, he’s a secret nerd, which explains his desire to start a book club in the first place, though his reading choices differ from yours...

“A book club sounds fun… but please, not this one. I’m already almost done with it anyway. Maybe it should be something we both haven’t read.”  You propose with a shaky smile, hoping he agrees. 

He tilts his head in compilation until he’s eyeing past your shoulder. You blush despite knowing exactly what he’s doing… It’s the stack of your TBR right next to the computer. He browses through the stack, reading their spines until he finally points his finger, “How about that one?”

Clashing silver,  Oh no….

Bucky asks if he can see it, and you bergrugently take it from the stack and place it in his hand. Thankfully, the cover of this book isn’t like some of the others with shirtless men holding women in a sensual embrace… but you know… you know that on the inside of the fantasy is spice that you’re not sure you’re ready for Bucky to know you’re into. Is he making fun of you? Or is this some weird game that will suddenly blow up in your face when he laughs at you? 

Bucky looks over the cover and reads through the summary before finally looking up with one of his rare grins, “This is perfect. Do we have any extra copies? We could get started tonight.” -he’s completely earnest in wanting to do this. It’s terrifying and yet so endearing… if he wants to read a dirty fantasy smut book with you… who are you to deny him? 

A few types on the computer show that you currently have one copy available, of course… 

You see that Bucky is looking up at you expectantly; you will never know how a man you know can be completely deadly and look so adorable with his smirk and clear blue eyes. Sliding the Hobbit over, you sigh, “The last copy is in the fantasy selection; put this one back and go grab it.” 

With a grin and a newfound pep in his step, Bucky takes the book, going to put it back and get the one for your book club. This may be the death of you… reading smut with the winter soldier, you couldn’t even fathom this shit. 

It's been surprisingly really fun and going shockingly really well. 

You two decided to have your first weekly meet-up at the library, somewhere you both knew well and could be comfortable with. To say you were nervous to talk to him about this romantic fantasy, this romantisy was an understatement. You figured if he said he hated it, the book club would dissolve, and you two would return to sharing smiles and small talk as he checked out his next selections. Sure, that thought made your gut twist into a bitter knot, but what was the alternative? You two hit it off … continue your little club with more books and conversions till you finally have two glasses of wine and slip how you think he is the most beautiful man you ever saw? 

Okay… maybe not that…

Especially not now when you two are going up to the elevator in your apartment. How did this happen? Ah, yes, you two were getting stares in the library, so he suggested somewhere more private, and you just had to offer up your apartment. 

"Meet me at the library, we can walk to my place!" - ugh, great thinking… 

You're trying hard not to stare at Bucky's reflection in the silver walls while also trying to avoid the eyes of Mrs. Green… You attempted to warmly greet your elderly neighbor… but she just stared at you two with her usual annoyed grimace. This, of course, started a staring war between her and Bucky… Honestly, you're not sure who's going to fold first. Bucky, of course, had that hardened military edge, but Mrs. Green? That's one stubborn granny… it seems to last forever till the set of cold, wrinkly eyes finally slide over to you. 

"Guest of yours?" she drawls dully. 

"Um, yes! This is James Barnes. He's my-" 

Mrs. Green taps her cane, making you stop talking, "Fine, fine, just make sure you two keep it down… I don't want to hear your sinning." 

Your jaw drops, and Bucky seems to crack a smile. "W-what, it's not like that!" 

Before you can explain, the elevator stops, sliding open and letting Mrs. Green waddle away to her apartment while you and Bucky follow suit to your place directly next to hers. God, you hope Bucky isn't too embarrassed. You're sure he's probably mortified. 

Shyly looking over as you're shutting the door, you think he will be glaring, but suddenly, he's letting out a loud chuckle. Then, you are both bursting into hysterical laughter. 

Three loud bangs knock on your door, and you two have taken a minute to silence yourself.

"She's… fun," Bucky finally mutters, making you almost snort. 

"You should try living next to her. It's a dream." 

"I bet.." he says slowly as he looks around the small living room. Taking the chance while he's looking around, you dart off to your room to grab your book and notes. You're trying to get back to him quickly, but not before sliding over to your mirror and fixing your hair; you're tempted to put on some lip gloss… but maybe that's too much. 

A quick flip through your book reminds you of where your book left off. Ah, right, the fight scene that ended with the main two characters kissing… this will be great…

“He feels his blood still rushing through his veins, the sweat drenching his skin in a desperate attempt to cool himself from the carnage. Screams and the crashing of metal continue to ring in his ears till he turns and looks at her. No longer does he hear all those voices. He just hears his heartbeat… it’s not a want; it’s a need as he walks over to her, scooping her in his arms and kissing those full lips that have always been so taunting.” 

You feel a shiver once Bucky gets through the last lines of the chapter. Hearing him read it makes it seem less cheesy. Though you still can’t get one question out of your mind…

“I wonder if it’s like that…” 

He stops looking from the book’s text to meet your gaze, “what?” 

As soon as the words slip from your lips, you regret not being more careful with your words. Bucky is the last person you should be asking about this topic. The public only knows fragments of his past, but even those snippets reveal that deeper issues are haunting him that you can only imagine. Bucky shifts on the couch, adjusting his posture from sitting wide-legged to leaning his elbows on his knees, almost hunching over.

Great, you made him uncomfortable; please, world, swallow you up and save Bucky from your obnoxiousness. 

“Everything feels… distorted; it’s a surge of many things all at once. You have to try to bring your focus back… but that blood-pounding rush lingers, making you exhausted but still ready to jump at a moment’s notice.” Bucky shifts his gaze awkwardly, fidgeting with his hands. “At least that’s how I felt…” 

You swallow, shocked he’s being so open… 

“So the kissing part is unrealistic?” 

You’re thankful that gets a laugh from Bucky, “Well, I’ve never kissed anyone right after a fight… but I can imagine if my blood was rushing hot enough, and the right girl was nearby… I would get carried away.” 

Dammit… Why is that hot? 

“Well, if you ever do it. Let me know?” 

“Don’t worry, you will be the first to know…” Bucky replies so simply… but you can’t help how it makes your whole body feel suddenly hot. 

It’s quiet for a beat before he’s readjusting to lean back, trying to look comfortable. “Okay, your turn; read your favorite part.” 

You’re not sure if you should curse the universe... or be extremely grateful, but either way, it does not change the fact that Bucky is stowing away at your apartment to do some silent reading. A week before you two were supposed to meet at Bucky’s place for book club, loud construction started happening near his building, and he just couldn’t concentrate because of the noise. So, considering you’re his book club buddy, he asked if he could come by to catch up on some reading.

Of course, you said yes, then frantically started cleaning and prepping like you would for

a book club meeting. You’re excited but also extremely nervous!

The apartment is silent, aside from the sounds of soft breathing and the slow turns of the book’s pages. The calmness is comfortable; you were worried that the time would have been filled with awkward rambling ... but it’s not; you two had fallen into a quiet routine. It makes sense that you get more comfortable when two people spend time around each other. However ..... When you peek over to look at him taking up So much space on your sofa .... You feel sparks of electricity pop through your veins. His eyes locked to the text, his brows slightly furrowed in concentration. His scruffed jaw in a lock and his full lips completely perfect.

It’s not until you see his tongue slightly lick his bottom lip that you break from your trace and realize you’re not even reading. You just staring at Bucky. Silently, you curse yourself for your shamelessness, but that only causes Bucky to quickly look up and meet your eyes. Oh, so suddenly you dart your face back to your book and try to hide that you were, in fact, leering. Of course ... it was in no way sublet, but Bucky is too much of a gentleman to say anything about it.

With the crisis averted you try to take in the book, even flipping the pages to reread a bit to familiarize yourself with what’s happening in the story. Blah, Blah, Blah, they are alone in the library together… finally starting to pay attention ... But unfortunately, old habits die hard, and before you can stop, you’re peeking for a glance again.

Creepy? Maybe, but it’s been a while since you spent time with someone silently like this. Plus, Bucky is beautiful, and getting to watch his little tics from how he lightly flicks the colored tabs with his thumb, and when he’s really entranced in the text, he slightly leans into the book, almost like he needs to read closer to really catch everything. Then suddenly… Bucky’s expression changes. You watch his eyes widen in surprise, and he sits back up fully straight. Of course, curious, you quickly scan some pages before finding the source of his surprise.

“And what do you think you’re doing on your knees, princess...” He grits through his teeth, watching as her dress billowed all around her and her hands slowly traced up his linen trousers. Inching towards where his cock is starting to strain the cloth.

“Trying to show my devotion to my knight...” She says innocently while pulling the ties.

Before she is done, he steadies his breath and comes back to reality, “You shouldn’t waste such sweetness on a man like me. I will ruin you.”

Considering his words, she pauses momentarily before looking back into his blue eyes, so dark in the library’s candlelight. It all becomes clear for her once more: her desire, her love for him.

“Then ruin me and forever mark me as yours…” From the look in her eyes, he knows She’s not. wavering

A good man would halt this and deny her... but he’s weak... and his love for her outweighs his rationality. He pulls the ties of his pants before gently he roughly grabs her and pushes…

- Oh my god!

Okay... it’s not like you haven’t read Smut in front of people before... but this is your crush... reading the same thing…

Embarrassed, you look up from the text, shutting the book only to be met with his eyes. You two stay locked for a moment, trying to ignore how both of your faces are starting to flush. Bucky’s eyes roam down to where you’re currently clenching your thighs. His light eyes suddenly get darker, and on the inside, you’re begging for him to spread you apart. But in your sudden nervous panic, you chuckle instead. Bucky matches your nervous chuckle with his own, though his is undoubtedly smoother. “These books love to just get to the point, huh? It and these situations... the p-positions, definitely unbelievable.” 

You try to laugh off the whole thing, but to your surprise, Bucky doesn’t laugh. He shrugs while fidgeting with his book.” Not that unbelievable... I could easily lift you to my shoulders and not even waste a breath.”

Suddenly, the whole room feels like it’s shifted to its side. Was that a proposition? Maybe it’s just a statement? He is built, so he could lift you with one arm while the other rips.... - No! No! 

Unsure where to take the conversation, you say the only thing that can come to your mind. “I’m going to drink water.”- Smooth...

Mentally slapping yourself, you walk to the kitchen and down some cold water before scrounging for something stronger. Maybe he was starting a discussion? But, of course, you ruin it by going into horny territory.

What if that’s the point, though... You freeze, feeling your heart rushing all over again...

Ahem...

You don’t even need to look up to see that it’s Bucky, standing in the kitchen doorway with a guilty look, “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable... I didn’t realize how it sounded like a... proposition till it was out of my mouth, and I saw the look on your face. I mean... not that I wouldn’t... Want to, to um... show you.” Bucky hesitates again, “Wait, that’s not - well, do think you’re…”  

It’s perplexing... a deadly super soldier., stumbling over his words like he’s nervous...  You continue to watch him stumble, weighing your options..... Maybe putting everything out there will go well, or it will blow up in your face and ruin everything…

Letting your feet take over, you walk over to Bucky; as soon as you step forward, he’s putting his ice-blue eyes on you. He almost speaks again but gently places your hand on his broad chest before he can. Under your fingertips, you feel his heart racing despite his calm exterior. Bucky places his hand over yours, waiting till you’re ready to speak. He would probably stand her all night if he had to. But no, your mind’s made up, and the feeling of his warm skin on yours only cements it for you.

“I want you to show me... everything.”

It’s all Bucky needed to hear before gently touching your cheek and trailing his fingers down your jaw. His concentration flicked from your eyes to your lips as he slowly leaned in. Finally, his full lips met yours as he brushed a gentle kiss on yours. Then he kissed you repeatedly, letting his hand slide into your hair as the kiss grew more starved.

You wrapped your hands over his neck, standing on your tiptoes to tangle your fingers through his dark hair. Without hesitation, Bucky leaned down, grabbing the back of your thighs to lift you closer. With you wrapped around his waist, he seeks more of your taste as he traces the softness of your lips with his tongue, begging for entry. Parting your mouth, you feel his tongue slide along yours in a perfect slowness that only adds to the heat between your legs.

It was sweet and desperate and only made him even more drunk with want. Bucky blindly walked with his lips locked, wandering to find your bedroom. He bumped and crashed into everything till, finally, you broke the kiss with a desperate panting.

“Hallway, left door...” 

“Right, right…” he says through lidded eyes before kissing and licking against your mouth once more. 

The super speed must be one of his other abilities because before you knew it, you were in your bedroom, pushed against your wall as his tongue traced down the column of your throat. And his hands slide down from your waist to tease the hem of your shirt up. You run your fingers through his hair as he sucks along your collarbone, leaving his marks, waiting to finally feel his hands on your skin.

He’s so close. He wants to lift your shirt but hesitates. “Bucky, please, take it off... touch me…

Bucky feels weak from your desperate pleading. Wants to touch you, feel you, head into the crock of your neck, further getting fuck you. He rests his drunk on you. As you’re about to plead again, suddenly you’re lifted forward, and your shirt is ripped from your skin; your bra, bottoms, and panties couldn’t be saved, however, as he tears them off you.

With your clothes discarded, Bucky paints, staring down at your naked body reverently before hosting you up to kiss your soft breast and run his hot tongue over your nipples. Both his hands help pin you to the wall of the bedroom. The contrast of their touch is intoxicating. His warm flesh hand cupping and pinching your breast for his mouth to lick. While the cold of his metal arm keeps your legs spread, inching further to your aching core, making you moan in the excitement of that erotic pleasure of filling you with his cold fingers.

Your moaning is debauched and needy; you’re quick to cover your mouth to silence yourself, but Bucky needs to hear you. Bucky moves your hand from your lips, “No, I need to hear you screaming for me. Come on, Don’t hold back...

For added measure, his metal fingers finally brush through your pussy, dragging your slick all over your sex. It’s so cold it makes your nipples harden, and a shivering moan rip from your throat. He looks into your lidded eyes, memorizing every noise you make as he teases your quivering slit with his two fingers, Then harshly pinches your clit, making you jerk your hips. 

 “Never Imagined you would be so sensitive like this...” He rubs rough circles over your cunt, making you slam your head back against the wall as your grinding hips beg for more. “You like it there?” He says roughly into your ear before pinching your swollen pearl once more.

“Yes! Fuck yes! please, Bucky…”

He pulls his hand away from your sticky cunt, you whine from the loss of being so close, but your complaint dies in your throat as he licks his metal fingers shining from your arousal. “Ready, princess?” 

You nod completely at his mercy. Bucky quickly lifts you further up the wall, putting your legs over his shoulders as his face noses into your puffy cunt. He really can do any position with you. Bucky’s nose rubs your clit, making your legs clamp, then his tongue licks a slow strip over your wet folds, making you say his name... 

The sound of his name leaving your lips has him losing himself to taste more. Moving his tongue into your drooling cunt, trying to drink in every drop in and out, making your whole body ignite with a fever as your breaths come out in long surrendering moans. Lost in the passion, you grind your hips against his sinful tongue, losing your mind as he groans in approval.

 You’re close to your peak, ready to let it snap and crash over you till loud slamming starts knocking against your wall... You feel Bucky growl, and you’re scared he’s going to stop... but instead, he moves his mouth to suck and nip at your clit, making you keen louder as he slams his fist against the wall back in what you’re considering a warning... 

Sorry, Mrs. and Mr. Green... you will send over cookies… or not… You can’t care right now as the coil in your stomach tightens till a snap is felt in your veins, and an electric rush is aching through your whole body. Legs shaking, your body loses control as you cum all over Bucky’s eager tongue. Bucky lets you ride out your high over his tongue till it’s approaching overstimulation. He pulls away from you, his chin soaked, and as he lowers you down gently to your unsteady feet, you still see that hunger in his eyes, which still remains.

He whips his mouth before licking the remnants away from his hand, “Which position next?” 

He asks with a smirk, and you feel another surge of heat burst through you to your “M-might be boring... but the bed?”  

Bucky looks from you to your metal framed bed and chuckles, “Just don’t be mad if I  break it...” - Wait. What?

You can’t ask for clarification on that last statement because Bucky is already turning you to the queen-sized bed with a quick tap to your ass. “Lay down and touch yourself for me...”

His honeyed voice instantly makes you feel needy as you fumble into the mattress, spreading your legs wide and slowly rubbing your clit as you watch Bucky strip. His skin is beautiful, scars and all... Immaculate is the best way you can describe him from his bulging muscles, chiseled abdomen... and his cock straining, already glistening at the tip. The noise that leaves your lips is involuntary and makes Bucky smile shyly as he removes his underwear. Bucky strides closer, keeping his eyes on your dripping cunt, “Oh, I love the sounds. Please keep them coming.”

He crawls over your body, completely overwhelming you with the heat, sight, and smell of him. Everything was now James Bucky Barnes, and it made you spread your legs wider for more. Bucky leans down, brushing your lips with his in a filthy kiss, “Tell me you want it, come on, Sweetheart... Please, I need to hear that sweet voice beg for me, for my cock…”

You feel yourself grinding on nothing just from the sound of his sweet desperation, “Bucky, please ... I need you... need you to fill me up…”

Bucky catches your hips in a bruising grip lifting them, forcing your back to arch as he lines up his thick length, “So good to me...” he says, almost in a daze, before his rubbing the tip of his cock up and down your slick before pushing into your tight cunt.

As Bucky's cock finally stretches you open, you wrap your arms tightly around his neck as the intense stretch makes you gasp in sweet agony. It's music to Bucky's ears as he takes his time pushing down each inch to the base, filling you completely. Your cunt clenches on his length, allowing you to feel every burning curve and vein as they rub your raw insides down to your cervix. The drooling tip of his cock licking against that tender spot inside you, forcing your toes to curl.

His thrust starts out as slow and soft before his breathing starts to pick up, and he slams his hips into you faster and faster. Your bed begins to squeak with a whine, but he keeps his pace steady and desperate for the sounds of your high-pitched moans as he moves in and out of your snug cunt.

Every thrust is hot and tingling as he alternates from fast and rough with his hand on your throat to soft, slow rolls of his hips hitting deep as he kisses you gently. It's all building to that familiar tensing you felt when he had you against the wall. Bucky starts to pick up his pace, holding your hip with one hand as the other grabs the metal frame, banging against the wall.

Your eyes roll from him being so deep, managing to open your eyes for a moment. You see Bucky flushed, with his eyes locked on yours, while he holds in his primal groans with each clench of your wet cunt. The sight makes you gasp, holding him tighter and bringing your legs to wrap around his waist. You move your hips in time with his thrust till your core starts to burn, and his groans form into delish moans that only strengthen your resolve to fuck against him faster.

Bucky's cock throbs as he kisses along your skin, his breath hot and frantic as it blows over your sweating skin. With a final thrust, you feel the white-hot wave of pleasure flood over you in an instant, It not only burns through your body but your mind as well till it is clouded in an orgasmic haze. Bucky shudders at the feeling of you cumming against his cock, with a moan that sounds almost like a whimper, his hips still, the throbbing more frantic like a heartbeat as you feel your cunt filled with thick squirts of cum. Looking up at him, so lost in his pleasure, he looks so soft, his eyes doe-like and lidded as his full lips are parted to allow him to gasp for short, stabilizing breaths. It's beautiful to see him this way.

You two stay still as you come down from your highs; Bucky slowly pulls out and lays his fevered body beside yours. He may not be in a full sweat... but there's definitely a sheen of it glazing his skin, and you feel pretty accomplished for wearing him down... even if it's only a little.

 Bucky takes his time clearing the two of you up and getting you water. As he walks in with water for you, you notice he's brought in the book and the colorful tabs you lent him. He settles beside you, getting underneath the sheets and pulling you closer before opening the book where he left off; Bucky starts to read like you two didn't just have mind-blowing sex.

You keep watching him till he drifts his eyes from the pages to your face, "Yes?"

 "You're really going to read right now? That's fine, but I'm surprised you're not exhausted."

Bucky laughs, "Well, I don't want to be behind for our next meeting. Plus, this way, I can tab some more positions for us to try."

[uchispeach]

Killer

Dark! Bully! Rafe Cameron x Fem! Reader

Warnings: NON CON, SMUT, rough sex, manhandling & degradation, choking, breeding kink, bullying, violent & abusive behavior, Mean! Rafe, Bully! Rafe…

A/N: Sorry for disappearing, I’ve just had a shit ton of family problems. I hope I can update a bit faster from now on! ALSO lmk if you want this to become a series! 💕

A laugh, dripping with mockery, echoed through the vast room, sparking a ripple of chuckles and whispered insults from the nearby group of boys.

Rafe Cameron’s body stretched lazily in the chair, making it seem almost comically small under his heavy frame. Even with his limbs sprawled out in complete relaxation, the outline of his hard muscles pressed against his shirt, as if daring to break free at any moment. You couldn't deny he looked attractive, exuding an undeniable magnetism in that confident, almost predatory pose, his new buzz cut only amplifying the arrogance that oozed from him. But that ugly, smug smirk? It made your bones ache and your throat dry up in ways you couldn’t explain.

His eyes, the color of storm clouds, lingered on yours with a deliberate intensity, delighting in your discomfort, relishing in every flinch and subtle shift of your gaze. You turned away, hoping your disinterest would bore him eventually, but you knew it wouldn’t.

No matter how hard you focused on the lecture, his presence was like an intrusive, constant drill on your brain—his burning gaze a distraction that gnawed at your senses. How naive had you been to think he'd ever leave you alone? Every time you raised your hand in class, you could count on him to whisper some stupid joke under his breath. How foolish had you been to think he would ever stop tormenting you? This sick dynamic between you two had been a game since childhood, and if anything, he seemed to thrive on it.

His once-small fingers had grown long and strong -now covered in silver rings. Those same digits that used to tangle on your hair and pull from it until your scalp burned in pain. His legs were now far longer, but they had always been longer than yours, outpacing you as they chased you through the school halls in all infant and adolescent years, always with the aim of making you stumble and fall to your knees. But his mouth had never changed. It had only sharpened, evolving into something far more dangerous.

You’d convinced yourself you were above all of it. Charleston had felt like a fresh start, and you’d thought the Pogue curse might finally be something you could outrun. But when Rafe Cameron showed up once more, everything you’d built: your confidence, your peace of mind—began to crumble, piece by piece, until there was nothing left but the raw, unresolved tension between you.

You were studying to be a teacher, the first in your family to receive a scholarship that promised a brighter future. Your days were filled with lesson plans, textbooks, and the weight of academic expectation. Every second of your time was accounted for as you worked tirelessly to carve out a new path for yourself, one that didn't involve being brought back to the past or the memories of him. You didn’t have time for distractions, certainly not for him. But here he was, always lurking just at the edges of your life, a dark cloud you couldn’t escape.

Rafe was studying for an MBA, the complete opposite of you, and yet fate had forced you into a shared class. You would’ve done anything to avoid him, but trapped in between those fours walls, mere meters away from him - it just seemed impossible.

And there he was, at your left, staring with a look of sick pleasure every time he found you trying to focus. His presence was suffocating, like the air itself became dense with his attention. His words, the snide remarks whispered under his breath, were like a weight on your chest, making every breath harder to take.

He harassed you constantly in that class—every. single. time. Without fail. No matter how much you tried to bury yourself in your notes, no matter how hard you tried to ignore his mocking chuckles, his eyes always found you, always zeroed in on your every move. He’d challenge you with pointless questions, make stupid comments about your work, his voice dripping with condescension. But it didn’t stop there. His reach extended beyond the classroom, following you into the hallways, his tall frame casting a shadow that would make your stomach turn. He would appear out of nowhere, as though drawn to you by some sick fixation, and make his presence known with a smirk or a taunt, forcing you to look up from your books, to meet those stormy eyes full of wickedness.

He would ‘accidentally’ bump into you, making your school supplies fall over. He licked his lower lip when you bent over to pick the mess up. His front would get dangerously close to your back in any queue, sometimes getting bold enough to grind slightly against you. He would move you around like a rag doll, always putting his huge palm on your ass to push you to the side. Still, there was nothing as uncomfortable as having his dirty eyes scanning you from head to toe at any given time - he licked his lower lip in amusement, making your cheeks grow hotter.

You’d always hoped, prayed, that once the class ended, he’d disappear—vanish into his own world and leave you to yours. But you were wrong. Every time the teacher dismissed you, and you gathered your things to leave, he’d be right there, waiting. It was like clockwork. His long, strong fingers would slide into the pockets of navy trousers, the scent of his manly cologne wafting over you in an intoxicating way. His gaze would follow you as you tried to make a clumsy exit, his footsteps closing the distance between you with every passing second. You hated that you could never outrun him. Hated how he always found a way to corner you.

And just as you thought you might make it out of the door, safe, free—he’d appear at the threshold, standing in your way with that damn smirk of his, a look that seemed to promise nothing but trouble.

“Leaving so soon?” His voice would slither through the air like poison.

Your heart would pound in your chest, but you’d force your eyes to look anywhere but at him, hoping and praying, that maybe, just maybe, today would be the day he’d leave you alone. But you knew better. You always knew better.

And now, you could feel it again; the familiar pressure of his presence, creeping closer, dark and inevitable.

“What’s that I’ve heard?” He scratched his head while pressing his brows together, pretending to be deep in thought. “…Oh, right” Now, enlightened; he stepped forward. Your almost wobbly legs did their best on distancing themselves -though, they weren’t allowed much movement after hitting a desk.

The back of your knees stung against the protruding piece of wood. “You tryna leave…study abroad, right?” Your eyes peeled in horror, and you hid in yourself as much as you could when his tall frame overpowered yours. “No, no. Look me right in the eye.” He clicked his tongue in disapproval. Without any hesitation, his cold rings found their place under your chin, burying in your skin when lifting up your face. “How-how do you know?” Your stuttering made him smile -predatory grin adorning his harsh features. “Everyone thinks you’re smart…” The pain on your neck amplified at the uncomfortable position.

“…But I think you’re just a dumb bitch.” He spat at you. Tone as rough as the domineering grip on your jaw. “…Bragging left and right - you really thought I wouldn’t find out?” He shook you with erratic movement. The pain you felt under his digits distracted you from a perverted knee slowly opening its way between your legs.

His unruly eyes took a break from tormenting yours as he admired your skirt’s fabric draping over your thighs. The blond snob flashed you his hungry canines while biting into his lower lip.

The horror only amplified when a sharp thrust attacked your clothed sex. His impatient knee continued to roughly rub against the cotton underwear, cruelty reflected on the fast pace. “Ha. Would you look at that? The dirty slut is getting wet!” You whined in disgust when Rafe pressed harder on the soaked circle.

The scarce dignity you thought you held was harshly stripped from you. On his arms you were nothing but a squeaky toy he got to bite and squeeze whenever he desired, and little by little you felt victim to a raw resignation.

The next thing you sensed was his palm abandoning your neck and moving onto your meaty thighs. He gave the flesh a squeeze, followed by a lusty groan leaving his pinkish lips.

Your mind tried to wander away, but the situation was just too much; too much stimulation everywhere, too much heat coming from his larger body, too much degradation directed your way in mean words and touches, too much torturous pressure applied to your virgin cunt and too much pawing at your unexplored parts.

The next thing your brain registered was a rip. The sound of something being torn apart, and if you didn’t see the light fabric pooling around your feet, you could’ve almost swear it was the noise your spirit made when breaking in half. “And I was thinking about making it nice for you…fucking you on a bed of roses or some corny shit.” He talked with nothing but mockery, while leaning onto your chest. “But I guess you prefer it when I treat you like a cheap whore.” The Cameron boy finished it off with a chuckle, his muscles flexing hard under the rumbling laugh.

You wanted to contradict him, defend your honor and pull him off of you, but all protests got stuck in your throat when he took you by it and slammed your upper body against the desk. The rigid wood wasn’t welcoming. Your head spinned uncontrollably at the beast-like hit.

The lack of oxygen didn’t stop you from hearing him unbuckling his pants. Panic grew louder as you heard his clothes falling to the Classroom’s floor. Worries clouded you in a tumultuous storm, and you did your best to cover yourself up when the only layer covering your vulnerable hole was pushed to the side. “Open your fucking legs or I’ll break your useless skull!” He demanded in a crazied tone, ripping your limbs apart and throwing them over his shoulders.

“Please, don’t.” Your eyelids squeezed together, shielding your irises from looking at the violating scene. “That’s right, beg me” Warm breath imposed itself above your slit, followed by a warmer liquid dripping down your folds. “Gotta make it wetter…I don’t want you breaking at the first use.” Even though your sight was all black, you could imagine his satisfied grin decorating that diabolically handsome face.

You tried pulling away when a foreign limb rubbed against your sex, desperate to be let in. “Rafe, no-” You were cut short by your own screams, eyes peeled open at the feeling of his cock entering all at once.

“Fuck! Tight ass pussy.” He sounded in heaven, palms manhandling your knees to your chest while pounding ruthlessly into you.

The rest of your body went numb, being rocked up and down at the bestiality of the boy’s attack. His groans and moans overpowered your miserable sobs. Your withering form contrasted his blessed expressions, pure passion exuding from his now sweaty body.

“Your whorish cunt is squeezing the shit out of me…she doesn’t want me to leave!” He continued to talk while creating some deeply loud wet noises.

Your neck and waist’s skin burned under his cutting rings and the unsolicited friction of his grip that kept you still. Your ears got lost at the multiple pet names he called you, as well as the dirty sentences of encouragement he occasionally threw your way.

After almost an hour of feeling him impale you on his dick, you grew tired of screaming and crying, now reduced to quiet whimpers and even quieter pleas. “Stop-” He did the opposite to that, toned pelvis slapping hard against you as his tip bruised your cervix in persistent thrusts.

The cries that left your esophagus were now primal and raw, long nails holding onto his huge back. “That’s right, cry for me. You fucking deserve it!” That only made the tears fall faster down your cheeks, reaching your mouth on a salty taste.

And when his movements finally went sloppy and his member felt softer, your suffering only sharpened. “Tell me you love me” He barked at your face, drops of unintentional spit hitting your distressed face.

You thought you heard wrong, that between his chocking, and suffocating weight your brain had imagined the unimaginable. “Tell me you love me!” His features tensed, making a vein pop on his front.

Was Rafe Cameron asking for words of affirmation from you? Was the same guy who just butchered your purity asking you for your heart? Or was it just another inhumane prank? Another limit of yours he wanted to cross?

Clearly you took to much time thinking and not acting because the next thing you felt was the blond burying impossibly deeper into your core and making you know a new level of uncomfortability. “Tell me you fucking love or I’ll come inside you.” The light on the room was vast, you were sure of it. Such an elite university could only have the best illumination for its elitist students; still, his burly body completely covered yours.

His sharp jaw and eyes were enhanced by the darkness found in his stare. “I-” He trembled lightly in excitement at your shaky voice. “I love you.” You finally decreed, unknowingly sealing your fate.

His smile was like nothing you saw before, too devilish and twisted you actually doubted smiling was ever a nice gesture. And when you felt a dense liquid flooding your womb in overwhelming warmth, you swore you could see the devil in his eyes.

.

.

.

[threadbearsweater]

one warm day is all i really need | arthur morgan

When you find yourself taken in by a gang of outlaws, the last thing you expect is to grow sweet on one of them- and have the feelings reciprocated. Arthur Morgan doesn't have time for romantic nonsense, but a few memebers of the gang want to make sure that he gets to indulge in his obvious affection toward you. Tags: 3.9k words, an unlikely romance, meddling gang members (with the purest of intentions, one might suppose); female reader, alcohol use, smoking, emotional smut. A repost from a (regretfully) deactivated blog.

Arthur first notices your eyes on him one evening around the campfire at Shady Belle. He won’t accuse you of staring– Lord knows he’s been known to look at you with the same foolish grin you’re wearing now– but he tips his hat to acknowledge you. The heat in your cheeks is suddenly warmer than what the fire has already provided; your grin only grows until your teeth are showing, and you duck your head into your shoulder to hide. Arthur takes a long swig from his whiskey bottle and grimaces as it goes down. He hasn't had a drop of anything in days, and the burn takes a little while to grow numb to now.

“Think she's sweet on you, Morgan,” Sean says in his Irish lilt, giving Arthur an elbow in the ribs.

“Naw, she's lookin’ at you,” Arthur deflects, though he hopes he's wrong. He thinks he knows.

“She told me last week to keep my eyes on my own work,” Sean continues. “I really don't think it's me she wants, Arthur.”

You turn to whisper something to Sadie, who laughs out loud with her face tilted toward the stars. You dare a glance back at Arthur, who is, in fact, looking at you.

Maybe there's some truth to what Mary Beth told you yesterday.

“Arthur's been awful quiet lately.”

The sun shines through the trees and dapples the table where you're seated with bright spots of pale yellow. It's your third round of dominoes with Mary-Beth, and she's whooping your ass, as usual. You don't know how she does it, but each game you play, you're a little more privy to her prowess.

“You think so? I don't know him as well as you.” You hope it isn't obvious that your heart started beating a little faster at the mention of his name. It leaves you breathless.

“Oh yeah,” Mary-Beth continues. “He's been scratchin’ away in that journal of his a lot more, too.” She leans closer, conspiratorial, her eyes twinkling with the gossip she's about to share. “Karen said he went to town twice last week to have a hot bath. If you knew Arthur like I know Arthur, why…you'd know that's highly out of character for him.”

“But you said he'd been quiet. Is that unusual for him, too?”

She hums and purses her lips. “Well you see, Arthur isn't usually a man of many words on a good day. But it's been real bad lately. He don't even give John a hard time like usual.”

You ponder the dominoes for a moment and then make your move. It doesn't earn you any points, but at least you didn't have to draw. “What do you think the problem is?” you ask, nonchalant as possible.

Mary-Beth smiles. Big and bright and sparkling. “Oh, it's not a problem at all.” She lowers her voice and cups her hand to her mouth. “Arthur's in love.”

You gasp, then giggle behind your hand, and Mary-Beth follows suit. Hosea looks on and shakes his head, so you quiet down, reaching across to grab Mary-Beth's hands. “Who do you think it is?”

Her cheeks are tinted pink, and she looks around to make sure there aren't any ears to hear. Word travels fast around camp if one isn't prudent. “I think it's you.”

A thunderstorm rips through Shady Belle a little over a week later. Your little tent that you share with Sadie is ripped straight off its supports in a terrible gust of wind, and you and the others hightail it inside the house to take cover just as it begins to hail. There's quite a ruckus as everyone huddles inside, windblown and rain-soaked. A few of the men hold up lanterns to illuminate the darkness while you watch the lightning and feel the thunder shake the old bones of the house.

“Everyone just calm down,” Dutch calls, descending the stairs, wearing some ridiculous robe with his arms spread wide. “Are we really gonna let a little old thunderstorm keep us from getting a good night's sleep?”

“Says the man with a bed inside the house,” Arthur bites, rounding the corner from what used to be the kitchen, holding a lantern up high in front of him. “Dutch, you better allow these ladies to take cover in here for tonight, or I'll–”

“Or you'll what, Mister Morgan? Pray tell, what kind of man do you take me for?” Dutch's eyes are fiery as he stares Arthur down; a display of dominance. A veritable cockfight.

Arthur's jaw twitches, but he doesn't back down. “The kind of man I should hope would have some goddamn respect for his family.”

There's a tense moment or two where everyone is quiet, then Dutch relents. “Fine, fine! But I expect everyone out there pitching in to clean up in the morning.” He points at Arthur and raises his voice again. “That includes the other man with a bed inside the house,” he sneers.

Arthur shakes his head, then looks away only to catch sight of you, shivering in your wet undergarments, huddled close to Mary-Beth for what little warmth the two of you can share. For a minute, he forgets to breathe, then composes himself enough to cross the room.

“Come on in here. Get yourself warm and dry by the fire.” His hand on your elbow is rough but warm as he leads you toward the fireplace. You nod and look back at Mary-Beth, who shoos you away with a flick of her wrist and a wink; you notice that her teeth are chattering. Despite the humidity that hangs heavy in the air, the temperature has turned chilly with the storm.

Arms crossed over your bosom to preserve any shred of modesty you might have left, you allow yourself to be led away by Arthur. Dutch and some of the others head upstairs while Charles and Javier keep watch from the front porch.

“You alright?” Arthur asks. He covers your shoulders with one of his heavy winter coats, and you pull it around you, grateful for the weight and warmth of it. Another clap of thunder shakes the house and you jump. Arthur chuckles.

“You laughin’ at me?” you quip, placing your palms flat in the direction of the fireplace. You don't even bother to hide the grin you feel curling on your lips.

“No madam, I am not,” Arthur says earnestly, taking a seat beside you on the old wooden crate he's set up as a makeshift bench.

“Then just what do you find so funny, Mister Morgan?”

He scratches the back of his neck, looking into the flames. “Aw, I dunno. I'm sorry. It's just that you're…”

You bump him with your hip, unable to stop the giggles that bubble up from your chest. “I'm what?” you pry.

There's a clatter of something falling on the front porch, and Arthur uses it as a good excuse to get out of this hole he's dug for himself. “I better go see what's going on out there. Charles might need my help.”

“I'm what, Arthur?!” you call, to no avail. He's gone before he can see the proverbial hearts in your eyes.

The saloon in Rhodes is a little nicer than the ones you visited in Valentine, though it's a far cry from the ones you used to frequent in Saint Denis. Still, when Sadie and the other girls decide that it's high time you have a little fun in town, you throw on your best dress and let Karen curl your hair and even apply a little of the makeup you snagged from a homestead up north. For the first time in months, you feel like a proper woman. There isn't time to be melancholy about the past, though, when the boys start whistling and cat-calling upon the sight of you and the other girls.

“Aw, knock it off!” Sadie hollers. She's decided to dress up a little tonight, too, much to everyone's surprise. But she hikes up her skirts to hop into the wagon, calling for the rest of you all to hurry it up. “I've got a bottle of rum with my name on it that's waiting for me to come drink her all down!”

You catch the sunset on the way to town. It's dazzling over the meadows, all golden light and warm, blazing oranges and reds that settle into a brilliant pink by the time your reach the main road into Rhodes. You wish you could see Arthur's eyes, but he's got a handle on the reins next to Charles in the front of the wagon. You've seen him watching the sunset before; he always looks so peaceful those evenings at camp, and you often wonder what he thinks about in those few minutes before the horizon is painted in pastel hues.

Karen starts singing a song that everyone eventually joins, and before you know it, you're pulling up in front of the Rhodes Parlour House. You can already hear the piano and a few voices from outside; the sound of it stirs something in your soul that makes you long for the familiarity of home, but you quickly shove it aside in favor of the company of your new family.

“Madam.” Arthur's voice brings you out of your thoughts and back into the present, where he waits at the back of the wagon with his hand extended to you. You beam at him, and he feels dizzy. And when your soft hand fits into his, he straightens his knees so they don't buckle and betray him.

“Why, thank you, kind sir,” you say, lifting the hem of your skirts to step out onto the dirt road.

Arthur leans in, dangerously close to your ear. You can smell the whisky and cigarettes on his breath, along with the faint tang of gunpowder and hair pomade. “You sure do look nice in that dress.”

You demure and fan yourself with your hand. “Just how much have you had to drink already tonight?” you giggle.

“Ahh, just a little nip to take the edge off.”

“Mm-hm. Sure, Arthur. Whatever you say.”

The night starts off relatively calm, as most nights do. You and the other girls find an empty table to sit and pick up on the town gossip, and the men start a hand of poker. It grows loud and crowded sometime around midnight, and it's hard to have a conversation without shouting over the din of voices, the clink of glass bottles, and the slow drag ragtime music from the piano. The ambiance is charming and lighthearted, and there are even a few couples drunkenly dancing on the porch.

You push back in your chair and find that when you stand, you're a little more wobbly than you thought you would be. The alcohol has loosened you more than you realize, and you grip the table for support until you feel a firm arm around your waist. “Whoa there.”

It's Arthur, who has won the last round of poker and has come to check in on you and the other ladies. You're pulled tight against his chest for one fleeting moment, and you look up into his eyes. He, too, seems drunk, with his eyes gleaming and drooping at the corners, his smile easy and his cheeks flushed.

“My knight in shining armor,” you slur, pretending to faint in his embrace. He only pulls you tighter against him, both of his broad hands splayed across your back. You laugh, and he smiles.

“You weren't getting another drink, were ya?” he questions with a raise of his brow.

“‘m thirsty,” you whine, lifting your empty glass entirely too close to his face. It knocks against his nose, which sends you into another fit of laughter.

Arthur takes your wrist– gentle but firm– and lowers the glass away. “Think you need to drink something that's not whiskey,” he drawls. You can't help but watch the way his lips form around the words; the slip of his tongue between his teeth, the way his mouth turns up into the hint of a smile when you pout. Before you can think too long and hard about it, you lunge forward and kiss him. Hard and clumsy and impulsive. You don't give him time to react. You're far too involved in the kiss to notice, but the girls at the table behind you have all gone silent. Arthur slides his hand along the side of your face and presses his fingers upon the nape of your neck, kissing you back like he really means it. (He really does.)

You pull back suddenly, breathless and reeling, swiping the back of your hand over your mouth. You're still held firm in his embrace, but the playfulness in his gaze has been replaced with an intensity that makes your knees weak all over again.

“What'd ya do that for?” he asks.

“Could ask you the same thing.”

“Well, you started it.”

“And you finished it.”

“Oh, I ain't finished with you, yet.”

“That a promise or a threat?” Your pulse is thumping wildly in your ears.

“Ya know, they got rooms upstairs for that!” Sadie shouts. There's a ripple of laughter across the table. Arthur's hand on your cheek feels like a brand, his arm about your waist an anchor. The rest of the room comes back to you in a woozy blur, and you look around, a little lovestruck and a whole lot drunk. Arthur's lips at your temple make your eyes flutter shut, and the room fades to black as tIt'weight of you slumps against him. He staggers only slightly, but holds you firm, chuckling softly.

“It's a promise,” he whispers.

You come to some hours later. Your mouth is dry as the desert, your head feels like lead, your skin broken out in a cold, uncomfortable sweat. At some point, it seems you were covered with a downy soft blanket, and the pillow at your head is much more fluffy than the makeshift one you made out of a bedroll at camp. At first, you think you're dreaming. Then, you wonder very briefly if you're back at your childhood home in Saint Denis. You almost call out to your mother when you hear a soft snore from the other side of your bed.

The room spins when you turn your head, and you rub your eyes until Arthur comes into focus. He's sprawled in an armchair a few feet away. His arms are crossed over his chest while his chin is tucked into his chest. Off to the side, you spy his boots; his big toe pokes through a hole in his sock and you smile at how vulnerable he looks.

“Arthur,” you whisper, shifting slightly as you pull the blanket up around your chin.

He grunts and lifts his head slowly. He frowns a little at first, but when he focuses on you lying there, so close he could reach out and kiss you again like he did last night, there's a slow, easy smile that spreads across his face.

“Hey there, party girl. You feeling alright?”

You could kick yourself for all the giggling you've done around him lately, but you can't help it. He brings out something giddy and downright foolish inside you, so you toss a pillow at him and bury your face in the sheets.

“Aw, come on now. I'm just messin’ with ya.” He leans forward and rubs your head affectionately. “I'd say you were feeling pretty good last night.”

It's in that moment a white-hot jolt of sheer panic shoots down your spine. Quickly, you check to make sure you're still wearing clothes. Aside from your breasts being a little lopsided in the confines of your bodice, you're relieved to find that your dress is still intact and– more importantly– on your body. You dare another peek at Arthur and notice that his shirt is unbuttoned down to the middle of his chest and he's discarded his vest somewhere, but he, too, is fully clothed. Thank the good Lord above.

You must've said that last part aloud, because Arthur laughs. “Don't worry, nothing happened. Though it weren't for lack of tryin’ on your part,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. “Thought I was gonna have to lock you in here like some feral cat till you settled down.”

Oh. Oh Lord. You try to recall what happened that led you to this room, but all that comes to mind is a lot of loud conversation, some dancing, a spilled drink across Sadie's lap, and Arthur's hand on the side of your cheek. “Oh…”

Now you remember it in vivid detail.

“Didn't know you cared for me like that,” he says. It's earnest and tender, a few shades less intense than the kiss you now recall, the one where it felt like he wanted to eat you alive right there in the middle of the saloon. Now, he thumbs your cheek and looks at you so fondly you swear your heart jumps right up in your throat. “I mean, I'd been hoping. Wasn't sure you was looking for a romance.” He huffs a short sigh, frustrated with himself. “Aw, hell, what am I saying? ‘Course you weren't. You're just looking to survive, just like the rest of us, and here I–”

“Shut up,” you say, taking hold of his hand and tugging him closer. He resists until you pull even harder, watching the fire in your eyes blaze to life. “You talk too much, Yankee.”

“I ain't no damn–”

“Kiss me.”

He's over you in an instant; you're pressed flat against the bed, completely and totally at his mercy. This kiss feels different than the drunken one last night. It's sober and honest, if not a little hesitant, as if he's holding himself back from devouring you wholly. The warmth of his body against yours takes your breath away. Or maybe it's the way his tongue laves heavy into your mouth, unashamed of how badly he craves the taste of you. You grip his hair at the roots and tug him down to kiss him harder, lifting your upper body to meet him until he presses down, his chest flush with yours.

Things get heated quickly.

His mouth moves across your cheek, down your neck, and he groans against your skin, rutting his cock against your thigh. You fleetingly wish that he had managed to get you out of that dress before he presumably tucked you into bed and passed out in that chair, because there’s a whole lot of fabric between you and him that really pisses you off right now. Arthur must feel much the same, because he’s bunching your skirts up past your knees while you’re fumbling with his belt buckle, desperate to feel him against you, inside you. It’s clumsy and crazed, rushed and rough, but you manage somehow to shuck off every last bit of your clothes and his until you’re breathless and so, so eager beneath him.

“Need you now,” you whine. You feel insane. Dizzy and dehydrated, impossibly turned on, every nerve ending on fire when his callused hands grip the fat of your thighs and open you to him.

“Greedy little thing, ain’t ya?” One of his hands slips between your legs to find you wet and swollen. He presses the pad of his thumb against your clit and pushes a finger inside you; the sound you make nearly has him finishing there on the sheets, so he wastes no time in getting himself as close to you as humanly possible.

“Never wanted something so bad,” he murmurs into the dip of your shoulder. He wants all of you– all at once– wants to fuse his hands against your skin and sink himself into you so deep that it would be impossible to tell where he ends and you begin. The heat from his body takes away what little breath you have left, his mouth on each part of your body building the buzz in your chest until you feel like you might just burst open. You grabbed at each other like it was the first and last time you might have this opportunity, as if you wanted more than what the other of you was able to give.

Considering the kind of life you’ve both led so far, it’s a good possibility that you might never get to do this again.

“Give it to me,” you plead, opening yourself further to him, fingers wrapped firm around the base of his cock. “Please.”

Arthur Morgan is a man of incredible strength and self restraint, except when it comes to a woman like you.

There’s nothing gentle about the way he takes you. It’s primal, sweaty, filthy, rough. Arthur pushes as far inside you as he can go, then pushes further when you beg for more. He cups your knees with slick palms and presses you open as far as you can bend; you tug roughly at his hair and bite down on his shoulder when the pleasure builds to a blinding ferocity. The wooden bedframe knocks angrily against the wall with each thrust, but you can’t bring yourself to care if anyone hears. You can’t focus on anything beyond the feeling of him filling you with every stroke of his cock, of the taut, corded muscle in his back and shoulders as you grapple to hang on as tight as you can. Your orgasm hits your hard and fast, and he encourages you through it, taking his time to give you long, controlled strokes. It’s as pleasurable for him as it is for you. “‘Atta girl,” he rasps, lips moving against your ear. Your hand flies to your mouth to muffle your cries, but he pulls it away and threads his fingers with yours, pressing it onto the pillow. “I wanna hear it.”

Your moans are what drive him over the edge.

He buries his face against the side of your neck, panting heavily as he comes, driving into you so hard that you can almost feel the mattress beneath you begin to sag under the weight. You cradle his head in your hands and link your legs around his waist, boneless and languid in the aftermath of your own pleasure. When he moves, you move with him, riding out the waves together until you’re both too tired to move another muscle.

Neither of you speak for a while. He lies on his back with an arm around your shoulders while you curl against him, tuned into his heartbeat and swirling little patterns into the hair on his chest. It’s comforting to feel him next to you, to watch his chest rise and fall as he steadies his breathing, to soak up the warmth of his skin against yours.

You’re the first to break the silence. “Did everyone else go back to camp last night?”

Arthur nods slowly. “Something tells me they planned all this.”

“Planned it? You mean…” You lift your arm slowly and flick your wrist to acknowledge the room you’re laying in. “This?” You lift your chin and grin at him. “Or getting us together?”

“Room was paid for before I even had a chance to ask if they had one,” he explains. “Think it was Mrs. Adler.”

You vaguely recall her shouting something about a room after you kissed Arthur last night, and you shake your head. “You complaining?”

He turns to his side, draping an arm across your hip. “Me? Never.” You’re suddenly pressed beneath him once again; from the looks of it, you won’t be getting out of this bed anytime soon. “Specially when I’ve got you here to help me keep warm.”

[multific]

The City of Rome at Your Feet

Emperor Geta x Reader

Warnings: hint of insanity (a lot), spoilers for the movie, blood, soft mention of smut

Summary: It was always about the pleasures of the body. But your soul was happiest just around him.

Two souls have never been more intervened.

It was almost frightening.

How can two people be meant for each other so much?

They weren’t much different. Both wicked in their own ways.

Geta being the loud Emperor, while you remained the quiet Empress.

Same temper, same goals and the same love for violence.

You just expressed yourself differently.

You being a lady, were elegant and enticing.

Your marriage was only a wish. A wish which came true.

You prayed to the Gods, hoping for a husband who is just like you.

And you met the Emperors.

Caracalla enjoyed your wit and even if you weren't blood related, called you sister. But Geta enjoyed you as a woman and ordered you to marry him.

You had no choice but to accept.

You never expected for your marriage to turn into such greatness.

It was a marriage filled with fire and blood.

A love filled with passion and power.

And each night, not only your bodies but your souls also melted into one.

You noticed as time kept going on, slowly, the lines between you and Geta slowly blurred.

When Acacius returned from yet another victory. You stood by your husband.

"Emperor Geta, Emperor Caracalla, Empress Y/N." he greeted you as you looked at him, his words failed to get to you after that.

All that you remember is heading back into the palace then Acacius' words finally reached your ears.

"My wife has many subjects. She has to feed them." Acacius said and you looked at him.

Caracalla spoke up before you could.

"And you suggest my sister is not doing a proper job of that?" your eyes snapped at Acacius, who looked at you with regret in his eyes.

"I hope your wife will be able to come and join us for the games tomorrow. I appreciate she is busy with her... subjects, but I don't see why she won't be able to join us."

Caracalla laughed and your eyes never moved from Marcus instead, you took a step closer to him.

"In case you forgot who you were talking to, Marcus." you finished and raised your cup. The man nodded.

---

You enjoyed Gladiator games as much as the next person.

Watching men fight for honour and freedom. It was truly magneficent.

Marcus and his wife were also present after Marcus' lovely speech, you felt a dark presence.

The row behind you were making plans.

But you were a step ahead. Watching Lucilla look at the new Gladiator, Hanno.

You tilted your head and smirked.

You will have some fun with those three.

Your husband squeezes your hand as you turned and smiled at him.

Later that evening, you sent word, asking a guard to report to you as soon as someone visits the new Gladiator.

And someone did.

Lucilla.

You smiled.

"My Love! So happy today?"

"Of course I am. I just found out something very interesting."

"Dare to share?" he grabbed your waist and pulled you close.

"Maybe later, once I have it all laid out."

"I would like to lay you out right now." he moved his head into your neck and started biting your neck.

---

Your husband was yelling, you looked at the traitors in front of you.

"Torture me, but do not lecture me." you smiled at Marcus' words.

"You two are truly stupid." you spoke up and everyone in the room looked at you. "You thought you could save him. Your beloved son. Lucius? Is that his name? You are truly foolish."

"What are you talking about?" asked Lucilla.

"He's dead. Killed him myself." you watched as both looked at you in disbelief.

Then a guard walked out with a head on a plate.

"The same fate Macrinus wished for my husband." You turned to the man sitting on the bench while Lucilla broke down and Marcus moved. "Silly man." with one movement you stepped out of the way as the guards brought him to the floor.

"I wonder how the people of Rome will think of their beloved General once they learn how he attached their Empress. In her sleep none the less. Snuck in and tried to kill her. Sent by his wife, who wished to rule."

"You-" but Marcus couldn't finish his sentence as he was dragged away along with his wife and Macrinus.

"Sister, you are something else truly!" Caracalla laughed and you grabbed a knife and a silver plate, looking at yourself, you cut along your neck. "Genius!" Caracalla continued.

"Why did you have to do that?" Geta rushed over to you, worried as he put his hand on your bleeding neck.

"Proof to the people of my attack. Oh, Geta I was so worried! He came out of nowhere! Hiding in the silk curtains, he told me Lucilla wanted to take my place! I was so scared." your eyes were shiny with tears as Geta shook his head and looked at you.

Caracalla left moments before, laughing still.

Geta watched you and he let out a long sigh. "How did you know?"

"Lucilla was so obvious I'm surprised not everyone noticed. As for Macrinus... I never liked him."

Geta let out a laugh, this is when the healer arrived to check out your neck and put bandages on it.

The next day, you watched Marcus fight and fail.

You managed to put on the show of a life time with your injury, the people of Rome had no reason not to believe you.

All they saw is a hurt poor woman, their Empress.

This not only earned you but also the Emperors sympathy as everyone chanted for Acacius' death.

You felt your husband move his arms around you, pulling you close.

Rome was yours.

Geta was yours and you were only his.

Gladiator II Collection

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/YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE, TO STEAL OR TO REUPLOAD ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[pretty-little-mind33]

fluff ✿ angst ✮ hurt & comfort ✷ smut (nsfm) ♥︎

main masterlist

disclaimer — i enjoy fandom created harry potter content but i DON'T support j.k rowling in any way!!

~ REQUESTS CLOSED ~

most popular - WILDEST DREAMS ✿ - Finding out that your ex-best friend might have smelt you in the Amortentia feels as surreal as you smelling him.

author's favorite - SAY DON'T GO ✿✮✷ - When your long-term boyfriend is slipped a love potion—he loses his memory of you.

latest work - THE MANUSCRIPT ✿ - Telling James you're pregnant again is scary.

~ BLURB MASTERLIST ~

~ KINKTOBER 2024 ~

~ SKY'S 3K CELEBRATION ~

~ VALENTINE'S DAY 2025 ~

~ HEADCANONS ~

fem!reader with an abusive ex

fem!reader who is in a relationship with him

fem!reader who is nervous about the gym

fem!reader pulling on his tie

~ FICS ~

James x debutant!reader

KING OF MY HEART ✿ - You and James are friends with benefits until daisies and an incident with one asshole Quidditch player stirs up some hidden (or not-so-hidden) feelings.

MAROON ✿ - James usually doesn't like violence but he'll fight anyone who bad-mouths his girlfriend.

LAVENDER HAZE ♥︎ - Having a thing for your best friend's dad was your dirty little secret. Up until it wasn't so secret anymore.

THIS LOVE ✿ - Sometimes your lovely boyfriend can have a hard time with the word 'no'.

HOW YOU GET THE GIRL ✿✷✮ - You've never had your first kiss — well not until you stupidly kiss the boy you've had a crush on since forever, the same boy who happens to be your best friend.

FOOLISH ONE ✮ - James was and would never be yours.

TIMELESS ✿✷ - James wants to take you out to one of his families' fancy parties. However, he underestimates how cruel people can be when someone is different.

ENCHANTED ✿ - Three weeks after his devastating break up with Lily, James wanted Remus and Sirius to bring him to a muggle bar in central London. Prequel to Timeless

SWEETER THAN FICTION ✿ - After months of dating, James finally tells you he's a wizard. Pt. 2 of Enchanted

YOU ARE IN LOVE ✿ - You never realized how much of an idiot your brother's best friend is until he becomes jealous.

GLITCH ♥︎ - You never intended to admit you would fuck James Potter. You hate him. Well, turns out you hate him a little less when he's touching you in ways you'd only dreamed of.

STAY BEAUTIFUL ✿✷- When you overhear some of James's friends comment on your weight, James comforts you.

SANTA BABY ✿ - James wants to make his family's Christmas special.

SNOW ON THE BEACH ✿✷ - When your eleven-year-old son comes home for Christmas break in tears, you and James are instantly worried.

NEW ROMANTICS ✿✷ - When your "friends" play a dangerously stupid prank on you, James is the last person you'd think would help you.

COLD AS YOU ✷✮ - You want your boyfriend's attention again.

I THINK HE KNOWS ♥︎ - Your boyfriend promises to watch over you when you want to get drunk.

BEGIN AGAIN ✿ - James has been persuing you for years and you've never said yes, until now?

END GAME ✿✷ - Playing Quidditch against your secret boyfriend is usually fun…

GOLD RUSH ✿✷✮ - You're a stupid drunk and James Potter is very very bad at dealing with his romantic feelings.

DAYLIGHT ♥︎ - When your boyfriend finds out he didn't make you come, his anger quickly turns into lust.

THE ALCOTT ✮ - You love James but he loves Lily. It's simple until it isn't so simple anymore.

SUBURBAN LEGENDS ✿✷ - James tries to teach you how to ice skate — in the same universe as Dear Reader

SAY DON'T GO ✿✮✷ - When your long-term boyfriend is slipped a love potion—he loses his memory of you.

SO HIGH SCHOOL ✿ - You have a massive crush on James. One you didn't think would ever lead anywhere until a drunken party in the Gryffindor Common Room.

"SLUT!" ♥︎ - Your brother's best friend teaches you pleasures you've never experienced before.

I CAN SEE YOU ✷✿ - James panics when he sees what his boggart is.

COME IN WITH THE RAIN ✷ - You comfort your darling boyfriend after an overwhelming sight at your muggle grandparents' house.

HIGH INFIDELITY ✷ - You'd kept your relationship with James a secret up until you couldn't anymore. Pt. 2 of Lavender Haze

GORGEOUS ♥︎ - You and James stumble upon an ancient book of spells rumored to enhance pleasure.

DEAR READER ✿ - You wait for your boyfriend after his game — In the same universe as Suburban Legends

PAPER RINGS ✿ - James is the best boyfriend while you're sick.

CHRISTMAS TREE FARM ✿ - You and James bake gingerbread cookies.

THE PROPHECY ✮ - A dangerous mission puts James's life at risk. You're consumed by worry and fear as you wait for news of what happened to your husband.

THE MANUSCRIPT ✿ - Telling James you're pregnant again is scary.

[little-diable]

Pleasure - Prof!Tom Riddle (smut)

Just a small Drabble about our fave fucked up, dark professor. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Professor Riddle threatens to fail the reader, something she won’t accept. Just pwp

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, choking, degrading, orgasm denial, Tom being Tom, power imbalance

Pairing: Prof!Tom Riddle x fem!student!reader (1.2k words)

“You threaten to fail me? Are you out of your mind?” Her voice boomed through the class room, eyes set on the professor whose assistant she had been for the past months now. His piercing eyes didn’t meet hers, he kept his gaze set on the papers, correcting the homework she had collected minutes ago. All before he had dropped this bomb on her, telling (y/n) that she was about to fail his class. “Look at me!”

“Careful, (y/n).” His eyes snapped up to meet hers, voice sharper than a knife. He leaned back in the chair, arms crossed in front of his chest while staring at her like a snake about to snap at its prey. He had always been a dangerous man, a man whose aura was a warning itself, set on pulling her into his dark trap. But today he had something else to him, something even more ruthless.

“Tell me why!” She was fuming, set on letting go of a piercing scream. This must be a joke, a prank he was pulling on her - her grades were better than most, she was always on time, and when she was working for him, she did everything he asked of her.

“I don’t owe you any explanations. And your behaviour proves to me that you’re not mature enough to work on it. Leave.” (Y/n) didn’t move, she kept staring at Professor Riddle who slowly rose to his feet. A part of her screamed at her to leave, to run before it was too late, but the more stubborn part forced her to stand still and watch his every move. “Is this how you want to play? This is my last warning, (y/n).”

Her body was trembling in anger and need, all while her mind brought back flashes of a similar moment that had happened weeks ago. Back then she had left this room with trembling thighs and his handprint burned into her behind. The following hours had been spent hidden away in her room while pushing herself over the edge numerous times with his name burning on the tip of her tongue.

“I am not scared of you.” She cocked her head, chin pointed in his direction while she looked up at him. It was a foolish game she was playing - a game she was about to lose, but she didn’t care, couldn’t worry about any wins or losses, knowing that whatever would happen between them would count as a win in her book.

“You should be.” His ringed hand found her throat, tugging (y/n) in for a teeth clashing kiss. She moaned into the touch, unable to stop her hands from wandering, from finding the back of his neck to keep him close. (Y/n) felt her surroundings spin, throwing her into another dimension while the professor moved her backwards to heave his TA onto his table. With her legs wrapped around his waist, (y/n) kept him close, not daring to think of parting just yet. “You try to distract me with those pretty little things you wear, you try to make a fool out of me, but you’ll never have this much power over me. You’re mine, (y/n), I’m the one guiding you.”

She could only moan in delight, feeling his hand disappear beneath her skirt to press his fingertips against her clothed heat. Slowly, he began to circle her bundle through the fabric of her panties, feeling them grow damp beneath his touch. A soft chuckle let him, buzzing through both their bodies while his lips moved down her throat, sucking on the spots that drew moans from her.

“You’ve been asking for it for months, so now you’ll take my cock like the desperate slut you are. But I won’t let you cum, not this afternoon.” His words drew a protesting moan from (y/n), eyes wide while she stared at him. No words managed to pass her parted lips, unsure how to speak up as the sounds reaching her distracted (y/n).

Within seconds he had freed his cock, pushing a condom down his length before her panties were tugged aside. Her fingernails left crescent marks on the spot where his shoulder met his neck as he pushed into her, forcing her tight walls to adjust to him. A part of her wanted to beg him to slow down, to give her some moments to relax before taking all of him, but that part didn’t get a chance to speak up, silenced by her loud moans.

Professor Riddle fucked her ruthlessly, he was using her body, set on chasing his own high while sticking to his promise. Tonight he wouldn’t let her cum, at least not for a few hours before finding his way to her.

Tears streamed down her cheeks, dripping from her chin onto the back of his hand which was still holding her throat. She was torn between focusing on the way he perfectly stretched her, about to push her over the edge, and the way he held onto her all too possessively, leaving her heart jumping in excitement.

“This is why I need to keep you around, love.” The nickname had a condescending touch to it, leaving her gasping while she tried to focus on his words. “You’re all for me to use, all for my own pleasure.”

(Y/n) nodded her head while another gasp left her, head wanting to roll back - though without any luck as he kept holding onto her. She felt his cock tearing her apart with every thrust, drunk on the feeling of him fucking her this posessively. With moans ripping their way through her, she clawed at his skin, giving into the subconscious need to mark him up to have the same claim on him.

“What would you ever do without me, huh? You’re so needy, such a pathetic little girl.” She was close to letting go, high on the low tones of his raspy voice, on the way he spoke to her with spite and adoration dripping from his tongue. With one hand still clinging to him, she let the other find her pulsing bundle, circling it a few times to give herself the needed push. Something he instantly stopped her from doing after a second or two.

“I told you I won’t let you cum for now. I don’t make empty threats, love.” More tears fell from her eyes as she stared up at Professor Riddle. Her walls clenched his cock, hoping to pull him into her trap - something he didn’t seem to care for as he pulled out of her to cum on her thighs.

“You’ll wait for me tonight, and perhaps if you’re good, I’ll let you cum.”

[slmjaeyuns]

⋆｡ﾟ jake sim fics that feed my brainrot ﾟ｡⋆

my sweet, sweet love

warning: there are suggestive themes/smut that may be embedded throughout the fluff and angst fics as well)! please dni if that makes you uncomfortable!! minors dni, please‼️

part two jake fic rec list here!

☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩

all time favourites ♡

(fics contain a combination of genres including fluff, angst, suggestiveness, smut)

♡ unrequited love

♡ act now, think later!

♡ watermelon sugar

♡ pov

♡ your name

♡ jake sim: the first love trope

♡ kiss and make up

♡ skin on skin

skin on skin pt. 2

♡ behind closed doors

♡ brand new moves

♡ good boys go to heaven

♡ let you break my heart again

♡ ready? set…touchdown! tutor?

♡ i’ll save you (again)

♡ be my backyard boy

♡ scooby dooby doo, lookin’ for boo!

fluff ❀

❀ too close

❀ safety precautions

❀ attention, please! (rugby jake)

❀ three questions (he wished were never answered)

❀ the partner project

❀ you can find me in your arms

❀ somewhere in forever

❀ sick

❀ taste of your lips

❀ room for two

❀ 3:04 am

❀ einstein kisses

❀ kisses in the rain

another day(te) in the rain

❀ unnamed (drabble)

❀ i’ve never known someone like you

❀ fake

❀ t-shirt

❀ i love me better when i’m with you

❀ wrong order

❀ prince jake

❀ greeting

❀ jake as a boyfriend (headcannons)

angst ☽

☽ glimpse

☽ the sun

☽ worries

☽ if only i could have treated you the way you deserved

☽ sweetly

☽ skater boy

☽ please remember me when our youth is gone

☽ green with envy

suggestive/smut ☁︎

☁︎ s.o.s - skin on skin

☁︎ ping! we should fuck

☁︎ best mistake

☁︎ change up!

☁︎ air dropping love at 305

☁︎ under the influence

☁︎ simp

☁︎ nonsense

nonsense pt.2

☁︎ boyfriend

☁︎ bad boy gone good

☁︎ my neighbour’s son

my neighbour’s son pt.2

☁︎ silly mistake

☁︎ happy birthday mr. sim

my shy husband

☁︎ drunk texting

☁︎ shooting star

☁︎ best friends!

☁︎ polaroid lust

☁︎ (i just) died in your arms

☁︎ only kisses

☁︎ 12:30 am

☁︎ burn for you

☁︎ ride

☁︎ wish come true

☁︎ mischief

☁︎ what are we?

☁︎ after game

☁︎ loser no more

☁︎ attention, please!

☁︎ double lines

☁︎ love foolish

☁︎ forget me not

☁︎ sex express