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likeumeanit9497 · 2 days ago

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gummy bear | m.s. |

matt sturniolo x fem!reader

summary: matt and y/n have plans to get high and watch movies, but what happens when the movie they pick makes y/n confess to a dirty dirty secret?

warnings: fingering; oral (f receiving); overstimulation; edging; dirty talk; use of vibes; whips & chains (hehe); consumption of edibles; overall these two are DOGS; 18+

notes: whew! i fear this was a bit long winded. i luv freaky deaky matt so let me know if y'all want a pt 2 with these two bc as matt said, they aint done yet ;) love u all lots hope you've had an amazing start to 2025 <3333

─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─

“Come on, help me pick out a movie.” Matt whined from his place on the couch beside me. His voice sounded far-off and slightly distorted, and all I could do was dissolve into a fit of giggles. “Holy shit,” He chuckled, “You’re feeling that edible already huh.” I finally managed to turn my head towards him — it felt like it weighed as much as a brick — making my lips mould into a slow smile. “I feel amazing right now.” Was all I could get myself to say. I watched Matt take in my face, an amused smile covering his own. “I’m feeling pretty good too.” He admitted, and I noticed his blue irises were glassy and tinged by red. “Now please look at the TV and help me choose something to watch.” He added, and I once again tilted my head so that I was facing the screen in front of us.

“No…no…no…” I whispered the words as he slowly scrolled through various movies on Netflix. My eyes felt heavy as I focused on reading the titles that Matt passed. I struggled to keep them completely focused as I relished in the almost too relaxed feeling that the gummy bear edible had given me. Just as I was about to suggest that we should throw the movie-watching idea out and instead take a quick nap, one title caught my attention. “That one!” I practically exclaimed, suddenly filled with a burst of energy.

“What? You want to watch Fifty Shades of Grey?” Matt’s voice was filled with humour, likely shocked at my suggestion. Him and I had only just recently become friends, so there was a high probability that he couldn’t tell whether or not I was joking. I turned to face him again and lifted my shoulders in a quick shrug. “Dakota Johnson is hot.” I replied matter-of-factly. Matt stared at me for a moment with droopy eyes, but it wasn’t long before he shrugged his shoulders and clicked on the title.

I curled into my side of the couch as the movie began to play, feeling as though I was sinking into the dangerously soft cushions. As the minutes ticked by, neither of us spoke much; we were both settled into our own little worlds as we aimlessly watched the movie. My eyes were so heavy as the THC flowed through my veins, and I continued to fight the urge to drift off into a deep sleep.

After a while, the first sex scene was beginning and I suddenly found the movie to be hilarious. I burst out into a fit of uncomfortable giggles and covered my eyes with my hands as the scene began to quickly heat up. “What?” Matt giggled and nudged me gently with his foot. “You’re the one who wanted to watch this movie.” I continued to giggle and kept my hands over my eyes, but peered through the slits of my fingers to catch a glimpse of the characters on the screen.

My giggles faded out as the room suddenly grew heavy with intensity. The room was so silent outside of the groans and gasps that fell from the actors’ mouths, I could hear my own breathing hitch at the sight of the whips and chains. I began to lose my grip on reality as I became hypnotized by the rhythmic actions of the people on the screen. I felt both lighter and heavier as my pulse quickened and my body temperature rose; so conscious of Matt’s very much alive body right there beside me. I knew I couldn’t entirely trust my own mind, but I was almost certain that I could see his own chest rising and falling more rapidly than it had been before, and knew that I wasn’t hallucinating when I saw him pull a blanket over the straining fabric on his lap.

Still, my eyes stayed trained on the screen, now completely transfixed by each word and action that was expressed. I had seen the film before, but the gummy had somehow made me feel like I was there; right there in that dimmed room. I could feel what the characters were feeling, and had to stop myself from moaning in sync with them. I had been put in a trance. A trance so potent that I couldn’t stop the words from spilling from my lips. “I’d like to get fucked like that.”

They were so muted that I almost missed them myself, or even believe that they were just in my head and not spoken aloud. But my trance was suddenly broken by Matt’s voice. “What?” There was a ringing in my ears, and I felt the familiar warmth of shame travel up my neck onto my cheeks. Even I had shocked myself with my vulgar choice of words, and I could only imagine how shocked Matt was. My mouth was so dry — both from the gummy and my shame — I couldn’t reply even if I wanted to. Still, Matt repeated his question.

“What did you say?” This time, there was a hint of humour laced in his words, which eased my humiliation for a moment; still not enough to face him but enough to clear my throat and attempt to speak. “I…I don’t know.” Was all I was able to say, my voice wavering slightly. Matt stayed silent at my response, seeming dissatisfied by my answer and lying in wait for more. “It just seems so…thrilling. Literally handing your body over to someone to use however they’d like.” My voice wobbled and was basically a whisper, but Matt’s sharp intake of breath beside me told me that not only had he heard it, but now had confirmation that he had understood my first remark correctly.

The silence between us grew, and seemed to go on for hours. The room was so still that, if not for the lingering heaviness of my words, I could close my eyes and pretend that Matt wasn’t there at all; that instead I had just shared my deep-seeded fantasies with an empty room. But I turned my head and saw him through my droopy eyelids, staring at me with an expression on his face that I couldn’t read. Finally, Matt released a forced chuckle and blinked a few times. “You’re just high Y/n.”

He turned back to face the movie, putting an end to our uncomfortable conversation. I felt my cheeks flush to an even deeper shade of red as I continued to stare at his side profile. His jaw flexed and seemed to stay in that stern expression as I allowed myself to get lost in my shame. Why the fuck would I say something like that? Matt and I were just starting to become good friends, and I surely just ruined everything by making him think I was some sexual deviant. And why did I choose to make that typically buried confession to him of all people? I hadn’t even exposed that fantasy to my friends who I had known for years, let alone any of my past boyfriends.

Suddenly, my brain that had been moving in slow motion began spiralling as I questioned what this all meant. Why had I blurted that out so mindlessly? Did I just have some subconscious trust of this man who I only became friends with a few short months ago? Could it all be blamed on the fact that I was stoned, like he had implied? Or was there another reason. Could I have made that confession with the hope that he would help me bring my fantasy to life?

With a racing heart and ragged breaths, I continued to stare at his profile. He was attractive, that was just a fact. His features were so sharp, his expression so soft. Even without viewing him head-on, I could see the blue in his eyes; the late-afternoon sunlight making them look nearly transparent. He had a slight stubble across his sharp jawline that trailed up onto his sunken cheeks, and it framed his pale pink, slightly chapped lips. He was leaning back on the couch, his soft brown hair feathered against the off-white cushions. His feet were planted to the floor, and his legs were slightly spread in a way that gave him a hypnotically masculine silhouette. To his right was a throw pillow, and I became transfixed by his long fingers as they mindlessly toyed with its fabric. They rotated between two fingers making slow twirls against the extra material and his cupped hand running against its plush curves, in much the same way they would move along my—

I snapped my head back to the screen in front of me, using all the self control I had to not slap my hand over my mouth at the shock of my own thoughts. My mind was reeling with equal parts desire and shame, and the gummy made me suddenly paranoid that Matt could somehow read my mind; where he would find a deeply unsettling image of him and I. I squeezed my eyes shut, beckoning myself to think of something, anything else. I opened my eyes as quickly as I shut them to try to get myself to just focus on the movie, but when I did all I saw was exactly what I was imagining in real time and knew that I had made a mistake.

Suddenly, I felt a wave of panic and the need to stop watching this movie. “I’m so tired.” I blurted out, even though I felt like I had been lit on fire. Without hesitation, Matt paused the movie; proof that he was also deeply uncomfortable. “Me too.” He turned to face me, his cheeks tinted a pale pink. “You can go sleep in my bed if you want. I’ll…I’ll just rest out here.” He seemed flustered, and for a moment I thought he might have actually been reading my mind all along. “Are you sure? I don’t mind…” Sharing? “I don’t mind sleeping out here.” I finished, but already Matt was shaking his head and getting comfortable on the couch. “No really, I’m good out here.” He replied, avoiding eye contact with me.

With a curt nod, I stood up from the couch and headed into his bedroom. It was dark, the blinds blocking out any light from outside, and it seemed to be about 10 degrees cooler in there than it had been in the living room. As I shut the door, my heart continued to race thinking about the fact that I had officially created unwarranted awkwardness between Matt and I. Slowly, I crawled into his bed. Although I had been sure that my humiliation would prevent me from being able to truly rest, as soon as my head hit his pillow I was engulfed in a wave of pleasurable exhaustion. As I closed my eyes, my heart rate slowed and my breathing became more even, and I rapidly fell into a deep, all-consuming sleep.

𓆩☆𓆪

I was startled awake by the sound of a door creaking open slowly, and immediately felt all of my senses ignite. With my eyes still closed, it took me a moment to remember that I wasn’t in my own bed, but the familiar smell of Matt in the pillow and blanket brought me to reality. I could feel a soft wash of light against my closed eyelids, and realized that the door was still open yet I couldn’t hear any noises. I finally heard soft footsteps before the door creaked shut, filling the room with absolute darkness once again. For a moment I thought that maybe it had just been Matt checking on me before retreating to let me sleep for longer, but then I heard more footsteps; not heading away from me, but instead heading towards me.

I stayed as still as I possibly could as I waited to see what was going to happen, though I felt my body begin to vibrate in anticipation. There were no more footsteps, and I knew that he was now standing at the edge of the bed because I could hear his ragged breathing and feel waves of his nervousness behind me. After what felt like hours of aching silence, I suddenly felt the bed sink and the comforter lift slightly, and my breath hitched in my throat. I did my very best to pretend like I was still asleep, but my heart had begun racing so violently at the feeling of his warm body hovering just inches from mine that I was sure that he could feel it radiate through the mattress.

The weight of uncertainty had crept into the room upon Matt’s arrival, only now it felt mutual. Matt stayed perfectly still behind me, and although I knew he was very close, he had still not touched me. And so I waited for that touch, because I knew that once I felt his touch, it meant that his uncertainty had dissipated and I could stop hiding from my shame. Time continued to tick away, and in the darkness and the intoxicating tension of the bedroom, it felt bleakly infinite. I felt as though I was a ticking time bomb that could explode at any minute, and only he had the power to diffuse me. I neededhim to touch me. I needed it in the way that a plant needs water. I needed it in a way that I had never needed anything before. So when, after what felt like a lifetime, his knuckles finally brushed ever so gently against my bare shoulder and his voice softly whispered my name against my ear, my entire body shuddered and I released a breath that I hadn’t even known I was holding.

I turned to face him, and even though in the darkness I couldn’t see much more than his tentative eyes of glass, I could feel all of him beside me. I stared at him in silence, unsure of whether I should speak or simply let him say what he came into the room to say. “Are you still high?” He asked, his voice a delicate whisper between us. I took a brief moment to figure that out. My body didn’t feel like jelly anymore, and neither did my brain; all of me felt electric. “No.” I answered honestly, my eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness so that I could now make out the curious expression on his face. He paused for a moment, seeming to think about his next words. “Did you really mean what you said on the couch?”

My mouth dried out and there was an overwhelming ringing in my ears from the sudden realization that we were really talking about this. Not trusting my voice to be clear and confident, I simply nodded my head nervously. As I did, I swear I could see his pupils dilate. He cleared his throat before continuing. “Did you want me to…help with that?” I felt my panties immediately dampen at his words, and the same dirty thoughts that I had on the couch immediately began swimming through my mind again. Slowly, I adjusted in the bed so that I was fully facing him, and I felt my bent knees brush against his stomach under the covers. His eyes burned into my own as he waited for my response, and in an attempt to ease the intensity I grabbed the hand he had used to graze my shoulder and began toying with his fingers. I kept my eyes glued to them as I explored his knuckles and fingernails, before finally responding. “Could you?”

I felt him intake a sharp breath, and my eyes fluttered up to his just in time to catch his overwhelmed reaction. He pulled his hand out of my grasp and instead used it to cup my cheek as he nodded. “Yeah, I could.” He replied softly, brushing his thumb against my plump lower lip. “But if I do, I need to know exactly what you want.” His eyes were glued to my mouth, and I smiled before playfully biting the tip of his thumb. “I want you to use me however you want.” I whispered before slipping his thumb into my mouth and sucking it slowly. “Fuck.” He hissed softly as his jaw went slack.

“Okay,” His other hand found the small of my back and he pulled me into him. “We…we’ll need a safe word then.” He continued, and at my new close proximity to him I could feel his heart racing in his chest in the same way mine was. With a pop, I let his thumb drop from my mouth. “How about gummy bear?” I replied in a whisper as his hand wove through my hair; bringing my mouth closer and closer to his. A content hum fell from his lips. “Gummy bear it is.” He replied just before he placed his open mouth against mine.

His tongue slipped into my mouth as relief crashed down on me. I moaned into his mouth as his hands traveled all across my body. His kiss was harsh and deep, but his gentle caresses against my thighs and ass as he pulled me even closer to him was a calming paradox. Our breath grew more and more wild as the kiss deepened, and I couldn’t stop myself from bringing my hand to his crotch; where I found his rock hard member straining against his sweatpants. I palmed him firmly, taking as much of his cock in my hand as I could so that I could feel all of its veins and ridges, before slowly stroking him through his sweats.

He groaned against my mouth before seductively biting down on my lower lip. My eyes fluttered open and I found that his were already piercing into me; the colour slightly glazed over by his arousal. His hand tightened on my ass while the other stiffened against the back of my neck. We watched one another as my hand worked against his clothed member, mouths parted as we fell into a trance. Suddenly, Matt’s eyes went a thrillingly dark shade of their usual blue and his grip on my neck tightened. He shifted and was suddenly on top of me, supporting himself with his arm while still pinning me down. I gasped as I looked up at him, feeling the heat of his cock pressed against my aching core.

Very slowly, Matt leaned down to my ear. The heat of his breath made goosebumps raise on my skin, and he nibbled on my earlobe before whispering into it. “You’re not going to touch me until I say.” My breath hitched in my throat from his words, but before I could recover he began tugging my shirt over my head. The cool temperature of the room hit my tits, and I felt them pebble against it. Matt took a moment to admire my breasts, running his thumbs along the sides of each before finally grazing my nipples. I gasped at the contact and squeezed my legs shut in an attempt at releasing even an ounce of the pressure that had been growing intensely between them.

Noticing this, Matt moved his attention to my lower half. Slowly, he ran his hands down my chest to my bare stomach, his eyes traveling along my skin in unison with his hands. He finally reached the waist band of my sweats, and quickly hooked his thumbs under them; removing both my sweats and my soaked panties in one swift motion. My total exposure sent a new wave of arousal through me, and I felt my legs tremble as he took his time admiring my naked frame. A satisfied groan fell from his lips as he ran his hands up and down my legs, and I subconsciously widened them as an invitation to the place where I needed his touch the most.

With my wet cunt spread for him, Matt’s eyes fell to it and I swore I could see the sheer hunger in his eyes. I watched in anticipatory awe as his frame bent in the middle until his mouth was just centimetres away from my core. So close I could feel his breath against my clit, my eyes shut and my hips bucked in frustration just before his warm mouth enclosed my nerves; bringing with it a wave of pleasurable relief. That didn’t last for longer than a second, as he simply planted a wet kiss against my clit before straightening his body again. My eyes flew open in confusion, and my cunt began to pulse as his kiss against it had done nothing more than intensify my need for him.

“You want me to use you?” His deepened voice cut through the once-silent room, and its gruffness made me jump slightly. I nodded my head, squirming under his gaze. “P-please Matt.” I added, wincing at the undeniable desperation laced through my voice. He continued to stay on his knees looking down at me for a moment, his eyes drinking me in for what could have been days. I relished under his gaze, but grew antsy for his touch. Reading my mind, Matt blinked back to reality and climbed off of the bed. I stayed perfectly still, but my eyes followed his frame as he slipped his shirt off and walked into his closet. From the top shelf, he pulled out a fairly large box and brought it back to the bed.

From my position, I couldn’t see the contents of the box as he began to dig through it, but it was obvious that he was looking for something in particular. Finally, he took some objects out and placed them on the bed. With each new object that I could see, my heart began to race quicker and quicker. First, a short whip with what looked like fringe at one end; second, some sort of black leather straps; and third, a small vibrator. Content with his collection of items, Matt closed up the box and placed it on the floor beside the bed.

As he straightened up, his dark eyes shot straight to mine, and I felt as though he was looking straight through me. I swallowed, partially nervous and partially excited, as I watched him pick up the whip with one hand and the leather straps with the other. “Remember the safe word?” He asked huskily, and I gasped at the feeling of the leather fringe as he dragged it across my right arm. I nodded quickly as I felt him wrap one of the leather straps around my wrist. I cried out in pleasure as it suddenly tightened, and when I tried to move it I realized that he had strapped me to his bed frame. Once he was satisfied with that wrist, he trailed the whip back down my arm, over my racing pulse, to my chest; where he suddenly cracked the whip.

My back arched and I cried out in shock as the white hot pain traveled through my body, but almost immediately I felt Matt’s warm tongue press against the place of contact; soothing the skin there. The whip began its travel down my sternum, over my stomach and hips, slowing down as it traveled along my inner thigh down to my right ankle. My body lit on fire from the barely-there contact of the leather, and when he tied up my right ankle I no longer felt shock, only anticipatory pleasure. Once my right ankle was secured, the whip followed its same trail, only once it reached my stomach he shifted it in a diagonal direction, dragging it along my pebbled right nipple before cracking it yet again. My body writhed again, but once again his mouth soothed the pain against my sensitive nerves.

He reached my left wrist and tied it to the headboard, so that now my upper half was completely defenceless. Instead of feeling the expected instinct to fight against the pressure and restraint, I felt myself fall into a state of uncharacteristic ecstasy. My body was completely on edge, craving his touch even more than before. Finally, he dragged the whip back down my body to my left ankle, and when I felt it tickle against my hip bone my core began to drip with my arousal. With all four of my limbs spread apart and tied to the four corners of the bed, I was on full display for him for do whatever he wished with me; just as I had requested. I looked down at him, standing at the end of the bed directly between my legs. His eyes were trained on my glistening core, his bare chest heaving rapidly in anticipation. Suddenly, he dragged the whip along my body one final time. From my ankle, up my thigh, to my swollen cunt. My eyes fluttered shut at the light contact against my clit, and I subconsciously writhed my hips for some sort of friction. My eyes were only shut for a brief moment, however, because a sharp crack against my slick folds caused my whole body to lift off of the bed.

“Fuck!” I moaned out, writhing in the excruciating, pleasurable pain against my bundle of nerves. I felt like my entire body had a heart beat, and had the urge to clamp my legs together to ease the pain. The fact that I couldn’t, that I was completely exposed and defenceless, did nothing but make my stomach flip in excitement. A bratty smirk was just beginning to grow on my face when it was cut off by a sharp squeal as electric waves of foreign pleasure began crashing through me. Looking between my legs, I realized that Matt had pressed the vibrator against my clit.

“Ahhhh s-shit.” I moaned out, my words barely sounding like words as I became consumed by the pleasure that was filling me. My eyes struggled to stay open as I watched Matt watch me; his eyes shifting from my fucked out face back down to my dripping heat every few seconds. “That feel good?” He asked in a cocky tone. I nodded my head rhythmically, growing more and more intoxicated by the pleasure that I was feeling. “S-so good.” I breathed. I felt the urge to grab onto something, grab onto him, but the best I could do was dig my nails into the hard headboard they were tied to. The room filled with the sounds of my animalistic moans and the soft buzz of the vibrator, yet still over all of that I could hear Matt breathing heavily as he watched me unravel before him.

“You look so fucking good, tied up and spread open like a good little sex doll.” Even in my state of euphoria, Matt’s confident dirty talk was startling. Only for a moment though, because I couldn’t help but reply with a guttural moan. Suddenly, the vibrations grew stronger as he turned up the speed of the sex toy, and I knew I wasn’t going to last much longer. “F-fffuck M-matt-” I cried out, my body beginning to tremble as my pleasure began to build. “You wanna cum baby?” His voice was laced with tormenting humour, and I nodded rapidly, desperately. “Y-yes! Oh god yes-s!” As the words fell from my mouth, and my orgasm was just about to overtake me, Matt dropped the vibrator from my clit and instead slipped two fingers into me.

My eyes flew open in surprise and frustration, and I watched as Matt pumped his curled fingers in and out of me rapidly; filling the room with the sounds of my desperate arousal. My walls flexed around his fingers as he pounded into my g-spot, but the orgasm that I had nearly reached had receded back into the shadows at the sudden loss of the vibration. Matt looked up at me with a smirk. “You don’t get to cum until I tell you to cum, understand?” His words, spoken in such a menacing tone, made my stomach do a flip. I bit my lip and nodded tentatively. Satisfied, the smirk fell from his lips as he focused his attention back on my cunt in front of him.

He and I both watched as his fingers disappeared inside of me again and again, coated in more and more slippery fluid each time it reappeared. Seeming to give into temptation, Matt suddenly bent down and ran his tongue through my soaked folds to get a quick taste; forcing a moan out of my mouth before quickly straightening up again. His long fingers felt amazing inside of me, but I needed more. Frustrated, I bucked my hips and released a soft cry. He chuckled softly. “You’re dyin’ for it, huh?” I gasped and writhed in my restraints before nodding my head. “Okay,” He began, and I felt relief as I heard the vibrations once again. “Then you’re takin all of it.”

Without a moment for me to react, Matt pulled his soaked fingers out of me and used them to spread me open; exposing all of my raw nerves before firmly pressing the vibrator, now on full speed, against my undraped clit. There was a moment when the room went completely silent — so silent that it was nearly deafening — as my body was hit with the shock wave. And then, a murderous scream fell from my lips at the white hot sensation that made my mind go completely blank. Immediately, my body began convulsing and lifting off of the bed like a scene from The Exorcist. I could feel the vibrations from my head to my toes, and it was an all-consuming pleasure that was almost too painful to cope with. I couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe; I felt like I was no longer capable of ordinary human functions.

My arms and legs fought hard against the restraints, and the sounds of my guttural cries were accompanied by clanging metal from the buckles. I was so overstimulated that I wasn’t even sure if I was capable of detecting an impending orgasm; each wave of pleasure already feeling more intense than any orgasm I had ever had before. Matt apparently could tell, however, because his suddenly gentle voice filled the room. “It’s okay sweetheart, go ahead and cum for me.”

It was as if those words held a power over me, because as soon as they fell from his mouth I was swept into a tsunami wave of my orgasm. My body shook violently against the bed; rattling the frame at my subconscious attempt at curling into myself. My nails dug into the wood so deep that I was sure that the tips of my fingers would be bloody and raw. I rode through my high, screaming incoherent words as electricity continued to surge through my body. I felt a warm gush in between my legs and watched as Matt instantly dropped to his knees and wrapped his mouth around my opening; drinking me up as I squirted against his tongue.

Finally my body slowed from convulsions to trembles, and as my cries grew softer and calmer Matt pulled away the vibrator. His mouth traveled from my opening up to my overstimulated clit, where he left one final tantalizing kiss before pulling himself back up. My tits rose and fell rapidly as I struggled to catch my breath, and I watched through my eyelashes as Matt walked over me to plant a soft kiss against my panting lips. I felt my breathing begin to steady, then, and watched as he began untying my limbs from the bed frame. As he released each ankle and wrist, he used his warm hands to sooth the raw skin before kissing them, too.

Even once I was free, I couldn’t find the energy to move. I stayed in that starfished position as he knelt beside me. He ran his hand through my damp hair, and I turned to face him. I gave him a weak smile, and he mirrored me before kissing my sweaty forehead. “Can I get you anything?” He asked, his voice so soft and sweet. I shook my head gently, and he replied by climbing into the bed beside me. Finally adjusting myself, I winced at the stiffness in my joints as I curled into his half-naked frame. He kissed my hair and I closed my eyes to enjoy the tranquil state he had put me in.

“Was all of that okay?” His voice broke the silence of the room after a few moments. I lifted my head from his chest to look up at him with a blissed smile on my face. “Well I didn’t say gummy bear, did I?” I replied with a soft laugh. Thoughtful for a moment, I continued. “I guess we didn’t really need a safe word after all.” His eyes grew playful as he brushed a stray hair out of my face. “Don’t speak so soon sweetheart,” He chuckled, running his knuckles against my cheek, “I’m not quite done with you yet.”

─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─

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suiana · 2 days ago

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❝ I Reincarnated Into a Shitty Chirstmas Romance Movie and My Love Interest is a Yandere?! ❞

✎ featuring my creature, Ezra Valentine :3 this is just ezra being a weirdo, some lore for my game? idk blawg just read it and you'll find out

✎ special shoutout tags to these people @yandere-yearnings @forbidden-sunlight @moyazaika @bun3333s @yanderenightmare @cumtastiics @ozzgin

Your "childhood friend" is a bit of a weirdo, you think.

Staring at you for far too long, lingering touches that suggest that he's more than just a bit interested in you, and the weird random confessions about how he wants to get crushed under the heel of your right shoe...

It's just weird.

You've reincarnated into a shitty christmas romance movie. And your "childhood friend", aka the love interest, aka Ezra Valentine, has a crush on the main character, you. Obviously.

You don't even know why you watched this movie in the first place. Boredom, maybe? Yeah, probably was because you started dozing off after hour 1 of the movie. The movie was... 1 and a half hour long? It wasn't even rated that high. Like a... 6.9 at best.

And now you're stuck here all because you watched this shitty movie with an even shittier plot. Where the main character left the small town for a big city, came back home to celebrate christmas and meets childhood friend, decides to give up big city life because they both fall for one another.

Just like every other damn Mallhark movie. Predictable, boring, absolutely TRASH.

You don't even know why or how you got reincarnated into this damned movie in the first place! Did you fucking pass away in your sleep??? Actually just die from fucking boredom???

Well it's no use thinking about that now because you've been stuck in here for a while now. You think that you're maybe about halfway through the original plot, where Ezra and the old mc were supposed to have some bonding time together and shit. But that's not the case now, because you've changed the plot.

And you're realizing that this "childhood friend" of yours... Is acting a little bit differently.

You don't remember him being that much of a weirdo in the original movie. If you remember correctly,he was just like, a little bit of a shy loser boy who was infatuated with the MC and liked gaming. But now... Now he's, what, a masochist? Or did they just not add that fact into the movie? You couldn't have forgotten. If the love interest was openly a weirdo like he is to you, you wouldn't have dozed off in the first place. Just now, he literally asked to be crushed under your right shoe. Crushed. Under. Your. Shoe. How the hell is that boring? You'd be 101% AWAKE. You love freaks more than anything, damn!

Now that you think about it, he's more than just a bit of a weirdo.

He's been calling and acting like he's your boyfriend. Hell, he acts like a CLINGY boyfriend too. Asking where you're going, clinging to you, giving you those damned boba eyes everytime you talk to others, specifically dudes. Fun fact but you wish he'd stop abusing those eyes of his because fuck, how can you resist him when he's looking at you like that?

Worse of it all, you can't do anything. Not when your key out and helper, Ai, said to act cool and to not arouse any suspicion from him.

Ai's also another character in this movie by the way. His character trope: the hot side character that barely gets screentime and is also sentient. And right now, he's helping you find a way back to your world... Meanwhile you've been stuck in Ezra's apartment under the guise of a mandatory childhood bestie sleepover.

It's been days since you've actually last seen Ai in person because of how much Ezra, your "childhood friend", has been clinging to you. In just the past 3 days, he's made you watch the entire fnaf lore theory THRICE. And not once have you stepped outside his apartment. Not because you don't want to, but because he'd always find some bullshit excuse to keep you with him.

"O-oh but kitty you'd miss this very important scene... Where freddy goes hurhurhuhr"

"Kitty! Kitty you can't leave now! We have to watch it again! What? We watch it more times so it gets engrained into our brains! That's just common sense!"

"Keeping you h-hostage?! I'm not! All friend do this! It's just u-um, friend bonding time! We haven't been around each other in so long you know..."

It's weird. Just plain weird.

Thankfully you still have your phone so you could occassionally sneak a message or two to Ai, informing him of your current situation. As long as that black haired man baby doesn't see everything is fine...

y/n: currently watching a new video, thank gyatt for that

y/n: would actually jump if i have to watch more fnaf

y/n: erm... lowkey think this is worse though... its a video about danganronpa

Ai: don't worry, i'll be there to save you in a bit

Ai: i might have found a way to get you out of here

y/n: fr? ty for that silly goober :3 all while im chilling on the couch having some me time :333 ur so skibidi

"A-ahem! y/n who are you texting..?"

Shit. This damned guy! What does he think he's doing? Just popping up the second you finally have some alone time?! Wasn't he passed out from lunch just minutes ago???

"Erm... Just a friend?"

Ezra stares at you with wide round eyes, lps turning down into a frown before he sits uncomfortably close, pressing his long, lanky body against yours. Always the tall skinny guys that are the biggest weirdos man.

"Just a... friend?"

"Yeah, just a friend."

I mean, it wasn't wrong. Ai really was just a friend to you. Or at least that's what you think. To Ezra and his fucked up mind... Maybe you were abandoning him? And now he's jealous and might want to go batshit crazy on AI?

Haha! No way that would happen! Ezra, no matter how crazy he is, wouldn't go that far! He's just a loser who has an added interest in you now after all!

The look in his eyes say otherwise though.

"But I'm your friend, aren't I?"

Cold, dark, obsessive.

The way he stared at you sent literal chills down your spine. He had never looked at you in such a way before. Pathetic and needy, yes. But never this... Whatever the hell this was.

You back into the fabric of the seat, feeling a cold sweat line the skin of your forehead. All of a sudden, the room feels all too small and it's like you're trapped in his apartment with no way to escape.

It was suffocating.

"I'm the only friend you need. The only one you need, y/n."

You don't really recall a time where he's called you y/n so easily. It's always some stupid petname like kitty. And goddamn it, you wish he'd just say that instead. Hearing him call your name while he's staring into your very soul like this is making you feel like you're about to shit your pants.

"U-uh, okay dude chill out. You're my dearest friend, alright? Look let's jsut go back to watching that danganronpa analysis..."

And just like that, the terrifying aura IMMEDIATELY disappears and you're left with a sopping wet puppy of a man. You decide to make the first move, fiddling with the remote as you stand up and move close to the coffee table. Anythinng to gte away from this weird bipolar guy. How the hell did he develop this? A new character arc maybe?

In the midst of you trying to look anywhere but Ezra, you fail to realize that he had already taken your phone, leaving you with no way to contact Ai now.

"Now you'll never have another friend again..."

"What was that?"

"O-oh I said now you'll never be bored again! Haha!"

Right, totally what he said.

#yandere #tw yandere #yandere x reader #yandere drabbles #yandere scenarios #yandere imagines #yandere concepts #yandere childhood friend #yandere childhood friend x reader #suiana rambling #suiana brainrotting #ezra valentine #The Time I Got Reincarnated Into a Shitty Chirstmas Romance Movie and My Love Interest is a Yandere!

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mononijikayu · 1 day ago

Text

fairy of shampoo — ryomen sukuna.

“No, I doubt that.” he murmured, his voice dropping further as his eyes trailed over you, taking in every detail of his creation on your body. “I didn’t outdo myself. You did. You made it come alive. Well, you always have.” He reached out, his fingers brushing the edge of the fabric near your shoulder, the touch light yet searing. “This was always meant for you. No one else could’ve worn it like this.” There was a beat of silence, heavy and charged, before he added, “Do you know how hard it was to sit out there and watch everyone look at you like that?” You raised a brow, your smile teasing now. “Jealous already, ‘kuna?”

GENRE: alternate universe - fashion world au!;

WARNING/S: afab! reader, love at first sight, co-workers to lovers, romance, nsfw, rated 18 and above, explicit content, kissing, making out, rough sex, fingering, p to v sex, backstage/greenroom sex, orgasm, humor, pet names (angel, sweetie, etc), devotion, possessiveness, jealousy, characters speaking in sexual innuendo, mention of sexual euphemisms, depiction of explicit sexual content, fashion designer! ryomen sukuna, super model! reader;

WORD COUNT: 5k words.

NOTE: i wrote the first part of this while on instagram live and continued to write, but then i forgot to do a live about this again and passed out from more cold medicine. the cold weather isn't really helping my case either. but im feeling much better now!!! though, i kept changing titles too, cause im indecisive. but of course txt saves the day with fairy of shampoo.

i adore this song a lot. also, if you are curious, this was something i was imagining for a while as an au to concubine reader and sukuna. like in another live, he would be a former underground fighter who fell for model reader. in any case, i hope you enjoy it. i love you all!!! see you on the 10th!!!

masterlist

if you want to, tip! <3

HE DOESN’T THINK HE’S EVER SEEN SOMEONE LIKE YOU BEFORE. He felt his breath hitch, the steady rhythm in his chest faltering as if the very air had thickened, demanding more effort to draw in.

The crowd was roaring around him, but the noise seemed muted, far away, like a distant wave crashing on an unseen shore. All he could focus on was you, the commanding force you carried with every step.

It wasn’t just the way you moved — it was the raw, magnetic energy emanating from you. Each step struck the floor like a declaration, a drumbeat echoing through the cavern of his mind, drowning out every other thought.

He tried to remind himself to blink, to exhale, to ground himself in something other than the overwhelming pull of you, but it was no use. When it comes to you, there was no winning.

When you reached the center of the stage, you turned slowly, your gaze sweeping over the audience like a stormfront rolling in. Then, for the briefest moment, your eyes landed on his.

He felt like a man struck by lightning. The fire in your gaze seared through him, sharp and unyielding, leaving no room for the walls he’d so carefully built. He was laid bare, every defense stripped away, and for the first time in his life, he didn’t mind.

As quickly as it had come, the moment passed, and you turned your attention elsewhere, leaving him in the wreckage of his composure. His heart was racing, pounding against his ribs like it was trying to escape, and he could only wonder how someone could hold so much power without even trying.

Control? Composure? He realized now how fragile those concepts truly were.

Everything about you screamed majesty. It was obvious you knew what you were doing and it was obvious that you were doing it with so much passion, so much pride, so much expertise. If it was not clear now, it would be obvious to all now that it was you who ran this world.

And you had no problem trying to show that to everyone. Everything about what you were doing could only exude wonder people cannot explain. Especially when you walked. Ryomen Sukuna knew this from the first time he saw you walk.

He could somehow remember the first time he’s seen you walk on a runway. He wasn’t yet the person he was at this time. Ryomen Sukuna remembers that he was a rough man, a brutish man. Someone whose hands were at one point made for destruction more than they were for anything relating to creation.

These hands were born for nothing good at all. These were born from nothing and then for violence. For most of his life, he was sure that they were made for nothing else but pouring blood on the concrete in rough fistful bouts than they were for wanting to understand the language of fabrics and colors.

Sukuna was all too certain that he wasn’t someone who he himself thought was even worthy of being in your presence then. You wouldn’t have liked the man he was then.

If he didn’t, then you would certainly not like him too. But he liked to think that this was the moment his life changed. He could remember it so very clearly, that moment.

He could recall it all, if you asked. Every little detail. His bloody hands fumbled with the remote control, the echo of his fingers pressing the buttons whiplashed as he tried to find something worth watching. Nothing was worth watching, nothing was worth looking forward to. One after another, the button pressed only to lead to disappointment.

Then, he stopped.

You were the first thing he saw. He blinked as he found himself staring at this moment. It was like you owned the runway. Your long silver stilettos click and clack across the steps,the fine texture of the shimmering silver dress blossomed like moonlight right in front of him. It was like an epiphany when he watched you come towards him through the screen.

Your bright blossoming eyes narrowed sharply as you stopped at the center, posing masterfully for the audiences and then for the cameras. He could feel the hairs on his body stand up as he walked closer to the screen. Almost a second after, you had smiled at the crowd.

For a moment, Ryomen Sukuna had thought that this belonged to him. Your smile, your gaze, your pose. He had felt like you had been longing for him. Calling for him to come and join you. Beckoning him closer by your side. Almost as though you were commanding him like the goddess of the moon you were in that moment.

He wished that moment had lasted much longer. But as you finished your moment, it was your turn to walk away. Disappointment slowly seeped into him as he watched you go, the train of your metallic silver gown flowing behind you like moonshine withdrawing from the slithering darkness.

You were so beautiful, so bright and gorgeous. For a moment, he didn’t even think you were real. He couldn’t believe that such a being like you could ever exist. He couldn’t believe that such a being like you could ever bless him with your wonders, even for just a moment. From that moment, he was awestruck.

But it’s not like Ryomen Sukuna could not help himself in wanting you. You were life itself for him from that moment. And he couldn’t help but live in the world you made. He could not help but want to know you. To know more of your wonder. To be there in the room where it happened, watching you command the world with each and every step only you could make.

One could call him insane for believing that this was the moment that changed his life. That you, who he had never known, would ever change his life. Yet, it was true. You had made him your most adoring servant.

And he had made you his master, his lifelong muse. He knew that he didn’t have any skills to dress you, his goddess, just yet. But if there was something Ryomen Sukuna knew, it was that everything can be learned. And you would guide him how.

He could recall how he stood up from his couch that night and washed his bloody hands on his sink. He cleaned every bit of it. By the time he finished, he found his hands clean enough. And with that he felt satisfied.

He dried his hands with the dry cloth, watching the bloody water drain down the sink. He knew that he had to have clean hands, for you. He can’t dress you if his hands are dirty with blood. He won’t soil you. No, he won’t soil his goddess.

The click of the cameras brought him back to reality. You stopped at the center of the runway and posed. You look at the side dramatically, your jaw sharp against the glow of stage lights. You had fun as you brushed the loose hair back on your ear, trying to showcase the fine sapphire earrings encrusted with diamonds.

People were in awe as you stood there, the leather covered fingers tracing your beautiful face as you showcased the fine red silky flow of the shimmering strapped dress bejeweled in fine rubies and sapphires and its majestic slit at the hem forcing your fine leg forward, the heel of your shoe just as magnificent with its intricate design.

Everything about it was a perfect fit — as it should. Ryomen Sukuna could only think to himself about how proud he was that it looked good on you. Red was certainly made to be your color. The color he had so loved, the color he knew you had come to love just as much when you looked into his scarlet eyes too.

Sukuna’s smirk deepened as he watched the crowd, their collective awe painting a smug satisfaction across his sharp features. They didn’t just see a veteran model on the catwalk; they saw his vision, his devotion, his muse brought to life. They saw life form before their eyes.

It wasn’t just about the clothing, no. It was about you, his precious muse. You carried his work like no one else could, not just wearing the piece but embodying it, giving it a presence that no other model could match. Every step you took whispered of elegance, screamed of confidence, and radiated the unshakable power he had designed into every stitch.

He leaned further back in his chair, one leg draped casually over the other, his fingers tapping a slow rhythm against his arm. Sukuna’s mind flickered back to the nights spent creating the masterpiece you now wore. The hours he poured over sketches, fabrics, and details, all with you in mind. The fire in his chest when inspiration struck, always tied to the thought of you — your silhouette, your essence, your wonder.

It was a dangerous thing, he knew, to let himself feel this much for anyone. It was even more grievous when one thinks about how crazy he is, obsessed with you. But as he watched you claim the stage as though you owned it, as though you owned him, he couldn’t bring himself to care. If anyone deserved his best, it was you.

And now, seeing you carry with pride what he had envisioned, the culmination of his work, his smirk twisted into something softer, something almost reverent. His scarlet eyes could only glint with a mixture of pride and possessiveness.

Because this wasn’t just a fashion show, not to him. This was his world laid bare, his unspoken devotion stitched into fabric, and you, his muse, standing at the center of it all. And he could care less about anything else. This was what mattered. Nothing more will satisfy him than you.

Let them look. He thought, his scarlet gaze darkening further. Let them be captivated.

But they should know this — the vision, the brilliance, the art?

It was his. And so were you.

And you just as well knew it too.

He was yours too, after all.

The moment the show ended, Ryomen Sukuna slipped through the mass of the crowd, his stride purposeful as he made his way backstage. The buzz of the event, the voices, and the clinking of glasses faded into white noise as he navigated through assistants, models, and photographers.

They all parted instinctively for him — whether out of respect, fear, or both, he didn’t care. Why should he care at this moment? He had something else much more important in mind, after all. Nothing can compare to that, to you.

He found you standing alone, the chaos of the backstage swirling around but never touching you. You were a picture of composed beauty, your magnificent features illuminated by the soft backstage lighting. The masterpiece you wore still clung to you, the fabric shimmering as though it held its own light.

You didn’t notice him at first, too engrossed in adjusting one of the intricate details of the outfit, but the shift in the air told you he was there. You looked up, your tender gaze locking with his, and in that instant, the world seemed to narrow in this cage you had always made for just the two of you. Your lips perk up into a small sly smile.

Sukuna let the door swing shut behind him, the sound muffled by the hum of the outside world. The room felt smaller now, the space between you crackling with an intensity that mirrored the one you’d commanded onstage. He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms casually, though the smirk on his lips betrayed the hunger in his gaze.

“Stunning, as always.” he said, his voice low and deliberate. “But then, you already know that.”

You tilted your head, meeting his smirk with a soft smile of your own. “The design does most of the work. You outdid yourself, Sukuna.”

His smirk deepened as he pushed off the wall, closing the distance between you in a few slow steps. You shake your head at him, your smile getting bigger too. He was about to have another one of his antics, for certain.

He reached out, his fingers brushing the edge of the fabric near your shoulder, the touch light yet searing. “This was always meant for you. No one else could’ve worn it like this.”

There was a beat of silence, heavy and charged, before he added, “Do you know how hard it was to sit out there and watch everyone look at you like that?”

You raised a brow, your smile teasing now. “Jealous already, ‘kuna?”

His chuckle was dark and low, the kind that sent shivers down your spine. “Jealous? Maybe. But more than that…” His hand slid from the fabric to your jaw, tilting your beautiful face up to his.

His scarlet eyes burned with something raw, something possessive. “I just wanted to remind you to come by and tell you, like I always do. All of this, the applause, the stares, the admiration... none of it matters. Because at the end of the day, you’re mine. No one else can have you but me.”

The air between you thickened, you could feel your pulse quickening as his blunt words hung in the space. His thumb brushed against your tender cheek, and soon enough, his face echoed a small smirk against his beautiful lips, one that you were certain was softer this time. But of course, you were just as certain that it wasn’t less intense.

“And don’t you dare forget it, hm?” he added, his voice barely above a whisper, before leaning in to close the distance between you.

“I will never forget.” You hummed back to him, just as sweetly. Just as venomous. “Just as you never forget that I am the only muse for you, hm?”

He laughs, the tone rich and eager as his eyes narrowed at you. “And when have I ever forgotten that, hm? Ten years of my life given to you so far, and you’ll have the rest of it too. You don’t have to worry about me leaving you.”

You couldn’t help but laugh aloud this time. “Hm, then you are my prisoner now.”

“I always have been….. I am always willing to be, sweetie.”

He grabbed your hand, his grip firm but not forceful, and guided you through the bustling backstage chaos. You followed without question, the dress flowing into the brush of wind as you made your place elsewhere. You could feel your heart racing as he weaved through the narrow halls with singular focus, while still holding onto you, no matter what.

He didn’t stop until the two of you reached your green room. With a swift glance to ensure no one had followed, he shut the door behind you, the lock clicking into place with a finality that made your breath hitch. You looked at him and then he looked back at you, almost as though time had frozen between the two of you.

The room was quieter here, dimly lit and far removed from the noise of the show. The faint hum of the loud music leaked through the walls, but it only added to the charged atmosphere between you. Ryomen Sukuna took a breath before starting to get closer to you, his intense scarlet gaze pinning you to the spot.

It was as though your throat had all but closed. You felt yourself standing there as he made his way to you and then stopped. The space between the two of you had all but evaporated into nothing. You pursed your lip into a line and then shook your head into a small smile.

His scarlet glint lingered, locking with your gaze, a mischievous gleam dancing within his eyes. Slowly, he lowered himself before you, hands deftly reaching for the ties that bound you to your heels. The heels he had designed just for you.

You knew you could do it yourself. But he refused to let you do it, even when he has to get to you later on, he would get some sort of way when he didn’t do it for you. For so long now, you have never been able to take your shoes off by yourself. He wouldn’t allow it.

After all, it was a ritual he insisted on. It was something he had done even when he was first designing clothes tailored just for you. And you had long stopped having any qualms about it.

Every time he did this for you, whether after the runaway or some time else, there was always this calm. It was always a quiet moment of devotion woven into the fabric of your bond each and every single time.

An angel like you shouldn’t have to stoop to something like this, sweetie. He had said back then, his lips curving into a playful smile as his attention remained on your feet. Only devils like me should kneel, taking on tasks as lowly as this.

Now, as his fingers worked to free you from the delicate binds, he couldn’t help but hum. You could feel his mumblings be rough and edged with something untamed and all at once, the warmest of spring days and tenderest of breaths. You obediently look upon him as he carefully removes them from your feet.

“You’ve been driving me insane all night, sweetie.” He set your shoes aside, tucking them where they wouldn’t catch another soul’s attention. His scarlet eyes roved up to yours, filled with longing. “Everything you do, even now... You just woo me to no end.”

You shivered under his gaze, feeling the intensity of his words wrap around you like a warm, intoxicating haze. His hands, calloused yet deliberate, brushed against your ankles as he adjusted your footing, ensuring you could stand without strain. Even in such a simple gesture, his care for you felt all-consuming.

“You have always imprisoned me, you know that? But tonight…..you really have mastered it.” he snickers, his tone dipping lower, velvet and gravel in equal measure.

“I have.” You muttered back at him, smiling at him as sweetly as you could. “Don’t you like it that way? Your muse gives you everything, artist of mine.”

“I did. I always do. I loved tonight most, I should say.” His lips curled into a smirk that sent a rush of heat through your chest. “Every glance, every move—it’s like you’ve cast some wicked spell. And here I am, completely at your mercy.”

He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your skin, his hands still lingering just a moment too long on your legs. The proximity was enough to make your heart race, yet he stopped short of closing the distance, his teasing nature keeping you on edge.

“And the worst part?” he added, his voice softening but losing none of its weight. “I don’t even mind. Your devil craves more—he begs, over and over, to be your fool willingly.”

He stood, fluid and graceful, the motion commanding yet intimate. Your eyes blossomed as you looked towards him, unable to move. You felt as though you were being consumed by him. You felt like you were consumed by his wonder, by his soul, by his everything. Like you always have been. Like you always want to be.

His fine lips hovered near yours, daring but unyielding, as though he relished the tension he had so masterfully wrought. Every second seemed to stretch into eternity, leaving you breathless, waiting, wanting—until finally, he whispered back to you.

“Tell me, my angel... How long are you going to keep me like this?”

Before you could respond, his calloused hands were on you. One sliding around your waist, the other cradling the back of your neck. His precious lips crashed against yours with a hunger that left no room for hesitation. It was a kiss that demanded everything from you, one that poured out all the frustration, admiration, and possessiveness he’d kept in check throughout the show.

You melted into him, your tender hands finding their way to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his coat and then his shirt as you kissed him back with equal fervor. His touch was everywhere, his hands tracing the curve of your waist, the line of your back, pulling you closer as though he couldn’t stand even an inch of distance between you.

The kiss deepened, his lips parting yours as his tongue sought entry, exploring, claiming. You gasped against him, and he took the opportunity to tilt your head back, giving him better access as he pressed you against the cool wall, pinning you against it.

“You were perfect, sweetie. You truly are.” he muttered against your lips, his voice a gravelly whisper. “You have no idea how you burn me alive.”

Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling slightly, earning a low growl from him that sent heat pooling in your stomach. “I think I’m starting to get the whole of it, ‘Kuna.” you teased breathlessly, your words cut off as he captured your lips again. “But….I wouldn’t mind knowing more about it.”

The air around you was thick with the scent of him, a mix of that one of a kind expensive mint cologne and a little bit of cinammon, something he had become fond of because of you. Everything about it was unmistakably your Sukuna.

The world outside the green room ceased to exist — no crowd, no cameras, no responsibilities to the world. It was just the two of you, tangled together, consumed by the fire you’d stoked in each other. Consumed by the very word that both of you couldn’t fathom saying to the other.

When he finally pulled back, the string of your connection bellowed you in parting. You looked at him intently as you gathered yourself. Both of you were breathless, wanton in your desire. You found your lips swollen and your heart pounding to no end.

Soon enough, he drew you closer and let his forehead rested against yours intently, his hands still firmly on your waist, holding you as if he feared you’d vanish.

“You’re so ardently beautiful, angel of mine.” he said again, his voice a husky promise. “Always. My only muse.”

“And you’re just as cunningly sweet, devil.” you replied, your voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions coursing through you. “You’re the only one who can be my artist.”

“You’re quite possessive tonight, aren’t you?”

You hummed back to him. “Don’t you already know that I am vile when it comes to you and smiling at other women?”

His smirk returned at your words. You rolled your eyes at his smirk, but your own eyes were too playful to suggest anything else. Your lover’s smirk turned softer soon, as your hands rested around his neck. But it was obvious that it was just as dangerous. Soon enough, he leaned in to kiss you again, passionately slower this time, as if savoring the moment.

The green room felt impossibly small, the charged energy between you crackling like a live wire. Sukuna’s hands roamed your body with a confidence that left you breathless, his touch igniting a fire in your veins. His lips trailed from your mouth to your jaw, down the curve of your neck, leaving a heated path in their wake.

Your back pressed against the cool wall, a small breath releasing from your lips. You could feel the difference when you pressed against his body, though. Now more so when he had all but taken everything off, naked as the day he was born. It was truly a stark contrast to the endless heat and pleasure just radiating from his body and onto yours.

He held you firmly, his strong calloused hands gripping your voluptuous hips closer as though grounding himself in you. His hot breath was heavy against your skin, his sharp teeth grazing the sensitive spots on your skin that made you shiver and arch into him.

"’kuna, you….." you whispered, your voice trembling with both anticipation and need.

He chuckled darkly, his lips curling into a wicked smirk against your neck. "Say it louder for me." he demanded, his voice dripping with authority and raw desire. “I love hearing from you.”

You barely had time to respond before his hand slid lower onto your body, finding the silky fabric in his way. His brow raised for a moment. He had put himself in a conundrum, at times. He likes dressing you in everything he thinks of and creates. And yet, he just as much loves to see it off your body.

With a swift, deliberate motion, he tugged at the silky material, his eager movements ever so impatient yet precise. When your lover found your bare skin, you couldn’t help but gasp, throwing your head to the side slightly, clutching onto his shoulders for support.

It didn’t take long before your lover found himself pressing himself closer, the thick heat of his touch teasing at the warmth of your entrance. He paused, his warm scarlet eyes locking with your own, searching for permission in your gaze. Even when he leads, he knows an angel will always be the one on top, not him, not the devil.

You nodded, your bruised lips parting as you whispered back at him. "Please. Please, my devil."

From there, you could only find that the tension had all but snapped. He pushed into you with a slow, deliberate force that had you throwing your head back against the wall. A loud pleasured cry escaped your eager lips as his throbbing tip pressed against your walls with such a mean, unrelenting precision.

You could only ever feel so full with the way he was easily stretching you in a way that was both overwhelming and intoxicating. He always knew too well how your body would react to him, wantonly eager to capture him in this desire. Just as much as it was willing to follow him, like he was its very own pied piper.

His rough and yet gentle hands gripped your hips tighter against him, steadying you as he slid into you deeper, filling everything inside to the brim. Your lover’s breath could only feel ragged, his jaw clenched and tightened as he fought for control, his sweating forehead resting against your own, now too drenched in desire.

"You take me so perfectly, don’t you?" he growled, his voice low and filled with unrestrained hunger. “Too good.”

Your fingers found their way to the small of his back, nails painted crimson now stained deeper as they dragged across his skin, leaving raw, bleeding trails in their wake. You clung to him desperately, adjusting to the fullness of him, each deliberate motion sending shockwaves through your body.

The initial sting of his girth soon melted into a searing pleasure, a molten heat pooling deep within you as he buried himself further, again and again. Each thrust forward in this pandemonium of pleasure was deliberate, unyielding, designed to elicit the loudest, most unrestrained cries from your lips.

Even against the sound of music outside these walls, your pleasure was even louder. Not that Sukuna minded. If anything, that had just made him more eager for more. The air in the green room grew dense and feverish, charged with the mingling of your ragged breaths, the rhythmic slap of skin meeting skin, and the guttural curses that spilled freely from Sukuna’s lips.

He shifted slightly, tilting your hips with a nearly brutal precision, each movement driving him deeper and deeper into you. It was raw, primal—his intensity teetering on the edge of brutish animalism. The cool wall at your back pressed harder against you as he pushed closer, his heat overwhelming, searing into your already burning skin.

From then on, your lover found himself thrusting against you in a new angle. Almost instantly, you found yourself unraveled entirely, tearing cries of unrestrained ecstasy from your lips over and over again, layered in different pitches one after another. Your body arched instinctively, meeting him halfway, desperate for more as he kept you teetering on the precipice of bliss.

Again and again, your lover gleefully pushed you closer to that feverish edge, his swift movements unrelenting, even as his own breaths grew rough and uneven, the sound of his hunger matching the rhythm of your shared passion. You could feel your slick sliding down your crevices, as much as drool was falling from your lips.

“You feel that?” he growled, his voice low and ragged, thick with possession. His lips found the curve of your neck, teeth grazing your skin before biting down lightly, claiming you in a way that sent shivers down your spine.

You groan against him. “You take me so perfectly… even now, in this dress I made just for you. Look at how it clings to you, ruined. It’s just like I wanted.”

The shining silk fabric of the dress bunched at your hips, a masterpiece he had poured his craft into, now crumpled and wrinkled between your sweating, mangled bodies. It was too intoxicating, the way that the waves of wrinkles formed on the fabric as you moved against him just as intensely. It was such an art. It was an art that only belonged to you and him. No one else can ever see such marvels like this.

The bright satin straps had all but slipped from your shoulders, exposing more of your gleamingly red and marred skin to his roaming calloused hands and greedy scarlet eyes. His long fingers gripped the delicate material, rough and unapologetic, as though the dress itself was just another part of you to dominate.

Your response was but a strangled moan as his brutishly eager hips snapped forward, the force of him driving you harder against the wall. The burn of skin against skin, the body against the cool wall — it has overtaken you whole in many fits of groans in pitiful harmonies of pleasure.

The cool surface contrasted with the molten heat coursing through your body, heightening every sensation. Your nails could only continue to claw at his shoulders, leaving streaks upon streaks of your touch across his skin, marring him, as you fought to keep yourself grounded. He could only smirk at that.

“Look at you now.” he murmured darkly, his scarlet gaze piercing into yours. “Still wearing this dress like a goddess, and yet, you’re falling apart for me. Do you have any idea how maddening you are? How irresistible?”

His hand slid between your bodies, teasingly brushing over the intricate folds of the fabric as his fingers found the heat pooling between your thighs. “Tell me, angel… do you want me to ruin this dress too? To ruin you completely, so no one else can ever have you?”

“Yes, my devil.Yes.” you gasped, your voice shaky but unyielding, the word spilling from your lips like a prayer. “Only you.”

His chuckle was dark, wicked, and utterly consuming, the sound of a man reveling in his victory. “Just how I love it, then.” he whispered, leaning in to brush his lips against your ear, his breath warm and teasing. “Because I’ve made you mine in every way that matters.”

His pace quickened, the power of his thrusts leaving you breathless, and yet, the dress still clung to your frame, a tattered proof to his desire and your surrender. Every stitch, every detail he had meticulously crafted was now a witness to the unrelenting passion that coursed between you, its perfection crumbling just as you were under his touch.

“You’re so beautiful like this.” he rasped, his voice thick with emotion, even as it trembled with raw hunger. “My perfect angel. My creation. Mine.”

The dress clung to you, its delicate fabric now rumpled and damp with sweat, a stark contrast to the pristine masterpiece it had been when he first slipped it into your body hours earlier. His hands roamed freely now, rough fingertips tracing the paths of the seams he had stitched with care.

Each touch of his ignited sparks across your glowing skin, a searing reminder that every detail of the garment was crafted with you burning the thoughts he had mind—and now, every thread bore witness to how completely he had unraveled you bear to him.

“Do you feel how perfect this is?” he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as his voice dropped to a rasp. His hips surged forward again, drawing a gasp from your lips that echoed in the small room.

“Every part of this, of you, was meant to drive me insane. The heavens planned for that, don’t you think? An angel to save the devil from sin.” He lets out a small choked chuckle, feeling sweat permeate from his neck.

His words were almost worshipful, though they carried the dark edge of his hunger. One hand slid down, gripping your thigh through the bouncing fabric, pulling you impossibly closer as he pressed harder against you. His other hand tugged at the hem of your dress, teasingly smoothing it back down only to push it higher again.

“You don’t even know, do you?” he continued, his scarlet eyes locked onto yours, holding you captive as easily as his body did. “How beautiful you look like this—wrapped in something I made, only to have me ruin it.”

His lips curled into a smirk, wicked and proud, before he leaned in, capturing your mouth in a searing kiss. The kiss was all-consuming, his teeth grazing your lower lip, his tongue invading with the same urgency as his movements against you. When he pulled back, leaving you gasping for air, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath mingling with yours.

“Say it again. I wanna hear it again.” he demanded, his voice thick with need. “Tell me you’re mine.”

You could barely form the words, but they tumbled from your lips without hesitation. “I’m yours. Only yours.”

His eyes darkened further, a victorious glint sparking within them. “That’s right.” he growled, his pace quickening, his grip on you tightening as he drove you higher and higher. “You’ll always be mine, angel. No one else will ever have you like this. No one else will ever love you like I do.”

The intensity of his words sent you over the edge, your beautiful cries mingling with his animalistic groans as he followed you into an oblivion together. The air around you was heavy, thick with the scent of desire and the echoes of your shared release.

For a moment, neither of you moved from the bliss of the high. The only sound that mattered to the two of you was the ragged cadence of your breaths. His hands, once rough and relentless, now moved with never ending tenderness, smoothing the crumpled fabric of your silk dress as if trying to restore its dignity.

As if trying to hide the ruin and depravity that he feels only belongs to you and him. No one else can see it, no one else can know about his depravity. Only you, only you were the spectacle of any wrinkle in his composure. Your lover smiles at you. His lips brushed your forehead, a soft contrast to the ferocity of moments before.

“You’re perfect, as always.” he whispered, his voice low but steady, carrying a rare, vulnerable warmth. “In every way.”

You couldn’t help but smile at him. “So are you.”

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just-some-random-blogger · 2 days ago

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SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP THIS WAS SO CUTEEEEE. smokes a blunt (don't smoke) I remember when AO3 was litttttered with fics like this 😭😭😭 I miss it so bad goooosshhhh nothing like a good fluffy piece for the soul I miss reading fluff I keep reading/writing depressing shit I have forgotten what it feels like

This was so darling fr fr rfrfrfrfr ughhhj

“Really? George, why didn't you tell me? I would have put my book down.” Says the girl lazily not even attempting to put her book down. She was not even bothered enough to pick up her gaze from it or bothered by her friend's antics.

SHES SO FUNNY I CANT I CANNOT

“Fred, the only people having sex here, are the characters in my book.” She says, turning to another page. George leans over and tries to peek whether that is true or not. The girl shuts the book with a loud bang and places it gently on the table. Now finally giving all the attention to the overly loud Gryffindor duo. Lee's hand reaches for the book but she just swats it away.

SHES SO ICONIC FOR THIS. SHE ATE THEM ALL UP THEN JUST SHRUGGED THEM OFF UGHHHHHH YUMMMM

“ You know what you're doing, right?” George leans back and looks at the girl.

MY SWEETIE MY SHAYLA

“You do?” Say all 3 boys at the same time. She just rolls her eyes at their antics and turns to leave. George hurriedly followed her.

CRYING THEYRE ALL IDIOTS I LOVE THEM SO DEARLY

“ When are we going to tell him?” asks George the girl next to him. “Don't get me wrong, it's hilarious, but I miss holding your hand.” [...] He just sometimes misses her despite being right next to her.

MY BOY MY SWEEET BOY THE LOVE OF MY LIFE THE STAR OF MY NIGHT UGHHHH

“ Why would I have George's one? I don't like him like that.”

If my significant other said that I would cry ☹️

Georges's giggles are heard throughout the tavern. “ Motherfucker, you ain't telling us shit!”

cHEEEEEKKKYYY GOOOOBBBEERRRR

“Source?” Lee asks.“

Dude, trust me,” Fred answers.

BROS SO SILLY I CANT

“ YOU TWO! KISSING! I GOT PROOF!” HE yells and shows them the picture. The girl just grabs it and looks at it. Fred is jumping up and down, hugging Collin and then Lee. Victory celebration. The girl gets up and walks to the poor younger Gryffindor. George is pulled up by Fred and forced to join a jumping hug.

THEYRE ALL SO DUMBBBB UGHHH I LOVE IT

“Hey Collin, can I keep this?” She asks the boy gently. [...] The boy just nods and runs away as fast as he can, very much terrified of his upperclassmen.

poor Colin! I'm glad she got to keep it though.

WE LOVE A GOOODDD ENDING KISSSSSS UGHHHH THIS WAS SO GOOD I MIGHT HAVE TO WRITE A X INSTANCES AND 1 TIME U DIDN'T FIC UGHHH SOOO GOOODDDD

Love accusations

Masterlist George Weasley x Gryffindor! reader (fem) Summary: 3 instances where you deny dating George, and the one where you don’t. Much to Fred's dismay. warnings: Mention of sex, swearing, no use of y/n Authors note: one-shot. English is not my first language, so I apologize for any mistakes beforehand. Proofread by me and me only (Ｔ▽Ｔ) Word count: 3k

A pair of Gryffindor sat on a sofa in a secluded part of the common room. The two had previously worked on their charms homework together, however, one had seemingly finished and moved on to a book, while the other one took avoiding it as his main mission in life. However, any attempt to get a reaction from the girl goes unnoticed by her. Disappointed he returned to doing his homework. They both fail to notice his twin approaching with their friend.

“You two ARE having sex!” Fred yells making some heads in the common room turn in their direction with curiosity. George jumps a bit in shock and looks at his brother. Eyes widening.

“ We are not!” George argues back as Fred and Lee sit down opposite the couple. That however goes flat to their ears. Because if there is something Fred loves more than testing his brothers, it's teasing his twin brother.

“What do you want.” She asks.

“I want, you two to admit you're dating.” He says pointing a finger between her and George.

“Not gonna happen Fred.”

“Why not?”

“ Because we are not dating, easy as that.”

“Bullshit!” Fred yells and slams his fist onto the coffee table. She leans back into the sofa and just shakes her head dissapointly. Kicking her feet up on the coffee table and crosses her hands over her chest.

“You have no valid argument, Fred. I will not debate this with you if you have no evidence.” She says looking into Fred's eyes, knowing damn well it will fire the boy up. He narrows his eyes at her and nods as if telling her he will play her little game. Quickly he turns to Lee and they start whispering sometimes glancing at the pair. The two of them made it look like they just thought of a groundbreaking strategy in quidditch.

“ You know what you're doing, right?” George leans back and looks at the girl. Giving up on the homework at this point. She just smirks and nods. Lee and Fred turn back and simultaneously clear their throats.

“We have proof.” He says seriously and pokes Lee in his side with his elbow. The girl just raises her eyebrow before motioning them to continue. Lee sits up straight.

“ I have seen you two almost kiss in the corridor before.” He says very proud of himself. Fred started franticly nod and a smile spread across his face. Gorges's eyes widen a little at this information. The girl, however, remained unphased.

“ You can't prove that it was us. I could have been anyone.” She argues back, looking at her nails, seemingly bored. Fred's smile flatters a bit before he jumps up.

“I CAN RECOGNISE MY FACE ANYWHERE!” He yells and points at the girl. She just lifts her gaze and him.

“You didn't see us tho. Lee did. Hence, could have been anyone.” Fred's and George's faces snap to Lee who gulps very loudly. Looking nervous between the two brothers and the girl. Lee felt like in the front line of a war.

“ We walked together to the library after tho.” He says.

“ You walked together to the library after!” Fred repeats seeing this as his victory. Placing his hands on his hips and making a superhero pose. The girl just sighs and takes her legs off of the coffee table.

“ Are you jealous about me almost kissing George? Fine. I can almost kiss Lee if you want. Even you if you desire so much.” Whine leaves Geroge as Fred and Lee watch the girl in confusion.

“What.”

“You heard me, Weasley.” She says before getting up from her comfortable spot. Both Lee and Fred move a few inches back. She just chuckles and goes to pack her things. George sees this and goes to do the same.

“Plus it couldn't be me kissing George, as I fancy someone else.” She says after picking her book from the table and placing it in her bag.

“You do?” Say all 3 boys at the same time. She just rolls her eyes at their antics and turns to leave. George hurriedly followed her.

“ Where are you going?” Fred asks as both of them get up and move toward the exit. She just flashes him a smile.

“ To almost kiss your brother in the corridor.”

—

The four of them were on their way to Hogsmeade. The snow as fallen in a thick layer and all there was to do was some shopping. The twins wanted to buy some trinkets from Zonks, while Lee and the girl had only butter beer on their minds. Walking swiftly to get from the cold and hoping their younger siblings don't catch up on them and they would be forced to take them with. Fred and Lee led the group, while the other two were falling behind. Fred and Lee could be heard from miles away. George opted for a much quieter conversation with his partner.

“ When are we going to tell him?” asks George the girl next to him. “Don't get me wrong, it's hilarious, but I miss holding your hand.” He continues and his hand brushes over hers. Although he dubs she could feel it over her gloves. To be fair, George finds it as much fun as she does. He just sometimes misses her despite being right next to her.

“You can hold my hand whenever you want to, but, It's too much fun, it's like he's obsessed.” A smile spreads across her lips as she stops her movements and looks at the boy. He also stops and looks at the girl. Her hand extends to him as a gentle offering. He takes it as fast as he can. Walking closer to her, he places his other hand on her cheek. Smile adored both of them, as George leaned in, Smack.

Crumbs of snowball have fallen on her face, a giggle escaped her. George wipes his head around to see his brother and friend both with loaded-up snowballs. Before he can react, two more hit him. Effectively stunning him.

“OI! Hurry up you lovebirds!” yells Lee before he and Fred run in the direction of Three Broomsticks. George just curses and runs behind them. Leaving the girl to leisurely walk and meet them there.

When she got here, all of them had already shed their outdoor layers and had butterbeers sitting in front of them. One was in a space next to George waiting for her. She took her scarf and coat off. Something perked up Fred's attention.

“Is this your way of telling us?” He says pointing between her and George.

“Telling you what?” She asks, sitting down. Not even being able to take a sip of her drink before Fred spits other nonces.

“That you two are together.” Lee is however faster and suppresses his friend in the explanation. The girl just rolls her eyes before taking a sip. A foam mustache forms on her upper lip that she quickly wipes with the sleeve of her sweater. Momentarily stopping to progress something.

“ Guys, we have been over this.” Defends George this time. Fred just narrowed his eyes at him before pointing at the girl, who was still frozen.

“Explain this then!” He says and grabs the sleeve of the sweater she was wearing. “ This is your sweater!!” Sudden touch wakes the girl up and she retracts her hand.

“Again Fred, you can't prove that.” He looks at her in disbelief, lost for words from the sheer audacity of this girl. Groan leaves George and Lee is just laughing at his friends' antics.

“Oh? So the giant G on the front doesn't mean anything?” Recovers Fred rather quickly. George chokes on his butter beer and Lee goes to pat him on the back. The girl looks down and stretches the sweater. There is indeed a giant G on it. No dubbed Mrs. Weasly work as always. She wondered if she did it to help herself to keep track of whose laundry she was doing.

“It's just a G, could mean anything.” leaves her.

“G for George.”

“ Or G for Ginny, ya know? Your sister.” She says, raising her eyebrow at him.

“Why would you have my sister's sweater?” he asks accusingly. She just shrugs and takes another sip from her drink.

“ Why would I have George's one? I don't like him like that.” When she says it like that it makes sense for her to have Ginnys' sweater more than Georges.

“So you do like him!” Lee jumps on the accusation train. Another groan leaves George and he finishes his drink.

“Just how I like you, and Fred, and Padma, and Harry, And-”

“ Okay, okay, I get it.” Freds gives up and takes a sip. A smirk spreads on his face. “ So tell us, who do you fancy?”

“Hmmm, well, truth to be told, he's a Gryffindor, tall, and very cheeky and his name is- WELL would you look at that! I will get us another round.” She says and gets up from her spot. Knowing better than to take Fred's bait, she walked away to the bar. She can hear Fred turning to Lee and George.

“I'm telling you it's George, You can't fight me on this one!” Georges's giggles are heard throughout the tavern. “ Motherfucker, you ain't telling us shit!”

—

A scream is heard throughout the burrow, together with fast steps going down the stairs.

Harry, Hermione, and Lee turn to the sound startled. The 3 Weasleys, however, not even looking up from their card game. Fred places one card down making Ginny frown and carefully study her own. Ron just curses under his breath.

The girl appeared first with the other twin on her toes. She stops in front of the group, eyes gleaming with victory. George stops once he notices the other people, opting to just stand behind her.

“Are you okay?” Hermione asks, Placing her own card down without even looking. Ron curses again and tries to peak at Harry's cards. He just presses them to his chest, preventing him.

“Yeah, why?” The girl asks, clearly out of breath from running from the much faster boy behind her.

“ The scream?” Harry says, not really sure he wants to join the conversation. She just waves her arms at them.

“Oh no, don't worry. It's something George did.” The boy behind her straightens at his name. Looking at his sister who seemed to be winning the game with almost no effort.

“ Oh Merlin, he finally did it. He showed her the birthday suit.” Fred says.

“and it was SMALL.” Followed Lee, Fred's head snapped to his friend, he took full offense to that. Hemione's face twists in disgust. A small ‘ew’ can be heard from Ginny before she places another card on the table. Ron makes a fake gaging sound and George had nothing better than ‘dude’. The girl laughs at this.

“Oh Lee, I love you so much,” she says and goes to hug him. George whines and stops her by grabbing her upper arm.

“I can confirm that is not true mate.” Says Fred with full confidence. George just shakes his head. Hermione decided to force her cards on Harry, who was not very happy about it, and got up.

“I'm going to make some tea, you want some?” She says to the girl, she just nods and follower her to the kitchen.

“ Count me in!” Says Ginny as she places her last card on the table, successfully winning the game. Her brothers and friends just groan. Ron looks like he might cry at this point.

The girls moved to the kitchen where Mrs. Weasley was looking out the window, watching her older sons and husband work in the yard. She notices them walking into the kitchen and smiles at them. Ginny mentions something about tea and the girls sit down. After some time and bickering over what does and does not belong in tea, steaming cups were sat before them. Hermione breaks the silence.

“So, when are you gonna announce it?” Confused look from the girl, Mrs. Weasly just glances at them, seemingly paying them no mind. While she may be facing the window, her years are very much facing the three girls sitting at her dining table. Because be assured if something is going on with her children, under her roof, she is bound to know. The girls didn't even have time to answer before Ginny jumped in.

“Wait, are not just pretending to not know in front of Fred?” She asked, confused as well. Hermione stops putting sugar in her tea and fully turns to the girl. She grabs her hands into hers and looks her in the eyes.

“Are you?” The girl grows nervous. Curse Ginny and her watching people skills.

“I have no idea what you're on about Hermione.” she says with a full chest, then leans in and whispers.” Let's not talk about it in front of his mum!”

“Stop whispering, we all know something is going on between you and George. I know my brothers, and I know when they have that lovesick look.” Ginny blows on her tea before taking a sip. Somehow she manages to give both of them a pointed look.

“I know what you look like with that look too, don't start Ginny.” says the horrified girl, still not comfortable that Mrs. Weasly is there. Ginny goes red and just looks away. Speaking of the older woman, she turns to them.

“ Who has a lovesick look?” She asks with a smile that feels a little bit too threatening to all of them, although others may see it as the sweetest one.

“You when you look at dad. What is he doing anyway.” Ginny says hoping to change the subject. The older woman just huffs, turns around, and looks out the window again. Ginny leans forward to the other two before she whispers.

“I'm just saying, let it really be my sweater you borrow next time.” A smirk on her lips when she retries. With the corner of her eye, she sees her brother trying to catch a glimpse of the embarrassed girl.

—

“Source?” Lee asks.

“ Dude, trust me,” Fred answers.

“ You know I am physically unable to do that.” The two boys were hiding behind a bush. Good view of the pair sitting on the bench.

“ I too was advised, not to trust you.” Pipes in Collin, who was dragged into this mess by an accident. The poor boy wanted a picture of that tiny firework Fred had, instead, he dragged him to this when he refused to let him borrow his camera.

“Collin, this is the talk. This is the news! I need you to take a picture of them when they kiss.” Says Fred, a creepy grin on his face. Collin scared a bit just nods his head and gets in position. After a few good minutes of spying, Fred gets impatient and turns to Lee.

“Should we find a better spot? My feet kinda hurt from squatting.” He says but then a shutter goes off. A little photo comes from the camera and Fred grabs it.

“AHA, GOT YOU!” he jumps out waving it in the air and running to the startled couple. Scaring the couple that jumps away from each other a little. Lee and Collin follow behind him.

“What are you on about Fred?” Asks him, George. Still holding the girl that had her legs on his lap.

“Hey Collin, can I keep this?” She asks the boy gently. He just nods, seemingly scared of the situation. The girl turns back to the three overgrown babies smile on her face. She can no longer argue about proof, as she was holding one in her hand. She turns to Collin again and tells him he can go. The boy just nods and runs away as fast as he can, very much terrified of his upperclassmen.

George wiggles out of the hug and makes his way to her. Cheers can be heard from his brother and friend. When they meet again, George stops right in front of her. One of his hands finds her waist and the other on her neck. They stay like this for a few seconds seemingly in their word, not noticing the cheers dying down. He leans in, their lips brush, when...

“Not in front of me Forge!” Yells Fred with the girl in his arms, running away with laughter, followed by Lee. George was frozen in his position, the girl missing from his arms. George shakes his head at his brothers' antics. Now that he looks at it, maybe living in denial wasn't the worst thing. Because if there is anything his twin loves more than teasing other people, is teasing him.

#george weasley fic #george weasly fluff

710 notes · View notes

kirammanswifey · 11 hours ago

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how arcane characters would deal with mental disorders x fem reader

characters: viktor, jinx, vi, caitlyn, jayce, ekko, silco, mel and sevika.

writer's note: writing this felt like giving myself a warm hug, a comfort that i needed. if anyone reading this is going through or has gone through any of these disorders, i want to tell you that you are very brave because it is not an easy thing, so feel proud of yourself. i hope you liked this as much as i did. as i'm a psychology student, i felt very motivated and i hope that it was quite understandable and enjoyable. as you already know request are open ;)

P.S. i know the other option won in the poll on my profile, but i need more time to refine the ideas and make something high quality that everyone will love, which i’ll be posting tomorrow ;)

Viktor Depression

The world around you feels like a constant weight, a heavy blanket that wraps around you, not letting you breathe. You wake up each day with a sense of emptiness in your chest, as if a black hole is absorbing all your energy, your motivation, your ability to feel anything other than sadness and apathy.

It’s not that you don’t want to get out of bed; it’s that the simple act of moving a finger feels like a titanic task. Fatigue is your constant companion, a shadow that never leaves you. Things that once filled you with joy now seem distant, irrelevant, as if they belonged to a life that is no longer yours.

The dark thoughts are your constant whispers, reminding you that you’re not enough, that it’s all pointless, that there’s no way out. Sometimes, you cry without knowing why; other times, you want to cry, but even that you can’t do. You feel trapped in an invisible prison, with no strength to fight your way out.

Viktor watches you from the doorway of your room, his gaze soft and full of concern. He knows the weight of shadows well, although his are different. Silently, he approaches and sits on the edge of the bed, not invading your space, but close enough for you to feel his presence.

“I have a new project I’m working on,” he says in a quiet voice, trying not to break the fragile bubble of your world. “I thought maybe you could join me today. You don’t have to do anything, just be there. Your company always helps me think.”

He doesn’t pressure you. Viktor understands that words can be hard to find when your mind is clouded by depression. He knows that the solution isn’t to force you to feel better, but to be with you, to offer you a hand, a small step forward.

He gently rises and offers his hand, not expecting you to take it, but hoping that you’ll know he’s there, ready to support you when you’re ready. “The world can wait,” he murmurs. “But I’m here, whenever you want to come back.”

His patience is infinite, his understanding deep. Viktor doesn’t try to fix you, because he doesn’t see you as broken. He knows that depression is a battle you fight every day, and he’s willing to walk alongside you, every small step, every shared silence.

You look at his hand, then his face; he’s concerned even though he tries to hide it. You make a huge effort to get out of bed, and even though your body doesn’t cooperate at first, you manage. You take his hand and gently squeeze it; that’s the most affection you can give him right now, you’re exhausted.

“Let’s go,” you murmur, your voice hoarse and broken; it’s the first time you’ve spoken all day.

You’re sitting next to Viktor in his small workshop, surrounded by pieces of metal and unfinished prototypes. He’s explaining his latest invention, a spark of enthusiasm lighting up his eyes. You feel a little better, enough to enjoy his company, and for a moment, a laugh escapes your lips when you hear one of his stories.

“Did you really say that to Heimerdinger?” you laugh, your eyes shining with a spark of life. It’s a small moment, but for Viktor, it’s like seeing the sun rise after a storm.

He smiles, pleased to have made you laugh. “Yes, and his face... It was certainly indescribable,” he replies with a softness that reflects his pleasure at seeing you enjoy yourself, even if just for an instant.

But suddenly, without warning, the laughter turns into a lump in your throat. The spark of joy fades as quickly as it came, and you find yourself trapped in a wave of overwhelming sadness. The tears start rolling down your cheeks, and you can’t stop them. The confusion in your eyes is evident, as if your body has betrayed the fleeting happiness you just felt.

Viktor notices immediately. He leans toward you, his expression turning serious, but his eyes remain warm and full of understanding. He doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t seek explanations that may be impossible to give. Instead, he moves a little closer, offering you his silent presence.

“It’s okay,” he says gently, his voice an anchor amidst your internal storm. “You don’t have to explain it. Just breathe.”

He offers you his hand, this time with more intent. You take it, feeling the warmth and firmness in his grip, a reminder that you’re not alone in this moment. You needed that contact. You needed to know that you could feel something other than sadness right now. Viktor doesn’t pull away, doesn’t feel uncomfortable. He knows that depression doesn’t follow rules, that it can strike at any moment, and he’s willing to stay with you, no matter how long it lasts.

“Do you want us to stay here?” he asks, his tone delicate. “Or we can walk a little, if that helps.”

His willingness to adapt to your needs wraps you in a sense of safety. Even though the tears keep falling, Viktor’s presence is a balm, a reminder that, even in the darkest moments, there’s someone who sees you, who understands you, and who’s willing to stay by your side.

“Just... stay here with me,” you say, letting yourself fall against his body, exhausted.

He caught you and wrapped you with care, it was a hug with the right amount of strength.

“Take your time, darling. I won’t go anywhere,” Viktor promised in a whisper, never stopping the caresses on your back.

And that was enough to make you feel less miserable.

Jinx Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD)

The echo of the explosions still resonates in your mind, even though years have passed since that day when your world crumbled. The night everything you loved was consumed by flames in an attack on the Undercity. The night you lost your family and were left alone, with the screams and the smell of smoke forever etched in your memory.

As you walk beside Jinx through the bustling streets of Zaun, everything seems normal, almost calm, until an explosion in the distance makes your heart stop. It’s a dry, loud sound, far too similar to the one you heard that night. Without warning, your breath becomes shallow, your lungs struggle to take in air, and an overwhelming sense of absolute panic takes hold of you.

Your body freezes, and it feels as if the world around you disappears. The crowd, the lights, even Jinx—all fade away, leaving you alone in that dark place where time doesn’t move. The ground beneath your feet seems to give way, and you feel yourself falling again into that abyss of the past.

"Hey, hey!" Jinx’s voice cuts through the fog in your mind. Her hands grip your shoulders, and her gaze searches for yours with desperation. "You’re not there, do you hear me? You’re here, with me."

Her words feel distant, but the warmth of her hands somehow anchors you, reminding you that you’re not alone. "But... the sound..." you murmur, barely audible, as tears start to fall down your cheeks. "It was the same... the same as that night."

Jinx guides you to a quieter corner, away from the noise, holding your hand firmly. "Breathe, hon, like we always do," she says softly, her voice tinged with controlled urgency. "Fill up those lungs, okay? Like we’re balloons."

You try to follow her instructions, but every time you close your eyes to concentrate, the images of that night hit you with renewed force. "It’s not working," you whisper, trembling. "It’s always there. No matter how much I try, it doesn’t go away. It doesn’t go away!" You scream in panic, the fingers of your hands stiffening, making them immobile.

The worry in Jinx’s eyes softens a little, but there’s something else there, something you can only describe as recognition. "That explosion... it reminded me of something too," she says after a moment, her voice quieter, almost a whisper. "I’ve been there, in that fucked-up place, where the ghosts never stop screaming."

Her words are like a key that opens the door to a deeper understanding.

She falls silent for a moment, gazing into the distance before refocusing her attention on you. "When I have my attacks, you’re always there for me, and I remember I’m not alone. That helps me a lot," she admits, a small, almost sad smile curving her lips. "And you’re not alone either, hon. We’re not broken, just a little bent. And here we are, bent together."

The hug she offers you is warm and firm, a tangible reminder that you’re not alone. You feel her strength, her determination, and something else: her own fear, her own struggle. "You don’t have to fight alone," she whispers, her voice a promise. "If you ever feel like you’re going to fall, we’ll fall together. And then, we’ll rise. Always."

You cling to her like a lifeline, letting her warmth and her words anchor you to the present, if only for a moment. "Thank you, sweets," you whisper, allowing yourself, for the first time in a long time, to feel that it’s okay not to be okay.

Vi Anxiety Disorder

The night drags you into the abyss of your mind, but you find no respite. Instead of waking softly to the day, you're trapped in pure panic. Your chest burns, each breath a lost battle. Your heart gallops wildly, as if trying to escape your chest. You are drenched in sweat, the sheets sticking to your skin, becoming yet another prison.

Your eyes snap open, the darkness of the room seems to close in on you, and the silence is deafening. The sensation of suffocation consumes you. You try to gulp down air, but it's as though your lungs have forgotten how to function. Your hands search for something, anything, to anchor you to reality, but all they find is emptiness.

The door swings open abruptly, and Vi stands there, alert, her eyes filled with concern. She doesn't need to ask what’s wrong; she knows instantly. She moves swiftly but carefully, approaching you without frightening you further.

"Breathe with me," she says gently, her hands finding yours, steady yet comforting. "Inhale through your nose... like this... and exhale through your mouth."

You try to follow her, but your body won’t cooperate. Your breath is shallow, frantic, as though every breath disintegrates before it even reaches your lungs. Tears begin to streak down your cheeks, mixing with the sweat.

"Vi... I can’t... I can't... I’m scared," you stammer, your words broken by sobs. Your mind is caught in a loop of terror, every thought spiraling downward, taking you further away from calm.

Vi sits beside you on the bed, her voice low and constant. "Don’t be afraid. Listen to my voice. I’m here with you, and I won’t let anything bad happen to you." Her tone is firm, anchoring you in the present, pulling you out of the tide of your own fear.

"But it hurts... my chest... I can't breathe..." Your body trembles, and your hands clutch desperately at her grasp. The feeling of control slipping away is overwhelming, leaving you feeling helpless.

Vi pulls you into an embrace, holding you close, offering her calm, her strength. "This is temporary. It won’t last forever," she whispers in your ear. "Trust me. Focus on me."

Slowly, very slowly, her voice cuts through the fog of your mind. You begin to breathe more deeply, following her rhythm, feeling how her presence stabilizes you, like a lighthouse in the storm. The pain in your chest begins to lessen, the pressure relents just a little, and your body starts to remember how to breathe without fighting.

Vi continues to speak, her voice a soft murmur, calming you with every word. "You’re strong. You have control, even if it doesn’t feel like it right now."

The tears still flow, but now they are tears of relief, not fear. "Don’t leave... don’t leave. I need you here," you whisper, your voice broken but sincere.

Vi strokes your hair, her other hand gently squeezing yours. "I’m not going anywhere, little doe," she says affectionately, kissing your forehead, tasting the salty remnants of your sweat.

You remain in her arms a moment longer, allowing yourself to rest, letting her strength hold you as you regain your own. Gradually, the panic fades, leaving only exhaustion and the certainty that Vi will always be by your side, no matter how dark the nights may get.

Caitlyn Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder (OCD)

The silence in the apartment is deafening. The only sound that breaks the stillness is the relentless ticking of the wall clock, its rhythm echoing in your ears like a hammer. You’re in the kitchen, eyes fixed on the glasses you’ve meticulously arranged in the cupboard. Each glass must be perfectly spaced, each one aligned to the exact same level. Symmetry isn’t just a preference—it’s a necessity. If something is out of place, you feel as though the whole world could collapse.

Your breathing is uneven, your chest rising and falling in quick succession. "One, two, three..." you murmur to yourself, counting each movement. Your hands tremble, but you can’t stop. You can’t stop. If you do, something terrible will happen. You don’t know what, but the certainty that it will be catastrophic clings to you like a shadow.

Caitlyn enters the apartment after a long day at work. Her expression shifts instantly when she sees you in the kitchen, trapped in your own ritual. She stops in the doorway, watching you with a mix of concern and sadness. It’s not the first time she’s found you like this, but each time, it hurts her as though it were.

"Darling?" Her voice is soft, as if afraid to shatter you. She steps closer, carefully setting her hat down on the table. "What are you doing?"

You don’t answer at first, your eyes still fixed on the glasses. "Almost done... just a few more minutes," you whisper, your voice trembling. You can’t stop. Every glass moved, every small adjustment is a battle between reason and irrational fear.

Caitlyn stops beside you, her eyes scanning the scene, seeing the perfect pattern you’ve created. "You don’t have to do this," she says gently, yet firmly.

Your hands freeze for a moment, but the urge to continue is too strong. "You don’t understand... if I don’t do it right, if they’re not perfectly aligned, something bad is going to happen." Tears begin to well up in your eyes, the pressure in your chest intensifying. "I don’t want you to think I’m crazy, but it’s like my mind... it can’t stop."

Caitlyn takes a deep breath, her hand reaching out to touch your shoulder delicately. "You’re not crazy," she says, locking eyes with you. "I know this is hard, that your mind doesn’t give you peace. But you don’t have to face it alone. Let me help you."

You turn to look at her, your eyes filled with desperation. "I can’t stop, Cait. If I do, I feel like everything will fall apart. I can’t control what’s happening inside my head."

Caitlyn nods slowly, her gaze unwavering from yours. "I know, darling. And I know this won’t be fixed in a day. But I’m here, and I’m going to stay by your side. We’ll face it together."

Her words anchor you, a beacon in the storm that is your mind. Slowly, almost against your will, your hands begin to lower, moving away from the glasses. The fear is still there, a current running just beneath the surface, threatening to overwhelm you, but Caitlyn is beside you, her presence a reminder that you’re not alone.

"Breathe with me," she says, her voice soft and steady. "Inhale... exhale... together."

You follow her instructions, though your lungs seem to resist, full of anxiety. Caitlyn guides you, her hand never leaving your shoulder. "See? We’re doing it! You’re doing it!" She encourages, kissing your neck when she notices you’ve looked away from the glasses for five seconds. It was only five seconds, but Caitlyn knew it was a huge accomplishment, and she celebrated it.

You let out a small sigh, the tension in your muscles easing slightly. Your hands travel to Caitlyn’s waist, moving her so the glasses are no longer in your line of sight. You let your head fall against her chest, breathing in her scent. It’s so much better, especially when you start counting the beats of her heart.

"How brave my wonderful and glorious girlfriend is. I’m so proud of you," she whispered, her fingers weaving through your hair as she praised you.

"Cait, I love you so much. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me," you whisper against her warm chest, unwilling to leave that comforting refuge.

Caitlyn chuckles softly, and it feels like music to your ears.

"I feel the same way, darling," Caitlyn replied, gently swaying your bodies from side to side in a small rhythm.

You know that your compulsions won’t disappear, that the need for control will remain, but with Caitlyn, you feel like you can face it one day at a time.

Jayce Narcissistic Personality Disorder

The mirror in your room is your judge, jury, and executioner. Every imperfection is a sentence, every flaw a conviction. You spend hours in front of it, adjusting, retouching, trying to reach a perfection that always seems to slip through your fingers. Your heart beats fast, not from excitement, but from the constant fear that the world will see the cracks beneath your flawless facade.

Jayce enters quietly, his presence comforting and, at the same time, a threat. What will he think? Does he notice the imperfections you see? He steps closer, his gaze soft, but you feel the weight of his eyes as if he's scrutinizing every flaw.

"Love, it's late. Come to bed," he says in a calm voice, trying to distract you from your self-destructive spiral.

"Just one more moment," you reply without looking at him, your focus still on the mirror, searching for symmetry in your features, perfection in the unattainable.

Jayce sits on the edge of the bed, watching you. "You've been here for hours. You don't have to do this. You're beautiful just as you are."

His statement, though well-intentioned, feels like a white lie. "You don’t understand, Jayce," you murmur, your voice trembling with suppressed frustration. "If I’m not perfect, I’m nobody. I can’t let them see my flaws. I can't let… you see them."

Jayce stands, walking toward you carefully, as if approaching a flickering flame. "You don’t have to be perfect to be loved," he says, his words a whisper in the storm raging in your mind. "You don’t have to prove anything to anyone, least of all to me."

Your gaze finally meets his through the reflection. Tears fight their way out, but you can't allow such weakness. "It's not that simple," you whisper. "Every day, every look, every word, it’s all a test. And if I fail…"

Jayce places his hands on your shoulders, his eyes filled with compassion and infinite patience. "If you fail, I’ll be here to lift you up."

"And what if I’m not enough?" The question slips out before you can stop it, the insecurity behind your narcissism showing in all its rawness. "What if one day you realize you deserve something better?"

Jayce leans in, his forehead touching yours, a gesture so intimate it almost breaks you. "I deserve someone who loves me for who I am, not for what I pretend to be. And that’s exactly what you are to me. I don’t have impossible expectations of you. I just want you to be happy, to find peace in who you are."

The internal struggle within you is fierce. The fear of rejection, the desire for perfection, the need to be seen and admired, all mix together in a whirlwind that consumes you. But in Jayce's arms, for a moment, the noise silences. His love is not a chain, but a refuge, one that offers rest if only you can let yourself fall into it.

"How can you be so sure?" you ask, your voice broken but curious.

"Because I love you," he answers without hesitation. "And love isn’t about waiting for perfection. It’s about accepting every part of you, even the ones you think are flaws."

The tears finally make their way out, releasing something within you that has been held back for so long. Jayce holds you as you cry, whispering words of comfort, letting all the pressure, fear, and anguish flow out of you.

"You’re perfect," you whisper, your voice cracked but full of sincerity. In your mind, Jayce is the epitome of everything you don’t believe you are: strong, confident, unshakable.

Jayce smiles softly, his hand caressing your cheek, wiping away the tears still falling. "No, I’m just a man in love. A man who loves you madly." His voice is warm, filled with a tenderness that disarms you. "Why don’t you show me that precious smile of yours? Please, it would make me so happy."

His sweet words touch your heart, and the corners of your lips stretch on their own, forming a sad smile.

"Gorgeous," Jayce murmured, caressing your lips with his strong, calloused fingers.

"Flatterer," you reply with a more elaborate smile, your eyes still wet, but now with a different shine, one that reflects the spark of hope he’s ignited in you.

"I’m just stating facts. I’m a scientist, honey, so I can tell you that, from my perspective, it’s scientifically proven that you’re gorgeous," he commented wryly, a wit that made you laugh.

Jayce smiled and kissed your forehead, holding you firmly in his arms. Finally, you feel like you can breathe, like air is filling your lungs again without that constant weight on your chest.

Ekko Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD)

The room is silent except for the soft hum of music playing in the background, but your mind cannot stop racing. Your thoughts scatter like arrows shot in every direction. You try to focus on something, anything, but it feels as though your brain is in a constant battle between the ideas that come and go. The light from the lamp flickers irregularly, and for a moment, you wonder if the bulb is about to explode. This makes no sense, you know that, but the unease lingers.

You quickly get up from the bed, taking a misstep, tripping over a chair you hadn’t seen, barely avoiding it. Your heart races. Everything is a series of chaotic jumps in your head, an endless torrent of thoughts that can’t follow a single path. You look at the desk, with papers scattered about—unfinished projects, ideas you can’t ground. Everything calls to you, but you can’t focus on anything.

Your hands tremble slightly as you grab the pen and begin to write down an idea that came to you, but before you finish the sentence, a new image flashes in your mind. You stop, leaving the pen on the desk and staring out the window. Something about the glow of the stars makes you think of something else. You can’t concentrate. Everything distracts you, even the small noises you used to never notice. It’s so annoying.

Suddenly, you feel the stress begin to accumulate in your shoulders. It’s not just the lack of concentration; it’s the sense of constantly running toward something without ever arriving. You try to finish a task, but more and more thoughts pile up, projects, things that need doing. Everything seems urgent, and nothing seems possible to complete. Anxiety settles in your chest.

You’re about to get up again when you hear the sound of the door opening behind you. Ekko enters the room, his calming presence is the only thing that makes you stop for a moment. He watches you in silence for a few seconds, noticing the frenzy of your movements. You hadn’t realized, but your breathing is irregular, and you’ve gotten up twice without purpose. Something isn’t right.

He watches you quietly, understanding the internal struggle you’re facing. He knows what this means, what it costs you every day.

“What’s going on? Why are you so worked up?” he asks, his voice soft but with enough authority to make you stop and listen.

Your eyes focus on a fixed point, but you can’t find the words to explain what you’re feeling. You don’t know how to put into words what’s happening. It’s like you’re trapped in a cycle of thoughts that never stop.

“My mind... it doesn’t stop moving,” you finally manage to say, almost in a whisper. “Every time I try to do something, it’s like something else distracts me. Nothing stays. Everything slips away.”

Ekko watches you silently for a moment, understanding the fight you’re facing. He knows exactly what this feels like.

“I get it, babe,” he responds, his tone firm but gentle. “I know your mind’s all over the place right now, but I promise we can do this one step at a time. We’ll focus on one thing at a time, no pressure. Sound good?”

The fact that Ekko is offering to be there, without judgment, brings you relief. You know that the impulsiveness you feel, the urge to move without a plan, is something that consumes you. Your mind jumps from one thought to another, and each of those thoughts feels like an urgent need, an immediate necessity. But at the same time, nothing makes sense. Everything is scattered and out of control.

“It’s just that...” your words fade into the air, unable to be completed. You feel trapped in your own body, in your own brain. You can’t stop, but you can’t move forward either.

Ekko gently places a hand on your shoulder, his touch calming. “How can we start?” he asks sincerely, not rushing you. “Tell me what you need.”

For a moment, everything seems to stop. The flood of thoughts quiets down, and for the first time in a long while, you can think clearly, even if it’s just for an instant. It’s not about having everything figured out right away; it’s about feeling that someone is there, willing to stand by you while you navigate through the mental whirlwind.

“I just... I don’t know how to do it without jumping from one thing to another,” you murmur, frustration and shame creeping into your voice. “I feel like everything’s overwhelming, and I can’t focus on anything.”

“We’ll take it slow,” Ekko replies, his tone calm and direct. “First, breathe. The first step is to breathe, and then we can start with just one thing. The rest can wait.”

You close your eyes for a moment and follow his words. You breathe deeply, slowly, trying to find the balance that always seems so hard to reach. Ekko is there, not rushing you, waiting for your mind to settle. With his help, little by little, you manage to focus on one small task, one that’s manageable enough not to overwhelm you. It’s just one step, but it’s a step toward calm.

“You don’t have to do it all right now,” Ekko says softly. “What matters is that you’re not alone in this. We’ll go step by step.”

You feel the knot in your stomach loosening, even though there’s still much to do. But at this moment, with him by your side, you realize that maybe, just maybe, you can find a way toward a little peace.

After hours of work and soft laughter, you’re sitting on the floor, with Ekko beside you, both looking at the pieces left to place in a puzzle. It’s almost complete, the pieces fitting perfectly, and though the hours have flown by, you feel lighter, the atmosphere quieter.

“One more,” Ekko says with a smile, holding up a piece in the air. He passes it to you, and together, you place it in its spot, completing the picture. The puzzle is done, and though it’s a small accomplishment, it feels more meaningful than it seems. Not just because of what you’ve completed, but because you’ve managed to feel centered, accompanied.

When you look at the drawing you had left unfinished, now finally complete, you feel a deep sense of satisfaction. Ekko helped bring to life the image that only existed in your mind, his hands working alongside yours, following every line with care.

“You did it,” Ekko says, his eyes shining with pride. “My girl is incredible.” He pulled you into his lap and kissed your forehead.

You look at him, your heart beating a little faster. The fatigue of the afternoon washes over you, but you don’t care. All that matters is that he’s here, by your side, and that, for once, you feel at peace. The air feels lighter, as if the space between you two has been reduced, softened by the stillness of the moment.

“Thank you,” you murmur, your words barely a whisper, but full of gratitude.

Ekko turns toward you, his expression softening. “Don’t thank me. Thank yourself. You’re the one who made it happen, not me.”

The way he looks at you, the way his presence has become part of your space, makes you smile. And, in a moment of impulse, without thinking too much about it, you move a little closer. He seems to understand it instantly, and before you can second-guess yourself, his lips brush against yours. It’s a soft kiss, no rush, no urgency, just a moment where words aren’t needed.

When you pull away, both of you stay there, looking at each other, the air between you charged with something that doesn’t need to be named. Ekko smiles, his eyes sparkling with that glint that makes you feel as though everything is right, as if the world, for a moment, is in its place.

“Everything’s okay now,” Ekko says softly, filling you with calm.

And in that instant, you believe him.

Silco Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD)

The air in Silco's office is thick with tension, as always. The sound of the bustling city echoes through the glass windows, but inside, everything is still, almost as rigid as the gaze Silco fixes on you. You're sitting across from him, feeling a familiar dizziness, as if everything is out of control and, at the same time, you're trapped in an empty space. A mix of confusion and anxiety courses through every fiber of your being.

Your hands tremble slightly, and although you try to control your breathing, each inhalation seems to sink you further into the internal chaos. The voices in your head blend together, demanding answers, claiming something you can't give. Silco watches you calmly, but it's a cold, calculated calm, as if everything that's going on inside you is a game he knows how to play.

You feel the emptiness consuming you, and yet an unbearable pressure weighs on your chest. Your mind betrays you, throwing destructive thoughts at you, telling you you're worthless, that everything you do is doomed to fail. The contradiction is overwhelming: on one hand, you feel lost, and on the other, you refuse to give in to the feeling of helplessness.

"Are you alright?" Silco asks, his voice low and steady, but there's a slight intensity in his tone. He doesn't break eye contact, as if he's evaluating every micro-expression on your face, every movement. He knows you're not, but still, he asks. Is it a test? A need to know how far you can go? The silence stretches on, and your thoughts only intensify.

The urge to stand up and run from it all is strong. Everything in you screams to follow your impulses, to escape, to flee from the overwhelming weight of it all. But you stay there, because something in you knows that running will only plunge you deeper into the darkness you're feeling inside. You see yourself fighting, trying to maintain control, but every second makes you feel more lost.

"I'm sorry... I don't know what's happening to me," you whisper, your voice broken, struggling against the avalanche of emotions threatening to drown you. You feel the tears pressing behind your eyes, but you force yourself to keep composure. "It's just... it's all so intense. So confusing."

Silco keeps watching you in silence. There's no judgment in his gaze, only a calculated assessment, as if he's reading between the lines of your suffering. After a long moment, he sighs and stands up from his chair, approaching you slowly. It's not a sudden gesture, but calm, as if he's used to dealing with people who struggle with their own minds. He says nothing, but his presence is the only thing anchoring you in this moment.

With one hand, he takes yours. The contact is firm, but not aggressive, as if he's giving you space to breathe, but also space to not escape. In his eyes, something changes. There's an understanding that you can't fully decipher, but it fills you with a strange sensation, like, for the first time in a long time, you're not alone in the storm raging inside you.

"Your mind is betraying you," Silco says calmly, his voice soft but full of an authority that makes you feel that everything happening has a purpose. "It's an enemy that everyone must face at some point. But you don't have to face it alone."

The words fall on you like a stone, but strangely, they allow you to relax, even if only for a moment. The internal chaos you've always felt halts for an instant. And in that silence, you're finally able to breathe.

"All of this... this emptiness, the feeling that nothing matters, it's not your fault," Silco continues, his tone firm, though not without a strange gentleness. "It's just a phase, a moment that will pass. But you need to control it. Not let it take over you."

You feel vulnerable, but at the same time, a part of you relaxes in his closeness. Silco doesn't tell you that it's okay, nor does he promise easy solutions. He speaks to you with reality, with that harshness that you know comes from someone who understands suffering, but who doesn't have time to sugarcoat the truth.

"What you're feeling is real, but it's also transient. Not everything is as final as you think," he adds, his gaze fixed on yours with intensity. "You can be stronger than this."

The words resonate in your mind as you take a deep breath. You don't know if you fully believe them, but for some reason, in this moment, the darkness feels less imposing. You're not completely free of it, but at least you feel you're not entirely alone. Silco is here, firm and without judgment, waiting for you to take control of your own mind, without expecting you to do it immediately, but giving you the possibility to believe that you'll manage.

The pressure in your chest doesn't disappear completely, but a small crack of calm starts to open within you. And though you know your inner struggles won't end immediately, for the first time in a long while, you don't feel as lost. Silco looks at you one last time, without haste, but with a silent certainty.

"When you're ready, you can get out of this. I'll be here."

You're surprised by how firm his voice sounds, as if, by saying it, he's committed to being a constant presence. And although you don't fully understand how he does it, you realize that, in this moment, his steadiness helps you more than any empty words of comfort.

The world continues around you, but somehow, Silco has given you the strength to face it.

The silence between you and Silco lingers for a moment, but it's no longer the same silence as before. There's a strange peace, almost comforting, in the way he holds you, in the closeness you now feel between you both. The contact of his hand, firm and steady, gives you an anchor amidst the storm that still rages inside you.

A sigh escapes your lips without you noticing, and for a moment, it's not one of despair, but of relief. Silco, still keeping his gaze fixed on you, takes one more step closer. It's not a quick or rushed step, but a calculated one, as if he's sure that, in this moment, the only thing you need is that closeness, that calm presence.

Without saying anything, his fingers gently caress your cheek, a soft gesture that cuts through you. There's a tenderness in his movements that you hadn't anticipated, something that seems in complete contradiction with the person you know, but that, in this moment, comforts you more than any words. You feel vulnerable, but you don't fear it, not now.

Your breathing gradually calms, and Silco, silently, moves a little closer, so close that you can feel the warmth of his body. The space between you is almost nonexistent now, and you can feel his breath in rhythm with yours. There's something in his presence that soothes you, that gives you the feeling that everything will be okay, even though it still feels hard to believe.

Finally, his lips come close to yours with an unexpected softness. It's not a hasty or desperate kiss, but something slower, more measured. The brush of his lips against yours is so gentle that it surprises you, as if he's waiting for you to accept it, for you to be ready. And you are. Though your mind is still filled with doubts and fears, something inside you tells you that this is the moment you can allow yourself to be vulnerable, that you can receive something that won't hurt you.

The kiss deepens slowly, and in that instant, the world seems to fade away around you. All that remains is the warmth of his body, the firmness of his arms around you, and the gentle contact of his lips, like a silent promise that, even though the future is uncertain, for a moment, everything is alright.

When you finally pull away, no words are needed. Silco looks at you with an intensity you've never seen before, but in his eyes, there's something more, something you can't describe, something that makes you feel that, despite everything you've been through, you're not alone.

"I told you you were strong," he whispers, his voice deep and soft at the same time.

And for a moment, everything seems enough.

Mel Chronic Stress Disorder

The atmosphere is thick with tension, but it's a different kind of tension. It's a quiet calm, yet at the same time, it is filled with the constant threat of what could happen. You’re there, in one of the rooms of the mansion, sitting on a chair by the window, gazing out at the illuminated city, but unable to really see anything. The world around you seems to blur, as if a layer of fog has settled over your senses, blurring every detail and leaving only the emptiness of your thoughts.

Mel, who has been watching your behavior for the past few minutes, approaches with a palpable gentleness in her movements. Her presence is firm, but not intrusive. From a distance, she’s observed how the symptoms of your chronic stress have taken over you, how anxiety and mental exhaustion have combined to make you feel beyond your limits.

She crouches slightly to be at your level, her eyes fixed on yours, searching for your attention. “I notice you’re not yourself, and I know it’s because the weight of everything has piled up,” she says in a low voice, her tone soft yet firm. “But I want you to listen. You have the right to rest. You don’t have to carry the world, not all the time.”

Despite her words, you feel a pressure in your chest that won’t ease. Everything feels too big, too heavy. Chronic stress consumes you, leaving your thoughts tangled while your body responds with a deep exhaustion that doesn’t seem to go away no matter what you do.

Mel, noticing the internal struggle that consumes you, steps closer and, without warning, places a firm hand on your shoulder. It’s not a gesture of force, but of support. A sign that she’s here, silently, but available to help you find the balance you need.

“Your body is telling you it needs to stop,” she continues, with a softness that’s hard to deny. “Those moments of despair, of exhaustion... they’re real. But you don’t have to go through it alone, no matter how much you think you can.”

The contact of her hand on you, her quiet strength, begins to offer some relief. Even though the weight still lingers, something in you relaxes. It’s as if her words offer you a rope to hold onto, something tangible in the fog that seems to surround your mind.

You lean forward, your fingers briefly touching your forehead as you try to calm the agitation still coursing through you. The stress, that constant pressure in your life, seems unwilling to let go of you, but at least in this moment, with Mel by your side, you can breathe a little more deeply.

“I’ll be here,” Mel whispers, like an unbreakable promise. “If you need to rest, I’ll help you find peace. You don’t have to go on alone.”

For the first time in a long time, you allow yourself to think that, maybe, it’s possible to let go of some of that burden. Mel’s voice, soft yet full of certainty, is a refuge in the midst of the chaos in your mind.

Mel doesn’t expect you to feel guilty for your exhaustion. She doesn’t demand that you change or “overcome” your chronic stress overnight. She only gives you space to feel what you need to feel and to acknowledge that, even though the road may be long, you don’t have to walk it alone.

When your eyes lift and meet hers, there’s something in your gaze that softens. The stress doesn’t vanish immediately, but the simple fact that someone understands you, that someone is staying with you without judging, gives you something you didn’t have before: the possibility of healing.

The silence between you both is comfortable. It’s a silence of acceptance and understanding. And as Mel remains by your side, her presence becomes something that offers comfort, not an immediate solution, but a step toward the calm you so desperately need.

After a long silence, Mel slowly approaches you, and her eyes, filled with softness and understanding, capture you. She takes your hand, with a delicacy that makes you feel lighter, as if the weight of your mind could lessen just with that contact.

“You know, right?” she whispers, her voice gentle but firm. “I’ve seen you fight, and still, you’re here, being so incredible. And to me, that’s what really matters. Not everything you’ve been through, but who you are now.”

The sparkle in her eyes makes you blush slightly, and your heart beats a little faster.

“Mel...” you whisper, barely able to find the words, feeling your nerves breaking. “I don’t know what I’d do without you…”

She smiles, moving closer. “I’m here, for whatever you need, for anything, always.”

Without saying another word, Mel gently caresses your cheek, as if every movement is a silent promise. Then, you see her lean in toward you, her face so close to yours that you can feel the brush of her breath.

“You’re my refuge, you know that, right?” Mel says, with sincerity that runs deep within you.

And without another word, her lips find yours, in a tender, almost urgent kiss, as if she wanted to convey everything she couldn’t with words. When she pulls away, her eyes shine with an unmistakable softness.

“I love you, with all my being. And that won’t change.”

You shiver slightly at her words, but instead of insecurity, you find comfort. Her eyes transmit calm to you, and for the first time, you realize that she’s willing to be the peace you so need.

Sevika Bipolar Disorder

The darkness surrounds you, but it’s not physical darkness; it’s something denser, creeping through every corner of your mind. It’s one of those days. You don’t know for sure, but you feel it deep in your gut: something has changed. There’s a void in your chest that you don’t know how to fill, and a sensation in your stomach that twists you up. You’ve been through this before. The bipolar disorder drags you, takes you as its own without warning, pushing you from one extreme to the other in a matter of hours, minutes.

You wake up feeling the weight of sadness, a sadness that feels physical, sinking you into the mattress as if the sheets were lead. You don’t want to move, think, or do anything. You just feel empty, as if all your strength has evaporated. The room seems smaller, the walls pressing in on you. Your legs don’t respond when you try to get up. A knot forms in your throat, but the tears won’t come. There’s no energy for that, just the weight of despair.

You don’t see her enter. Her presence is silent, but solid. Sevika knows something is wrong, she feels it even before you tell her. When you look at her, her expression doesn’t change, but there’s something in her eyes that makes you feel that the situation is serious. There’s no surprise, no fear, just a cold, calculating understanding. Sevika isn’t one to lose her calm easily. And that makes you even more confused, making you feel like you don’t belong in that moment, like you’re not the person she expects to see.

“What’s going on?” she asks, not softening anything. The question isn’t condescending, nor filled with concern. It’s direct, almost harsh, she doesn’t beat around the bush. She knows that, when you’re like this, empty words don’t help.

You struggle to form a response. You can’t, really. Your thoughts are tangled in an incomprehensible chaos. But she doesn’t expect you to explain anything. Sevika approaches, sits on the edge of the bed. Her gaze never leaves you, as if she’s evaluating your soul, searching for a point of vulnerability, a sign of what to do next. She has the ability to see beyond your emotions, beyond the depression that consumes you and the anxiety that makes you tremble. She knows that right now there’s nothing rational in your mind, but understanding is her only response. Patience mixes with a slight touch of toughness, as she always does with things she can’t control.

“You’re staying here. You’re not going to do anything impulsive. You’re not going to try to run out of here or make this worse,” she says with a calm coldness that leaves no room for objection. You know that, in this moment, she’s the only voice of reason you can hear.

You’re aware that Sevika is used to dealing with extreme situations, but this one is different. She watches you closely, but from a distance, as if she’s weighing the damage, calculating what she can do to keep you safe. You don’t see fear in her, but you see resolve. She doesn’t switch into “rescuer mode,” she doesn’t try to hug you or tell you that everything will be fine. What she says, she says with authority because she knows that if she gives in, chaos will take control, and everything she’s worked to keep stable will fall apart.

In the internal struggle between your broken mind and the anger that begins to build up inside of you, Sevika is the rock that keeps you from diving into the void. But she also knows she can’t ignore your emotions. Her expression hardens slightly when she realizes there’s something more going on. “I’m telling you this because you know it, not because I need to explain it to you,” she whispers, making it clear that there’s no room for games.

When you finally speak, it’s in whispers, as if your words have weight and could break you. “I don’t know what’s happening to me. I’m... I’m so tired of this constant back and forth. I can’t handle it.”

Sevika doesn’t change her posture. She doesn’t tell you that she’s going to “fix” you, nor does she try to cure you. She knows that what you have doesn’t have an easy fix, but she does have tools to deal with the situation. “You don’t need to fix anything right now. You need to rest. Let what’s going to happen, happen, but don’t make decisions you’ll regret later. Do you understand me?” her voice is firm, but underneath there’s something else, a touch of softness she rarely shows.

The air in the room is heavy, laden with the weight of your thoughts, like a fog that prevents you from seeing beyond. Sevika is there, watching you with the same intensity as always, but with an odd calm, a calm that scares you because it makes you feel like she sees it all: the chaos consuming you, the internal battle between despair and rage.

“I don’t want this to control me. I don’t want to be like this,” you murmur, the words coming out broken. You know you’re saying it more to yourself than to her, but still, the guilt pierces your chest like invisible needles. You feel like you’re not being who she expects.

Sevika stays silent for a moment, her gaze fixed on you. There’s something in her face, a line of tension in her jaw, as if she’s weighing every word before speaking. Finally, she gets a little closer, breaking the distance between your bodies.

“It’s not about what you expect from yourself. It’s about what you need right now. And what you need right now is rest, stop fighting against something you can’t control.”

Your eyes search hers, those eyes that always seem to understand more than you can verbalize. And, somehow, you feel that there’s no judgment in them, just a silent acceptance of what you’re going through. It’s strange. In the middle of the storm in your mind, Sevika gives you the feeling of being the only anchor left in your world.

Suddenly, she stretches out a hand toward you, not rushing, not in a hurry, but with the firmness that characterizes her. You take it without thinking, as if it’s the only thing that can stop the flood of erratic thoughts flooding your mind. Her touch is warm, comforting. There’s a strength in that simple gesture, something that allows you to relax, even if just for a second.

“I’m going to take care of you, understand?” she whispers, her voice low, barely a breath. There are no empty promises in her words, just a statement of fact. But in her tone, you find a softness that she rarely shows. It’s like, for a brief moment, her heart opens a little more, even if she doesn’t fully recognize it.

The moment stretches on, and even though the storm in your mind hasn’t ceased, there’s something in you that feels a little lighter. Sevika doesn’t have the solution to your pain, but her presence, her closeness, gives you a peace you never even imagined.

Without thinking, you move a little closer to her, seeking that warmth. Her fingers interlace with yours, and for the first time all day, you don’t feel completely broken. Sevika has never promised you a happy ending, but in this moment, you don’t need one. The simple fact of being here, of having her close, gives you a reason to keep going, even if just for a little while longer.

“I love you,” you say without thinking, and the words come out with a clarity that surprises you. It’s not a grand declaration, it’s not a promise that everything will be okay, but it’s something real, something you never thought you could say to anyone before.

“I love you too, doll,” she responds with a half-smile, though her eyes seem softer than ever. And, for a second, the world seems to stop. The anxiety, the disorder in your head, dissipate, if only for a brief moment.

She leans in a little toward you, and in that instant, all that matters is the touch of her lips on your forehead, a simple gesture but filled with affection. The silence between you both is comfortable, no pressure, just the comfort of being together, knowing that, even if the world around you falls apart, Sevika will be the one to keep you steady.

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viiennie · 2 days ago

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𝕭𝖊𝖙𝖜𝖊𝖊𝖓 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖑𝖆𝖘𝖙 𝖇𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖙𝖍

Premiere

Gojo Satoru x f!reader

Tags and warnings: Zombie Apocalypse, mentions of gore (including blood and death), slight angst (?), spoilers to ‘Happiness’, eventual smut, female reader, p in v sex, fingering, creampie, lovey dovey sex in the midst of a literal lock down, masturbation, slow burn kinda?, fluff, romance, drugs, manipulation, exhibition, gojo is a pervertttttt, mdni — 18+

In the midst of a world unraveling at the seams, where survival hangs by the thinnest thread, two unlikely souls collide. You, one of South Korea’s most seasoned soldiers, find yourself tasked with a mission that feels almost too absurd to be real—a bodyguard to a CEO’s spoiled son, Gojo Satoru.

The world outside is crumbling, but inside the walls of an upscale penthouse, the only battle seems to be against the daily monotony of a grown man who doesn’t want to be babysat. He’s constantly getting on your nerves, teasing you and making fun of you every chance he gets. Ignore the way he gets overprotective over you, and the way he’s slowly starting to look at you with those dreamy soft eyes? Yeah, out of sight, out of mind. Besides, there’s no way an idiot like him could possibly feel love, right?

This is insane. Absolutely fucking nuts.

Getting stuck in this stupid penthouse, with its stupid owner and his stupid smile is the worst thing that has happened to you all your life. You regret taking that stupid job to babysit this insufferable manchild, but what could you possibly do when faced with a 15 million won pay? It was irresistible in your very much money desperate eyes. Besides, what was 3 simple days of making sure a guy didn’t die in his own house, right?

God, you wish you could turn back time and slap the absolute shit out of yourself.

Because here you are, two days in, and the universe decides to throw in a plot twist no amount of training could’ve prepared you for. A virus. Not just a normal, everyday outbreak, but one that makes people turn rabid, lose their minds, and tear into others like animals. Two days in, and the news breaks that the city is locking down. Quarantine zones are popping up faster than you can count, and you? You’re stuck in this high-rise hellhole with him.

Gojo Satoru.

The man is a walking nightmare. A grinning, infuriating, insufferable nightmare who has spent every second of your time here testing the limits of your patience. You barely survived the last 48 hours, and now you’re supposed to last a whole week? You’d rather sign up for a solo mission in a war zone than endure another second of his antics.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” Gojo drawls from the couch, his voice dripping with that obnoxious charm he wears like a second skin. “Don’t act all sad. I know you’re absolutely ecstatic deep down to be stuck here with the world’s most handsome living man. It’s a dream come true, isn’t it?”

You glare at him, clutching the mug of lukewarm coffee in your hands like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded. The temptation to chuck it at his stupidly perfect face is strong. Very strong.

“Shut up,” you snap, narrowing your eyes. “I’d rather French kiss a cockroach than spend one more minute with you.”

chapter one

a/n: This fanfic is inspired by the kdrama series, “Happiness.” I’ve based the infection off of the show, as well as the supporting characters. Unfortunately, I have decided not to add other jjk characters in the main storyline. They do exist in this verse, however they are only briefly mentioned and don’t really play big roles. Anyway, comment if you wanna be in the taglist! Only adding 30 people to the said list, hehe

p.s do not plagiarize my content.

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psychicsamlover · 3 days ago

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Everytime I look at Telemachus I feel so much joy in my heart.

Like... He just fought a bunch of men who had been threatening him and his mother for years (and he didn't die! although he was very close to it). He didn't really want to hurt them (but he also chose a weapon that would allow him to fight groups of them at the same time), but he did it anyway because he had to.

He finally met his dad and cared more about not living up to his expectations than about the fact that he just saw someone's head being chopped off right in front of him by his dad (but hey that was a man who threatened to break his hands so that's okay).

And then his dad said "no more bullshit, you are the sweetest joy I've known, you're strong as you are, I love you so much and I can't wait to know you better".

And then he goes to tell his mother good news, they probably hug (as they should) and cry some happy tears before and after Odysseus and Penelope reunite (there's just so much happy crying in that palace).

And he also has a cool bestie goddess who's literally willing to die for him (honestly same) and will probably teach him more cool spear moves.

And look at him. He's so cute and badass at the same time. My favorite type of character. There's so much light and kindness in his eyes, but now we also know that he can "do whatever it takes to keep his *family* safe".

#guys I think I may be Odysseus because of how much I love this boy #or Penelope but we don't have a lot of interactions between them #or any actually #I need more Penelope&Telemachus content #I may be Athena too #she had one conversation with this boy and said “damn you're my friend and I will die for you”#epic the musical #telemachus #odysseus #penelope #athena #epic the ithaca saga

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artsarasp · 22 hours ago

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Hello! I love your art style so much! It scratches an itch idk how to explain it lol

I also wanna ask how would sy!ming fan look like in the future? Would he still look like ur older ming fan art before or would there be some changes to the hair or accessories?

AAA thank you!! This is such a fun question!

They would look very different! While I don't know how "By hook or by Crook" is gonna end, sy!mf lacks the character traits that lead to my Peak Lord Ming Fan design! Since that design is based specifically on how Prim and Tiny write Ming Fan and how his interactions with Zhao De would evolve.

Peak Lord Ming Fan is insecure about himself, especially his appearance. That leads to him overcompensating with an excessive amount of jewelry because the notion that he's dull and bleak has been drilled into his head at this point and he's doing everything to not be that. Also his only reference on how to be a Peak lord has been Shen Qingqiu!!! The og goods! With all his problems! Ming Fan is stuck with his shizun's bitch resting face for all eternity!

Also, overall, this Ming Fan needs so much more therapy.

If I had to design an older sy!mf; First off, he wouldn't be as flashy, because he's not insecure! Like, he knows he's kinda got the short end of the stick when it comes to looks in pidw, but since everyone is usually otherworldly beautiful he's actually just a normal dude! He can be pretty with enough effort and he's poser enough to put in the effort when given the chance! He can certainly act more graceful and cool than og Ming Fan could too, that gives him more charm! When he gets out the ugly duckling phase he's gonna be quite cute, Binghe is gonna be so smug about having seen it before everyone else. Now I don't know how the story will end, so lets put in two possible endings for the fun of it! Ending 1 - Binghe and Ming Fan fuck off and become rogue cultivators. Ending 2 - Binghe and Ming Fan become emperors of the realms together after going to the abyss.

Rogue cultivator Ming Fan wears more practical clothes as well as hair do! Perfect for running around and getting into trouble with Binghe! Emperor Ming Fan needs to show off a little bit! Gotta be a lil bit more of a poser when you're an emperor, so he's got fancier clothes and he lets his hair down cause it looks better! :D Also, fun detail! Notice that while the two SY!MF kept their freckles, Peak Lord Ming Fan doesn't have them. That's because PL!MF is, again, insecure. Gotta get rid of all imperfections. Meanwhile, the other two are very happy to let Binghe kiss every single freckle on their cheeks <3

#ask #svsss #ming fan #sp art

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moeswriting · 2 days ago

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daylight | 1. black and white

pairing: no-outbreak!sheriff!joel miller x f!pregnant!reader

chapter summary: It was supposed to be a normal day. What happened to his normal damn day?

warnings: implied abuse (reader), implied parental neglect (reader), implied character death, descriptions of injuries on a pregnant woman (reader), descriptions of grief, age gap (joel is 48 and reader is 28), a little bit of a slow burn, reader is pregnant, eventual POV swapping but this time it’s all joel, small town gossip, this small town does not apply HIPAA because they’re borderline feral

word count: 7.8k

a/n: welcome to the very first chapter of daylight!!! this chapter is very joel-heavy, but i promise that next chapter we’ll get more of a glance into reader’s brain and what the hell is going on with her. next chapter should be up sometime in the next couple weeks (but obviously with my track record, who knows).

series masterlist | next chapter ->

read on ao3

“Ellie! What’re you doin’? You’re gonna be late for school!”

It’s 7:58. She should already be at school, but she’s not. He can’t even remember the last time that she was on time for school.

He takes a sip of coffee from his green mug with a picture of a little mug in front of a striped wall holding a placard that reads “MUGSHOT”– a gift from Ellie for his last birthday. He loves coffee. October is perfect weather for it. The revitalizing liquid warms up his frozen fingers through the ceramic and slides down his throat like heaven. He loves coffee.

Footsteps pound down the hallway and all he sees of his teenager is a blur of green plaid as she rushes past the entryway to the kitchen and to the front door.

“Hi Joel! Bye Joel,” she yells, hand popping into his view with a wave and quickly disappearing.

“Hey! Get back in here right now,” he shouts.

“What,” she pants, coming back to the entryway with one shoe on and the other dangling by the laces from her mouth, her tawny hair in a floppy, loose ponytail. Good god, he has no idea how this child has no manners at all. He knows she was not raised like this. Sixteen-year-olds should know not to put shoelaces in their mouths.

But all he does is grumble like he always does because it’s too damn early in the morning and he doesn’t want to argue with her when he’s this damn tired. He can’t think when it’s this early. “Take a poptart please. I don’t want people thinkin’ I starve you.”

She throws her hands up in the air and snatches the silver package off the table. “Okay, Jesus!”

Ellie already has her other shoe on before Joel can even blink. He hears the telltale squeak of the front door opening.

“Have a good day at school!”

“Whatever, Joel!”

And then the door slams shut, the cold October wind rushing its way in behind her.

He takes another sip of his coffee. If he gets another call from the principal lecturing him about Ellie’s tardiness, he might lose his mind. He cannot stand the sound of that man’s voice in his ear– it’s like nails on a chalkboard or the sound of a fork scraping on someone’s teeth. He just wants a normal day with no emergencies or stupid antics from his teenager.

He finishes his coffee off, rinses his cup out, and places it in the sink.

A normal fucking day.

When he walks into the sheriff’s office, he is greeted by Mary– the nice old lady who works the front desk. Her graying hair is pinned up into curls like she came right out of the 50s and she’s wearing a simple blue dress that compliments her maternal curves with a flair.

“Morning, Sheriff!”

He gives her a polite smile like he does every morning. “Mornin’, Mary. How’s the family?”

“Good! Earl is getting a promotion tomorrow! He’s gonna be the manager over at the hardware store.”

“Oh, that’s great! Tell Earl I said congrats.”

“I will, Sheriff.”

He makes his way to his office, which is all the way at the back of the department to avoid talking to people as much as possible. He passes multiple people along his way back, the woman who keeps track of their files, one of the three beat cops in town, who he greets mildly. He passes his brother’s desk, which is empty save for the steaming mug of tea sitting on his “World’s Best Dad” coaster. He’s somewhere around here.

And, of course, as Tommy often does, he has invaded Joel’s space.

Joel leans against the entryway to his office and clears his throat.

Tommy’s sitting at Joel’s desk with his feet propped up and a hand over his eyes. For a second, he’s almost convinced that he’s asleep, but after a second of impatiently waiting, Tommy speaks up.

“Bill called.”

Jackson, Wyoming is too small for its own good. You can walk from one end of town to the other in thirty minutes or less, and everyone knows everyone and every bit of each other’s business whether they like it or not. Being the sheriff in a small town is easy in most respects– nobody’s getting murdered and there’s hardly ever any robberies– but when it came to Bill Brown, there were times he wished he hadn’t rallied for this job so hard.

Joel sighs and walks into the room, “Why?” He picks his stetson up off his head and smacks it onto his desk beside Tommy’s feet which makes him jump and place a hand over his heart dramatically.

Tommy shrugs after he gives himself a moment to recover, wide eyes pointed at his brother, “Says a ‘dangerous’ woman broke into his property.”

That could mean any number of things with Bill: it could mean that there really is a dangerous woman on his property, it could mean that a woman was walking their dog too closely to his yard, it could mean that a saleswoman knocked on his door to sell him solar panels. Bill is beyond paranoid, but Tommy sitting on his ass, not responding to his call probably means it’s nothing. He’ll check anyway, because if he doesn’t, Bill will come to the station later to get on his ass about it.

“Which property?”

“Old Betty’s place.”

What would anyone want to do with Betty’s house? She didn’t leave anything important laying in that house. It was just a glorified grandmother-themed Ikea after her lawyer had distributed all the things she had left in her will.

“Okay. I guess I’ll go see what’s up.”

The drive over to Betty’s is familiar. The gravel road that knocks his truck around winds him through the dense forest that surrounds the land that Betty Loving called home her entire life. The trees are a mesmerizing mix of reds, oranges, yellows, and greens that come together to highlight the tiny, white cottage that sits on top of the wooded hill.

Without thinking, he knocks the secret rhythm that only a few know onto the tall, white door. He’s stood here on this porch more times than he can count, but in the last few years, he’s avoided even thinking about it. It’s just not the same.

He’s pulled into the house by the collar of his brown button-up with a quick force.

“Bill, what the hell is wrong with–”

“Shhh!” Bill puts a finger up to his lips, scraggly mustache parted by his pudgy finger.

Said finger points towards Betty’s bedroom at the end of the hall, the one with the pink floral wreath on it that reads, “Elizabeth” in curly script.

Oh god, maybe something really is wrong. He didn’t notice the front door being jammed in any way, nor does he see any damage in his peripheral, but maybe the damage was contained to her room. He really hopes that she didn’t break any of Betty’s trinkets.

“She in there?”

Bill nods his head adamantly, eyes wide.

Joel sighs out his nerves and puts on a brave face. He has to be ready for whatever he’s about to see in there. All he knows is that there is a trespasser that could be dangerous, he’s not sure. He can’t hear anything, in fact it’s eerily quiet.

He pulls out his gun from its holster on his hip. He rarely does it– it’s mostly just a prop to scare drunks from acting too crazy at the bar or one of his fellow officers from being too violent with their own weapons. The metal of the gun lays familiar in his shaking hands.

He pads down the carpeted hall with a practiced patience, boots softly scraping the tops of the fibers. Even as he approaches the door, he still can’t hear anything. Maybe his knock scared them off?

Placing his hand on the cold doorknob, he can feel wind blowing through the bottom crack of the door. Weird, considering it was 50 degrees this morning. She must have gotten through the window. He opens the door.

Laying on Betty’s frilly bedding is a young woman, probably late twenties or early thirties. Your eye is swollen and a dark shade of purple, but it’s fading into yellow around the edges. You’re wearing a long tan coat and a gray sweater dress that shows off the obvious curve of your stomach, hair splayed out underneath you in a halo. What he can see of your fingers and legs are covered in bruises and small cuts of their own. You look like a renaissance painting, splayed out over the bed like a star with your high-heeled boots dangling off the side– it’s almost Biblical paired with how tormented you look, eyebrows pulled together and mouth downturned into a frown even in your sleep.

He holsters his gun and pinches his brow with a heavy sigh.

“Jesus Christ, Bill– that’s an injured, pregnant woman. She’s not a danger to anyone.”

Bill grumbles an unintelligible response.

Another sigh tumbles out of Joel’s mouth, “Did you try to talk to her?”

“No.” Bill crosses his arms and huffs like a child being told off for hitting their sibling.

The wind blows into the room and causes Joel to shiver, fingers weaving together in front of him in an effort to gain some warmth.

“So, you just assumed that she was a danger based on… what?”

“She broke into my house!” He punctuates his stage-whisper by throwing his hands up in the air in exasperation.

“Bill, you are ridiculous.”

All he does is huff, the bristles of his mustache fly up with the breeze his breath makes.

Joel mutters a curse under his breath and stalks his way to the end of the bed.

“Ma’am? Ma’am?”

Your eyes flash open and he watches your pupils dilate as the bright light offends them. He hates to think it or even put it out into the universe, but your eyes are beautiful. They compliment your features in a way that makes his heart stop in his chest.

Before Joel even has a chance to react, you’re up and as far from him as you can be, huddled against the metal headboard. Your boots leave behind a muddy stain on the white sheets as you clamber away from him.

He can see you wince in pain with the effort. It’s then that he notices the circle of blood you’ve left on the bedding where you were laying. It’s soaked into the white, turning it a dark maroon that slowly fades to pink around the edges. He can tell it’s fresh from the way the stain expands itself.

Jesus Christ.

“Woah, woah now, darlin’. Ain’t nobody here to hurt ya.”

Eyebrows crease together, you raise a hand up to signal him to stop.

Your voice comes out in a husky whisper, upper lip snarled, “Get away from me.”

He takes a step back and puts his hands up in mock surrender. He can tell you’re not going to hurt him, nor would you be capable of it, probably, but he wants to keep you calm and if backing up is gonna keep you calm, he’s willing to do it.

“You’re hurt,” he points out with a finger pointed down to the blood.

You chance a quick glance down to where he points, like you’re afraid that if you don’t look at him for two seconds that he’ll get the jump on you. He supposes he could.

As if you can read his mind, you look back up at him with a piercing scowl.

“I’m fine,” you reply, voice a little clearer now.

He scoffs with an eye roll to accompany the sarcastic action, “Clearly you’re not, don’t have to act all tough. I’m Jackson’s sheriff; I can get you to the town doctor in less than ten minutes.”

Joel watches you evaluate him. Your eyes dart from one of his to the other, run down his body, and then back up to his face. He’s never felt so vulnerable just from being looked at. You soften a little.

“Really?”

He nods patiently, “Yes, ma’am. Dr. Teddy’d get you fixed up in no time.”

Your chest expands with one breath, two breaths, and then you let out a pitiful sigh.

He takes a chance by putting a hand out for you to take– a sign of good faith– and you hesitate. Your fingers twitch by your side. Suddenly, your soft palm grips his calloused one with a quiet ferocity.

Joel helps you up and to his truck, not without a little mumble in his direction about how he better get her on trespassing, which he quickly replies to with a directed glare. Bill retreats into the kitchen to sulk.

Your wool coat is soaked with blood around the back, turning the nice tan into a dark brown. He tries his best to ignore it as he guides you up into the passenger seat. He’s going to have to clean the damn leather after he figures out what to do with you.

Hopping into his own seat, he turns the key in the ignition and turns the heat on. Out of the corner of his eye he can see you sink down into the warmth.

You’re silent the whole ride there, which he’s fine with. He’s never been good at small talk and he doesn’t think he wants to know what the hell is going on with you, your trespassing, or your excess of injuries.

Or maybe he does. He shakes the thought out of his head. He’s going to get you examined at Teddy’s and send you on your way– he doesn’t have time for this shit. Not today. Today is supposed to be a normal day.

He parks in the one parking spot in front of the small, blue house that is the home to the practice of the one and only qualified doctor in town.

Teddy is kind. You need someone kind, which is definitely not Joel.

He points to the building and motions with his chin to follow him. You stumble out of the car and do just that, putting most of your weight on your left leg as you walk. He offers an arm out to you, but you ignore him and push ahead.

He stomps up the porch steps behind you, kicking snow out of the tread of his boots before he steps inside.

The bell jingles loudly to signal your arrival, but he yells anyway, “Teddy!? You in here?”

A soft, raspy voice calls from the back, “One second!”

He turns to you with a, hopefully, calming smile. It feels more like a grimace than anything else on his stiff face.

“This is Doctor Theodora Taylor’s office. She’s gonna take a look at ya.”

Without warning, Teddy is next to him. Her voice makes him jump, but he tries to hide it behind a scoff. Her red-covered lips turn up into a smirk as she regards you.

“You can call me Teddy.” She holds out a hand to you. You hesitate before you grab her hand in yours for a weak handshake. He watches your muscles tense when you make contact with her, but the spasm goes away just as quickly as it came on.

Theodora Taylor is one of Joel’s only friends– her husband Jan is also included in that small number. She has thick, jet black, curly hair and skin so pale it’s a surprise to know that she goes outside at all. Her features are soft, lips always a vibrant red that makes her bright blue eyes pop. Voice raspy from a youth of defiant smoking, she is a calming force and a bright light.

“Follow me– exam room’s right over here.”

He follows behind you, because he has to. He has questions he’s supposed to ask and technically he needs to know if you need to go to court because of the trespassing, but there’s a part of him (the large majority, if he’s honest with himself) that just wants to send you to wherever you belong and leave you be. Bill can be convinced to drop the charges some way or another.

Teddy gives him no attention after her initial questioning of the situation and neither do you, surprisingly, as he plops down in one of the squeaky, teal, pleather chairs usually reserved for parents or significant others. It’s uncomfortably cold under his blue jeans. He’s sat in this chair a couple times before– one time when Ellie broke her leg a few years ago when she first started living with him, and a few times before and after that to evaluate drunks from the bar after they got into slurred fights resulting in, usually, minor injuries.

He watches Teddy go through the motions of listening to your lungs and taking your blood pressure. Joel isn’t a doctor, never claimed to be, so he doesn’t fully understand what’s going on, but she doesn’t look overly concerned as she peels the coat off your back and pulls your shirt up in the back to examine whatever injury is back there.

But when she puts a little too much pressure on your right leg, your whole body tightens and you gasp.

“Woah, what’s going on? I hurt you?”

You pause, evaluate (which he has quickly identified as a habit of yours), and pull your dress up higher on your thigh to reveal a nasty bruise that he hadn’t seen before. Black mixed with purple and dark hues of red over the entirety of your upper thigh. He has to stop himself from letting out the gasp that’s constricting the back of his throat.

Teddy’s dark eyebrows furrow for a split second before she cools her expression and looks up at you with gentle eyes.

“I’m sorry, hon, but I have to ask– where did those bruises come from?”

He watches your eyes flicker up to him and back down to your lap. Teddy takes the obvious hint, and so does he.

Something is very wrong.

“Joel, could you step out, please?”

He nods and pushes up out of the chair, “Yeah, ‘course.”

A grateful expression flashes over your face that he only catches for a second as he shuts the door behind him.

He knows he should be in there technically, to continue his evaluation, but it feels wrong to listen to you be vulnerable. He’s never really had a problem with it before– the child growing in you is probably the reason he feels the need to hide. Pregnant women make him think of her.

A few minutes pass as he sits in the quiet lobby– no one around to bother him or quiet his rampant thoughts. Just him, the open air with a distinct smell of hand sanitizer, and the muffled sounds of cars driving past.

He can see Teddy talking to you through the glass window on the top half of the door, that’s usually covered by a curtain, but it needs to be open in case you really are a danger to yourself or Teddy and she needs help restraining you. You look ashamed, embarrassed. Teddy just looks back at you while you talk, no emotions flashing over her face– just simply taking the information in. He wonders if it’s to keep you calm.

The front door slams open. The little bell attached to it slaps into the wood aggressively.

Maria almost sprints into the building; she looks disheveled, braids pulled back into a makeshift ponytail with a rubber band, eyes wide in a panic, still wearing her pink, flannel pyjama pants.

When she spots Joel sitting in one of the many chairs strewn in random places around the room, she lets out a puff of air and hunches over with her hands on her knees.

“Hey, we just heard–”

He nods and points to the windowed door, “Yeah, Teddy’s in there talking to her now.”

Tommy follows behind her. He looks just as out-of-breath as his wife from running after her.

“Why the fuck did we run here? Jesus Christ,” Tommy mutters to himself, pulling a hand through his hair while the other holds his tan stetson to his chest.

She clears her throat, ignoring Tommy as he walks in and keeping her attention on Joel, “How injured is she?”

“Not sure. She was walking fine, but her legs, Maria– they were covered in cuts and bruises.”

“Oh god,” she sighs and rubs a hand down her face, “Okay, I’ll go in there and talk to her. You two stay out here.”

They nod their heads to her like the loyal guard dogs they are.

Tommy flops his ass down in the chair next to Joel’s, slaps him on the thigh, and spreads his legs like a cowboy. Joel’s posture is ramrod straight, fingers intertwined in his lap. He can’t stop himself from bouncing his knee– the nervous energy in his brain spreading throughout his body. He is Tommy’s opposite as always.

They watch the three of you through the small window cut out of the door. He can visibly see you calm down as Maria speaks to you in her usual confident and calming tone.

Tommy crosses his arms with a scowl on his face, “I recognize her.”

“How?”

“I– I’m not sure.”

Joel examines you for a second. You look upper class based on your outfit alone– expensive wool coat, gold jewelry. But those sad eyes– he could spot those sad eyes anywhere. He feels like a fool for not noticing it earlier.

“Betty’s funeral.”

Tommy points a finger at him, a grin spreading across his stubbled cheeks. “Yes! Yes, that’s it. She gave that speech.”

“She’s Betty’s granddaughter.”

A chill runs down his spine and all the way down to his toes.

Tommy slaps his knee in some show of triumph, “Oh man, that explains why she was at the cottage.”

Joel looks over at you again. He thinks he can see your eyes starting to water, so he shifts his gaze back over to his brother. He can’t bear to see your vulnerability; not like this, not again.

“Yeah… it does.”

Maria steps back out of the room and shuts the door behind her soft and slowly.

“Joel. I need to talk to you really quickly.”

She’s got that look, pinched eyebrows and lips downturned: the guilty look she gets when she asks him to watch their son, Benny.

“What? Is it a secret?”

She turns to Tommy with a glare, “Shut up, Thomas.”

Tommy throws his hands up in the air and widens his eyes in exaggeration.

Maria turns back to Joel, a disgruntled scowl covering her face. She and Tommy love each other– have for more years than he’s even lived here– but Tommy is the King of Maria’s annoyance. He knows just how to push her buttons, the ones that Joel wouldn’t dare to go near.

Joel nods, and follows her out to the porch. It’s cold, too cold to be outside.

“What,” he deadpans. Get it over with, he wants to spit out.

“I need you to take her in.”

No.

“Excuse me,” Joel blurts out, his mouth five steps ahead of his brain in shock.

Maria places her hands on her hips and rolls her deep brown eyes. Even in pyjama pants, she’s intimidating.

“Joel, I highly doubt she will be any trouble to you. You’re barely home anyway.”

He can’t picture you in his space with your sullen expression and hollow eyes. The idea of anyone besides him or his family in his home makes him want to cringe.

“I’ve already got my hands full with Ellie. I don’t think taking on a huge responsibility like this is really in my job description.”

And, boy, does that ruffle Maria’s feathers. Her face drops even further than before.

“This ‘responsibility’ is a pregnant woman with no family, no home, and no job who needs immediate bedrest. She is extremely fragile right now and it’s best for her and her baby if she can keep her in to term. She just needs a place to relax, read a book, do some light chores– she’s not a teenage girl, she’s a grown woman who can take care of herself.

“And I don’t want to mention this, but I feel that I have to: she’s Betty’s granddaughter. You’re really not gonna give her and Betty’s great-granddaughter the best chance they have of living? After all she did for you?”

She gives him a pointed look; they both know she’s right. Her brutal honesty makes him uncomfortable, makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand to attention.

Joel sighs, “Maria…”

Suddenly, he watches guilt take over her features again. “I know; I’m sorry. I just need you to really think before you say no to that woman in there.”

“I’m not… ‘m not saying no, I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”

She shakes her head and puffs out a breath of frustration, “Why?”

He doesn’t really know why. Call it a gut feeling, call it intuition, call it whatever you want– he doesn’t know why it’s a bad idea. He just does.

“I don’t know.”

Maria’s shoulders sag. “Just do it. Please.”

He feels himself giving in before he can even say the words. He folds like a cheap suit.

Hands held in the air in surrender, he replies, “Fine. Fine, okay.”

“Thank you,” she sighs out exasperatedly.

“Couldn’t I just… couldn’t I go live in my grandma’s house? Then I wouldn’t have to be anybody’s problem.”

Teddy shakes her head, a strand of her curly hair falling into her face, “Betty’s place is way too far from here. You need to be as close as possible to the clinic with how high-risk your pregnancy is. Joel lives two houses down from here and he has an extra bedroom. You wouldn’t be any kind of problem for him anyway.”

He shakes his head, “You wouldn’t be.”

He can tell you’re conflicted. Your eyes flit from his face, to Tommy’s, to Teddy’s, Maria’s, and then back to his. There’s a hint of something there in your irises– something that makes his skin crawl with the memory of when his own eyes looked as dull as yours. Grief. For what exactly, he doesn’t know, but it’s there.

“Okay,” you mumble, eyes going to your lap where your fingers are picking at your cuticles.

What has he gotten himself into?

“Okay,” Maria exclaims, “Good. Let’s let Teddy finish her exam– Joel, you stay with her until she’s done?”

He nods.

“Alright, let’s go, deputy.”

She waves a hand for Tommy to follow her.

His brother turns to you with an overly-confident smile and chuckles, “She’s embarrassed that if she admits she likes me that people might find out she has emotions. We’re married, y’know? You’d think people would’ve found out she’s not a robot by now.”

A small smile takes over your lips, barely reaching your eyes. There’s Tommy doing what he’s always been naturally good at– talking to people, making them feel comfortable and relaxed.

“Tommy,” Maria shouts from the entryway.

“Coming, wife!”

Joel doesn’t even have to see her to know that she’s rolling her eyes into the back of her head. She loves him to death, and so does he, but he’s always been a bit of a handful.

Teddy shakes her head amusedly as she listens to the tell-tale sound of the front door closing behind them.

She turns back to the room, with you in tow.

It’s another 20 minutes before Teddy comes back, but she’s alone. You’ve been left in the exam room by yourself.

Teddy flops into the chair next to him and lets out a heaving breath.

“She’s got a pretty large cut on her back that’s going to need the bandage changed at least once every day. So, I’ll be there every day around noon to change it until it’s healed, but if she starts to bleed through it, I’m gonna need you to help her do it. I assume you can do that?”

“Yeah.”

“She can walk on her own, but she just needs to keep that leg elevated and iced as much as possible– give it a couple weeks to heal up. Just keep an eye on her for me.”

“Okay.”

There’s an awkward pause. She won’t look at him, just stares off towards the large bay window that overlooks the snow-covered trees in front of them.

“Did she tell you what happened?”

She nods. Her face is emotionless. “Yes.”

“Do I get to know?”

Teddy purses her lips and shakes her head, “Not unless she tells you.”

Licking his lips, he nods back, “Okay.”

He tastes blood when he bites down on his bottom lip to rip a piece of dead, dry skin off. His tongue runs over the wound left behind– smooth, raw. He relishes the taste of the aftermath of his pain.

She looks over at him. “And, Joel?”

“Yeah?”

Her cool expression is replaced by concern– heavy, devastated concern.

She lets out a long breath and mutters back to him, “Please be patient with her.”

“Yup.”

Joel cannot handle this conversation anymore. He needs to get out of here before he explodes. In what? Anger? Remorse? Pity? He doesn’t care; getting out of here is what he needs and he needs it now.

Pushing himself up makes his knees crack with the effort. The oncoming winter always makes him feel his age more than anything. He masks his pain as he always does with a practiced cough and a slap to the side of his thigh.

“Whelp, gonna get outta your hair, Teddy. Tell Di I said ‘hey’.”

She looks equally relieved to be ending this conversation with him, even more so with the mention of her toddler.

“I will. She misses you; you should come visit soon.”

“I’ll try.”

He probably won’t.

WIth a quick side hug and a goodbye from Teddy, he walks out of the waiting area and to where you’re sitting in the exam room.

“Let’s go,” he states, pointing a finger towards the front door.

He doesn’t wait around for you to follow. You catch up.

Once you get to the porch, you begin talking to him quietly, “You know, you really don’t have to do this.”

You’re shivering aggressively, whether it’s the cold or the effort it takes you to talk to him, he doesn’t know. He’s just realized that you left your bloody coat behind in the exam room.

He shucks off his duck jacket and holds it out to you. You stare down at his hand like it’s going to bite you and shake your head reluctantly.

“Well, Mayor says I gotta, so seems like I don’t really have much of a choice, do I,” he replies with a huff, walking down to the bottom of the porch steps before your voice stops him.

“You could’ve said ‘no’.”

Your face is stoic, but he can see the apology in your eyes. They’re very expressive, like you can’t help that you wear your heart in them. He wonders if you even know.

He shakes his head, “She's my sister-in-law, I could not have said no.”

No response comes from you as you pick up your aching feet and creep your way down the steps. Joel offers to help, but you sigh and send a glare in his direction. He backs off.

When you’re at his side finally, he points at his house– two houses down and across the street. It’s a small thing– but it works for him and Ellie, who spends most of her time in the garage anyways. He’s always wanted to paint the light grey-blue siding something more neutral, but he just never has the time nor the energy and there’s no way in hell he’ll hire someone else to do it. Someday.

You fall into step beside him, heels of your boots clacking on the cracking concrete of the sidewalk.

The sweater dress you’re wearing looks comfortable, but the tights don’t look very warm and the large stain on the back of it must be freezing. His house is right there; he’ll let you borrow something of his while he goes to grab your bags from Betty’s.

You speak up again, arms crossed and hands shoved into your armpits.

“Tommy's your brother?”

“Yup.”

“Apple fell very far from the tree.”

He huffs, “Not really a talker.”

“No shit.”

You’re being brave. He can tell you’re nervous, but you’re trying your best to hold a conversation and that’s pretty fucking brave to him.

“Thank you,” you mutter through an exhale. Your breath is visible in the early morning air.

“Don’t gotta thank me. Just doin’ my job.”

“Thank you for doing your job, then.”

He doesn’t like being thanked. It makes him uncomfortable, rattles his bones. But he’s not going to ignore you when you’re being vulnerable– that would make him even more uncomfortable.

“No problem.”

A high-pitched voice screams across the road, “Joel!”

You both watch as Ellie runs down the street, her arms waving above her head like a lunatic, sneakers screeching because of the drag of her feet. The child has no decorum or manners.

He drops his forehead into his hand.

When she gets to the two of you, she leans over with both hands on her bent knees, breathing heavily. She takes a moment to recover. Joel spares a glance in your direction, but you’re no longer beside him. He catches a sliver of your hair as it whips behind him.

Ellie’s gonna be the death of him, probably you too if you scare this easily.

“Can I go over to Dina’s?”

His hands settle on his hips in his most “I’m not fucking around” pose, “No, kid. I gotta talk to you about somethin’. Go home.”

“What? Dude!”

“Don’t ‘dude’ me. Go,” he points to the house and leaves it at that.

She turns and stomps her way to the house with her arms crossed and a sour look on her face, “Ugh! Whatever, asshole.”

He loves her and he would travel to the ends of the earth for her; but it’s moments like these where sometimes he wished he was a little harder on her. Maybe she wouldn’t scream swear words in the middle of the street. He doubts it.

“Who was that?”

Joel clears his throat, “Uh, that's my kid.”

Your eyebrows furrow, expressing the most you have the entire morning, “You have a kid?”

It’s accusatory– the emphasis on the ‘you’. He can feel himself bristle with something at the accusation that he wouldn’t be capable of caring for a child. What is it about him that makes you think he wouldn’t have a kid?

You’re right. She’s not his. But he had a child. A long time ago.

He huffs through a dry chuckle, “Well, she’s not technically mine— but she lives with me and I feed her, so she’s my problem.”

“Whose is she?” Your eyes flick across the street to Ellie and then back to him.

He can’t help the sigh that leaves his lips.

“A friend’s. She passed away a few years ago and she didn’t have any family, so…”

Your face shifts with pity, forehead wrinkled and eyes wide, “Oh, I'm so sorry.”

He’s used to the pity– the stares, the muttered sorrys. He doesn’t want it from anyone, but he especially doesn’t want it from complete strangers like you.

“It’s alright. She was my daughter’s friend more than mine, but when she got sick, I agreed to take care of her kid.”

“Oh, you have a daughter?”

He feels the grief rip through his chest like he always does when someone mentions her. But you don’t know what happened like everyone else in this town does, so he’s not going to get irritable with you like he would with other people. Besides, you don’t need Joel to be an asshole to you when you’re supposed to be on bed rest.

He hesitates, “Yeah.”

Your eyes search his face– for what, he doesn’t know. But whatever you’re looking for, he thinks you’ve found it as you move the conversation on from her and onto Ellie’s frame as she slams the front door shut so loudly that the entire street can probably hear it. He thanks his face for conveying how desperately he does not want to talk with you about Sarah.

“What’s her name?” You point in the direction that the teenager went.

“Ellie.”

He shifts his stance, ready to restart your short walk to his house when you speak up.

“She seems like a good kid.”

He lets out a breath of amusement, “She's the best. Has a very colorful vocabulary though.”

You shrug, “Eh, she’s a teenager. I was a lot worse than her at that age.”

“Oh, really?” He’s not sure if this is surprising information or not. He’s having a hard time getting a read on you– and that’s a big part of his job, to read people. It feels wrong that he can’t figure you out.

“Yeah. I could’ve won some kind of award– ‘Worst Daughter In The World’. I would’ve deserved it too,” you huff.

He hums in acknowledgement. He doesn’t want you to feel like he’s ignoring you; he just doesn’t know what the hell to say to that. That you did deserve it? He wouldn’t know.

“It’s why my parents used to ship me off to my grandmother’s. ‘Grandma knows how to handle you’, they’d say. Really, I just liked her a lot more than them.”

He gets that. He really gets that.

“Well, I ain’t got nowhere to ship Ellie to. She’s stuck with me whether she likes it or not.”

You hum, “I think she likes it.”

He chuckles, “And you can tell that from a thirty-second argument?”

You look up at him with a burgeoning smile on your face, “She wouldn’t have listened to you if she didn’t like you– trust me.”

Trust me.

“Whatever you say, ma’am.”

You nod resolutely.

It’s silent the thirty seconds it takes to walk the rest of the way to Joel’s.

He shows you around the house and watches you as you map out his home in your head. You pay extra attention to the exits and the windows. Joel catches the way you stare longingly at the kitchen from the entryway.

When he walks up the stairs to show you the bedrooms, you lag behind. But he doesn’t notice until he’s already at the top of the stairs and he doesn’t hear your footsteps anymore. You’re staring at a picture on the wall. It’s of Sarah.

You don’t say anything. Just stare. He can’t get himself to say anything either.

One breath, two breaths. And you look up at him with something in your eyes that he can’t quite identify; it’s soft, but not pity. Understanding, maybe.

You walk up the rest of the stairs, holding tight to the banister. There’s a slight twitch in your lip when you put weight on your bad leg. He offers to help you, but you just shake your head.

He points out the upstairs bathroom, his room, and then guides you to the guest bedroom that’s been gathering dust for a while now. It used to be Ellie’s, but ever since she’d moved into the garage, it’s been empty. He’d renovated it on the very off chance that one of his relatives came to visit, but it’s stood empty for almost two years, so he doesn’t find himself opening the door very often.

“This’ll be your room. It’s not much, but it’s enough to get you through until you get that baby out of you.”

It’s a small room, enough to comfortably hold a double-bed, a couple side tables, and a dresser. The closet door stands ajar in the corner, full of Christmas decorations. He’s going to have to take those out– find somewhere else for them. Maybe Tommy has room in his basement–

“Okay,” you mumble, “Thank you.”

Your heels click on the hardwood floor in even beats as you walk into the room. Your evaluating eye examines the bed when you approach it. You swipe at a spot on the blanket and the dust jumps and sails through the air, illuminated by the sunlight. Once you’ve decided it’s good enough, you sit down slowly, a hand planted on the mattress behind you as you lower yourself.

Maria had said you were six months pregnant. He remembers how miserable Sarah’s mom had been at this time in her pregnancy. The memory makes him want to puke.

“I know it’s none of my business—“

You glower at him, “Yup. I would say that too.”

“But, whatever brought you here— I hope we can help you. You just let me know if you need anything.”

You soften a little, but the glare remains. “Okay.”

“You ain’t a talker either?”

The both of you know he isn’t talking about “talking”. Emotional vulnerability isn’t a strong suit of his, and it is very clearly not one of yours either.

“Nope.”

He nods, turns, and walks out the door.

Ellie is strong. You don’t lose your mom at thirteen and not have massive amounts of strength afterwards. But she is an expert pouter.

When Joel creeks open the garage door, Ellie is face down on her bed, limbs spread out beneath her. A punk song plays over her speaker that makes Joel’s ear drums pop. Even with the hearing loss in his right ear, he can feel his teeth rattling.

He walks over to the blasting stereo and turns it off.

Her head whips up to pierce him with a death glare, “What the fuck?!”

“Can’t hear myself think with that shit on.”

She mumbles something in her pillow, probably some egregious swear word or some insult related to his age, but he lets her get away with it. Your words come back to him– she wouldn’t listen to him if she really didn’t like him. He’s not patient with most people, but he tries to be for her.

He lowers himself on her bed with a grunt.

“She’s gonna be living with us until her baby comes.”

She hums into her pillow and stuffs her face even further into it.

Joel sighs, “What are you thinking, kid? I’m sorry you didn’t get much of a choice.”

Her voice is muffled as she responds, “Well, what does it matter what I think? You would’ve done it anyway.”

His eyebrows furrow, “What makes you think that?”

“Dina heard she was Betty’s grandkid. Is that true?”

He has no doubt that Dina already knows; she loves to harass Maria when she thinks something is going on and he’s sure that Ellie has been texting Dina since she was forced to go home.

He nods reluctantly. Joel is sure that as soon as he leaves the room, the stereo will be back on and her phone will be in her hands.

“Exactly. You would not have said ‘no’ to her.”

He sputters, “I’m very capable of sayin’ ‘no’.”

She shakes her head and flips over onto her back, “Not when Betty’s involved.”

He huffs, a small smile on his lips, “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

He doesn’t hear the knock on the front door, but Ellie does.

“There’s someone at the door, old man.”

Joel sends a glare in her direction and hoists himself up and off her bed.

He walks to her door, but she interrupts him, “Hey, Joel?”

“Yeah, kid,” he huffs.

Her joking smirk has fallen off her face and a rare seriousness replaces it.

“I’m okay with it, by the way… with her staying. Don’t worry about it.”

All he does is nod. She mocks him with an equally gruff nod.

“We’re not done talkin’ about this; there’s gonna be some new rules around here,” he states.

Ellie throws her limbs up into the air and waves them around erratically, “Whatever! Get out of here so I can sulk!”

The door closes softly behind him and his quiet chuckle.

Opening the front door reveals Mrs. Cassini, his neighbor and the town gossip.

Her grey hair is in tight, pink curlers and she has a half-done knitting project in her hands, like she’d gotten up in a hurry. There’s little footsteps in the snow in a path from her porch, through his yard, and up to his own porch; her purple slippers are so soaked that they look like a completely different color.

She leaves no time for pleasantries.

“I hear you’ve got a pregnant, homeless woman living in your house.”

It’s gotten to a point where he doesn’t even question how she hears things anymore. He heard a rumor a long time ago from one of their other neighbors that somehow her landline picked up other people’s phone calls. He stopped using his landline after that.

He can’t help the breath of frustration that puffs out of his mouth, “Mrs. Cassini, go home, please. She doesn’t need you spreadin’ rumors about her. She’s already stressed enough as it is.”

Her eyes widen.

She gasps, “So, it’s true?”

Well, it was going to be confirmed at some point. Guess that point is right now.

“Mrs. Cassini, please go home.”

She huffs like a child, turns on her heel, and walks back to her little cottage next door. He needs to get some sort of security system in his house, specifically for this woman and her unexpected visits.

He hears footsteps scurry up the stairs when he turns around to go back into the house.

Well, shit.

Joel hadn’t heard the bedroom door open nor had he heard your footsteps as you came out. Mrs. Cassini always knew the worst times to show up, didn’t she?

He approaches the bottom of the stairwell and calls out to you as calmly as he can, “I assume you heard that?”

A tiny gasp comes from the top of the stairs and your feet come into view. You step down a couple stairs and sit yourself down carefully on the plush carpet.

You nod.

“I’m sorry. She’s just kinda like that. Town gossip and all.”

You shrug, stiff and dejected.

“I get it. Weird pregnant girl shows up and everyone’s gotta know what’s wrong with her.”

“Well, it’s none of their business. I’ll just keep turnin’ ‘em away.”

You grab your knees like a kid who’s in timeout. Why do you always look like you’re about to be reprimanded– like you have to protect yourself from some unseen force? He suspects he might look that way too sometimes.

“Thank you. For telling her to go away.”

He hums, hands awkwardly stuffed in his pockets.

“Well, uh, I gotta go back to work, but don’t worry about Bill– I’ll get him to drop the charges on you.”

“Oh, okay.” You nod with a faraway look in your eye, hands coming up to your stomach almost instinctively.And he leaves, hops into his ancient, blue pickup truck, and puts it into drive. What happened to his normal fucking day?

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aplacefordreaming24 · 2 days ago

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WAAAAA HELLO HELLO HELLO

I have so many f/o's but I'll always happily take the chance to gush about my main. His name is Ted, and he's just- sigh. He's so perfect to me. I love him so much. He's the light of my life and I always feel better just thinking about him hehehe

My irl bf was the one who introduced me to him actually ;0 and it took *years* irl for me to really think about him the way I do now!!! Because originally I watched a playthrough of the game he comes from, and,,, ngl the light he's shown in that is kinda awful? Not the worst, but certainly not the best. But then, years later, I finally got around to reading the original story he comes from (It was a short story first called "I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream," and then it got turned into a game). And just. God. Idk. Something about him, just- clicked!

And like, you wouldn't think it would, because ngl he's kinda, worse in the story? But it was more just- why he is the way he is that clicked. The reasons behind how he behaves that you don't learn in the game. And so much of himself, his core character, was changed in the game. (Same with everyone, besides like, the villain). And for the first time, I saw someone who was very similar to me. I felt seen and understood by his true character, and it made me grow really sympathetic for him.

After the initial shock wore down, it all just kinda came crashing into "Omg I love him so much I just wanna make him so happy" ykyk?? The way his story ends is so tragic but I wanna believe that it isn't the end. That he'll end up happy, eventually, no matter how long it takes. And I wanna be the one waiting for him with open arms to bring him that happiness and support and love that he deserves and never got.

It's silly. It's dumb. A lot of the fandom is split on his character; some really love him like me, and others kinda hate the hell out of him. And it always kinda gets me down but yk, he's still my love. My prince. My one and only. I just try to think about comforting him and block people who hate him cause like. I get it. I get why you would. But that doesn't mean I have to, feel the same? At least I think so.

He has a lot of paranoia about people hating him. I do too, but I'm always there to remind him it's not true. I'll never hate him. He has my heart, and even if he chose someone else, I'd still love him. His happiness means more to me than some silly conditional thing.

Maybe that's a little unhealthy to say. But yk, I feel this way for all my relationships, friendships, etc. I'd rather you be happy without me than miserable around me. No point in sticking around; it does neither of us any good.

Idk. I could go on and on about my s/i and his relationship (If you've ever heard of Orpheus and Eurydice, they're very much like that, including the doomed aspect). How they're two sides of the same coin and such. But like- man. If I sit here and talk all day about him I'm not gonna get anything I need to do today done.

Sorry if this is long fnjdfjk really if you don't wanna respond you don't have to!! But ty for giving me a place to gush about him ;0

AND PLEASE FEEL FREE TO GUSH ABOUT YOU AND VERGIL TO ME TOO I'D LOVE TO HEAR IT!!! I LOVE LISTENING TO PEOPLE TALK ABOUT THEIR LOVES!!!

GUSH ABOUT YOUR F/O IN THE REBLOGS TO ME AND I WILL ACTUALLY LISTEN AND RESPOND TO THEM ACCORDINGLY BECAUSE YOU 🫵 DEAR READER DESERVE TO HAVE YOUR INTERESTS TREATED WITH RESPECT AND NOT JUST GET A "wow that's neat"

doubles and proshippers dni! Doubles you also deserve respect I'm just not very good at sharing I'm so sorry!

#sleep talking #cold days in hell #reblog game #selfship #selfshipping #selfship community #f/o community #f/o x s/i #ted ihnmaims #ihnmaims #tagging the main tags for better idea of who the hell im talking about lol #ted... my love... hehe...

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queers-gambit · 1 day ago

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The Strength in Honor [ part 3 of 3 ]

prompt: well, well, well, if it isn't the consequences of your own actions. let the Games begin.

pairing: General Marcus Acacius x female!Aurelius!reader

fandom: Gladiator II -> no masterlist

word count: 8.3k+

warnings: spoilers, blood, character injury, canon character death, Acacius survives, drama, depiction of canon complicit physical violence, epilogue, very lil tiny smut, very lil tiny NSFW, depiction of happiest ending author could think of.

part one: read here part two: read here

The gladiators perked up when the sounds of struggle echoed from a distant tunnel; torchlight glowing brighter the closer the approaching intruders got. While restrained to their cells, most prisoners peaked out to watch as multiple guards were required to wrangle an irate General Acacius into an empty cell.

"You're no men of mine," Acacius snarled at the guards as they shoved him to the ground before slamming it shut; keeping bars between the feral man and themselves.

"No, General. We're the Emperor's."

He scoffed, "Hardly men of Rome, then."

"Do try to get some rest, General," another tacked on smugly, "you'll need your wits about you if you're gonna save your lady by," he raised his voice to ensure everyone heard, "fighting every man here!"

There was a grumble from the gladiators, Lucius' arms poking out to rest between the bars; keys heavy and hidden on his hip. He glared at the man he'd been convinced he needed to kill; the man he told Macrinus he wanted in exchange for being his champion; the man he thought would avenge his wife's death. Yet as he listened to the guards taunt him, he heard his aunt's voice pleading with him to understand the General was not the enemy.

He ignored the Wisdom of Venus in favor of his own anger.

The Praetorian Guards spat on the General before laughing and taking their leave; several hushed voices whispering to one another as a distant door clanged shut.

"General? General Acacius?" Someone questioned from the dark.

"Yes?"

"General," the voice insisted, "the hell's going on? What're you doing here?"

Lucius watched Acacius approach his cell door with narrowed eyes, taking the bars in hand as he identified, "Augustus?"

The guard winced as he neared the cell, "Ah, hell, it is you, thought I was seein' shit at first."

"Solider," Acacius greeted.

"Is the plan off?"

"What?"

Augustus shook his head, "The Lady Aurelius was here not long ago, sent Ravi to gather your men. Is the plan off?"

Lucius watched in real time as the General blinked slowly in remembrance, giving the Gladiator time to note the scattering of facial injuries. "Y/N sent Ravi to gather the men?"

"Yes, General."

"Good, good," he nodded, then shaking his head in disappointment. "I don't know what's to come next, soldier, we were betrayed."

"What?"

"The Emperors... They knew, yet I don't think specific details were shared as I saw no deployment to intercept my men yet."

"So they threw you down here?"

Acacius nodded, "In the morning, I am to fight all of you for the life of Lady Aurelius. There's no use in hiding it now: the Lady and I have been involved in an extramarital affair nearly 20 years."

"Jesus, Mary-Mother, and Joesph," Augustus scoffed, head cocking in confusion. "Why not just marry her?"

"I had planned to," Acacius admitted, "after the war, when the fighting was done, when I returned to Rome. I even had a ring," he smirked sadly, "but before I could propose, Lucius Verus died and widowed Lucilla. The Emperor asked me to marry her instead, for protection."

"He did not know about you and Y/N?"

"I'm sure he had his suspicions, we were young and dumb; not very good at hiding anything."

"Why accept? If you loved Y/N, why marry Lucilla?"

Lucius listened intently as Acacius admitted, "Because General Maximus told me to honor our Emperor, honor Rome. There was no denying Lady Lucilla's hand in marriage."

"But you and Venus never quit, huh?" Augustus snickered, "My man!"

"Just loved her too much to stop," Acacius shrugged, shaking his head. "Couldn't ever let go, and even now, I can't. So, tomorrow, I will attempt to fight you all - but we all know, the Emperor's are orchestrating a plan now to ensure I do not succeed."

The creaking of an opening iron door made both men pause their conversation, looking up in time to spy Lucius stepping from his unlocked cell. He watched the way Acacius straightened up with a knowing look; understanding his aunt must've had enough time to tell him about Lucius before their downfall.

"Hanno," Augustus tried to intercept, "how'd you - "

"Is it true?" He directed at the General.

Acacius let his eyes shift from guard to Gladiator; noting how Augustus did not seem phased by his unlocked cell. He asked "Which part?" for clarification.

"Loving Lady Y/N for 2 decades, Maximus telling you to marry Lady Lucilla?"

"All of it," he nodded. "Though my marriage to the Lady was not all bad, she... She just..."

"She wasn't Y/N," Lucius filled in, sounding neutral; neither angry or offended on his mother's behalf, but also not elated on his aunt's either.

"Nobody was - nobody ever will be again," Acacius told him. "Without her, Rome will be set adrift. You should all prepare."

"You speak as if it's already over."

"Weren't you listening?" Acacius snapped. "I am to fight you all, by myself. The Emperor's will ensure neither of us walk away - though, they will try to get Y/N, they spoke of their desire for her."

Lucius and Augustus shared the same expression of disgust, upper lips curling. "They can try," Augustus scoffed, crossing his meaty arms. "Your men still march for the city, General, and the men in these cells stand with you. What's the plan?"

"'Plan'? There's no more plans, kid, it's over. We lost."

"Not yet," Lucius mused, "the Games have only just begun."

"Look," Acacius shook his head, "when we face each other in the arena tomorrow, there will be no way out. I only ask for a swift death for us both. Should the Emperors ever get their hands on her, I fear death will be Y/N's only relief... Do not condemn your aunt to such a fate, she's the best of us and deserves better."

"No, the answer is simple, is it not?" Lucius asked, looking around the other cells of gladiators. "You hear that, lads? Your General Acacius must fight us all tomorrow to protect his lady-love! To protect Venus!" Flesh and metal banged on iron cell doors, a gentle hoot answering his rhetorical inquiry. "He says give him a quick death!" Another round of door-banging. "Know what I say? I say! The answer is simple! The Emperors intend for the General to fight us all - so none of us will fight!"

"What?" Augustus asked over the approval of agreeing gladiators. "Hanno, the hell do you mean? We'd all get shot by the archers!"

Lucius smirked, "There is strength in numbers, my friend... And 2,000 men loyal to the General march for the city. So long as the Emperors have a show, we keep them drawn in and locked on us, fully distracted - they won't so much as notice the city being sacked."

"There need be no sacking, the city is ready to fall," Acacius inputted, eyes narrowed at Lucius.

"All the more reason then," he smirked.

Augustus chuckled, "Oh, hooo! Hear that? I think Hanno has a plan, lads! Should we hear him?" The gladiators banged louder, "I asked, should we hear him!?" Now, they roared in agreement, making Augustus smirk at Lucius and cross his broad, bulging arms. "Go on, then. What's the plan, Hanno?"

Acacius leaned on the bars of his door, ready to take his orders like any good soldier.

The General was collected first from his cell, provided a change of clothes, his armor, and weaponry. Before he disappeared from sight, his head turned to catch Lucius' eyes; either man nodding subtly in agreement to what they had strategized all night.

The Praetorian Guards gathered first at the doors, posted along the inner arena of the Colosseum with archers lining the walls between sand and spectators. Acacius watched from the tunnel as a huge, decorated wooden cart was lugged into the arena by decoratively-matching white horses; you tied to a broad post in the center; dressed in a gorgeous white chiffon dress. You were accessorized in gold, but what caused instant anger from the crowd wasn't just the sight of you... But the sight of you, bound and bloodied.

Geta's Guards were none too gentle in their "watch" of you that night. Your nose bled, bottom lip split down to your chin, apple of your cheek cut open and weeping down your neck, over your collarbones and into the shoulders of your dress. Your wrists were raw, shoulders strained as your arms were bound behind you. In a twist of cruel irony, your maids - including the one who betrayed you - were bound in chains to the cart, as well; surrounded by the Senators who had agreed to your plans of usurpation.

"Gracus," you called to the old man closest to you. When his eyes met yours, you heaved, "I'm so sorry - for all of this."

"You need not apologize, my Lady," he warbled, hands bound before him in a sign of prayer. "This was what we knew could happen, yet we still sided with you. When it comes to Rome's best interest, that is where those most loyal must stand - no matter the consequences."

You nodded slowly, blinking back emotion - still feeling handsomely guilty.

"LET HER GO!" It was heard echoing from the stadium seating; more and more voices joining in their own protest. The archers lining the walls turned to prevent the packed rows of citizens from getting too close; causing tensions to mount as the people did not like such a brash reaction.

In the spectator's box, Emperors Geta and Caracalla sat pompously with Lucilla and Macrinus; waving to the booing crowd. Over them all, the Master of Ceremonies cried out, "People of Rome! Oh, hear me now, my good friends! People of Rome, settle! Settle yourselves! For today, you bear great witness to our Republic's great and fair justice!" The crowd growled and jeered. "Today... Today, great people, we witness the Gods judgement! Today, General Marcus Acacius," the crowd now cheered, "shall face the whole of the Emperor's gladiators in an effort to protect his long-standing affair partner, Lady Y/N Aurelius!"

The people stirred as your head bowed in shame. The Master of Ceremonies paused to let his words marinate, Geta smirking as he misunderstood the mumbling crowd to be displeased with you and Marcus.

"Who cares!?" It was cried.

"Let her go!"

"MERCY!"

"DON'T DO THIS!"

"Just let them be together!"

"LET HER GO!"

"MERCY, EMPERORS, MERCY!"

You could see the way Geta shifted in his seat with discomfort as nearly all citizens of Rome begged and pleaded for your mercy; to allow redemption, to seek penance, that this was not justice just because it was labeled as such.

A door opened across the arena, your head lifting in time to see Marcus striding out of the tunnel to the cheers of his loyal spectators. Your chains rattled as you stood upright from the post, tears mingling with blood down your neck as you watched him march to his death. Around him, Praetorian Guards moved from their place along the outskirts of the arena to surround him and your cart.

Acacius came to a halt, surveying the arena before locking his eyes with yours. "Are you hurt?" He asked. Your head shook, the tears did not lessen. "Good. Stay strong, my star, I'll get you outta here."

You nodded, truly believing him for a reason you didn't understand. Was love truly so blind? Perhaps.

Unknown to you, Augustus was galloping through the city to meet with Acacius' men at the city gates; intending on leading the first wave into the Colosseum. The gladiators burst from their cells and slaughtered the Emperor's men left behind; gathering at the gates of the tunnels to watch as General Acacius saluted the few of his men unlucky to be placed in the Emperor's guard. Several freed gladiators were sent through the Colosseum to neutralize as many archers as possible while the fighting inside the arena began in a brutal fashion.

For what it's worth, it was a glorious attempt by the Praetorians - but this was General Marcus Acacius they fought! Trained by General Maximus - the Spaniard, himself! He was a soldier foremost and for the first time, had something tangible and real and in his hands to fight for. The men in black armor fought well, for all it's worth - but you were on the line and Acacius wasn't in the clearest states of mind. There was no stopping him. There was none that could stand against him yet.

Until Lucius lead few gladiators into the arena next, signaling the next stage of their plan was in motion. "Acacius!" You warned, struggling in your restraints, "Behind you!"

He dodged out of the way of the last solider, swinging his sword around to lacerate the man's neck; splattering his face with a spray of blood. He panted, backing up a few paces towards the cart, leaning a hand to a wheel spoke. "Are you all right?" Acacius asked, looking exhausted but still strong.

"Are you!?"

"I'm fine," he assured, looking up at you with a smirk, "but you need to get ready, love."

"For what?"

"We're gonna need you to put on a bit of a show, hey?"

"Who the fuck is 'we'!?"

"Just - get upset when you see us fight, my Lady, really give 'em a show. We need all of their attention on us for as long as possible."

"Please, Acacius, what's happening!?" You begged, yelping shrilly and flinching when an arrow thumped into the meat of your inner thigh - managing to graze the femoral artery, causing blood to trickle down your leg at a mild rate as your dress slowly soiled with a blossom of blood where the arrow was embedded. It was a very deliberate hit, the crowd 'oohing' in union as every set of eyes darting over to see Geta standing at the stone banister with a smirk as he lowered his bow. "Oh, he's fucking lost it!" You squirmed in discomfort, whimpering in pain, lifting weight off the injured leg; the crowd enraged.

"Fuck - how bad is it? Y/N, please, my love, I know it hurts but talk to me!"

"It's not bad," you assured through your warbling tone, managing to look down and note the front of your dress. "No, no, not bad, it's embedded, plugging the wound. As long as we don't pull the shaft out, I should be fine."

"Acacius!" Lucius bellowed, charging over the sand.

"Wait - wait - wait - what's happening!? Don't! Acacius, please, please, that's Lucius! Do not - you cannot kill him!" You nearly forgot all Acacius had just said when he was forced to engage with the obviously angry Gladiator. "Lucius! Lucius, don't! Please! Please! Fuck honor, you two, this isn't worth your lives!" You felt flooded with genuine fear as your nephew gave your lover a real fight; both equally challenged, hacking at one another in dramatic flares. They moved all around, forcing the other gladiators to take new positions - keeping the attention of the crowd: commoners and the wealthy alike.

Then, after a wave of panic faded, your maid, Melody, reminded, "My Lady! The General said to keep their attention, remember? Put on a show?"

"What?" You asked the woman who hadn't betrayed you. The one who did was posted behind you - dead from the Praetorian Guard managing to get to her before Acacius could get them. Only few Senators were still standing.

"You have to scream - make a big deal of their fued!"

"Fuck," you breathed in mild confusion - then, like a crack of lightning, you understood. "Don't!" You begged them with a cry, "Please! Acacius! He's my nephew - you cannot! LUCIUS! LUCIUS, PLEASE!"

"Keep going," Melody encouraged, eyes on the crowd from her position facing the watch box occupied by Royal Romans. "They're all listening, keep going!"

You pulled against your chains, "Lucius! Mercy, mercy, nephew, please! Let us leave in peace - don't do this! I beg of you! Spare him!"

"Something's happening..." Melody informed with narrowed eyes. "Geta's on his feet - keep going, my Lady! Louder! Get hysterical!"

You were no actress but still put on your best show. "LUCIUS! NO!" You screamed authentically when he swiped his sword up through the spear Acacius wielded - severing it in two. "Ah, for fuck's sake, you two! Come off it, please!"

The fighting seemed oddly personal and poetic; the two dancing tunelessly through the sand, dressed in blood. You heard Melody gasp when Acacius backed off Lucius, kneeling to the ground at the Gladiator's mercy; her picking her chains with a spare hair pin. The two exchanged a few words you could not hear, both Emperors on their feet to watch with Macrinus and Lucilla standing just behind them in earnest wonder. When Lucius looked to Geta and saw his thumbs-down, he looked to Acacius and mumbled something else. Then... He knelt, too.

Geta appeared enraged for a long moment, almost ready for the Guards to shoot them both dead, before Lucius was climbing to his feet. He left Acacius with his knees in the sand, you perking up as Lucius paced a large circle before calling loudly, "Emperor Geta! There's been a request made!"

"Deadmen don't get requests, Gladiator, but living ones take them! Should they want to remain living!" The Emperor called back, trying to remain aloof.

"Is this," he pointed his blade back at Acacius, "how Rome treats her heroes!?" This caused the crowded Colosseum to hiss in anger, growing more restless with each word from their favorite Gladiator. "Since it is the Emperor who passes judgment, since it is the Emperor who has decided the General dies - should it not be by his hand?"

Geta scoffed gently, "I gave the order, I need not swing the sword."

"But in the name of honor, you should," Lucius smirked, offering his weapon. "Here, come, take mine! You say the General dies, you yearn for the Lady Aurelius? Come claim it all like the greater leaders before you!"

Knowing he was being called out, Geta chuckled, "You've a sense of humor, Gladiator, as much as you're a poet, I see. Now, prove you're a solider and kill the General."

"I would think it just and fair to come from you, Emperor," Lucius refused, lifting his arms with his voice, "and the people of Rome came for a show! Are you not entertained!?" The crowd roared deafeningly as if to agree Emperor Geta should enter the ring himself, foolishly, he thought, as Commodus once did. Lucius paced another circle as the archers were clashing with citizens still, facing the spectator's box and pointing his sword, "Come, Emperor! Nobody else can swing their sword, there's none present who will fight their General. The men here, they know loyalty! And honor! And love! They will not fight your man, let alone kill him. So, come! You must - if you want him dead, come, kill him."

Macrinus approached Geta and began rushing his words of advisory, telling the Emperor he should prove to the people he was fair - not tyrannical - by passing this sentence; to 'just' step in the arena. "I am not as vain as Commodus, I need not kill the General myself," Geta told him with a snap.

"It's just a show for the people, don't you want them to get their worth? Or turn unruly from their disappointment and resentment? Think about it: they've been sat here, all day, in the sun, hungry and thirsty, after having paid to watch their city-favorites fight to the death. They want to be sated - so, perhaps seeing their Emperor pass his own sentencing would be enough to satisfy them."

"And with what protection for myself?" Geta snarled, "My men are dead, all that's left are slaves."

"There are still archers, take the few Praetorians from here," Macrinus offered, cocking his head.

"What safety is this you offer?" He seethed.

"C'mon, Emperor!" Lucius taunted again. "Come down! Disband Rome's General for yourself!"

"I should shoot the fool now," Geta considered, nodding to the archers in the box. They strung arrows to their bows and aimed at Lucius, making the crowd jeer and boo; for the Gladiator to lift his hands in innocence, backing away a few steps; and for his mother to protest. "But!" Geta announced to the Colosseum, "I am merciful!"

The crowd cheered lazily, more so in excitement as Geta waved the archers down and was strapped in flashy, never-before-blooded armor. The procession of Praetorians from the box followed him to the mouth of the gates; surrounding the Emperor and jogging inside. Surviving, straggling gladiators just milled about their strategic positions, watching carefully, as the Emperor approached Marcus - still on his knees.

Your eyes widened as a ruckus was heard from above, a shrill scream of terror sounding before a body dropped - dead - into the sand. It was a woman from the crowd, tossed over the side by a Praetorian. This caused people to fight back and for Emperor Geta to startle as it was discovered Augustus was successful in leading the first wave of men into the city; soldiers and gladiators working together to dispel the archers and any Roman loyal to the Twins. Marcus smirked and easily lifted to his feet, making Geta stumble back a couple steps as the General seethed while swinging his sword in hand, "What was it I said earlier? You'd sooner die than touch my Lady?"

Geta's eyes widened as he looked up to you chained on the post, seeing the blood on your dress and trembling. "Now, Acacius!" Lucius shouted as chaos descended onto the Colosseum; the Gladiator fighting a Praetorian a short distance away. "We haven't the time! It's now or never!"

"M-Mercy - mercy!" Geta begged, trying to back away but tripping over a dead body. He sprawled pathetically in the dirt, trembling hand lifted as if Marcus was his savior, "Mercy, General, please! MERCY!"

You watched as Marcus swiftly swung his sword, cutting steel through the Emperor's neck - sending his head rolling away to the sounds of Caracalla's shrieks. They did not last long.

Marcus instantly turned and sprinted for the cart, you gasping his name and pulling on your chains painfully when an arrow found his shoulder. It sent him off course slightly; enough to stumble, leaving time for a second arrow to find his thigh. This time, he tripped into the dirt, head bowed in pain as you begged him to get up; heart in your throat, fingers slippery from the blood you drew from open wounds caused by the sharp edges of your cuffs.

You whimpered nervously as the fighting turned chaotic; all Senators dead, several fires started, the ringing of swords drowned by the sounds of people screaming. If there were any Gods, today, they turned a blind eye to Rome; making you feel isolated, as if your father's faith had finally been sucked from your soul as you watched Marcus snap the arrow from his thigh. He reached for his shoulder blade and grimaced as he ripped the arrow out, too. Slowly, he found his feet and started forward again; limping the rest of the way to the wagon.

Melody freed herself and instantly scrambled to start on your cuffs, too; trying to be strategic together and adjust so she could cower behind the post and work.

Lucius looked up in time to see Marcus clamor onto the cart, just feet from you before an arrow suddenly lodged in your abdomen - just merely inches from your sternum. It made Acacius freeze before all but materializing in front of you just to throw his body over yours in protection from other flying weaponry. Lucius looked to the box - where the arrow had once more come from. What he saw both slowed time and made his blood boil.

Emperor Caracalla's corpse was slumped in his seat, and above him, Lucilla wrestled for the bow in Macrinus' hands before he was overthrowing her from the balcony. Lucius winced when her body landed in a small mushroom of dirt, sprinting across the arena to slide on his knees at her head.

"What did you do!?" He gaped, trying to support her broken neck but fearing he'd make it worse.

"What... What was necessary... For my... My family..." She managed to get out between strangled breaths, fading fast. Yet, before the light could fully extinguish, her eyes brightened in recognition and reached for his cheek, whispering with the ghost of a smile adorning her lips for the last time, "My son... My Lucius."

But her life was swept into the wind before her fingers could ever find purchase on his flesh. "Mother?" He whispered, finding her eyes unseeing; her arm falling and body turning limp. Emotion clawed at his throat as he asked again, "Mum?"

There was no response.

Lucius heaved a heavy sigh and left Lucilla in her place as respectfully as possible, racing towards the wooden cart in time to witness Meldoy free you from your chains and for Marcus to settle you on your back. He smacked the arrow from your gut and thigh - not pulling them out, but just swiping the excess wood from his way. "Acacius!" Lucius shouted, rushing into the cart's edge to catch himself. "Is she...?"

"She's alive, but there's blood," Marcus informed, using both his hands to straight-arm press into the wound of your gut - thigh seemingly fine to leave alone for now. Nervously, he added quietly, "Too much blood, Lucius."

"Get her to the healers, the army's moving in," he nodded, quickly surveying the arena as Melody made her escape through an open gate. "They've taken out almost all the Praetorians."

"And Lucilla?" Marcus asked, seeing Lucius shake his head; so his bowed and he cursed quietly. "Hey, hey," he rushed when blood splattered over your lips, chin, cheeks, neck, and some flecks reaching your chest from your coughing. "Don't speak, you're all right, love, I've got you," he assured as calmly as he could, Lucius noting the way your face scrunched in delirious pain. From where your dress appeared the most concentrated with blood, he assumed you were struck in at least one or two vital places. "What happened to Lucilla?" Marcus questioned, looking to Lucius.

"Macrinus. I imagine she's the reason Auntie's not dead right now - looked like they were wrestling, she might've knocked the arrow off course."

"I imagine," Marcus repeated in agreement.

"Do you see him? Macrinus, I mean, do you see him?" Lucius asked, both men trying to see through the chaos. "We need to end this now with him!"

"There," Acacius inclined his chin across the arena, directing Lucius' attention to where Macrinus was stealing a horse and galloping out of the Colosseum. "Go! Go, Lucius!" He encouraged.

"Keep her alive!" Lucius barked, rushing for one of the other white horses; running alongside before kicking off and leaping onto the steed.

"Yeah, I fucking plan to, kid," Acacius muttered, looking around for an exit strategy. "Fucking hell," he saw nothing but fighting, gore, tragedy, devastation, carnage.

"General!"

"Augustus! Here!"

The former gladiator rushed for the cart, tugging the reins of another horse behind him. "C'mon! Let's go! You have to move, General, you can't stay here! Only a single squadron made it into the city, Macrinus sent his men to delay the rest!" Augustus panted, holding the animal steady as Marcus started apologizing to you profusely. You whimpered when he lifted you in his arms, roughly maneuvering from the cart and lifting you on bare horseback.

"We owe you, friend," Marcus nodded, smacking the soldier's shoulder before taking claim of the reins.

"Just get her somewhere safe and meet us at the city limits," Augustus panted, offering the General a leg-up onto the horse before slapping its hindquarters to send the couple off through the Colosseum at a gallop.

For three days, you slept. For three days, Rome was expunged of the Twin Emperor's reign of tyranny. For three days, bodies burned. For three days, General Marcus Acacius sat at your bedside in palpable worry.

"How is she tonight?" Lucius questioned softly, stepping into the med-bay with a tray of food that would, once more, go uneaten.

"Breathing still," Marcus answered.

Lucius sighed, "Why don't you go clean up, General?"

"I'm General no longer," he corrected, "I was stripped of my rank."

"As if anything those two did will permanently stick," Lucius scoffed with a roll of his eyes, setting the tray aside. "Go bathe and feed yourself, Acacius, I will sit with her tonight."

"I can't leave her," his head shook in refusal, "I won't."

"You did before," Lucius noted with a sigh, taking a seat in the only other spare chair in the room on the other side of your medical bed. "You met us at the gates of the city after the Colosseum."

"It wasn't easy," Acacius snipped, "and I was better help there than with her - she's got the healing touch, not me. No... No, I just cause injury, it seems."

Lucius could hear the exhaustion in the General's voice, understanding this didn't come from lack of sleep. "And now? As she rests, what help are you to her now? You know she wouldn't approve."

He chuckled dryly, "I wouldn't forgive myself if she woke and I wasn't here."

"She'd not forgive you if she woke and you had wasted away."

"You two are so fucking loud," a third voice grumbled, making both men nearly fall out of their chairs from sitting up so fast.

"Y/N?" Marcus reached for your hand, his other lifting to pet over your head.

"Who else?"

Lucius shared relieved laughter with Marcus, your eyes begrudgingly opening. "There she is," your nephew mused, "welcome back t'the world, Auntie."

"Fuck this," you grumbled, letting him help you sit up a bit.

"Gave us bit of a scare, love," Marcus whispered.

"Hm," you considered. "Well, seeing as I'm awake and you two are here, I take it... Things... Worked?"

"First, here," Marcus insisted, offering a simple cup of water to your lips after you were settled upright. He tilted the goblet for you, careful not to let you gulp it - but the sweet relief of water on your cottony tongue was too good to resist. You drank greedily. "Easy, easy," he cautioned when you coughed a little, pulling the chalice back to let you breathe. "How're you feeling?"

"Stiff," you admitted with a grimace. "What happened?"

"What do you remember?"

"Uh, 's bit of a blur at moments," you sighed, rubbing your eyes as you thought deep. "I remember the Emperors, the post, you two fighting. Then there was... Geta's head, the Praetorians fighting citizens and gladiators... The army, I remember the army got there, right?"

"Yeah, good," Lucius encouraged.

"Ah, shit, I got shot," you remembered, opening your eyes to regard your thigh.

"The healers got it out in one go," Marcus told you, "didn't cause damage - you should heal easily from that, my star. But you can't put pressure on the leg for a few days more, not until the cauterization set."

You nodded slowly, "That's... Good to hear. What happened after? I... I think I remember getting shot again? Ah, fuck, did I get shot twice?"

"By Macrinus," Lucius confirmed. "Got yah right here," he reached out to gently pet the bandaged wound, "bled a good bit."

"But the healers got the arrow out," Marcus was quick to assure, "and it was an easy enough wound to close after."

You prodded the area gently, asking, "Didn't come out so easily as the first, did it?"

"You can tell?" Lucius asked curiously.

You nodded, "It's sensitive all around, makes me imagine they had to pry the wound open - maybe even wriggle the arrow to dislodge it."

"It wasn't as clean, no, love, but it's out," Marcus sighed. "You're not in danger any longer."

"No, ma'am," Lucius smirked, watching Marcus settle a little more in his chair. "Not from your wounds or external enemies."

"Hm?"

"We've control of the Empire."

"You've been coronated?"

"Not yet - thought I'd wait a week, see how you progress. For now, we're cleaning up where we can."

You smirked, "So... It worked?"

"Yeah, the plan worked," Lucius nodded, "which," he sighed, leaning back casually, "miiiight not work out so well for you two in the end."

"I beg your pardon?" Marcus sneered, looking ready to lose his mind and stomach contents.

Lucius chuckled, "Ease up, you two, Gods. I only mean, I know you both long for retirement, but with Lady Y/N's knowledge of the Empire, Marcus, your experience as Rome's General, and both of your insights to Emperor Aurelius' vision of Rome... I thought you two might be of use in how we proceed."

You immediately insisted, "There is no need for expansion, Lucius. The Emperors wanted India and Persia - but I fear we've too broad a hold to control already to worry about territory."

"Agreed," Acacius sighed. "Rome's too many mouths to feed as is, and with respect, Lucius, we're both exhausted of war."

"I do not intend to prolong war, but end it. End Rome's expansion - there's far too much of this Empire already being neglected."

You looked at Acacius, "Told you he was right for this."

"I didn't disagree."

"I remember you doubting my judgement."

"I would never!" He gasped comically, offended you'd accuse him of such a crime. Lucius snickered with a shake of his head, standing from his seat.

"Listen, uh," he cleared his throat, "while relationships might be strained for now, I do hope we might rebuild together. I held plenty of resentment towards you both - all of you, in truth. Yet now, I can see the Strength it took to Honor yourselves after years of being the Empire's puppets. I would see such strength and honor rewarded, perhaps... A house in the countryside?" You offered a bashful smile with a small chuckle of amusement, watching a bright grin stretch across his lips. "I'll send a healer in to check on you," he told you softly, squeezing your hand, "and I'll be back tomorrow. Yes?"

"Yes, good," you agreed, watching him out the door. When it shut, you sighed, "What of Lucilla, Marcus?"

You half-expected her to burst into the room, unable to look away from the door; knowing the answer before Acacius even opened his mouth. "She didn't make it, my love," he whispered. "Macrinus, he... He shot you, but it didn't kill you," his other hand laid over your bandaged abdomen; warming the wound.

"Right."

"Lucius thinks it's because Lucilla intercepted Macrinus' attack - but in the struggle, lost her life."

You paused for a long moment, relishing the feel of his hand - warm and heavy in yours - tracing idle patterns on your skin. "So, we're only here because of her?"

"I think so."

You were both silent outside of the scrape of his chair drawing closer to your bedside. With hands tangled and tightly woven together, Marcus let his forehead rest against yours in the first moment of peace you'd known in two decades. The idea of "winning" felt farfetched, inconclusive in some manner; and just as you lifted back and opened your mouth to question this peace, Marcus quickly assured first, "It's just us, my star. It's finally just us, we can rest."

Perhaps the Gods hadn't turned their backs completely on Rome yet. How could they? When the evidence is right in front of you, now pressing his lips to yours in sweet relief.

epilogue

In the weeks following his coronation and your wedding to the General, Emperor Lucius Verus secretly employed Rome's finest (surviving) contractors and carpenters to erect a gorgeously secluded homestead beyond the city limits. It took less than half a day's ride, but still felt like a far-enough ride, the home wasn't near the city's stench; it was legitimately nestled in the countryside, naturally secluded and protected. There were trees, fields of wild barley, an abundance of wildlife, and just the smallest of streams that surrounded the home.

He thought it was perfect.

So, the new Emperor commanded something quaint yet sufficient be built upon a newly paved road that only he frequented. He trusted you and Marcus to Rome's handling, finding little time to sneak away and view the progress being made. It was impressive how quick the builders built.

One morning, Lucius sent for you and Marcus, insisting there was something beyond the city he needed your opinion on. So, you each mounted a stallion and spurred from the city with a gaggle of newly appointed Praetorian Guards left in the dust - desperate to keep up. It was evident you, Marcus, and Lucius had all spent much time on horses; your seats natural, gait quickened as the fundamental feeling of freedom took over and sent you galloping all the faster. Over fields, through mud, kicking up grass, the three of you rode hard and long - but mostly out of playfulness.

You couldn't remember ever seeing Lucius like this, beaming and almost carefree; like the weight of Rome had evaporated and he could be "Hanno" again - whoever the hell that was. You decided you liked watching him, just noting little things here and there about your nephew; traits of your father, of his, of your sister, and yes, sadly, your brother, too; but that was just how genetics worked. He seemed approachable like this, not the brutal Gladiator that tore a baboon's flesh with his own teeth or bested Rome's General.

He was just a guy. Some... Dude. You'd say a kid, but he was full grown - wise, aged, knowing.

Lucius slowed his horse first, you and Marcus doing the same; trio trotting up a hill as Praetorians still galloped from behind to catch up. Upon climbing to the top, you discovered a home in the valley below, your horse whinnying your question, "What's this?"

"Your estate," Lucius answered easily, both hands casual on the pommel of his saddle. "Thought it was close enough in case anything happened or I needed you - you needed me - something or other," he flushed, rubbing the back of his neck, "but still remote enough to remain private."

"What's that?" You pointed to a small add-on to what looked like the main house.

"Oh, I, uh, took the liberty of building myself a bit of a guest house. You... Don't mind, do you?"

"I only mind you didn't include it in the main house," you teased, shifting your horse to sidestep closer for your arm to wrap around your nephew's waist. "Are you being genuine?"

"You think I jest?"

"If you do, it's not very funny," you warned.

"It's not a joke, this is serious," he promised, casting a knowing look towards Acacius over your head. "Welcome home."

It didn't take long for you and Acacius to settle in. The house wasn't overly large that you would grow weary in your age here, but still the size considered comfortably privileged. You had a set of maids and few personal guards - all of whom were housed on their own new estates, curtesy of the Emperor. Yet besides them, you were alone - and most days, you assured the staff they need not bother at all. You found domestic work strangely comforting after decades in politics, under this ruler and that; finally able to have a little control in your life by tending your own gardens, changing your own sheets, perhaps even cooking for your own husband.

The walls were nearly all made of retractable doors that could still be closed and reinforced in storms. Curtains hung from the rafters, creating a ethereal environment for you to glide through on bright, sunny days to the sounds of a picturesque stream trickling. Most mornings, you stood in awe of your new home, amazed at such subtle beauty long since taken fro granted - now, coveted in your retirement. And most mornings were then interrupted by your husband beckoning your back to bed and insisting you need not rise with the sun now.

Old habits die hard, however. Especially when the baby in your womb took solid form and began to wriggle around your guts in a mostly pleasant feeling, it was enough to keep you up some nights. This particular morning, you were laid on your back to a cotton blanket, moaning loudly as your husband feasted on his choice of breakfast: the honey that oozed from between your thighs. Your stomach had begun to swell with a bump, just barely stretching the cauterized scars that only now faintly reminded you of that day. Marcus swore it was his seed that made you taste different, perhaps sweeter; the grey in his beard glistening from your sloppy arousal as he indulged himself. One hand kept you pried open (as if you'd ever cut him off or resist), the other slithering up your body to paw aggressively at your swollen, sensitive tit; pinching and tweaking your nipple in time with his lips sucking and tongue tickling your clit.

Right there in wild lavender, tickled by wisps of barley, you met your peak - thigh clenching around your husband's head as the Gods intended. This was your reward after decades of service, of sacrifice.

"Fuck," Acacius muttered when you released hold of his hair, watching him lick his mouth when his eyes met yours, "you think it'll ever get old?"

"What?" You asked breathlessly as he gently maneuvered your legs off his shoulders to slowly crawl up your form. He left a few kisses in his wake.

"This," he smirked against your lips, sweeping his tongue against yours to mingle spit and the taste of your arousal. "The taste of you," he continued, "the smell," he let his nose nuzzle up yours, "the feel," he ended, pulling your thigh up his hip.

"I do doubt it, if it hasn't after 20 years."

"Good," he purred, trying to line himself up naturally, but not entirely successful. So, not wanting to lose the feeling of him, you reached between you to keep his cock at the mouth of your cunt so he could just push inward. You groaned in union; mouths open; all but exchanging hot air between you as Marcus bottomed out.

From this position, it was languid and lazy; slow and feeling. Each thrust felt anew, his balls tickling the slick down your lower lips, all but pushing the air from your lungs as he went. His hand kept a vice grip on your thigh as he moved, the other firmly planting on the blanket beside your head as it was evident his orgasm was mounting the sloppier he got, humping into you with a roll of his hips.

"Fuck's sake," he grit, "you're so fucking wet, my star, this is - it's - it's all I fucking need, but it's too good - I can't, I can't hold on, oh, fuck."

"Don't," you moaned in encouragement, directing his eyes back to yours. "Don't hold back anymore, please, I don't want you to ever hold back."

"But the baby - "

"Is fine, Acacius, worry about the mother right now!" You laughed, reaching to hook your hand around his neck and yank down. Your lips met in messy union, humming, moaning against one another; so, imagine your surprise when all you had to whimper was, "C'mon, husband - " and...

"Fuck!"

You laughed lightly when he dropped - not his full weight, but enough - onto your chest, face fully in your breast; balls contracting as he winced from the sudden release of his pleasure. Manicured fingers raked through sweaty, salty grey hair; relishing in the feeling of being safe, at home, in peace; finally married, pregnant, and at liberty to couple at your own leisure in the sunshine and grasses. You grinned, laughing lightly in absolute bliss. There was no way this was real life, it was impossible to think it was finally your reality after being deprived of openly loving him for 2 decades.

Acacius tried to question what was so humorous, but it only came out as a bewildered moan; reverberating in your flesh.

"Why does that get you there, my love?" You teased, pecking his forehead as his cock gave a last few pulses. "Oh, that's right, the great General Marcus Acacius of Rome meets his end like a ruddy-faced teenager from the weight of his emotions!"

Marcus chuckled against you, slowly lifting up to find your lips spread in amusement. "Aye," he agreed, "but only from the weight of emotions for my wife."

You smiled bashfully, admitting, "How silly, that word, 'wife', or 'married'... 'Husband'. It still sounds a little untrue. Almost unreal, fabricated, as if it's a joke being used against us. Like an insult somehow. Now, we're to be parents, too?"

He frowned, still sheathed within your gummy walls but with both elbows now planted on either side of you so he could pet your hair from your face. "It's very true, we've just gotta train your ear to accept it," he whispered, taking your hand and presenting your ring. "See this? Know what this means?"

"That I am yours?"

Acacius scoffed and laced your fingers, "You're not property for me to own, my morning star, you are revered. The absolute prize, earned from years of service and turmoil to this Empire, your father. And in turn, I am who will protect you, love you; admire, respect, adore, cherish you. This ring means we are bonded in this life and the next, that we travel this path and every path beyond, together." He kissed your gemmed ring chastely, swearing, "It's you and I from now on, pretty girl. It's only us."

"That sounds too good to be true," you admitted in a whisper, lazily kissing one another. "Just us?"

"Just us."

"Promise?"

"Swear on my life," he rushed against your lips.

"Then tell me, sweet husband," you whispered, "what do you call that?" You couldn't help but laugh, pointing in the distance over his shoulder. Acacius torqued his torso to quickly turn over, spying Lucius on horseback atop the hill; waving his arm in glee.

"Oh, this fucking kid," Acacius groaned, dropping his head into the crook of your neck and shoulder. You clung to him tightly in humor.

"He's the Emperor."

"Still a fucking kid, interrupting us. Thought we moved out here to get away from everyone and all their shit? Aren't we retired?" Marcus groaned, begrudgingly pulling out of your heat to spill his spend onto the blanket beneath you. He sat up to cover your bare body with his, pausing to gaze down at you fondly and caress the bare bump; then reaching for the meek clothing that had been tossed aside. "Did you know he was coming?" Acacius asked, both dressing swiftly as Lucius began his canter down the hill.

"No, he didn't send word ahead," you pointed out, "and it's still early morning, look, the doves are still out. Oh, he must've left in the middle of the night..."

"Think something's wrong?"

"Let's find out," you nodded, Acacius standing first in a simple wrapped around toga; reaching down to assist you to your feet. Your hand gently caressed your belly as you thanked him, both barefoot in the grass as you approached the deck of your open-concept home.

Lucius released his horse with your own in the paddock, opening his arms in grandeur as he jogged up the short steps to reach you. "Auntie, mh," he greeted, kissing your cheek sweetly with a tight embrace, "oh-hoooo, you're glowing! Look at yah." He pulled back only to offer his hand to Marcus, "General."

"Emperor," your husband greeted stiffly but still kindly, "to what do we owe this pleasant surprise?"

"Hm, yes, I, uh... I should've sent word ahead," he winced, grinning sheepishly. "I did not mean to interrupt your marital acts, though, I can see it's already paying off."

You tisked your tongue and nudged his shoulder as you supported your bump with one hand. "Tell us, what news? What's wrong? What brings you all the way out here, Lucius?"

"Oh, no, nothing's wrong. I am starting my tour," he proudly announced, "and the road takes me past here, so... I might've wanted to, you know, stop a bit early..." You looked back to the hill, finding it bare for several long seconds, then back at Lucius - who avoided your eyes comically.

"Oh, Lucius, you didn't..."

"What?" Acacius asked. "What did you do?"

"I... Did nothing... Wrong, per se," Lucius amended, slowly backing up into the house with hands held in innocent defense.

"You snuck out!?" You gasped shrilly. "Lucius! You cannot do such things as Emperor - the whole of the city would burn if they thought something happened to you!"

"They know where I usually am!"

"Not when you sneak out in the middle of the night! Praetorians will flood the country looking for you!" You swatted at his beefy arms, him laughing and trying to back away; never hitting hard enough to leave marks, mostly just with enough force to cause a sound. "And that will scare the citizens! And the occupants of the city, and the fucking Senate, since the Emperor himself has now gone missing!" Acacius watched with a fond smile and followed as you backed Lucius into the home. "Just look at you, boy! Look! Look what politics does! You've lost weight - they not feeding you at the Palace? Oh, bullshit, there's so much, it's often left over. I'll have a word with them - c'mon, come, come, come, you must be hungry after riding all night. Speaking of, why did you?"

Lucius shrugged with a smirk and wrapped his arm around your shoulders, yours latching around his waist; both strolling towards the kitchen as he quipped, "Just missed you, I guess."

[ part one: read here ]

[ part two: read here ]

requesting rules and masterlist -> no Gladiator II masterlist

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