#he would be such a beautiful woman. i know this in my heart | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

livingformintyoongi · 12 hours ago

Text

Poème | Kim Taehyung

Summary: For centuries, Taehyung has roamed the world, trapped in an eternity he never truly desired. Desperation led him to accept an offer of immortality, a gift that quickly turned into his greatest curse. Once a hopeful young man dreaming of a future with the love of his life, he now wanders through time burdened by regret, forever mourning the one he lost. No amount of power, beauty, or wealth can fill the void left by you. If eternity means living without you, then what is the point of living at all? Author’s note: Hi again! I hope everyone is well ^^ I know I had said I was going to focus on GAS? but…. Tae vampire came to my head and demanded to stay until I managed to bring him to this world :) Soooo, I don't know if most of you read this but I seriously, seriously need your help for this, I really don't know how to move it forward :(( so please, if you have any ideas on how to move it forward or any scenes you'd like there to be, send me an ask or a dm, I'd really appreciate it <3 Pairing: Vampire!Taehyung x Human!Reader (female) AUs: Vampire!AU Word count: 4.6k Status: Unedited Permanent Taglist: @thunderg @minjianhyung @queenv1997 @yoongtism @lizzymizzy-blogg @superbbananananana @drpepperobsessed @themwordsblog @taekritimin123 @bluecloudss @yooglefics @tan-veee @angellekookie @madussthougths Dividers by @the-aesthetics-shop and @strangergraphics

What would you do if you were given the option to live for all eternity? If someone offered you the secret behind immortality and eternal youth, would you accept? Would you be capable of leaving everything behind just to avoid facing death?

Taehyung wished with all his heart that he had asked himself those questions before saying yes to the beautiful woman in the elegant dress who offered him a second chance at life—one without sickness or poverty, a life filled with luxuries and privileges he could never have had as a mere villager in the Victorian era. Something he could have never even dreamed of when he was still human.

When desperation consumes you and you don’t know what else to do to avoid falling into the clutches of death, you… accept the first offer placed in front of you, no matter how risky it may be. That was exactly what led Taehyung to an eternity of regret, suffering, and torment.

He had been blessed with eternal life, but what was the point of living until the end of time if he was alone? What was the use of existing for centuries, watching people be born and die as if they were nothing more than tiny toy soldiers with an expiration date set by a child who had decided it was time to discard them, believing he was too grown up to play with them anymore?

He refused to live an endless life if you weren’t in it.

But you had been gone for so, so long, and he could never forgive himself for it. He could never turn back time and reject the offer from the one who was now his creator. He would never see your smile again, hear your laughter, or smell the soft scent of flowers, of the forest, of you. If only he hadn’t left home that night, if only he had waited a few more minutes… If only you had gone with him, perhaps… Perhaps now, the two of you would be living a long life together, enjoying each other’s company until the end of time.

But that wasn’t how things happened. He left his home that night. He didn’t wait. You didn’t go with him. And now, his fate was sealed. He couldn’t die, he couldn’t be harmed, he would have eternal youth and an ethereal beauty that could make any human give him anything he asked for with just one look. He could have everything—everything except you. And that, without a doubt, was the greatest torture anyone had ever inflicted on him.

That had happened over 300 years ago, and he had spent each one of those years tormenting himself. When he was still human, he had been vibrant and full of life, a social butterfly who, even without the seductive abilities of a vampire, could charm anyone with a single smile. Now, he was nothing but the empty shell of the man he once was.

During that time, he met many like him—those with whom he managed to form something close to what he could call a "family." Jiah was his mentor, the woman who had turned him and helped him through the difficult transition from human to vampire. Chaeyoung was the second oldest, a cheerful and optimistic young woman who had been a vampire for over a thousand years. Sooah and Hoseok came next, both turned in the 15th century. Then there was him, Jiwon, and Jimin—the three of them transformed in the 19th century, all saved from the brink of death by the compassionate leader of their small group.

They had been his family until now, and though he loved them as much as he was still capable of love, his love for them would never amount to even a fraction of what he felt for you. Not even a hundred people could mend the wound in his heart, no matter how hard they tried.

He could still remember his life by your side, when his body was still warm and his heart beat in a rhythmic melody, reminding him that he was alive. The two of you met because of Taehyung’s father’s work—you were a young lady from a wealthy family, and he was the son of a tailor who barely had enough money or resources to live. Yet, you noticed him—his smile, his playful jokes, and his flirtatious charm, reserved only for you.

You weren’t supposed to be together—you both knew that. But neither of you wanted to give up, you didn’t want to lose the only real thing in your lives. So, you ran away. With no money, no place to stay, only the hope of finding a place in the world where you could live without regrets or judgment.

It was his selfishness and foolishness as a teenager that led you both to that situation.

He should have realized it was madness, that there was no way you could survive in the outside world with dreams and hopes coated in sugar and honey. This was the real world—it was cruel and ruthless, showing no mercy to anyone, no matter their age or gender.

The first few months on your own were peaceful. You traveled from town to town on horseback, living freely, loving each other with all your hearts, talking about your dreams for the future, and how exciting it would be to have a family together.

You had managed to stabilize your life—Taehyung making elegant garments for high-society ladies, and you painting beautiful portraits under a pseudonym, which he promoted and sold with his natural charm.

For the first two years, life had been peaceful. Until smallpox arrived. That was when everything fell apart. No matter where you went, how much money you had, or which doctor you saw, once you were infected, there was no escape.

You both caught it at the same time. He did everything he could to keep you both from falling into death’s hands, but it was a fatal disease—there was no cure, especially with their limited resources.

It was on a dark winter night that everything changed. You were starving, and Taehyung was determined to find something—anything—to feed you. Despite his weakened, trembling body, he walked through the dark streets of the coastal city until he reached a shop. But his body was on the verge of collapse, and he fell just a few meters away from home.

He clung to the last bit of strength he had, trying to crawl back to you if necessary—anything to avoid dying far from you. He didn’t want you to think he had abandoned you, didn’t want to make you suffer when you found out he had died in the cold, damp streets, all for the sake of bringing you something to eat. He didn’t want to die without you by his side.

That desperation was what made him accept so quickly the offer placed before him by a complete stranger. “Just one drop, and you will never feel pain again.” And he accepted. He drank whatever she gave him, clinging to the hope of surviving a few more minutes. Then, everything went black for a moment—until he opened his eyes again.

Everything felt new, as if he had been reborn and was rediscovering the world. He felt good, healthy, strong, and maybe a little thirsty—but alive. And that was all that mattered.

When the initial shock passed, he begged the woman to do the same for you, to save you just as she had saved him. She smiled kindly and let him lead her to your small home.

But she stopped before entering, giving him a look of pity and compassion. At that moment, he didn’t know that he could hear a human’s heartbeat from a distance. He didn’t know that, even before stepping inside, she already knew that you were no longer in this world, and nothing could change that—not even her blood.

Taehyung may not have died that night, but his heart… His heart shattered into a thousand pieces the moment he laid eyes on your pale, lifeless body. His body had survived death—but his soul never would.

For a long time, his life had become a series of meaningless events that only served to make his desire to die grow stronger. He knew it was foolish to feel this way when he had what many would kill for; his eternal life was a miracle that tormented him every damn day, and he knew that would never change.

It took him 118 years to get over you—if that was even the right word to use in this context. Perhaps a more accurate way to put it would be, well, trying to forget you through other people. 118 years of solitude, where his only company was six other vampires just as reserved as he was, each keeping the scars of their previous lives a secret, each too afraid to open up to the others and relive memories of a past they all wished to forget.

The first time he tried something with a girl was because of Jimin, who insisted that he should look at someone else besides your portraits—the ones he himself had painted back when he had wanted to immerse himself in your world. He went to a stupid bar, too loud and filled with drunk and high people looking for something casual. But he didn’t want something casual. He wanted something lasting. He wanted you.

Hours passed before a rather beautiful girl approached him. Her shy smile and flushed cheeks seemed endearing, but nothing inside him stirred the way it had when he first met you; her eyes weren’t like yours, her essence wasn’t like yours. He didn’t like her, but still, he forced himself to try.

That night was the first and last time he attempted to move on with someone else. There was only a kiss, a brief brush of lips that the girl gave him as a thank-you for walking her home. That night, he cried like he hadn’t in years, clawed at his lips with his nails until they bled, and his screams were so agonizing that everyone in the house had to check if he was okay, because it sounded as if someone had just run a blade of iron straight through his body.

Taehyung felt that kiss exactly like that—like someone had just plunged an iron sword into his heart and desecrated his body in every possible way.

Sooah called him dramatic. Jiwon even mocked him for making such a fuss over a simple kiss. But it was Jiah who ordered them to be quiet and stayed by his side all night, comforting him as his tears fell ceaselessly down his cheeks.

After that day, he resolutely refused to go out with anyone else for the rest of his life. He didn’t need a replacement—he was much better off living with your memory than trying to forget it.

That was exactly how he managed to slowly overcome his pain—by treasuring your memory through the works of art he created, reliving every one of his feelings for you with each brushstroke on the blank canvas, until there was no trace left of the pain he had once felt. Now, all that remained was peace and a beautiful memory that he would keep deep in his heart for the rest of eternity.

It took him 155 years to achieve that peace—155 years in which he held onto the one thing he had left of you: your last painting, the one of a young wealthy woman standing alone in the middle of a grand ballroom. The soft tones and the contrast between the setting and the woman in her simple pastel dress gave off a strange warmth. It wasn’t one of your best paintings—he knew that better than anyone. You had created true masterpieces, works that your clients back then would have died to own. But this one… this one was simple, more discreet, with much less detail—mostly because you were already unwell when you finished it. But your essence, your touch, the feeling you poured into it… all of it was still there. And that made it the most important piece you had ever created.

That was why, as the last act of love he could offer to you and your memory, he traveled to Paris to present it at the Musée d’Orsay. The meeting with the museum’s curator was far more pleasant than he had expected, and he even considered making a generous donation after they agreed to exhibit the painting.

The inner peace he felt when his eyes saw the painting hanging on those cream-colored walls, among hundreds of other paintings from important figures of his era… was something he could never put into words. For the first time, his heart felt at ease—it did not beat, it did not pump blood, he knew that. And yet, for a second, Taehyung felt as if he had come back to life.

He closed his eyes, inhaling the scent around him. Despite the years, there was still a faint trace of you in it. And though it hurt to think that he would never again hold you in his arms, never again breathe in your scent, he felt happy.

Happy for you—because finally, one of your works bore your real name, because at last, people could see the incredible talent you had. This had been your dream, and somehow, he had made it come true for you.

He wondered if there was something after death, if there was truly a paradise in the afterlife. He knew that if such a place existed, you would undoubtedly be in heaven—in a paradise unlike any other, shining like the brightest star the world had ever seen. If that place was real, were you watching him from above?

What would you think of him right now? Would you be afraid of the fact that he was no longer human? Or of the fact that, in his first years as a vampire, he had taken the lives of many?

Would you still love him from that place so far away from him?

He prayed every day to a god he wasn’t sure existed, just to hold on to the hope that the answer was yes.

"How are things going over there?" Jiwon asked through the phone.

Taehyung’s feet carried him through the museum for the sixth time that afternoon. He still wasn’t in the mood to leave, and it’s not like anyone needed him at home at the moment. He would probably head to a nearby bar, have a glass of wine, and wander around the city until the sun rose again.

"Fine, I guess," he murmured, his gaze fixed on the paintings displayed in front of him. He had seen many of them online, but seeing them in person… it was definitely something completely different. Noticing the brushstrokes, the old traces of a brush over the oil paint, the colors, the size—everything was a new experience. It was like meeting the same person a second time; the feeling and the first impression could never be the same if you only saw them through a screen.

"So expressive, Kim." Taehyung rolled his eyes at Jiwon’s mocking tone. He wasn’t in the mood to be expressive, and it’s not like he was obligated to be.

"Anyway, Jiah is pretty worried. You know how she is, especially when it comes to you."

Taehyung nodded in silence, even though he was aware she would never see the gesture. Jiah was… she was like a mother to their small family. She was the one who turned them, the one who took care of them and taught them how to maintain their composure, always patient and loving with everyone. Taehyung couldn’t recall a single time when she had ever raised her voice at any of them.

He had always known, just like the others, that she had a certain weakness for him, something he associated too much with the fact that she had witnessed him fall apart upon finding you lifeless that night. She was the one who worried about him, who paid to give you a proper funeral, who helped him get through his sleepless nights, and who showed him a completely new world. She was the mother Taehyung never had, and he was grateful every single day for everything she had done for him, despite all the trouble he had dragged her into.

"I’ll be back soon, I just… I just want to say goodbye properly."

He stopped again in front of the painting he had submitted. That small pang in his chest had returned and, although for a few seconds he regretted it, the weight lifted when he saw someone else stop in front of your artwork to take a photo. He had managed to immortalize your memory—that was all that mattered.

At last, he would no longer be the only one completely in love with your art.

There were a few seconds of silence in which neither of them seemed to know what to say. The stillness was broken by Jiwon's soft and—unusually—understanding voice.

"Are you really okay over there, alone? We’re all a bit worried about you."

Taehyung let out a soft chuckle, lowering his head to glance at his elegant brown oxford shoes. When he was still human, he had longed to wear a pair like these, and now that he could afford them, half of his wardrobe revolved around them. You would probably be just as enamored with them as he was.

"I’ll be fine, Jiwon. It’s just a few days, it’s not like I don’t know what I’m doing."

He made his way toward the museum exit, but not before giving the painting one last look. This would be the last time he saw it—this was the final farewell. He sighed, running his tongue over his dry lips.

"Besides… I need to do this alone."

"Alright, okay, I get it. It’s your healing process and all that cheesy crap you love." Jiwon let out a heavy sigh on the other end of the line. Even miles away, Taehyung could feel the worry in her voice. A part of him was touched by it. It was nice to see that, despite everything, she still cared for him.

"Just… call us if anything happens, okay? Jimin is about to lose his mind."

"Jimin is always about to lose his mind," he chuckled under his breath, politely nodding to the guards watching the entrance.

The first thing he saw upon stepping outside was the sky, painted in pastel hues, with a faint trace of stars beginning to emerge, preparing to turn it into a beautiful nocturnal canvas with the moon as its protagonist.

"I’m going to hang up. I need to go somewhere else before heading back to my hotel."

"Alright, I get it, you’re bored of me." Even without seeing her, Taehyung knew she was smiling on the other end of the line.

"See you."

And with that, the call ended, leaving him alone with his own thoughts once again.

He wished that becoming a vampire had meant his emotions—like his heart—simply stopped functioning. Life would be easier that way. Carrying the weight of his emotions would be… probably a little more bearable.

The soft sound of Taehyung’s footsteps echoed through the dark streets of Paris, faintly illuminated by the streetlights surrounding the small, quiet alley he had chosen to escape the bustling crowd—and, in turn, his own thoughts. He had stopped by the bar he had wanted to visit for so long, but after spending a couple of hours sitting at the counter, sipping a drink he could barely taste… it was dull not being able to savor it the way he once did.

He gazed up at the night sky stretching above him, noticing how the stars seemed much closer, as if they had gathered there just to shield his eyes, rather than simply existing as part of nature’s design.

Tomorrow, he would probably buy a ticket back to Korea, still debating whether to purchase a first-class seat or a regular one. Jiah had given him more than enough money to indulge in any luxury he desired, but he didn’t want to take advantage of her generosity. He had his own savings, and not just a small amount—old trinkets he once considered worthless centuries ago were now worth millions, a fortunate advantage for all of them.

A soft melody from a nearby radio pulled him from his thoughts. He hadn’t noticed the old record store beside him, still open for some reason. It had a distinctly vintage, understated charm—exactly Taehyung’s style. He studied its exterior, noting the yellow sign with red lettering perched atop the roof, reading: Le cœur de la musique.

In the display window, several vinyl records from the ’70s and ’80s were neatly arranged, among them the famous Can’t Help Falling in Love with You by Elvis Presley, the very song now enveloping the alleyway with its gentle notes and romantic lyrics.

Taehyung truly loved that song. He closed his eyes, letting the music seep into more than just his ears—letting it settle into his body as well. With graceful movements, ones that seemed almost ingrained in him, Taehyung began swaying to the melody. He had been a great dancer in his youth. When you were both just children, you had asked him to be your dance partner so you could practice. The two of you had ended up falling completely in love with the warm, intimate feeling of it. Even when your bodies had grown cold, even when death gnawed at your bones and drained your souls, neither of you had ever stopped dancing.

His memories of you returned, vivid as always; he could almost feel the soft scent of your skin against his nose, the sensation of your hair brushing against his rough fingertips, your forehead resting gently on his shoulder, your breath against his chest. It was almost as if you were still there with him, dancing in the empty streets of Paris, in front of an old record store, your hearts swaying in perfect harmony beneath the stars.

His feet continued moving across the pavement until a soft click snapped him out of his trance.

Instantly, all of his senses sharpened. He halted his movements at once, scanning his surroundings for whoever had made that sound. He knew it was a camera. And he knew it hadn’t been close—if it had been, he would have smelled the person’s blood by now, wouldn’t he?

His dark eyes flickered with a brief glint of alertness as he surveyed the alley. That’s when he finally noticed her. At the far end of the alleyway, a young woman stood frozen in place, her face still partially hidden behind the camera lens aimed directly at him.

Before he could even think, his feet carried him forward, ready to demand why she had captured such a personal moment without his permission. But then, the delicate scent of strawberries and roses reached his nose. And right after—her blood.

Sweet. Addictive. More tempting than any other scent he had encountered in his 155 years of existence.

For a fleeting moment, Taehyung swore his heart beat again, just from the sheer intoxication of it. His gums began to itch as his fangs pressed against the inside of his lip, the thirst for blood growing exponentially with every step he took. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, the overwhelming urge to feed suffocating him, clouding his mind.

Until she lowered the camera.

Until he saw your eyes.

Large. Bright. Filled with life, staring at him from the end of the alley.

His heart—still lifeless, still incapable of pumping blood—felt like it was being squeezed in a vice. And though he had no need to breathe, he swore the air caught in his lungs.

Did that make sense? Of course not, but you—standing right there, smiling at him as if you hadn’t died in his arms over 150 years ago—didn’t make sense either.

And yet, there you were.

The same eyes. The same lips. Your hair was different, yes, but everything else… everything else was exactly as he remembered. Exactly the same as the day death had stolen you from him.

Was this some kind of punishment? Retribution for the countless lives he had taken in his early years as a vampire?

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable!” you blurted out the moment you noticed the man standing just a few feet away from you. A soft, warm blush quickly spread across your cheeks—not only from the embarrassment of being caught photographing a complete stranger without permission but also because that very stranger, the one now standing before you, was breathtakingly handsome. And now he was looking directly at you, so intensely that you could feel his gaze burning into your skin.

“I-It’s just that I was on my way back to my hotel, and I saw you dancing alone. You had this melancholic expression that was just so captivating from here and… I’m sorry, that’s no excuse for what I did, I’ll delete the photo right away!”

As you fumbled over your apology, nervously gripping your camera once again, Taehyung took the opportunity to examine you—every detail of your face. You had the same beauty mark beneath your left eye. The same faint scar between your index and middle fingers. Even your voice—one he remembered as if it were his own—was exactly the same.

Your clumsy way of speaking.

The pink flush on your cheeks.

Your long eyelashes.

There was no doubt in his mind. The young woman standing before him was you.

“I…” His voice was quiet, almost hesitant. “What’s your name?”

He watched as your eyes lifted to meet his. He couldn’t help but notice how your lips parted slightly at the unexpected question.

Ah.

He still remembered the way your lips moved against his—soft yet intoxicating, slow yet sensual, always keeping him on edge. He remembered the way you used to smile whenever he playfully nibbled on your lower lip.

He missed it.

He missed you.

“Oh! S-Sorry, how rude of me,” you chuckled nervously, carefully lowering your camera so that it hung freely around your neck. The strap dug slightly into your exposed skin, but it was the safest way to carry it without accidentally dropping it. “I’m Y/N. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Y/N,” he murmured, savoring every letter of your name.

He knew it. He knew it. It was impossible for you to be anyone else.

His eyes began to sting as the reality of what was happening finally settled in.

After 155 miserable years—

You had come back to him.

Looking exactly as you had the last time he saw you.

“The pleasure is mine,” he said softly, reaching out to take your hand in his own, gently, fearful that the moment his fingers brushed against your skin, you would disappear.

But you didn’t.

You were still there when his lips pressed lightly against your knuckles, inhaling your scent as discreetly as possible.

So this is how you smelled when you were full of life.

Without an illness slowly stealing you away. Your blood had the sweetest scent he had ever known, and he couldn’t help but close his eyes at the steady, rhythmic beat of your heart echoing in his ears, proof that you were alive, proof that you were here.

Taehyung had never believed in God, but now, with you standing before him— he could only describe this as a miracle.

Masterlist.

27 notes · View notes

realisticpregerotica · 2 days ago

Text

Reconnected

18+ MDNI

2.7k words

Contains: Pregnant sex, MF sex, oral sex, light lactation

Marshall remembered Jane. They were in the same classrooms, they might have even done a project together and exchanged numbers to work on it after school. Even after their classes were over they added each other on facebook. Maybe he would have made a move, but even during the time he had known her she was still attached to

Through casual glances on their facebook feeds they would be updated on milestones in their changing lives. Marshall saw The pictures of her trips to the Caribbean, her office parties, and eventually pictures of her engagement ring and with her fiance to her side. And in less than a year, a beautiful wedding.

It was only natural that a decade and some change later Jane was expecting a child with her husband. The pictures of her positive pregnancy test were followed by a sonogram of her peanut sized child. When he recalled the brief memories he had in high school his head began to spin. Somebody that he had grown up with was pregnant.

Over the weeks she had beamed with pride alongside her less frequent pictures of her husband. Despite his conflicted feelings of seeing Jane’s growing body on his timeline he knew it was unethical to contact her for the selfish reasons of his hidden fetish. She had worked so hard to start this family and become a good wife and mother.

That was, until the news had broken in private stories. Her husband had sent her divorce papers in her second trimester. That confidence seemed to fade as life updates revealed that her smile had lost its shine until the pictures stopped following altogether until one day he saw her name show up on the Springfield Dating group.

‘Hello everybody! I’m new to dating. I’ve been a resident here my whole life.

Your eyes aren’t playing tricks on you. I’m pregnant, and this is an old picture. My husband and I are separated. I’m looking into getting into dating again…’

And into a leap of faith, he sent the first message.

A half hour had passed since the time they had agreed on. Marshall had accepted the loss and had lived with the thought of knowing that he tried. Right when he began to make peace with his night alone a woman sounded like she had bumbled into the glass door.

Rather, only one part of her body entered the room before she did. And as she entered he saw the composition of her outfit beyond the outstretched fabric that slung her heavy midsection. She wore a lacy red dress, one not meant to accommodate the weight of a woman so far along her pregnancy. Her outstretched belly had forced the middle of her shirt to ride up her thighs with every step, threatening to reveal her underwear. She caught Marshall’s eyes and the man waved her over.

Shit… Shit! Shitshitshit-

The way that she clumsily made her way to their two person table made Marshall lose any composure that he could have conjured over his sudden moment of preparation. “Unf-” Jane huffed upon landing against the chair in front of him.

“I’m so sorry! It took a lot longer to get ready than I thought it would!” As she sat down gravity acted accordingly against the curves of her heavy body, bobbing against her hardly contained body. The impact of her landing made her breasts begin to spill from the top of her chestline. She pulled her dress upwards, as if she’d been dealing with this wardrobe malfunction all night.

“No worries! I’m glad you could make it.” He slid her chair in, making her jump with the sudden reveal of how heavy she was, not that Marshall noticed. He was too focused on regaining his composure.

Don’t make it all about her pregnancy, weirdo.

“How are you?”

“I’m fine. Very, very pregnant, as you could see.” The exasperation in her voice made Marshall's heart skip a beat as her fingertips ran along either pole of her belly. It was going to be a very long night.

It began recalling their old high school days. When the topic of the one semester had dried they moved on to the last decade they had. Her divorce did come up, but it was through the lens of deep regret for anything other than the children she was more than prepared to mother. By the time the check came around Marshall was ready to drop the question

“Hey. I… Um, don’t live too far around here. If I could save you a trip in the dark.” Jane paused under the shadow of the night, where she was just confident enough that she could hide her excitement. “My ex hasn’t gotten all of his stuff out of our home yet. I’m really sick of living with all of his junk.” She was rambling. “I guess, I’m saying,” She swallowed.

“Please?”

The drive back to Marshall’s apartment was quiet with unclear expectations in the front seat. The end of their trip ended with an elevator trip to the second floor of Marshall’s complex.

“Can I get you anything?”

“... Yeah…” Jane replied. “Is your bed more comfortable than your couch?” Any time that he had tried to avoid coming face to face with his desire for her body Jane had only reeled him in closer. If she pressed any harder he wasn’t sure how much harder he could hide it.

They made their way into Marshall's room where Jane cautiously invited herself on Marshall's bed. Carefully scanning for his reaction. “It's a bit of a tight fit… I was so worried about getting it on that I had no idea how I was going to take it off.”

I have to tell her. She has to know that I'm only here physically and that she is everything that I've ever wanted.

“Oof~” Jane sighed as the zipper practically undid itself under the weight of her massive breasts. Her skin shined in Marshall’s moonlit bedroom. The dress had really clung onto the widest part of her belly. With persistence, the cloth finally came free, exposing the figure of the heavily pregnant woman before him

“It’s a lot… Isn’t it?” Jane’s voice softened. Her grip around her dress tightened as she got prepared to hide the blossoming round of her life bearing body.

“N-no.” Marshall’s hands laid on top of hers. With no resistance at all, her wrists lowered. The rest of Jane’s pregnant body was liberated from the ties of her ill fitting dress. Marshall couldn’t keep his eyes off of her as he helped slide the rest of the outfit down her widened hips. The way he looked so intently made Jane’s heart race with eagerness. Her body became nothing more but an obligation for her ex-husband

Marshall braced himself, hyper aware of what it would look like if he acted too quickly. Every inch closer to her body felt like another foot closer to the sun. Who knew if he would ever have a woman like Jane in his bedroom ever again

“May I?” Jane nodded. Marshall’s hands carefully explored the object of desire nestled into her midsection.

“H-haa.” Her skin still yielded slightly. He relished the amount of space her round belly occupied. He felt the sides of her belly that distended from her swollen midsection. Of course it did, she still had a couple of months to go. He could feel his heartbeat against his throat so hard that Marshall was scared that every exhale would expose the excitement her gravid body gave him.

She was in the company of a person who shared just as much excitement towards her body as she had. His touch was indulgent, ready to feel the swell of life she had carried for 7 whole months in her womb. The external focus sent a tingle down her spine that got a moan from her lips as she pushed her midsection further into his hands.

His hands explored the area right below her bellybutton, lower, and lower until he caught the waistline of the fabric of her panties. Another obstacle that Jane assisted to remove. The pregnant mother laid against his sheets, exposed before him.

“I’m sorry. My belly… Makes it hard for me to shave…” Her hands covered her face in embarrassment but her legs stayed spread open, not daring to close themselves an inch. Enticed by the warmth of her juicy sex Marshall couldn’t wait any longer. His tongue indulged to feel every inch of her pussy.

For the first time in many months Jane’s neglected body filled with pleasure. Her body worked overtime for a cocktail of oxytocin. All of the stresses in her life melted away into pleasure against the most sensitive parts of her pussy. The missing piece of what she needed for a healthy pregnancy.

“Oh f-fuck!” Jane stammered. She tried to shove her body downwards to thrust her pregnant pussy into Marshall’s face. Her position pushed the weight of her unborn child against her vagina. The further she arched the more of her third trimester belly rested against Marshall’s forehead.

His senses were surrounded by her. He couldn’t help himself as he undid the button of his dress pants and let down his underwear. Jane could feel the quiver of his mouth against her. “I’m cumming-!” she cried as her voice was immediately cut off by the strain of an orgasm taking hold of her body for the first time in months. She stayed quiet, embarrassed to have cum so quickly she got her heavy body up to return the favor.

He shifted position in her hands and moaned as he found the side of his dick against her belly. It wasn’t anything like stroking it with his hands. Even against the head of his active, excited cock the stretched skin of her midsection was warm.

She’s pressing-

His thoughts were cut by the stimulation against her stomach as his forehead shot towards the ceiling. Jane milked the look of his pleasure, planting his member against the fleshy side of her stomach, letting him dig lightly into her soft skin. She paused, feeling the layer of wet, slippery precum that she willingly smeared against the side of her belly that lubed the side of her skin. A pause ended the overstimulation, Marshall’s breaths were ragged while locking into Jane’s eyes.

“D-do you like my body?” Jane asked. Although his cock was proof enough of this answer she needed to hear it verbally. “Yeah… I like your body a lot.” It was the truth, but Marshall’s chest ached to reveal to her the whole truth. For now his words were enough as she slowly began to navigate her body on top of him.

“Am I too heavy?” Jane asked. Marshall shook his head while he swallowed in anticipation. Her full weight made her straddle feel a lot more dense than any partner he had ever felt before. Jane's belly even pushed into him.Her thighs trembled while she found the right angle to get him to enter her warm vagina. With a heavy descent of her hips the couple simultaneously moaned. Jane for the neglect of her needy, hormonal body

Not even her exceptionally swollen folds could hide her slick vulva. He had fantasized for a long time, what the sex of a pregnant woman would feel like. He had thought of all of the cliches he had read in literature and saw in pornos. Jane’s body had delivered on every ounce of promise that pregnant sex had ever made to him.

Their hips trembled as they felt the sensations of their sexes wash over him. The feeling that engulfed Marshall was an overwhelmingly soft tightness he had never felt before. Jane's quads ached from the effort it took for her to lift her heavy body. “Mnnngggh!” Jane grinded her hips with sexual frustration as she groaned against the limits of her heavy body.

His hand placed on her hips with reassurance as he assisted the expecting mother off of his hips and onto the comfort of his mattress. Her body supported against her side he approached her from behind, his cock stimulating her sex to soft moans.

“Please tell me if I’m going too hard.” He pushed his hips into her and he felt her body lean into him for support as she groaned. His hand rested naturally atop her bump, a reminder that he was blessed with the opportunity to lay with such a beautiful woman.

With her ear against his lips as he rutted into her. “I really… Really love pregnant women…”

His confession drew a whimper from Jane’s lips. Silenced by her grunts of pleasure from the hard cock pistoning inside of her all she could do was nod enthusiastically, submitting to the pleasure of her hormonal body.

“Pregnancy is so sexy on you.” He muttered while continuing to rut into her from behind. Her body rippled so gently, sending shockwaves through her plump ass and thickened thighs. The vibrations rolled throughout her body, waking her child from within her as kicks pushed up against their mothers skin.

Her overstimulated body climbed to elation. Her body was floating. Every thrust she could feel the passion of her body being hungrily ravaged. Her belly was heavy, but supported in his hands and the soft cushion of his mattress.

“Fuh-fuck. Marshall, I’m gonna cum-!”

“Ugh… Me too!” He cried as his thrusts got harder. He grit his teeth and pumped like a rabbit as his load exploded into her, feeling every inch of her body coil around him as Jane came against the rock hard shaft. Their moans filled the room as they milked every sensation and twitch with their connected bodies.

“F-fuck. I’m trembling. I need a second before round two.” Jane chuckled as she rested on her side. Marshall’s hand laid against her belly. She spread her legs while laid up on her back, letting him into a perfect view of her bump. Her legs stayed open, she eagerly spread herself for Marshall

“Do you think you can rock them to sleep inside of their mama?” The challenge enticed her former classmate. Their moans filled the room together as his bare cock entered her swollen opening. He could feel every soft ridge of Jane’s embrace inside of her as her warmth surrounded his cock.

“Mnhhhh~” He could melt inside of her pregnant pussy. At the very tip of his penis he could feel the lip of something round and hard. As he looked down to visualize his length inside of her he envisioned the entrance of her womb where her baby resided.

Missionary made him take long strokes into her needy vagina as Jane felt every inch of his raw cock. She bit her lip as her insides clung into him needley despite cumming twice earlier in the night.

“Yessss.” She moaned hazily. Her fingers caught the tips of her massive breasts that hung on either side of her rounded midsection. She felt his insides clamp down upon him as she attacked the tips of her chocolate brown nipples, hard. Marshall saw beads of clear fluid build against her areolas. As she smeared her colostrum on her breasts it made her tits shine like lipgloss.

Jane could feel Marshall stiffen inside of her, she was desperate for him to fill her completely. “Please, fuck me harder.”

He mounted his body over hers, low enough to feel the firmness of her pregnant round against his stomach. Jane was anchored in place by his body and slammed into her hips.

“Mnnhhh-Fuck!” Jane moaned, clinging onto his back. Every thrust shook her sensitive body as he mercilessly collided into her womb. “Yesyesyes!” She hummed with the new force of his thrusts. She took every collision into her deepest parts directly into her brain.

Marshall let out a weakened groan beyond grit teeth. Jane began to squirm underneath him as her sensitive sex was getting pounded into her next orgasm. “I’m-I’m” Marshall’s throat strained as he felt the release of another load for his pregnant lover. Jane squealed and gasped as she spasmed with the sensations of her puffy vagina getting filled with his hot seed.

He removed himself from her as he looked down at her heaving body and a tired grin. Between them they could see the movements inside her stomach come to a gentle rest before the spent lovers laid together.

“Hey, I have 8 more weeks while I'm still your fetish.” Jane chuckled with a blush. He could see that confidence return in her smile. “Make the most out of it, okay?”

#preg kink #maiesiophilia #preggo kink #pregblr #pregnant #pregnancy #pregnant kink #pregnancy fiction

50 notes · View notes

whocaresstillthelouvre · 1 day ago

Text

Golden Girl Texts

Written for @jolapeno's Dear-uary challenge. I chose to do texts between Dieter and Golden Girl throughout their friendship. General warning for drug and drink mentions... it is Dieter.

Thank you to @devineconjuring for her help and accepting my rambles. She also made the Sweets bride pic much more ~Golden~

The texts start from when Warren & GG get engaged and end at Dieter leaving for London at the end of So It Goes.

FYI, the texts receivers switch. Check the top first for whose phone it is. 🫡

Blue is Dieter. Pink is Golden Girl.

✨July, 2016✨ Dieter’s Phone

There’s that familiar hot pit in his stomach, it burns brighter as he zooms in on the ring. Fuck. He should have done something… or at least told you how he felt about you, but instead he stayed quiet, finding solace in illicit substances and people. He’ll respond tomorrow. Right now, he’s going to pop some pills, fuck someone, and try to forget the text.

✨September, 2016✨ GG’s Phone

Oh Sweets, you're too good to everybody around you. Too good at finding the best in anyone. A broken man like him doesn't deserve your concern. He hits repeat on "Self Control" waiting for the lines that always makes him think of you:

Wish I was there, wish we'd grown up on the same advice And our time was right Keep a place for me, for me I'll sleep between y'all, it's nothing

✨April, 2017✨ GG’s Phone

Why are you zooming in on the picture of your husband's best man? Why do you wish he was sitting on the lounger next to you at this luxury five star resort? Why does Warren have to insist on working during your fucking honeymoon? Why is it only 1 PM and you've already had three piña coladas?

✨September, 2018✨ Dieter’s Phone

You got it. Your dream house with the picket fence and the pretty lawn. You got the large backyard with the picturesque view. You're going to fill that home with cool art, unique finds, and beautiful memories... and he'll just be a visitor.

✨January, 2020✨ GG’s Phone

New Years is bullshit. It's something he's always believed, but it's made worse when he has to watch the woman he's in love with inside her beautiful home kissing her husband at midnight. Bullshit.

✨August, 2020✨ Dieter’s Phone

You call Dieter, he answers all bleary eyed with a huge smile lighting his face at the first sight of you. You talk to him for three hours, comforting him, telling him all of this will be worth it. You put a package of cookies in the mail for him the next day.

✨September, 2020✨ Dieter’s Phone

Of course you're happy for him. Of course you don't know that when he stood at the altar in that dingy Las Vegas chapel and Anika walked out, his heart sank when he realized she wasn't you. Of course you don't know he's already miserable.

✨April, 2021✨ GG’s Phone

You knew it wasn't going to last, but you still wanted to believe that maybe one day Dieter would find his soulmate.

✨June, 2023✨ Dieter’s Phone

Damn, he's getting brave with these mixes.

A selection of songs from Dieter's playlist For Sweets #16

"Sun In The Morning" - Future Islands

"Pretty Please" by Dua Lipa

"Red Eyes" by The War On Drugs

"Amoeba" by Clairo

"The Color In Anything" by James Blake

"Bodys" by Car Seat Headrest

"Foreign Kicks" by We Are Scientists

✨June, 2023✨ Dieter’s Phone

Dieter doesn't answer, as amazing as Vegas sounds. Frankly, he's sick of Warren and his bullshit. He barely even recognizes him these days... he wonders what you think.

✨September, 2024✨ GG’s Phone

#dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo #dieter bravo fanfic #dieter x you #dieter bravo x female reader #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo fic #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x reader #dieter x reader #pedro pascal #jolapenosdearuary

31 notes · View notes

melodyanqel · 1 day ago

Text

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐘 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐌𝐄 ── ★ h.jh. (004. no truth just lies)

love at first sight happens between the police officer and a bright, innocent woman. they shared a deep connection that meant they needed each other more than anything, even when they experienced the same nightmare.

⤷ pairing: hwang jun-ho x fem!oc

⤷ genre/tags: fluff, angst, thriller, psychological drama, established relationship, team bonding, financial issues, games, action, betrayal, foreigner!soft!oc, protective!junho

⤷ warnings: smut (18+), crying, and homesickness

⤷ wc: 2.8k words

⤷ note: things are sort of getting a bit conflicted

⤷ language key: korean, english

⤷ melodyanqel taglist: @hwallazia @rubyredish @analysisiinternet @ilovebtsomgie @aylinbsx @jsprien213 @your-writer-beta-side-piece

Great. She looks like someone attacked her.

Lily is in the bathroom checking her face. The bruises are not prominent, but they sting. She then looks for antibiotic cream in her drawers to soothe the pain. Lucky for her, Jun-ho isn’t home yet, so she has time to cover them up with foundation and concealer. But at the same time, she asks herself, was it worth it earning the money or she played a goddamn fool of herself. The salesman appeared as a mystery but offered actual cash for some reason.

When she came home, Lily checked it by shining a bill through a light and the print was visible. So, is this stranger doing it for the right purpose or something else? It’s not every day you’d get money from a random guy. However, it didn’t make it better that he smacked her face as a penalty. It would be counted as an assault if a cop saw it, but the people around the station didn’t interfere, which was understandable. Regardless, it doesn’t sit right with Lily.

“My love, I’m home!”

She hears her boyfriend’s voice.

“I’m in the bathroom!” Lily shouts back and finishes putting on the makeup. Again, she will not tell Jun-ho. But for now, she has to clear her mind and be in her love’s comforting arms. Lily turns off the bathroom light and goes to the living room. She sees Jun-ho sitting on the couch, watching T.V. with snacks on the coffee table. After the birthday party, the two cleaned the place but kept the Pochacco balloon.

Lily joins him. She rests her head on his lap and her body is on the couch. Jun-ho grins, looking down at her lovingly. “Was it a fun date?” He asked about the girl’s day. Lily responded, “Yes, I had fun. So-eun cried when I told her about our engagement.” She tells Jun-ho about the emotional moment.

He chuckles and says, “That’s good. I also told Han-gyul and he was surprised yet happy for us. He also wishes you the best of luck in this marriage.” Jun-ho has yet to tell his chief and other colleagues. He would share parts of his personal life at his workplace because they all know each other on a deeper level.

“Aw, that’s sweet!” Lily feels warmth across her chest because she adores the people in her life. “I like Han-gyul. For someone at twenty-one to strive in law enforcement is impressive. I was doing the opposite of him. I found a man at a bakery.” She lets out a mirthful laugh. Jun-ho’s full lips make a smirk. He softly brushes her brunette locks with his fingers. “And now you can’t escape from that man.” His words sounded genuine yet a little daring.

Jun-ho watches his woman sit up to straddle her legs on his hips. Lily is comfortable on his lap with a tender smile. The emotion in his warm brown eyes has her heart racing. He yearns for his angel. Lily shakes her head. “Nope, I can’t and I have zero regrets.” She stated confidently.

The officer takes the teacher’s left hand to kiss her ring. He raises his gaze at his blushing woman. Her beauty is out of this world—silky brunette hair, snow-white flesh that looks porcelain, plump rosy lips, and his favorite of all is her enchanting russet eyes.

Jun-ho gets lost in them, even at one glance he’ll go crazy. He puts Lily’s hand down to his lap and still holds it. Jun-ho then tells more about his day. “I’m glad you accept my confession. I also told omma about the news and she screamed through the phone.” He video-called her and she burst into tears and cheered with her friends.

Lily’s lips play a big smile, “Yay! I have yet to announce it to my family. I hope they don’t mind waking up in the middle of the night.” She snickers because the time zones are one of the issues of living in different countries. Jun-ho lets go of her hand to rub her arm. “I’m sure they don’t. I can announce it with you, whenever you’re ready.” He has the patience like a true gentleman and Lily won’t stop falling for him.

“Thank you.” She appreciates her beautiful love. Jun-ho watches Lily move closer to him without breaking eye contact. Her soft lips are placed against his like a puzzle piece. Jun-ho uses his right hand to hold the back of her head to deepen the kiss.

He starts to feel the burning passion inside him. Jun-ho wraps his left around Lily’s petite waist to have her body flat on the couch. He hovers over Lily and the kiss gets more intense. He slips his tongue into her mouth to intertwine with her timid licks. She has her arms enveloping his neck.

His brawny hands grab her bare legs to pull her close to his hardness. Lily whimpers between the kiss and her wetness starts to form through her panty and pajama shorts. She wears a cami top which makes it more enticing for Jun-ho to see her pretty breasts nicely snugged from a thin material.

They parted their lips to take a breather. Jun-ho grins tenderly at Lily’s flushed-out face. It makes him grow harder. “I would like to continue this somewhere else.” He puts his finger on her clothed pussy and brushes it to make her moan in pleasure.

Lily mutters, “Okay. Can you not be gentle this time?” She sheepishly summits and requests something new. Jun-ho chuckles darkly which sends shivers to Lily’s core. He smirks when he feels her getting dripping wet. “Anything for you, my love.” The hot officer is willing to do whatever his gorgeous fianceé tells him.

Jun-ho gently carries Lily in his arms, bridal style, to the bedroom.

They take it slow, finding new places to kiss, lick, taste, and bite. Once taking off her clothes and underwear, Jun-ho appreciates her goddess-like body creatively, using his hands, mouth, and tongue. His lips move to her cleavage. Lily does the same to him. She runs her hands over his muscular body with sculpted abs and pecs. Her hands stopped at his sweats. She grips the hemline and looks at Jun-ho. He lifts his eyes, “Yes, you may.” He says in a low voice.

Now they’re both naked. Jun-ho sits up and pulls Lily onto his lap. She takes the time to admire him as if she hasn’t done that before. However, she has discovered beauty in her man. She gasps when she feels his cock, rises big against her stomach. Lily feels her folds getting wetter because Jun-ho is undeniably beautiful.

“Jun-ho!” She cried out his name when his mouth immediately sought an erected nipple, sucking greedily.

He has been waiting to taste these adorable buds.

Lily then moans loudly from his fingers touching her pearl. Jun-ho releases her nipple and speaks into her ear. “You’re so sensitive. I hope you can handle my cock.” He groans and continues to rub Lily’s twitching folds. She becomes a mess when his index and middle fingers slide inside. Her squeals and gasps are airy and high-pitched like a mellifluous melody. Jun-ho can feel her holding his shoulder roughly from the euphoria. His fingers move intensely.

“I-I feel something. I-I d-don’t know.” Lily stutters as pleasure fills in her stomach.

Jun-ho demands, “Cum. Cum, angel.”

She does what he says. A loud, delicious moan escapes from her mouth. She can feel a cream substance explode from her cunt and onto Jun-ho’s fingers and abs. Overstimulated, Lily hugs him by wrapping her arms underneath his biceps to feel his sturdy back. Jun-ho gives her a moment to recover because she is twitching. His clean hand rubs her back.

“Again, are you sure? I don’t have protection.” He is being cautious. Lily makes an effort to respond to him. “Yes, I’m ready. And I do have them in my nightstand drawer. Don’t ask.” Her cheeks burned and she felt his chest move up and down because he was laughing.

Lily moves off of him as Jun-ho takes one condom and tears it open to put it on. He gently lays his woman on the bed and goes on top. “You can scratch and bite me if it’s too much,” Jun-ho reassures Lily, even though he’ll enjoy a bit of pain.

A joyful smile graces her face. “Sure thing.” She is officially letting him have her body.

Lily locks her legs behind his back, angling herself as he pushes through, inch by inch. She gasps, throwing her head back and whimpering in delight. Jun-ho moves with purpose, reveling in her as he gives her every bit of himself and listens to her gasps turn into throaty moans. Lily shudders against him, and he picks up her hips so he can hit that one place that’ll drive her wild.

“Fuck, baby. You’re so fucking perfect.” Jun-ho gets to worship what’s his endlessly.

Her walls close around Jun-ho and he grips the sheets. Lily kisses his temple, crying against his shoulder as she reaches the cusp and orgasms.

The lovers spent the night intertwined underneath the full moon.

ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ

❰ OCTOBER, 2024 ❱

A month later, things started to change.

Jun-ho had to end his island search because there wasn’t any luck nor did he think he would succeed. Even though it was disappointing, Captain Park understood and respected Jun-ho’s choice. So, the officer continues to do his regular duties normally with Han-gyul. He also visits Lily’s place more often because his shifts are now shorter.

Boyfie (Jun-ho): hey I can’t make it tonight. i’ll be in a meeting with the chief.

Angel (Lily): that’s fine! make sure you have your umbrella ready for tonight.

Boyfie (Jun-ho): i’m always prepared.

A smile etches on Lily’s lips when reading the text message. Tonight’s weather will be gloomy, but it’s common for the autumn season to get colder and drippy from the rain. It’s also common for Lily to be the nagging girlfriend. She has a reason because Jun-ho forgets things easily. He once forgot about his badge in one of his dirty dress pants and Lily almost washed it. So, he better have an umbrella with him.

The windows of the classroom are open and the sound of the tree leaves blowing creates a melody. It’s always comforting on a quiet afternoon. Lily is at her desk, grading her students’ homework. Everyone was well-behaved and in a pleasant mood as usual. She loves seeing their happy faces whenever she clocks in because they’re so precious.

Lily checks the time on her phone to notice it’s half past five. She sighs and stretches her arms. She has been sitting for an hour and there are more tasks to do. Lily created more schedules for the following days, tutored students who were struggling, and organized the classroom. It’s a lot but anything to keep her apartment.

Jun-ho is in his car and the content expression disappears when he reads the messages on his phone. He has yet again lied to Lily. He doesn’t have a meeting, he has a plan to do. While he was in the city with Han-gyul, they stopped a driver because they were speeding. After they drove off without a word and received a ticket, Han-gyul told Jun-ho that the driver was a man and had a collection of phones and tablets. Jun-ho thought it was suspicious and the rookie cop did run the man’s ID.

Seong Gi-hun. No criminal record was found.

After reading the scanner, it made Jun-ho’s heart drop. His mind went back to 2020 when he met a man named Seong Gi-hun and entered the game. Jun-ho did some digging to figure out if it was the right person. His guesses became true. However, he has no idea what or how Gi-hun managed to get out of the game alive.

Jun-ho's destination is to check the office building called “Sunshine Capital.” Supposedly, that’s where Gi-hun’s rental car comes from. He’ll be heading over there at night to avoid getting caught. Jun-ho understands he should let it go and move on because his brother is no longer the Hwang In-ho who he loves and admires. But a voice at the back of his head is telling him to keep searching because there is more to In-ho’s secrets.

He may act and look like he has the ambition to find his brother again but deep down he is afraid. Jun-ho puts his palm over his left shoulder, the healed gunshot wound. That moment still haunts him. Jun-ho did tell himself he wouldn’t continue on his island search, but maybe there would be luck, eventually.

For now, it’s time to reunite with Seong Gi-hun.

ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ

“Hi, mama.”

“Hello, darling. How are you?”

Lily has the phone call on speaker while looking at the evening sky through the open windows. Her mother wanted to contact her because it’s been days since they’d last spoken. Lily responded, “I’m doing well. Seoul has gotten chilly, but I’ll be fine.” She tries to keep the conversation positive and not bring up her issues.

“That’s nice to know and stay warm, my dove. I’m assuming Jun-ho is the same as you.” The woman mentions her future son-in-law. Like Mrs. Hwang, she wanted him to be part of the family and grow together. Lily’s father agreed too which was a shocker because fathers would be nervous about their daughters getting married. But her father does love Jun-ho as much as her mother and sister.

“Yes, he is the same, but he also thought about moving into my apartment whenever he is ready. Mrs. Hwang is okay with it as long as knows how to be the man of the house.” Lily informed about Jun-ho's decision to live with her. She gets a hearty laugh from the other end. Mrs. Reed says, “She reminds me of your grandma when I told her about sharing a space with your dad when we got engaged. If so, I hope you two live happily and healthy.” She gives her words of wisdom.

Lily begins to tear up and sob. Hearing the sound of her mother’s voice soothes her mind and erases her stress. If only she has the chance to see her in person along with the rest of her family. The young beauty uses her hands to wipe the tears away. She sniffles and clears her throat. “Thank you, mama. I’ll notify you whenever it happens.” Lily will thank her mother endlessly.

After the much-needed phone call, she finalizes her shift by saving the cleaning for last. She also shuts the windows because when it gets completely dark, the rain starts pouring. Lily expected a light shower, but it came down hard. It seems like she’ll have to hurry her way home. Good thing she brought an umbrella.

Sometime later, Lily packs her belongings and turns off the classroom lights. She also makes sure the door is locked. As soon as she walks out of the building, the heavy rain welcomes her. Lily shivers when a strong breeze hits her fair cheeks. “Great. The struggles are real.” She huffs, opens her pastel yellow umbrella, and heads to the subway. While walking in the streets, Lily notices people passing by, trying to get to wherever.

Now at the station, Lily does the routine of waiting for her ride to come. Even though it’s been a month since she encountered that strange man with Ddakji, she wondered if he was still doing it. Lily hadn’t seen him in a while, and it was good because his intentions were outlandish. From that night, she almost didn’t want to return home through the subway and have Jun-ho pick her up. Of course, it would’ve been safer, but it was a one-time thing that can be forgotten.

Lily brushes off the wonderment of the salesman and focuses on getting back to her place. She needs a nice cup of hot chocolate with sugar cookies.

When arriving at the apartment, Lily spots an envelope in between the cracks of the door. Confused, she takes it and goes inside. She tears the item open to pull out a paper. It’s from her landlord, telling her the next payment is on October 31st with 2,144,295 won. Lily’s face is crestfallen. She carelessly throws her keys and purse on the dining table. Her body reaches the couch to sit down and calm herself.

It gives her a headache how rent increases. Not only that but she also has to pay off her student debt because it adds more effect to her credit score. Lily borrowed money during her college years and paid little by little. However, it doesn’t cover everything. She brushes her thumb over the numbers.

Lily once told Jun-ho about needing more money but she never told him about the monthly rent payments. Even though she can ask Jun-ho and his mother for help, the burden makes her feel like she isn’t doing well financially.

series masterlist | five

#squid game #squid game fanfic #squid game fic #hwang jun ho #squid game hwang jun ho #jun ho #hwang junho #squid game jun ho #jun ho x reader #hwang jun ho x reader #hwang jun ho fic

31 notes · View notes

lightlycareless · 2 days ago

Note

hey!! i saw the A-Z thing and I have a question about Z, what if reader died but it was after they had children? would naoya turn to drinking or would it be different

Hello!!!

Oh my god y'all just love making me suffer don't you? Can't blame you IM ALL FOR IT HAHAHA. But I won't deny that this thought has been on my mind outside of the alphabet. sooo....

Here are them warnings: angst. you're dead and naoya has to (not) deal with that. here is the alphabet anon is referring to. (part 1) (part 2) (part 3)

Happy reading!

I wish to say that he’d manage to maintain his values of never indulging in any vices, remain strong, especially his children, and move on—

But he can’t. As much as he wants to do so, for himself at least, he just… can’t.

He simply can’t.

And Naoya finally crumbles the moment he accepts you’re gone, and you’re never coming back.

No one has ever seen Naoya so… defeated. So abandoned that all he could do is aimlessly make his way through life as days go by, worsening the more prominent your absence becomes.

You’re not there to warm his bed anymore.

To greet him first thing in the morning and kiss him goodnight once everyone’s tucked to sleep.

Listen to his ailments once work became too much to handle or when he needed an escape from his overwhelming relatives that just kept going on and on and on again about how he needed to act like a suitable heir, take control of his life and stop spoiling his family too much— it was unbefitting of a proper man of the Zen’in, after all.

No more messages here and there, little notes poured with your love, attempting to describe how much you missed him, but he knows the pain of his distance was much greater than you could possibly write down.

And of course, his favorite. Pictures of your family outings, those happy moments he couldn’t wait to be part of once he came back; yet continued to perform his job as was expected of him, because it’s what kept his loved ones stated.

Happy.

With all the things they wanted and deserved.

His very own family, consisting of a beautiful wife, an adorable daughter, a shy son, and playful twins whom he could never tire no matter how much he tried; even with years of training, he just couldn’t catch up to them!

Naoya never felt more fulfilled in his life than when he formed a family with you.

Feeling strong enough to face anything, and do whatever it took to protect it.

Anything…

Just not your death.

At first, your husband managed to be there for his children, wipe their tears as they processed was grief was for the first time in their life, while doing his best to explain where you were, that though you weren’t there physically anymore, you still watched over them.

That you’d always be in their hearts, that you were never truly gone, as long as they honored your memory…

But he never took his own advice, not when he could barely wake up without feeling his heart break into a million pieces at the cold, absence in his bed.

How did he expect to be strong, when deep within, he was also a frightened child in need of that same comfort he offered them?

It’s only because your family was constantly checking in on him that he managed to survive, stop himself from doing anything drastic.

That Naoya didn’t become a desolate alcoholic or even consider the immoral for the slightest opportunity to see you again. One last time—

He falls, he succumbs to the darkest, deepest pits of his mind and drowns himself in them.

Yet, with the vivid memory of your love for him, Naoya eventually manages to overcome this obstacle and continues to honor the promise he made to you: protect his family, his kids, who undoubtedly needed him the most.

But this does not mean he ever moves on from you, no, not at all. He might come to terms to your death, but he would never look at another woman like he did to you.

Even if his family pesters him to do so for the sake of the clan, even if his trusted friends might attempt to convince him he deserves a second chance, that you would’ve wanted him to continue being happy one way or the other…

Naoya simply does not entertain the idea of ever replacing you. He’s given all the love he could give, felt all that he could feel—and that’s how he wants it to conclude.

With you as the sole receiver of his affection.

With the notion that at least he managed to experience what true love was, even when fleeting, but still unforgettable, forever imprinted in his heart.

It’s why his children don’t suffer much when seeing him in the last instants of his life, in fact, they were happy for him, understanding that this was the moment he was impatiently waiting for.

After years, and years, and years of longing, he’d finally reunite with you.

There’s a smile on his face as he takes his last breath, one last heartbeat and then—

“I’m home.”

tldr: more than becoming an alcoholic, I always liked the idea of naoya considering the immoral when it comes to jujutsu and bringing you back. he's just... that desperate to have you in his arms, he'd be willing to desecrate your memory for a chance of seeing you again :(

maybe during halloween i'll try to explore this idea a bit more :> until then...

thank you so much for sending in this ask!! I had a good time feeling sad about this scenario lol now, take care and hope to see you soon 💖💖

#ask #naoya zenin #naoya zen'in #naoya x reader #naoya zenin x reader #naoya zenin x you #jjk naoya #naoya zen'in x reader #jjk x reader #jjk angst #jjk x you #prompt series: jujutsu kaisen

20 notes · View notes

dixonsdarkelf · 3 days ago

Text

QOTU: A Little Friendly Competition Part 2

Summary: Going on dates wasn’t always a guaranteed good time. Vec has had her fair share of shitty dates, but the nerves she had for this particular one were for a different reason. She truly liked this one, and she wanted it to go well. Thankfully, Scud shared the same sentiment, and it made for one of the best nights of their lives.

Part two of Vec & Scud’s first date is finally here. It picks up right from where part 1 left off. I’m sorry it took so long. I’ve hardly felt like a person for the last month. I hope you like this 🖤

There’s a mention of line dancing, so if you’ve never heard of that or seen it before, here’s a good example.

Era: Pre-apocalypse, a little over a year before the outbreak

Word count: 6.2k (really glad I split this one up since part 1 was 8.1k lol)

Warnings: swearing, some small bits of content with a suggestive undertone, brief discussion of guns & weapons (in reference to Scud’s past with Blade)

We're also cross-posting on AO3 if you'd rather read over there!

My AO3 Krys' AO3

Her heart nearly catapulted from her chest as he laced his fingers between hers, and he squeezed lightly, a silent ask to make sure she was comfortable before they stayed walking. Their night had started with a little friendly competition, and now, they were off to a bar to continue their date.

“Definitely not gonna get lost now,” she grinned.

The crisp evening air nipped at her legs, forming goosebumps through her fishnets. She shivered slightly, regretting having not grabbed a jacket before stepping out that night. The sweater she’d chosen was light, barely a sweater when it came to warmth standards, as far as she was concerned. Her shiver was subtle, but it still caught the inventor’s attention.

“You cold?” he asked as his thumb absentmindedly drew small circles over the back of her hand.

There was a shudder in her voice as she talked, clearly trying to use her words to downplay how cold she really was as to not be an inconvenience to her date. “A little, but I’ll be okay. It doesn’t look like we’re going that far.”

“Nah, c’mon. I have a jacket in my car. Small detour ain’t a big deal.” He was already dragging her in the direction of his vehicle, not giving her room to protest. He wasn’t ever the type to “not take no for an answer,” but in the case of of the beautiful woman on his arm shaking like a leaf and slowly turning into a popsicle, he was willing to break his own rules.

“It’s okay Josh, really,” she reiterated as they reached his car. He was already headfirst in the backseat, quickly emerging with his red and black leather jacket, before she could protest further.

“What kinda man would I be if I let a lady such as yourself go cold for the evenin’ when I could’ve done somethin’ about it?” He handed the jacket over to her, their fingers grazing past each other, causing her cheeks to turn baby pink under her makeup again. Despite having been holding hands only moments before, the butterflies in her stomach still went into overtime. “Plus, I’m sure it’ll look way better on you.”

She smiled at the compliment and gathered her hair in a ponytail, laying it over her shoulder and sliding her arms through the sleeves. Her shivering ceased almost immediately, the thick material shielding her from the breeze and cocooning her in its warmth. He stepped around and gently gathered her hair, careful not to disturb any of her curls as he moved it to hang down her back.

Being a gentleman? Yes. Using it as an excuse to touch her? Also yes.

He stepped back and gave her a not-so-subtle up-down look over. His piercing blue eyes lingered over his jacket on her smaller frame for a few moments longer than the rest before meeting her gaze again. Scud was awestruck, already thinking about the next time he would wear it, knowing it would have a faint scent of her and her sweet vanilla perfume on it. “Told you.”

Taking his hand again, they trekked across the parking lot, his jacket now a barricade to the evening breeze. He slipped a thumb between their hands and lightly scratched her palm. The gesture had her heart fluttering, causing her to sweat a little despite shivering just minutes ago. She could only hope the breeze against her hand would prevent it from feeling clammy.

“I know I don’t need to say this, but thanks for being so cool about me being on my phone to text my best friend,” she praised, stepping up onto the curb and pressing the button on the crosswalk sign for the light to change, “being cool about girl code and all that.”

He chuckled softly, as if to emphasize reassurance that it was all good. “You’re right, you don’t need to say it. Like I said, it’s not a problem. You’ve got someone looking out for you, and that’s good. Are you two close?” He scoffed at his own remark, then continued. “That’s a stupid question, of course you’re close. How long have you two been friends?”

As they crossed the street, his hand tightened around hers ever so slightly, and he pulled her closer, both small, subconscious acts that were completely unintentional. Being the observant icon that she was, she noticed and squeezed back, drawing a faint, almost unnoticeable flush to his cheeks, only evident to her due to their close proximity.

Vec’s voice sparkled as she mused over the details of their origin story. “Since we were little, before we could even talk. Our moms were good friends and got pregnant around the same time. Our birthdays are pretty close.” A soft chuckle escaped her lips. “I’ve got two weeks on her, though. 13 days, if you really wanna get technical about it.”

“Damn, that’s a long time. Most friendships don’t last that long. That’s impressive.” As a crowd walked by on the other side of the sidewalk, he gently pulled her closer, and it only sent her heart into further fits of fluttering.

“Yeah. She’s been with me through everything, and vice versa. She’s a sister to me. My family consider her one of their own. I’m really lucky.”

“That’s awesome. I’m happy for you two.” He stifled a chuckle before asking his next question. “Do you ever get pegged as a couple in public? We talkin’ that kind of close?”

“That is the pinnacle of female friendships, Josh,” she explained, “once you’ve reached that stage, there’s no going back.”

“That’s kind of adorable.” He briefly paused before continuing, realizing his previous comment didn’t do the situation justice. “Not kind of. It very adorable.”

She could see Whistler’s up ahead, the rustic metal sign swaying lightly in the breeze. She smiled softly as she watched a group of strangers cross the street, one of the guys picking up one of the girls bridal-style and spinning her around. Her infectious laughter stood out amongst the evening Atlanta traffic, drowning out the sounds of honking car horns and music playing from nearby businesses. Vec only hoped that maybe, things would work out for her, and one day, that could be the two of them crossing the street like that.

There was still the presence of some butterflies, but the high anxiety she’d started off with before leaving the house had completely subsided at some point during the course of their little competition. Being around him felt…comfortable, natural, organic. The way her hand fit perfectly in his, the way she felt at ease with him around—it was like a dream.

Approaching the front door, he released her hand and stepped in front of her, swinging it open and gesturing inside. “After you, m’lady,” he insisted.

“Ooh, such a gentleman,” she mused, slipping past him and stepping off to the side, pulling out her phone to update her best friend.

Ginny 🌻: Probably that one. It’s cute. He has good taste. Stay safe 💛

Vec: Yep, that’s the one. We just got here. I’ll keep you posted 💙

Sliding it back into her purse, she wove through a sea of people along the counter, Scud close behind as he guided her through the crowd with a hand on her waist. They managed to snag the last set of stools at the bar, her taking the one farther from the door and positioning herself to face him, legs crossed.

“I take it you’ll still let me know if I pull any stunts you don’t like?” he wondered, propping himself onto the opposite stool. As he asked, his hand found her knee, searching her eyes for any sign of uncertainty or discomfort. When he didn’t find any and was met with a playful smile, he began drawing small circles and tracing the edges of the fishnet with his thumb.

“Oh trust me. If you pull something I don’t like, you’ll know,” she assured. There was a teasing edge to her voice, but he knew she was serious.

“Good.” He gave her knee a tender squeeze before continuing. “So what’s your drink of choice, Buttercup?”

Her stomach fluttered at the pet name, and she fought to contain the giddy giggles threatening to break through. “I don’t usually drink, but when I do, I usually go for something fruity.” She pulled out her ID and slid it to the bartender, ordering a Dirty Shirley while Scud ordered himself a beer. “I’m kind of a lightweight.”

“How much of a lightweight are we talking?” he asked, ordering some fries from the bartender when she dropped off his beer, “should probably eat something too, in that case.”

She smiled softly at his insistence, giving a friendly nod to the bartender as she stepped away. Usually, when mentioning she was a lightweight, she was met with much more crass commentary, often with attempts to get her to drink more. And here Scud was, making sure she was going to get some food in her system to help combat any side effects of the alcohol. If she wasn’t over the moon before, she certainly was now. “I’m a one drink kinda gal. Any more than that and I start throwin’ ass, and I don’t know you like that yet. I don’t have much, but I can shake what I got.”

“Yet, huh?” he smirked, clearly pleased with her choice of words. The implication of the word hung in the air for a moment before he continued. “Does that mean there’s potential to “know me like that?””

“Keep playing your cards right, and we’ll see,” she replied in the most flirtatious tone she could muster. This time, it was his turn to have the blood rushing to his cheeks at mach speed. Seeing him turn red had her heart nearly beating out of her chest, and she could practically feel it bumping against the inside of her ribcage as it tried to break free.

He cleared his throat and took a swig of his beer, doing his best to deflect from his blushing. “You got any other tricks up your sleeve? Maybe ones that don’t require you to get drunk?”

As if on cue, the bartender came back and slid Vec her Dirty Shirley, followed by some fries in a small basket. She took the glass in her hand, swirling it gently, before taking a small sip. And that was when an idea struck her.

“I do, actually,” she confirmed, a playful smile on her lips. Putting two fingers into her drink, she plucked the cherry out and broke off the stem before dropping it back in. She didn’t need to explain any further for him to know what kind of talent she was referring to.

His heart leapt into his throat when she put the stem in her mouth. Her eyes wandered around the room, landing on everything but his as she worked the stem with her tongue. He watched intently, his baby blues never leaving her face for even a second. His gaze was full of wonder, intrigue, and more arousal than he was capable of hiding.

Once she finished, she stuck her tongue out, the stem, now tied in a perfect knot, resting on it. More than ever, she was thankful for her full-coverage foundation and the dim lighting of the bar. Otherwise, she was sure her red-hot, glowing cheeks would light the place up enough for it to look like daytime. The tension between them was palpable, swirling and hanging around them like a thick cloud, evident to everyone in the bar.

“Shit.” The word came out breathy, like he’d been panting for air despite not taking a single step from his seat. “How’d you learn to do that?”

She removed the coaster from the top of her drink and plopped the stem back in before taking a sip and sliding the coaster back on. “One of my friends in college bet I couldn’t do it, so I taught myself out of spite.”

“Well aren’t you just full of surprises?” Scud studied her face as she looked at him with a devilish glint in her eye. The entire time, his hand had remained on her knee, drawing those same little circles with his thumb and running his fingers over the fishnet material.

“Oh, I have more,” she elaborated, taking a fry and biting it carefully as to not disturb her lipstick, “I can line dance.”

He eyed her up and down, his gaze first stopping on his hand on her knee, then her hand brushing some curls out of her eyes. “No shit. Like country line dance?”

She nodded as she finished another fry, a silent confirmation that he was indeed correct. She swirled her drink in her hand before sipping it again, leaving yet another lipstick mark on the rim. “Yeah. One of my friends in med school wanted to learn, but she didn’t wanna do it alone, so she convinced me to join her.”

He couldn’t help but notice her slide her coaster over her drink every time she set it down. While they’d been talking every day in the weeks leading up to their date & he knew he was no threat, he also knew that she, ultimately, didn’t really know him. Not to mention, they weren’t the only two people in the bar, and not all of them had good intentions. She was simply looking out for herself, and watching her be smart and do little things to protect herself was…attractive.

“How do I get to see this in action?” he questioned, his tone playfully demanding.

Vec looked around the room, pretending to be deep in thought as she tapped her chin with her finger. “I’ll make you a deal. If a song comes on that I know a dance to, I’ll show you.”

He nodded his beer in her direction as a form of informal mock toast. “You’ve got yourself a deal, Vee.”

She did the same with her glass and tilted it toward him, a giggle slipping from between her lips. “So enough about me. Tell me more about your experience inventing weapons for…” She raised her eyebrows and eyed him, her voice trailing off and she waited for him to continue.

“His name was Blade. Called him B.”

“For this ‘Blade’ guy. What kind of weapons did you make?”

“Guns, defense weapons, things like that.” He said it so casually, like it was the most normal thing in the world to be the personal weapons-maker for some mystery man. Despite her intrigue, there was also a lingering sense of worry, albeit small.

“Shit,” she sighed, covering her mouth as she chewed, “was he military or something?”

“Guess you could say he was more of a…hit man of sorts.”

Before he could continue, the shock caused her food to catch in her throat, and she coughed repeatedly, needing to take a few swigs of her dirty Shirley to calm her body.

“Whoa, you okay?” he asked. He lightly patted her on the back, a small gesture to hopefully improve her current situation.

After a few moments, and when she’d mostly regained her composure, she nodded. “Jesus Christ,” she exclaimed, small coughs still escaping her chest, “can you even be saying that?”

“I didn’t mean to spook you. He wasn’t exactly a hit man in the traditional sense, but that’s the closest comparison I’ve got.” He leaned in closer and dropped his voice to a whisper. “There was something fishy about him though.”

“Why are we whispering?” she asked, leaning in closer and dropping her voice as well.

“Cause it’s a secret.” His hand found her knee again, this time lightly threading one of his fingers under the fishnet and circling her bare skin, some small attempt to sooth her worries. Her heart soared, and despite the butterflies ramping up in her stomach, she was loving every second of it. “I think he was a vampire.”

She cocked an eyebrow and stifled a small laugh. She was certain he had to be joking. “A what?”

“Y’know, a blood sucker.”“I know what vampires are, you goof. Just wanted to make sure I heard you right,” she explained, her voice still a whisper.

“You sure did. The weapons I made helped with…protection of sorts.” He dropped his voice lower, forcing her to lean in closer to hear him amongst the chaos and music of the bar. Their faces were mere inches apart, and she could feel his warm breath on her skin, sending small shivers up her spine.

It took every fiber of his being to stop himself from planting one on her right in that moment.

“Protection for what?” Vec asked.

“Was more like “from” what,” he clarified, “the ‘what’ being “other vamps.”

“A vampire…needing protection…from other vampires?”

“That’s the short version,” he explained, bringing his voice back to a normal volume, “usually like to keep the details to a minimum to start. If that’s alright with you, I mean.”

“Of course, that’s more than okay,” she assured, nodding and leaning back to take another sip of her drink.

He watched as she did so, admiring the way her eyes fluttered close every time she took a taste of her beverage. She set her drink down and slid the coaster across it again, running a hand through her bangs to fix them as the bartender approached her, asking if she wanted a refill at any point. She assured her she was good with the one and thanked her with a bright smile, a smile that sent Scud’s heart nearly plummeting out of his body. His eyes barely left her face the entire time they’d been sat there, and this was no exception. She looked beautiful under the soft glow of the dim bar lights, the sparkle on her cheekbones—highlight, as she had said it was called—mimicking the twinkle in her eyes when she talked. He was one to fall fast, but he wasn’t sure if he’d even fallen this fast before.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

Her voice broke him from his daydreams, not noticing that she had turned back to him. Flustered, he said the first words that came to mind. “Your makeup looks really good. You need to show me how you do that.”

Her tone changed to one of mischievous intrigue, a hint of a smirk falling on her lips. “You want me to decorate your face?”

Deciding to be bold, he reached up and softly ran his thumb across her bottom lip, enough to smear some of her lipstick onto his thumb, but not enough to drag it onto her face. “Could decorate it with this.”

The next-level flirting made her swallow hard, and not a single word came to her. It wasn’t often that Vec was rendered speechless, but this was the moment that reigned above all else regarding the speechless factor. She simply stared at him, her mouth slightly agape as she tried to come up with something, anything, to say in return. But her mind was blank, fried from his touch, and he laughed softly at her shocked state. He wondered if she looked like a cherry blossom under all that makeup. If there wasn’t tension before, there certainly was now.

“Surprised to see you at a loss for words,” he teased. He swiped the lipstick on this thumb onto the back of his hand, smudging it around so no residue was left, maintaining eye contact the entire time.

Once she found some words, they came out stutterer through a cracking voice. “I’m gonna…I’m gonna go, uh…go fix this…I’ll be right back.” Quickly jumping from her stool, she scampered off to the bathroom without so much as a glance over her shoulder.

Throwing herself into a stall and locking the door, she took a seat on the toilet, her hands shaking as she pulled out her phone to text Georgie.

Vec: Gin, I’m fucking SWEATING

Ginny 🌻: In a good way or a bad way?

Vec: A fantastic way

Ginny 🌻: Are you bringing him home? Do I need to dig out my headphones?

Vec: He won’t be coming home, but you’ll definitely still need your headphones.

Back in the main area, the bartender approached him, asking him if he wanted another beer. He nodded, and she quickly returned with one, cracking the lid. “You two are cute,” she commented, handing it over to him.

“Thank you,” he smiled, taking a swig and nodding his bottle in the general direction of the restrooms, “she’s the cute one, though.”

“How long have you been together?” the bartender, whose name tag read ‘Sam’, inquired.

Scud chuckled softly to himself, flattered that their dynamic implied to strangers that they were a couple. “Oh no. This is a first date.”

Sam raised her eyebrows in surprise. “A first date, huh?” She reached under the counter for a bottle of something and began preparing a drink for another customer while she talked. “I’ll be honest, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen a couple with that much chemistry, let alone one that’s not even official.”

“You mean that?” His smile was almost the biggest it’d been all night.

She nodded in affirmation, handing the drink off to someone who approached the counter behind Scud and smiling at them before turning her attention back to him. “You’re doing good, bro. Keep it up. She’s devouring it, I can tell.”

As if on cue, Vec returned from the bathroom, sliding back onto her stool and turning to him. “Sorry about that,” she apologized, moving closer to him so their legs were touching.

“Nah, you’re good,” he reassured. He put a hand on her knee again, this time slipping a few fingers between the holes of her fishnets. “Don’t worry about it.”

The minutes turned into hours as they continued chatting. All the noise in the bar drowned out during their conversation, like they were the only two people in the bar. Hell, the only two people on Earth, it seemed.

His eyes barely left her once, hardly even doing so to taste his beer or take a fry. His hand remained steady on her knee, occasionally squeezing it or absentmindedly drawing shapes on it, but keeping his touch respectful and never driving farther north. He wanted to know every detail about her, every single thought, dream, fear, aspiration that passed through that pretty little head of hers. He was captivated by her in a way he’d never been captivated before.

She did the same, almost never taking her ocean eyes off him, other than to cover her drink with her coaster. He was fascinating, captivating, intriguing, and so much more, all wrapped up in the most beautiful package she’d ever laid her eyes on. She had to fight with all the strength she could muster to stop herself from cutting off every once of his sentences with a kiss.

“Well, my dad’s an astronaut, so he—“

“He’s a what?” The interruption wasn’t intentional, but he was captivated, his ADHD getting the better of him. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to cut you off, that was rude. That’s just so dope.”

“It’s okay,” she promised, giggling softly, “your excitement is adorable.”

He turned a soft pink as blood flowed to his cheeks, her compliment launching his ego up at the speed of a rocket. “So did you grow up with a telescope at home?”

“Oh yeah. If he was gonna be on the International Space Station when we’d be able to see a planet or a comet or something, he’d tell my mom before he left, and she’d mark them on the calendar in the kitchen,” she explained, a small smile forming on her face as she reminisced about her childhood—those late nights staying up to see a comet fly by or being woken up by her mom at 2am to see a planet up close. “There was one time that we could see Saturn pretty close. I was like 12 or 13 I think, and my best friend stayed over so she could join us. Even though I had school the next day, my mom woke us up in the middle of the night to see it.”

“I’m a little jealous,” he teased, “so what’s it like up there, living in zero gravity and what not?”

“Well he’s the space professional, not me,” she replied.

“”Space professional” is cute. Makes it sound more official. And sorry. I’ve got a million questions.”

“Don’t apologize. You ever meet him someday, you can ask him all the questions you want.” She was certain he’d ask her more, and she was already planning on sending them to her dad and passing his answers along.

A little while later, the bartender began shouting out for last call, the remaining bar patrons slowly beginning to file out. Vec threw back the last of her drink, all that remained essentially just being ice melted into water.

“Shit, I didn’t realize it’d gotten so late,” she sighed, adjusting her purse strap on her shoulder underneath his jacket.

“As much as I’d love to find a way to keep the night going, I do have to be up early,” he grimaced. The bartender set a receipt and pen in front of him, and he slapped his card down and signed off on it before she even had a chance to react. “Gotta open in the morning.”

“That sucks.” Her face dropped every so slightly, and even though they’d spent several hours together, she was bummed to have to part ways. “What’s “opening” mean for you?”

“Startin’ at 8 but gettin’ up at 6 cause I gotta get there early,” he explained. He rose from his stool and took her hand to have her do the same. She scrunched her nose to adjust her glasses, a little quirk that he had picked up on earlier in the night that he found downright adorable. Every time, it made him smile.

“Eww. And on a Saturday? I’m sorry. That’s brutal.”

“I’m sure you’ve had your fair share of early days.” His hand hovered over her lower back as he guided her through the crowd to the front door. His inability to keep his hands off her for even a second in each other’s presence sent her ego, her heart, her hormones, and everything in between to the moon.

“More than I care to count,” she confirmed. He held the door and let her out first, immediately taking her hand again on the sidewalk as they headed back to their cars at the bowling alley.

“Y’know, you never showed off your moves,” he teased, lightly bumping her shoulder with his.

“I’m a woman of my word,” she asserted, “I promise I didn’t know a dance for any song that came on. I would’ve leapt out of my chair if I knew one. I’m not afraid to get down in public, sober or otherwise.”

Just like on the way there, he held her hand for the entire duration of their walk, occasionally swinging their arms back and forth and eliciting little laughs from her. The sound was like honey, almost sickly sweet with the way it clung to every one of his senses. He wanted to hear her laugh day-in and day-out, in any and every context—the good, the bad, and the nefarious.

“You sure you’re good to drive?” he asked as they leaned up against her car, his hand traveling from hers up her arm.

“I had one drink four hours ago. And I’ve eaten since then. I’m good,” she promised, “but I appreciate your concern. Are you good?”

“It takes more than a couple of beers for me to even get tipsy.” He sounded boastful, like he had bragging rights for being able to handle a couple of beers. He slowly eyed her up and down before giving her arm a light squeeze. “Unlike the lightest lightweight I’ve ever met.”

The teasing tone in her voice was heavy as she playfully shoved his shoulder. “Shut up.”

The tension between them as they stood there was somehow thicker than it had been at the bar. She slipped his jacket off and handed it over, muttering a soft “here’s this back” as their fingers grazed each other’s, their intense eye contact never breaking for a second. His mind wandered to their earlier escapades and the terms and conditions of their little competition. He was beginning to worry if he’d come off too strong with it.

“Look, about what I said earlier…you don’t gotta give me a kiss if you don’t want to,” he reassured, “I’m not trying to put you in an uncomfortable situation or anything.”

“You never said what kind of kiss, so…” her voice trailed off, and she placed a soft, tender kiss on his cheek, his blushing disguised in the dim lighting of the parking lot, “you can still have one. You won it fair and square.” She took notice of the stain she’d left behind, and she quickly reached up to fix it. “Oh shit, let me get the mark off.”

“Nah, leave it.” He took her hand and slowly lowered it, but not before returning the gesture of a soft, gentle kiss to the back of her fingers. Their eyes never once broke contact. “Let everyone know I got a kiss from the most gorgeous woman in Atlanta.” Her stomach was doing backflips, front-flips, somersaults, a whole goddamn gymnastics routine in her abdomen. “I’ll still tell you a secret though. Not a ‘deepest, darkest’ type.”

“Bring it on,” she encouraged. She leaned further into her car and folded her arms over her chest, propping one foot on the other. He mimicked her posture, aside from the hand resting on her arm and drawing small shapes with his fingers.

She wasn’t sure whether the goosebumps were from the cold or from his touch.

“When I was in middle school, probably 13 or 14, there was this girl in my class that I was obsessed with. There was a dance coming up, and I asked her to be my date for it. Little teen Scud was over the moon when she said yes.”

He cringed and shuddered a bit as his mind travelled back to that night. “So the dance comes, we have a fun night, and then after is when I decide I’m gonna kiss her. So I swoop in for the kill, and we just keep hitting each other. We bonked foreheads, noses, you name it. After a few attempts, she just pulls back and says “wanna try again?” I turned beet red and was so embarrassed that I just gave her a kiss on the cheek and left. Never been so humiliated in front of a girl in my life. Still don’t think anything has topped that.”

She made a hissing sound through her teeth as she inhaled. It was a little funny, but he was clearly uncomfortable with it, so she kept her laughter to herself. “Oof, yeah, that’s bad. Thanks for sharing though. I appreciate you trusting me with that.”

Scud nodded in response. “Maybe one day, you’ll get the deepest darkest one.” He leaned forward a bit, closing the distance between them further and lowering his voice just a hint to a more seductive tone. “If I get to see you again, that is.”

“Of course you do,” Vec promised, a flirty giggle rising up from the depths of her chest as she met him with an award-winning smile.

“I’m already thinking of ideas for the next one,” he continued, taking a small step closer, “maybe we come bowling again & I’ll let you beat me this time.”

“Unless we have another friendly competition.” It was a statement, but it came out as more of a suggestion. “Keep the parameters the same. Then I’d be more than happy to lose.”

“So would you say it worked?”

“Say what worked?”

“Your lucky perfume. Did it work?”

She dropped her gaze to the ground for a brief moment before bringing it back to his, and her already big smile somehow grew in size. In all of the fun antics of their evening, she’d nearly forgotten all about her perfume. “Yeah. Yeah, it definitely worked.”

This time, it was his turn to plant a kiss on her cheek, his lips lingering there for a moment longer than necessary before pulling away. As much as he wanted to kiss her properly, the nagging thought of her military brothers ate away at his confidence, fearing he’d be hearing from them if he so much as thought about making a “wrong” move.

He felt her skin getting hot under her makeup, and he snickered, knowing he had in fact been making her blush like a cherry blossom all night. “Let me know when you get home safe.”

“Will do.” Flashing him one last bright smile, she climbed into her car and watched him walk off. She gave her car a few minutes to warm up, texting both her dad with all of Scud’s questions and Georgie in the meantime.

Vec: Headed back now

Vec: I have so much to tell you

Ginny 🌻: As long as I don’t have to worry about getting the tissues out, color me extremely curious…

Ginny 🌻: And excited?

Ginny 🌻: Do I get excited?

Vec: You get excited ☺️

Ginny 🌻: You can’t see, but I’m a giddy mess rn

Upon arriving back at their apartment, she found Georgie waiting for her on the couch, nearly jumping up to greet her and scooping her up for a hug before she’d even closed the door.

“So how was it!?” Georgie asked, squeezing her tighter as the tone of her voice heightened in pitch. She was nearly squealing with delight, bursting at the seams to hear every juicy detail of the eventful evening her bestie had.

She grabbed her best friend by the shoulders and took a deep breath to gain her composure. “Gin…he’s got a tongue piercing.”

“Huh. That’s cool.” Georgie wasn’t into piercings the same way Vec was, but she knew how things like that affected the doctor. She chuckled softly. “Do you need a minute?”

Taking another deep breath, Vec slowly lowered herself to the ground, setting her bag next to her and stretching her limbs out into a starfish pose. Simply thinking back to the reveal of his tongue piercing was doing things to her. “I need several.”

“Compose yourself while I get the wine. Pizza’s already on the way. Placed the order as soon as you said you were on your way back,” Georgie said, chucking softly again at her bestie’s dramatics.

“God, I love you.”

Back at his place, Scud fell back against the couch, his head resting on the back as he stared up at the ceiling. His mind was racing, replaying little snippets of their adventures over and over again. His whole body was buzzing.

“Holy shit.” A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, warping from something small into a silly grin. She made him a kind of happy he hadn’t felt in a long time.

A vibration in his pocket interrupted his thoughts, pulling him from the sweet daydreams he was getting lost in. However, he was delighted when he realized it was from her.

Vee 😍: Made it home safe & sound

Scud: Good ☺️ So did I

Vee 😍: I had the best time. Thank you for everything. I’m excited to see you again (hopefully soon?) 😉

Scud: I should be thanking you for the best night ever. And yes, I definitely wanna see you again soon 😉

Vee 😍: Hope your shift tomorrow isn’t too brutal

Scud: I’ll text you in the AM

Scud: Sleep tight

Scud: Try not to miss me too much 😉

Vee 😍: 😏 Goodnight Josh

Vec sighed and tossed her phone on the ground next to her, and she kinked her legs up to take her boots off and toss them on the ground as well. “I need this man in ways that would make a nun clutch her rosary and make the concept of feminism shake in her boots.” Reaching into her purse, she dug out a hair tie and tilted her neck up before gathering all of her hair and tying it into a messy bun on the top of her head.

“Based on what you were sending me, it sure sounds like it,” Georgie agreed.

“Also, he called me Buttercup…like the Powerpuff girl,” Vec said, resting her head back on the ground and looking back over her forehead in Georgie’s direction. The details were already flowing from her lips against her will, but she wasn’t mad about any of it.

Georgie nodded as she filled a glass with wine, thinking over the details of said Powerpuff girl and just how accurate of a nickname it was. “Well it’s certainly fitting,” she agreed. Deciding to be playful and “torture” her a little more with the whole tongue-piercing thing, she continued. “Just imagine what that piercing would feel like when he’s going down on you.”

Taking yet another deep breath, Vec groaned, her mind wandering further into the nefarious directions it had gone in earlier in the night. “I was just starting to cool off, Gin!”

“Suffer!” Georgie teased. Her warm laughter echoed through their apartment, eliciting a laugh from Vec as well. As Georgie joined her on the ground with two glasses of wine, Vec could hardly hold the details back, and they began their debrief before the food even arrived.

Vec belongs to me, Georgie belongs to @dixons-sunshine

QOTU taglist (aka the council): @kat-herine00 @gothic-pumpkin @weirdoneattheparty @ffsjustletmesleep @imadisneyprincessiswear

General taglist: @raddydaddydude @lovenormandixon @angeldemoncrowley @negansbestie @holdmytesseract

Want to become a head of the council? Hit up either myself or Krys to be added to the taglist :)

Banner, divider, and © below were made by Krys

#the dark elf writes #quartersoftheundead #quartersoftheundeadau #quarters of the undead au #quarters of the undead #the walking dead au #twd au #scud frohmeyer #lydia vector #lydia vector x scud frohmeyer #scud frohmeyer x oc #scud frohmeyer fanfiction #scud frohmeyer x original character #the walking dead fandom #the walking dead

20 notes · View notes

just-some-random-blogger · 2 days ago

Note

ME TRYNA GIVE YOUR FIC ALL THE HEARTS IN THE FUCKING WORLD

WHAT THE FUCK ALLLIEEEE WHAT THE FUCK

Unfortunately I have to requote your entire fic back to you I'm so sorry

“Quit squirming or I’m going to turn this constellation into a penis,” you griped, lifting your machine from Sirius’ leg.

HOW COULD YOU START YOUR FIC LIKE THIS????? HOW COULD YOU BE SO FUNNY AND WITTY AND ENDEARING AND WELL-WRITTEN WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU 😭😭😭😭😭😭🤚🤚🤚🤚🤚🤚

“Sadist,” he hissed.

🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦 SO WHAT????

“Said the masochist that paid me to stab him a million times.”

EAT HIM UP. ALLIE ARE YOU CONVERTING ME INTO A SIRIUS GIRLIE????? I FEAR I FEAR HIM COS GART OLDMAN WAS SO SCARY TO ME IN THE FILMS I FEAR I FEAR I FEAR THE CHILD IN ME CAN SEE HIM IN MY MINDS EYES BUT THE WOMAN IN ME IS LIKE 🤪 I LIKE SCARY MEN NOW THO?????? AHHAHAHAHAAHNSIDDNNCJDKKD

He glanced down at you. “Are you flirting with me?”

🗣️AND🗣️WHAT🗣️IF🗣️I🗣️AM🗣️ 👏AND👏WHAT👏IF👏I👏AM👏 PUNK ASS LOSER WHAT THEN

Just then, the bell on the front door or you shop chimed. A tall man with sandy hair, dressed in jeans and thick sweater stood in the foyer, looking around at the art and plants strewn about. Given your profession, you immediately noticed his lack of tattoos, and the scars marring his hands and neck, one even stretching from his sharp jaw towards his nose.

Das my ride yall

“Moony!” Sirius called, jerking his leg and nearly inking himself.

YOU MEAN MY HUSBAND 🤬🤬 GET IT RIGHT BLACK ITS FIRST NAME MY LAST NAME HUSBAND. YOU DONT KNOW ANYTHING ALSO STOP FUCKING MOVING YOU LARVA YOU WORM

Then, his eyes flicked to you, a deep brown and sallow with exhaustion, but his beauty struck you like a blow, the lines of his face coalescing in a way that would make the great painters weep.

[VIOLENTLY SHAKING] I NEED TO WRAP HIM LIKE A BURRITO

Based on the countless stories Sirius had told you in the hours spent on your table, you surmised that this was Remus Lupin, his level-headed, long-suffering schoolmate.

Wrong. That's my chair. My comfy beefy bed. My warm biteable pillow. You fool. You imbecile. You misguided spirit

You sighed and set your machine aside. Clearly, you were taking a break.

😭😭😭😭😭😭🤚 IM CRYING YOU WRITE SO BEAUTIFULLY SO WELL SO AMAZING SO VIVID IM BITING YOUR BRAIN NOM NOM NOM

“Remus, this is y/n, the architect of my beauty,” Sirius said, gesturing grandly in your direction.

Sigh. Fine. Smash. Give me Sirius right now. I'm gonna eat him up

HO IS YOU A POET WHY YOU SPEAK LIKE THAT

“Well, then there’s no where to go but up,” he said with a cheeky wink, and your heart damn near leaped out of your mouth.

🤞 hoping it's up

“Moony wants to know if you can tattoo over scars,” Sirius said, earning a glare from Remus.

With my thighs????? I thought you'd never ask

“Really. I’ve tattooed over dozens of scars, cover-ups, or decorations. I’d love to work with you.” Merlin, did you just say that out loud? You needed to get it together; you were a professional.

WRONG YOU SHOULD HAVE JUMPED HIS BONES THE MOMENT YOW SAW HIM. WEAK PIECE OF SHIT 👎👎👎👎🍅🍅🍅🍅

“AHH YOU WITCH!” Sirius wailed.

🤨 says the witch?

“Bloody hell, I knew you two would get along. You’ve got twin scowls,” Sirius chuckled, leaning back against the table with his hands behind his head.

The fact you didn't do this sooner is criminal

“You’re really good,” he murmured, close enough that you could smell the wool of his sweater, the lingering notes of cinnamon and tea from his cologne. “It’s beautiful.”

“Thanks, Rem,”

❓❓❓❓❓ REM YOU JUST MET AND YOURE CALLING HIM REMMMMMMM SKSKSKKSKJSKSJSJSJSBSHSBSBSISKKSSK 🫡🫡🫡🫡 RIZZLER I FEAR

He was like an anxious thundercloud, tense and unsteady, and it made your chest tight with empathy.

AN ANXIOUS THUNDERCLOUD IS CRAZY WHAT RHE FUCK

He sat down, coiled in on himself despite his long limbs. Like he was afraid to take up too much space.

HES SO

“It's just—” he sighed, lifting his arm. He started to roll up his shirt sleeve, dexterous fingers folding the fabric neatly over itself, revealing inch after inch of his forearm. Lightly tanned and taut with lean muscle, veins tangling with the map of scars littering his skin.

Lick. ((I am nothing but a dog))

You tried to stay neutral, but you were practically salivating. He was so beautiful.

YOU AND ME BOTH SISTER IM GNAWING AT THE BARS OF ME ENCLOSURE 👹👹👹👹🤤🤤🤤🤤🫠🫠🫠🫠

Remus’ profile floated into your minds eye, sorrowful and striking, and your pen started to move of it’s own accord. His expression came to life under your hand, with long lashes and a crooked nose and that jagged scar.

🫵I🫵KNOW🫵WHAT🫵YOU🫵ARE🫵SIMMMPPPPP🫵

“Whatever you say, love,” he murmured, getting comfortable. Entirely oblivious to the way the petname made your thoughts turn to static.

“No wonder Sirius like this so much,” he said, tracing your face with his eyes. “Watching you work is fascinating.”

Sirius is also in love with me 😞 it's hard being THAT gworl 😣

“That does sound like Sirius,” he chuckled. “I like your focused face much more than that scowl.”

Sit on it. HUH WHO SAID THAT (me)

“Charming? Sweet? Clever?” You asked, glancing up at him. “Sirius talks about you like you hung the moon.”

🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺😫😫😫😫😫😫😫😫😫SHE GETS ME YOU TELL HIM GIRLIE RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

You shrugged. “I figured you’d tell me if you felt comfortable. I’m not here to pry, just help.”

We love an emotionally intelligent girlie

Before leaving, he placed another appointment on your books for the following week, this time asking for a tree along the back of his calf, the roots spreading across the scaring he had there.

I dont remember what I wanted to say but I bet it was something inappropriate 🫦

Your sketchbook was filling with sketches of him, like you mind needed a place to spill your overflowing thoughts of him. With him, it was like every sound was heightened, every movement sharper, the very colors in the room more vibrant. Overwhelming in the best way.

🫵 SIMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPP

He huffed a laugh, seeming a bit shy himself. “Yes ma’am.” In a fluid motion, he hooked his fingers under his sweater and tugged it overhead. His chest was tanned and lined with lean muscle, the kind built outdoors, not in the gym. The scaring was worse, deeper gauges in softer flesh, but you barely registered it, too busy staring at the half-healed red slash across his ribs.

😰😰😰😰😰😨😨😨😨😳😳😳😳😃😃😃🫵🫵🫵🫵🫵🫵🫵🫵 SLUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU-

You were already starting to gather that Remus was…different. And you'd only met one other person with scars that matched his, and they also always cancelled around the full moon.

We got blue's clues up in here

Remus seemed to pick up on your dilemma and slowly spread his knees, allowing you to step between them. The heat of his body was intense, drawing you closer, but you swallowed your impulse, trying to focus instead on the moon and constellations you were mapping out.

🫵 WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO-

“You smell nice,” he hummed, close enough that you felt his breath tickle the hair around your ear.

Eat me then 🙄

“Y’know, I probably shouldn’t say this, but I—I missed you the last two weeks.” Remus’ voice was low, just above a whisper, resonant like a drum in his chest. You wanted to wrap it around you like a blanket.

WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN SHOULDNT SAY THIS YOU BUFFOON YOU ABSOLUTE CANDLESTICK YOU NINNYHAMER YOU JOBBERNOWL

“Brilliant. I love them, and they’re very effective.” He waggled his eyebrows, and you and Remus rolled your eyes.

BROTHER EUGH WHAT DO YOU MEAN THEYRE VERY EFFECTIVE

James lifted his shirt, revealing a peak of his washboard abs, framed by a pair of sprawling antlers across his hip bones. You leaned a bit closer, checking for any faded spots or ink spreading.

FUCKING hell

Was he…jealous?

HE BETTER FUCKING BE

“Would you ever get a tattoo like that?” You asked, glancing up at him through your lashes.

LICKING HIM SO MUCH

You met his eyes. “You should give me a little more credit, Moony.”

She really said

And I respect her for it. She a bsddie

“It's risky, y’know, to flirt with your tattoo artist,” you murmured, grazing your fingers over the mostly healed goldenrod tattoo. “You've got a permanent reminder of me.”

She's so smart I love her I will shove my tongue down her throat. So hot. She is me. Holy shit am I a narcissist

He smirked, his hand sliding into the hair at the nape of your neck. “Well, the thing about werewolves…” he was so close, warm breath fanning across your lips. “We're a possessive sort, territorial. So having your mark on my skin…” he sighed, eyes dark with desire. “I'm finding it hard to hold myself back.”

WHAT THE FUCKING SHIT IS STOPPING YOU COS IT AINT FUCKING ME

Remus surged forward, lips colliding in a heady, toe-curling kiss. You immediately gave into him, his tongue caressing the seam of your mouth, dipping past your lips to taste you, claim you.

“Be gentle with me,” he grated, kissing along your cheek, down towards your throat. He craned your head back, grazing his teeth along your pulse, and you shivered. “I’m trying to savor this, not devour you.”

I CAN BE GENTLE BUT DONT GET IT TWISTED IVE BEEN TRYNA DEVOUR YOU THE MOMENT YOU WALKED IN FUCKER 🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕

“Patience, dove,” he chastised affectionately, lifting his head. “Just be good for me, yeah? You’ll get what you want.”

Your brain emptied. Seeing this dominant side of Remus had you folding like origami. You nodded, letting him drag you in for another languid, bone-melting kiss.

✍️ FOLDED✍️LIKE✍️ORIGAMI✍️ IM CRYINGGGGGGG WHAT THE FUCKKKK 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 IM GOING TO CREAM MY PANTS ON HOW GOOD IT IS

“Tell me if you want me stop,” he said, shifting to kiss around your navel.

THE DAY I TELL YOU TO STOP THEY NEED TO PUT ME DOWN

“Don't stop. Please don't stop,” you pleaded, and he smiled against your hip before sucking the skin between his teeth, biting at your flesh just hard enough you make you keen.

🫠😃🤓🫨🤪😣😫👹 IM FINE THIS IS FINE. SHE PASSED THE TEST THAT IS THE ONLY CORRECT RESPONSE

The table shifted, rocking back a bit, and you looked past Remus' hair tangled in your fingers to his body. He was rocking his hips against the edge of the table, so turned on by the act of eating you out that he needed some relief.

IM GONNA GET PREGNANT IF YOU DONT STOP

“Rem, baby,” you whined, the sight dragging you that much closer to release. He glanced up at you, his eyes glazed and pussydrunk, and he whimpered against you.

I'm legally obligated to say I feel so bad for Britney I nearly use this gif but I don't like using people I don't kin as meme reactions and I love women so #freebritney

“Good fucking girl,” he growled, withdrawing his fingers to lap directly from you, savoring every drop of his efforts. “That's it, love. Relax f’me.” He brought you back to earth with his tongue, long, languid licks and kisses around your trembling center, across your inner thigh slung over his shoulder.

Little did he know I would give him 10000000000 babies. Fucking hell I need a blunt (don't smoke)

He made his way up your body, catching your words in a messy, top-lip kiss. “Got your mark all over me now, dove,” he purred, pecking your cheek with a cheeky grin.

HES INSANE ACTUALLY OK THX

“I’m, ah, a bit embarrassed to say that I did.” He straightened with a sheepish smile, revealing the dark spot leaking through his jeans.

YOU DONT EVEN KNOW YOU DONT EVEN KNOW YOU DONT EVEN KNOW

I WANT HIM SO BAD I WANT HIM SO BAD

HI ALLIE CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR 1000 FOLLOWERS I THINK ABSOLUTELY DESERVED BECAUSE YOUR WORK IS INCREDIBLE YOU ATE THAT UP SLAYYYYYYYYYYYYY

I............ I have never submitted a request, unless I was explicitly asked by the writer because ksjdjdjjjsjsj ME ASKING FOR SOMETHING?????? SNSJSJSJ ANYWAY I was like it should be fine because it's for your celebration SOOO hear me out. Remus Lupin ? IM GOING THRU A REMUS THING ? 1000 scars/1000 glances???? WHICHEVER IS FINE YOURE GONNA EAT WITH THAT

WEE OK BYE I LOVE YOU BYE

xxx

ilysm and I hope this only deepens your Remus fixation 🫶🏻 thank you so much for all of your love and support, I genuinely get excited when I see you pop up in my feed or notifs. my favorite hanni 🤍

1000 inked scars | R.L.

feat. Remus Lupin x tattooartist!reader

cw: mdni 18+, possessive!Remus, marking kink, oral (fem receiving), tattoo needles and tattooing, mentions of injury and scars, probably inaccurate representation of tattooing in the 70's, no war

1000 things prompt list (closes feb 1!) | masterlist

“Quit squirming or I’m going to turn this constellation into a penis,” you griped, lifting your machine from Sirius’ leg.

“Maybe if you didn’t handle that gun like a cudgel—”

You slapped his fresh tattoo and he yelped. “Pull yourself together, Black. You’re almost done.”

He groaned, slumping back onto the table with his arms slung over his head. “Sadist,” he hissed.

You resumed your tattooing, packing black ink to the map of stars. “Said the masochist that paid me to stab him a million times.”

He glanced down at you. “Are you flirting with me?”

You glared up at him.

“Moony!” Sirius called, jerking his leg and nearly inking himself.

“Sirius,” you bit, but he was already out of the chair.

“What’s—uh, what’s up, Pads?” the stranger, Moony?, said, glancing down at Sirius’ rolled up pant leg and the nearly finished tattoo on his calf. Then, his eyes flicked to you, a deep brown and sallow with exhaustion, but his beauty struck you like a blow, the lines of his face coalescing in a way that would make the great painters weep.

Based on the countless stories Sirius had told you in the hours spent on your table, you surmised that this was Remus Lupin, his level-headed, long-suffering schoolmate.

“I wanted you to meet my friend!” Sirius grabbed his by the elbow and dragged him towards your station.

You sighed and set your machine aside. Clearly, you were taking a break.

“Remus, this is y/n, the architect of my beauty,” Sirius said, gesturing grandly in your direction.

You slid off one of your gloves and extended it to Remus. “Pleasure. I’ve heard loads about you.”

“Oh?” Remus asked, shaking your hand with a light touch, his skin warm and a bit rough. “Terrible things, I wager?”

“The worst,” you chuckled, and the corner of his mouth twitched up into a half-smile.

“Well, then there’s no where to go but up,” he said with a cheeky wink, and your heart damn near leaped out of your mouth.

“I asked Moony to come hang out for the last bit of the tattoo so he could pick your brain,” Sirius said, hopping back up onto the table.

“Sirius—”

“Pick my brain about what?” You asked, pulling up a chair for Remus and sitting back onto your stool, putting on a fresh pair of gloves.

“I, uh—”

“Moony wants to know if you can tattoo over scars,” Sirius said, earning a glare from Remus.

“Absolutely!” you chirped, hoping to dispel Remus’ clear discomfort. “Just takes a few extra passes, but it shouldn’t be an issue.”

Remus gave you a small, grateful smile. “Really?”

“See, Moons? I told you!” Sirius propped his leg back up, and you fired up the machine. “And it doesn’t even hurt.”

You lowered the machine back to his leg, taking a few quick warm up strokes.

“AHH YOU WITCH!” Sirius wailed. You and Remus both jumped at his shouting, but he quickly dissolved into laughter. “Bloody hell, I knew you two would get along. You’ve got twin scowls,” Sirius chuckled, leaning back against the table with his hands behind his head.

You glanced at Remus, and he looked back at you. A flicker of connection flared between you, and heat rose in your cheeks. Quickly, you looked away, turning your attention back to Sirius’ tattoo.

“So, what are you thinking you want to get, Rem?” Sirius asked after a few moments of quiet, the buzzing of the machine filling the air.

Remus shrugged. “Hadn’t really thought about it. Just wanted to do…something.”

“Well, if you want, we can try and cover any up. But I find that people really get more out of going the decorative route,” you supplied, looking at Remus while you picked up more ink. “I can hand draw a few designs that flow with the scar, turn it into an art piece itself.”

Remus was quiet for a moment, contemplative, and Sirius gave you a knowing smile. “I think I might like that, yeah,” Remus said, his voice soft, almost awestruck. Like he’d never ever considered the possibility before.

As a tattoo artist, you were intimately aware of how much a person’s skin could impact their well being, scars in particular weighed heavily on many people’s spirit. Remus, it seemed, was no exception.

Sirius guided the conversation in another direction, giving Remus a chance to process the implications of what you offered, and you finished the tattoo half-an-hour later. While you were wiping it down, Remus hovered over you, looking down at the piece.

“You’re really good,” he murmured, close enough that you could smell the wool of his sweater, the lingering notes of cinnamon and tea from his cologne. “It’s beautiful.”

“Thanks, Rem,” you said, smiling up at him, and he smiled back, a flush creeping up his neck before he hurriedly stepped away.

You patched up Sirius and sent the boys on their way, an appointment for Remus on the books for the following week. All he’d given you to work with was placement, his forearm, and that he wanted something natural, like a plant.

Having no more appointments for the evening, you folded yourself into your studio couch with your sketchbook. You sketched a few things, lavender and roses and chamomile, but your fingers itched to draw something else. Remus’ profile floated into your minds eye, sorrowful and striking, and your pen started to move of it’s own accord. His expression came to life under your hand, with long lashes and a crooked nose and that jagged scar.

You clapped your sketchbook shut, sitting back with a sigh.

Next week couldn’t come quickly enough.

You paced around your shop, pouring over your sketch for Remus. You wanted it to be perfect for him, lest you scare him off a tattooing forever.

The door chimes, startling you out of your concentration, and Remus strode in, carrying a tray of drinks and a paper bag

“Morning!” You chirped, hugging your sketchbook to your chest.

“Morning,” he said, passing you one of the cups. “I asked Sirius what you liked, so if it's awful, blame him.”

Butterflies fluttered to life in your stomach. It wasn't unusual for clients to bring you coffee and food, but with Remus it felt…different.

“Oh! You didn't have to do that. Thank you, Remus,” you said, taking a sip. It was your favorite drink, and it's familiar warmth settled some of your nerves.

He gave you a small smile, but you could tell he was nervous. He set the bag on your desk. “I also brought some pastries. Sirius mentioned you like chocolate?”

“I love chocolate.” You beamed. “Come on in, we can sit over here and go over the design.”

Remus nodded, shirking his coat and following you over to the couch. He was like an anxious thundercloud, tense and unsteady, and it made your chest tight with empathy.

“How are you feeling?” You asked, patting the spot beside you.

He sat down, coiled in on himself despite his long limbs. Like he was afraid to take up too much space. “Ah, fine,” he replied, taking a sip of his drink. Earl gray, from the smell of it.

You arched a brow. “It's okay to be nervous, Rem,” you said. “But it's just us, and nothing is set in ink. If you change your mind, it's totally fine.”

He watched your face, gauging your reaction. You tried to stay neutral, but you were practically salivating. He was so beautiful.

“Are they too bad?” He asked, his voice rough with tension.

You met his brown eyes. “Not at all.” You pulled out your sketchbook, flipping to the page you had ear marked. “And it's perfect for what I sketched up.”

He managed a half-smile, some of the clouds disappearing from his aura, and accepted the sketchbook when you handed it to him. His eyes widened.

“Goldenrod,” you said, shifting closer to look at the sketch over his shoulder. “Used to treat pain.”

Remus traced his finger over the tangle of stems, the delicate florals. “I take it almost everyday,” he murmured, looking over at you, his eyes warm and full of something you couldn't quite place.

“So, what do you think?” You asked, your gazes lingering on one another.

“I think it's perfect,” he said, and you smiled, genuinely thrilled that he liked it.

“Okay, ready for me to start sketching?” You asked, and he nodded. You led him over to your station, already set up and waiting for him, and he hoped up onto the chair,, his long limbs dangling near to the floor. To break the quiet, you put on a muggle record, and Remus seemed to relax a bit, sipping on his tea and watching you putter around through dark lashes.

When you settled onto your stool, ink pen in hand, anxiety bloomed in your stomach. Remus was about to watch you draw on him. You’d drawn on hundreds of clients, but like everything else, with Remus it felt…different.

“It might tickle,” you warned, resting his arm where you wanted it, your fingertips tingling from the contact. “And try to stay very still.”

“Whatever you say, love,” he murmured, getting comfortable. Entirely oblivious to the way the petname made your thoughts turn to static.

You placed your sketchbook just beside his arm and made the first line, a quick stem arching alongside a scar stretching from wrist to elbow. Slowly, line after line, the sketch started to come together, flowing with the natural shape of his forearm and it’s scars. You got lost in the act, sinking into the labor of creating.

It wasn’t until Remus made a soft, approving hum in his throat that you peaked up him, breaking your focus. His eyes were almost sleepy, heavy-lidded and soft and the corners, a smile tugging at his lips.

“No wonder Sirius like this so much,” he said, tracing your face with his eyes. “Watching you work is fascinating.”

Heat roared to your cheeks. “Oh, I don’t—he seems more interested in teasing me than letting me work.”

“That does sound like Sirius,” he chuckled. “I like your focused face much more than that scowl.”

Merlin, what was happening to you? You felt like you could melt into your chair like a pile of pudding. Was he flirting with you? Or does he always talk like a romance book hero?

“How long have you guys known each other?” You asked, changing the subject and ducking back down to your work to hide your expression.

“Decade at least,” Remus said. “We met our first year at Hogwarts. Never thought I’d befriend the Sirius Black, but y’know, stranger things have happened.”

“Why’d you think that?”

Remus shrugged, the muttered a soft apology for moving. “Sirius is…Sirius, and I’m…”

“Charming? Sweet? Clever?” You asked, glancing up at him. “Sirius talks about you like you hung the moon.”

A flush creeped up his neck. “He’s dramatic.”

“And brutally honest,” you said, holding his gaze.

“Can I ask you something?” Now it was his turn to change the subject.

“Of course,” you said, capping your pen and setting it aside.

“Why haven’t you, ah, asked?” He glanced down at his scars, and you know what he was implying.

You shrugged. “I figured you’d tell me if you felt comfortable. I’m not here to pry, just help.”

His eyes flitted over your face, swallowing hard, and it seemed he was at a loss for words.

“Ready for ink?” You asked, giving him as reassuring of a smile as you could muster.

He exhaled, turning his wrist to inspect the design. “Ready.”

The rest of the appointment flew by, with Remus sitting like a stone while you tattooed him for close to four hours. You didn’t speak much, letting the music fill the empty air, but it was a comfortable silence, broken by the occasional question or annecdote. Remus seemed to appreciate being able to relax, and you were happy to give him a safe place for little while. Holding space for what this moment meant to him.

When you were finished, Remus stared at the tattoo in the mirror for a long time, and when he turned back for you to wrap it up, you could see tears collecting on his lower lashes.

"Thank you for this," he said, clearing his throat. "You were--this was amazing."

You knew he meant the art, but still, the praise made your heart glow all the same. "Of course, Remus. I'm glad I got to be the one to do this for you."

Before leaving, he placed another appointment on your books for the following week, this time asking for a tree along the back of his calf, the roots spreading across the scaring he had there.

After Remus’ second and third appointment, you noticed a change in him. He seemed more confident, a little more outspoken. He was coming to life before your eyes, and you were starting to see the fuller picture of the boy Sirius loved so much.

Already, you felt so close to him. Connected. And you were starting to miss him those days in between, his appointment becoming the highlight of your week. Your sketchbook was filling with sketches of him, like you mind needed a place to spill your overflowing thoughts of him. With him, it was like every sound was heightened, every movement sharper, the very colors in the room more vibrant. Overwhelming in the best way.

But then he cancelled your fourth appointment, citing illness, and you didn’t see him for two weeks. It wasn’t until he sent and owl requesting an appointment for this coming Friday that you finally felt like you could breathe.

Sorry again for cancelling. Are you free this Friday? Thinking a moon and stars on my chest, with those gorgeous clouds I saw in your sketchbook. Can’t wait, RL.

When Remus walked into your studio, you had to stop yourself from hugging him, you were so excited to see him. He looked tired, a little dimmer than the last time you saw him, but he greeted you with a warm smile and a bag of pastries, and that was all you needed.

You had him sit up on the table, busying yourself with the station in avoidance of the inevitable. He was going to have to take his shirt off. Your heart was palpitating just thinking about it.

“Alright, Rem. Strip for me,” you said, ripping the metaphorical bandaid off.

You gasped. “Rem, what happened?”

“Would you believe me if I said I was in a fight club?” He rubbed the back of his head, averting his eyes from yours.

“No, but you don’t have to tell me anything. Just that you’re alright,” you said, unable to mask the warble of concern in your voice. You were already starting to gather that Remus was…different. And you'd only met one other person with scars that matched his, and they also always cancelled around the full moon.

His eyes softened. “I’m alright, dove. Don’t worry about me.”

“I’m the only one that gets to gauge you with weapons,” you huffed, grabbing up your sketching marker.

He barked a laugh, head tipping back on his shoulders. “Fair enough. Only you get to wound me permanently from now on.”

“Glad we reached an understanding.” You propped the sketchbook on the table and leaned in to start sketching. Remus sat up as straight as he could, resulting in your head hovering around his clavicle. But, with his long legs, you couldn’t get close enough.

As you drew, you started to shift closer, drawn in by the work and his proximity, the clean smell of his skin, until you were practically leaning against him.

“You smell nice,” he hummed, close enough that you felt his breath tickle the hair around your ear.

You nearly dropped the marker, but managed to keep your grip steady. “So do you,” you said, unable to come up with something clever.

You looked up at him, lips slightly parted in shock, so close you could brush your nose against his if you moved a hair closer. “You did?” You asked, certain that if pupils could turn into lovehearts, yours would be beaming out of your head like a cartoon.

His hand came up to caress you jaw, tentative and gentle. “Being with you is the best I’ve felt in ages,” he said, tilting your face a little closer to his. “I don’t—”

The bell to your studio rang loudly, and you jumped back from Remus’ hold, nearly tripping over your stool.

“Hey Moony! There’s my favorite artist!” James came plowing through, wrapping you up in a bearhug that squeezed the air from your lungs. “How are you, sweetness?”

“I’m good, Jamie,” you wheezed, and he set you back on your feet.

The boys clasped hands, a quick, almost automatic handshake.

“What are you doing here, Prongs?” Remus asked, trying and failing at not looking irritated.

“Sirius said you were getting some ink today so I figured I’d swing by and have you take a peak at how mine’s healing.”

“James, it’s been like six months. Your antlers healed fine,” you reminded him.

“You did his antlers?” Remus asked, a flicker of something dark passing through his eyes.

You nodded. “Yeah, you didn’t know?”

He shook his head, glancing sidelong at his friend.

“I suppose it might be time for a touch up. Let me see,” you sighed, crossing your arms over your chest.

James lifted his shirt, revealing a peak of his washboard abs, framed by a pair of sprawling antlers across his hip bones. You leaned a bit closer, checking for any faded spots or ink spreading.

“Looks perfect, Jamie. All good,” you said, sitting back on your stool, mildly impressed with yourself.

“Brilliant. I love them, and they’re very effective.” He waggled his eyebrows, and you and Remus rolled your eyes.

James hung out for another hour, chatting with Remus while you finished the sketch of the tattoo. Your bodies were just as close as before, but with James, you were forced to keep it strictly professional. But the proximity without being allowed to touch was melting your mind, making heat pool in your lower belly. You could feel every breath Remus took, feel the rumble of his voice in your chest, the warmth of his body mingling with yours.

It was maddening, and you could tell Remus was growing more impatient by the second, the muscles around his neck taught with tension, his fingers twitching against his thighs.

At one point, you laughed at one of James’ jokes and swatted at his chest, earning a smile from him. When you glanced back at Remus, his jaw was clenched tight, eyes glaring a hole into the drink in his hands.

Was he…jealous?

He had no right to be, but still, the thought of him being possessive made your heart rate quicken.

Finally, James left, leaving you and Remus alone in the simmering tension you'd built. He watched you closely as you returned to your station, prepping the tattoo machine.

“Would you ever get a tattoo like that?” You asked, glancing up at him through your lashes.

He leaned back on the seat, bracing his hands behind him. Showing off the lean expanse of his torso, the rugged look of him that stood in sharp juxtaposition to his style and personality. “Not sure I could pull it off.”

You scoffed, allowing him to see you peruse his body. “I strongly disagree.”

He chewed on his lower lip, a nervous habit. A flush started to spread across his chest, reaching towards his cheeks. “What would you suggest?” he asked, a sultry edge of his voice.

Unhurried, you stepped back between his legs, letting your fingertips graze along the valleys of his lower abdomen. “Perhaps a snake.” You traced the shape along his skin, his muscles tensing to stop himself from shivering. “Or ferns. Maybe a wolfs jaw—”

“A wolfs jaw?” He asked, quirking an eyebrow at you.

You met his eyes. “You should give me a little more credit, Moony.”

He blinked at you, clearly taken aback that you knew his secret. “You knew.”

“I do now. I've only seen scars like yours once before, on another werewolf. And with the nickname, your tattoo choices, being MIA on the full moon…it adds up.”

His eyes searched your face. “And you don't care?”

“Of course not. I care about you, not your affliction.” Your hands still lingered on his hips, like your skin was magnetized together, you couldn't seem to pull them apart.

Remus straightened, his hand coming up to cup your face again. “I haven't been able to stop thinking about you,” he breathed. “You’ve gotten under my skin, dove.”

“It's risky, y’know, to flirt with your tattoo artist,” you murmured, grazing your fingers over the mostly healed goldenrod tattoo. “You've got a permanent reminder of me.”

“Then don't,” you replied, heart in your throat.

Remus surged forward, lips colliding in a heady, toe-curling kiss. You immediately gave into him, his tongue caressing the seam of your mouth, dipping past your lips to taste you, claim you.

Your arms found their way around his neck, fingers digging into his feathery hair and tugging at the roots, drawing a low groan from his chest. He nipped at your lower lip in warning before soothing it with his tongue.

“Do you always keep yourself on such a tight leash?” You asked, breathless as he lapped at your skin, your thighs trembling with desire.

“Patience, dove,” he chastised affectionately, lifting his head. “Just be good for me, yeah? You’ll get what you want.”

Your brain emptied. Seeing this dominant side of Remus had you folding like origami. You nodded, letting him drag you in for another languid, bone-melting kiss.

Remus slid off the table without breaking the kiss, leaning down to scoop you up by the thighs in a fluid motion.

“Rem!” You gasped in surprise when he turned and dropped you onto the table he just vacated.

He leaned over you, one hand reaching down to recline the seat so you were laying back, legs on either side of his hips. His lips found your neck again, kissing and licking his way down while his hands pushed up the hem of your shirt, fingertips cool against your fevered skin.

“Tell me if you want me stop,” he said, shifting to kiss around your navel.

“Don't stop. Please don't stop,” you pleaded, and he smiled against your hip before sucking the skin between his teeth, biting at your flesh just hard enough you make you keen.

“I won't, love. I'm not going anywhere.” His fingers hooked into the waistband of your jeans, easing them down over your hips until they fell to the ground in a pile.

Your knees tried to pull together on instinct, the vulnerability making you flush, but his hands gripped your inner thighs, spreading you apart for him. You could tell he was in his element, something having loosened from his usually reserved demeanor. It felt like you were seeing him completely for the first time. No holds barred.

“Don't hide from me, pretty girl,” he cooed, lowering to his knees. “You're gorgeous.” He trailed kisses up your thigh, charting a tingling path until his nose grazed sodden panties, making your pussy flutter and clench. “Fuck, you smell divine,” he muttered before dragging his tongue over the thin fabric.

“Oh, god—Remus,” you moaned when he sucked on the fabric over your clit, pleasure blooming from your center. Your eyes rolled back, fingers tangling in his hair as he flicked your swelling bud with his tongue.

“So responsive,” he praised, pulling your panties aside with his middle finger. “You this sweet for all of your clients?”

You shook your head. ”I've never—fuck, baby.” Your words splintered into a cry as he eased his middle finger inside of you, your dripping entrance accepting him eagerly. He nudged your clit with his nose, making you cry out again.

“Just me?” His voice almost sounded like a purr, deeply pleased by your admission.

You nodded, urging him closer by the roots of his hair, and he practically growled.

He nipped at your thigh, overpowering your meager attempt easily. “Patience, remember?”

You whined. “Remus, please. Just wanna feel you.”

He withdrew his finger, then added a second, pumping you slowly. “I know, baby. I'm right here, I've got you.” His mouth found your clit again, his tongue circling around and around, and you arched off the table, moans spilling from your lips like a song.

Steadily, the fire built, with Remus' devoted attention pouring over you like gasoline. He moaned against you, eyes screwed shut when your pussy clenched around his fingers, teetering on the edge.

“Rem, baby,” you whined, the sight dragging you that much closer to release. He glanced up at you, his eyes glazed and pussydrunk, and he whimpered against you.

His deliberate motions got sloppier, greedier, as he rutted against the table. Losing control of himself, like his entire being was desperate to be inside of you.

With a final curl of his fingers, you toppled over the edge, coming with a cry loud enough to rattle the windows as relief crashed over you, cool water dousing the flames beneath your skin.

“Fuck, Remus,” you panted, slumping back against the table. “That was—”

He made his way up your body, catching your words in a messy, top-lip kiss. “Got your mark all over me now, dove,” he purred, pecking your cheek with a cheeky grin.

“What about…” you trailed off, fingers toying with his belt, unsure of what you were asking for him to fuck you, or mark you. Or both. All you knew was that you wanted him, badly, even more so with that post-orgasm clarity.

“Patience,” he replied, chuckling at the annoyed look you shot him. “Ready to finish up this tattoo?”

“But you didn't get to—”

“I’m, ah, a bit embarrassed to say that I did.” He straightened with a sheepish smile, revealing the dark spot leaking through his jeans.

Holy shit. You'd made him cum in his pants.

You surged up, throwing your arms around his neck and tugging him down in to a ravenous kiss. “Merlin, you're so fucking hot,” you mumbled against his mouth.

He grinned, breaking the kiss to nuzzle into your neck, hiding the flush you could see staining his ears. “Says the girl that made me cum without touching me,” he muttered, almost indignant.

“I’m not sorry,” you chuckled, sighing when he pressed his plush, kiss-swollen lips to your racing pulse.

“It's alright, I'll get even,” he teased, his teeth nipping at your skin.

“Is that a promise?”

“Most normal people would interpret it as a threat.” He picked his head up, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Well, I'm not normal people,” you replied.

“And thank Godric for that.” He kissed you again, all smiles and airy pecks.

Normal was never your style anyway.

#remus lupin fanfic #remus smut #remus lupin smut #im gonna make a conjuring circle now #anyone wanna join?

259 notes · View notes

dawnbreaker-mylove · 7 hours ago

Text

Astra's Tool

Warnings: Implication of rape, child abuse, domestic violence, stalking (implied), power imbalance.

A/N: So... I wrote this... Before we start, I want to emphasize that this is fanfiction. I know this isn't canon, I'm not telling you to recognize it as canon. I wanted to write down my headcanon on Astra and Zayne and whatever relations they have. Don't ask me where I thought Zayne had a step-dad because I forgor. It was probably some Mandela effect or I read a headcanon on Dawnbreaker killing him somewhere back when I started playing the game. Reader's discretion is advised.

You asked Zayne where those marks on his arms came from. He would dodge the question every time with a joke or he'd change the subject. You decided not to pry too much, but your curiosity was never one to fade with time.

Today, you asked again.

“I've been meaning to ask. What happened to your arms? Were you just clumsy when we were kids or something?”

Zayne chuckled as his fingers trailed along the stacks or chocolate bars as you walked through the aisles of the grocery. “It could be that,” he picks up a bar of chocolate with raisins and nuts before placing it back, “but let's not think of things from the past. Instead, why don't you help me pick between almond or hazelnut chocolate for tonight, hm?”

He smiled, lighthearted and sweet like he always does. However, there's a glint of something in his eyes, just for a split second, before it disappears.

You were never one to pry. You both were dating for a while now but you both have your secrets. You respected that, of course. But this particular secret of his felt too important to simply forget. Like it was something you had to know.

Your gaze flickers towards the fridge. The metal doors were covered in colorful magnets from around the world, gifts from Zayne's parents. Then it hit you. If Zayne won't tell you, someone who knows him for years would answer your question.

His mother.

That evening, you called her. Once she picked up, her voice was as bubbly and warm as ever. “Hello, sweetheart,” she greets over some sitcom playing in the background. “What made you call? Is everything alright?”

“Everything is fine, Auntie,” you replied. “I just wanted to ask something.” The woman in the other line was encouraging, eager to sate your curiosity. The moment you mentioned Zayne's scars on his arms, the laughter faded. Followed by a sound you least expected. A muffled sob.

“I should've taken him away,” her voice trembled. “He… it was my fault.”

Through her sobs, the past unraveled before you.

Years ago…

We all know one thing for certain: gods have a way of taking what they want. Mortals were no exception. To deities, mortals were nothing more than a piece of a chessboard, their purpose moved by the divine. Astra was no different.

Like a flower blooming in the snow, Astra sees her. The doctor, a woman of beauty and grace, eyes dark and intelligent. He intended to make her his.

For a year, the god watched from the heavens, studying the doctor. He learns she was soft-hearted, the type to reach out to the lonely or to engage with helpless strangers. It was easy to take on a mortal guise, to be the kind of man she could fall for. And she did.

The doctor thought she had met the love of her life. The god thought he had won.

Another year passed, and she was happy. Until one December night, when the snow fell heavily on the city, Astra revealed what he truly wanted.

She tried fighting, but a mortal can never stand a chance against a god. He pinned her down, a cruel smile played on his lips as he whispered to her that the child she would bear would be the greatest gift of all.

She could never forget the look in his eyes that night. It glimmered but not with love or devotion, but with possession.

On the fifth of September, the doctor gave birth to a boy. His father held him in his divine hands, looking down at the baby with his cold gaze. The god named him Zayne.

The doctor wanted to believe, even just a little, that Astra might love the boy. That Zayne could be raised in warmth, not under the god’s watchful eye. But it was when he turned three, the ice came.

The child’s Evol manifested early, and Astra had waited for so long for that day to come. Training had to begin immediately. Every failure was met with punishment. Anytime Zayne's control faltered, Astra would take his wrists and let the ice spread over his arms and let it pierce through his skin like glass.

The doctor would hear Zayne’s cries echo through their home, but there was nothing she could do. Astra's word was law. A mortal could never go against a god.

Until the night she ran.

Zayne was four when his mother carried him in her arms and fled from the clutches of their abuser. But she was unsure if Astra would come for them. She didn't know if he could be outrun.

But she ran anyway. As far as they possibly could.

They built a new life in another city. An apartment for two, a quiet existence. But Astra never truly left.

Nightmares would haunt the young boy. Visions of a faceless man watching from the darkness. He would whisper to Zayne in his sleep. Followed by the ice. He would wake up, screaming in pain as the ice, sharp and jagged, pierce through his skin as they emerged again and again. His mother would hold him as the night filled with his screams of anguish, whispering soothing words and assurance she only half-believed.

The doctor thought she could never give Zayne a normal life. That was before she met the surgeon.

A cardiac surgeon visiting her hospital, tall and lean. She told herself she would never let anyone in again, she would never risk her life and Zayne's again, but then the boy met him.

Zayne, who rarely smiled or laughed, beamed when the surgeon scooped him up into his arms. The two would play and eat mints on a bench in the park. Watching all this, the doctor cried. But they were not sad tears. Tears of relief, of joy, streamed down her cheeks.

It wasn't long before they married. The surgeon gave Zayne his last name: Li. He did it without a second thought, without asking anything in return. Zayne finally has someone he can truly call his father.

Present day…

The call ended and you were left stunned. Your hands trembled as you curled into a ball on the couch. Zayne found you like that.

Without a word, he sat beside you and rested his hand on your back. His warmth was comforting but your chest still felt tight. Your eyes, swollen, flickered to his arms

“I'm sorry,” you whispered. Zayne frowns, lifting your chin up between his thumb and index finger. “For what?”

“For snooping around. For everything.”

You explained in between sobs. The things his mother told you. The things he never found the courage to tell you. Zayne's jaw slightly clenched, his fingers tensed, but his smile didn't waver.

“Enough with the tears,” he whispers as he strokes your hair. “That's all in the past.”

You look up at him, baffled. “You can't just forget something like that.”

His smile faltered slightly. Zayne shook his head and cupped your cheeks gently, wiping the tears from your cheeks before kissing your eyelids.

“What's in the past should stay in the past. I'm fine now, aren't I?”

You sniffled, wiping your nose with the back of your hand. “Why are you comforting me?” You grumbled. “I should be the one comforting you.”

A soft laugh escapes from Zayne's lips, brushing a stray lock from your face before lightly tapping your nose. “For starters, it's because I never heard of someone crying while trying to comfort the person who isn't.”

His voice was too light. Like if he acknowledged it—truly acknowledged it—he might break.

Now you were unsure of who he was comforting, you or himself.

You wrapped your arms around him, holding Zayne closed as humanly possible. You were scared to let go or loosen your grip, as if he would disappear if you did. Zayne only hugs back just as tight, kissing your hair then burying his face in the crook of your neck.

Above the clouds, beyond the falling snow, He watched.

Astra sat on his mighty throne, his gaze locked on the boy. His face that was often twisted in anger, was unreadable.

He had seen this play out before. His Foreseer, falling in love once again with the same mortal girl that proved to be his downfall in the past. He will not let it happen again.

He would wait. Time was irrelevant to a god.

In the end, what's his will always return to him.

#lnds #l&ds #lads #zayne love and deepspace #lnd zayne #zayne l&ds #dr zayne #love and deepspace #foreseer zayne #maybe write a dawnbreaker version?#first time in a while writing something like this #zayne x reader #zayne x you #tw: abuse

17 notes · View notes

ekkkkey · 1 hour ago

Text

there will be games! (chapter III)

…in which we learn that Caracalla doesn’t share his toys

summary: Cassandra, a quiet and loyal wife to the much older Senator Tiberius, accidentally attracts the unsettling attention of Emperor Caracalla at a lavish feast hosted by Senator Thraex...

warnings: 18+ minors dni, noncon, dub-con, insanity + hard drugs is not the best combo

word count: 3k words

chapter I

chapter II

«No woman could feel safe if her beauty or name aroused the emperor's curiosity.»

-Suetonius, The Twelve Caesars (Caligula, Chapter 36)

⋆ ⋆ ☼ ⋆ ⋆

She had become gaunt, nervous, and irritable. Anxiety and fear had taken over her completely.

Seeing his wife in such a state, Tiberius allowed her to skip the next day of the games, leaving her alone to pace her chambers like a trapped mouse.

Her mind was spinning with questions and panic. Who knew that the emperor had dishonored her? The Praetorians? The servants? Had that slave girl told them why exactly Emperor Caracalla had locked himself in the family altar with her?

But above all, she feared the possibility that the emperor’s seed might take root. If it did, the child she bore would be a constant reminder of her disgrace, tormenting her soul with every passing moment.

Her relief was overwhelming when, the next morning, she woke to a sharp pain in her stomach and saw a bloodstain on the sheets.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Cassandra felt joy—a foolish joy, but joy nonetheless! No matter what the emperor had done to her, the gods had spared her.

The following week passed in solitude. No one bothered her, no one forced her to leave her chambers, attend the games, or endure the feasts. Soon, she’d go home and forget about Caracalla’s wild blue eyes, his hot hands, and the scent of his oils and powders.

But all good things come to an end. As soon as she felt better, Tiberius expected her to play the role of the dutiful wife again. She could still refuse him in bed, but attending the feast was non-negotiable.

"Half the games have already passed. You can’t spend the rest of the time hidden away like a recluse!" His frustration was clear. "Rumors are already spreading about your illness—and about my failure as a husband!"

The anger that flared up inside her at his words was something new.

"Oh, you’ve failed, believe me" she thought furiously. "If you hadn’t, you’d have noticed the bruises on my body or the way another man’s eyes were devouring your wife."

But she said nothing, simply pressed her lips together and let the servants dress her. Now, knowing whose clothes she was wearing, Cassandra felt a strange dread. Why did the emperor insist she wear his late mother’s clothes? Why had he taken her by his father’s ashes? The only answer she could come up with was madness—a madness that seemed to be eating away at the young emperor’s mind.

She wasn’t used to the noise of the crowd anymore. She had forgotten how oppressive it felt, surrounded by the finely dressed nobles.

"Ah, my dear, you look as pale as a ghost. How are you feeling?"

Lucilla was the only one who seemed genuinely concerned for her.

Tiberius had left them alone to join the other senators, and Lucilla gently stroked her cheek, looking into her eyes with concern.

"Has your husband been treating you poorly?" she asked, her voice soft with worry.

For a moment, Cassandra wanted to tell her everything—about the pain, the violence, the fear. But instead, she shook her head.

"It’s fine, I’m just tired. All of this…" She waved her hand toward the noisy crowd in the throne room. "It’s exhausting."

"It really is exhausting," Lucilla agreed with a soft smile. "The palace isn’t what it used to be… I envy you. At least you can leave once the games are over."

Her heart skipped a beat. What if she didn’t leave the palace? What if Emperor Caracalla wouldn’t let her go? What if he dressed her like one of his slaves in sheer silk, seated her at his feet, and put a golden collar on her?

Cassandra shook her head. That couldn’t happen! Even he wouldn’t dare insult a senator and the entire Senate like that. She held on to that hope.

The hall grew noticeably quieter as the crowd dispersed, making way for the emperors. Instantly, she lowered her head, stepping behind Lucilla, not wanting to meet Caracalla’s gaze. Still, there was an undeniable temptation to glance at him from beneath her lashes, not raising her head or showing any interest. And she couldn’t help it—she watched as they entered the hall.

Geta walked to the right, closer to Cassandra. His stride was broad, his lips pressed tightly together, and he nervously licked them from time to time. Dressed in black from head to toe, pale with dark-lined eyes, he looked both sickly and focused. His laurel-crowned hair was the only bright spot in his appearance.

Swallowing a bitter lump in her throat, she turned her gaze to the other emperor. Oh, he was always different—nothing like his brother!

Cassandra held her breath. Purple and gold. Oh, how she despised that gold! His clothes were embroidered with it, his cloak shimmered with changing shades—lavender, blue, and deep crimson—as though it held the twilight itself. His rings gleamed, catching the light with every movement, and a large earring swayed with the rhythm of his slow steps. Unlike his brother, he moved with a leisurely, almost lazy pace, smiling as he looked through the crowd, knowing all eyes were on him.

And though Emperor Geta was serious, much more thoughtful and responsible, what did it matter if everyone had come just to gawk at a spectacle? Caracalla had given them that spectacle. Cassandra overheard a group of girls nearby whispering in admiration. Oh, he knew he was liked by many, that much she was certain. But she didn’t like him. She hated him with every fiber of her being, and all she wished for him was death.

Both emperors took their seats. A young slave boy brought Caracalla his pet—a little dressed-up monkey, who immediately climbed onto the emperor’s shoulder, burying its tiny hands in his red hair. Caracalla laughed, a thin, piercing laugh, giving the pet a grape and removing his laurels, leaving his hair in fiery disarray. The monkey squealed, tossing the bitten grape aside and turning back to play with its master’s hair. Nearby, Emperor Geta grimaced, clearly displeased by the noise.

The hall buzzed with life again, half the guests fawning over the emperors, while the other half entertained themselves, waiting for their turn to approach the rulers of Rome.

Her husband finally returned to her, flustered and silent. He barely paid attention to her, making her follow him like a shadow as they moved from one important guest to another.

While he was talking to another elderly senator she didn’t know, Cassandra lazily scanned the hall.

And there it was, what she feared and secretly longed to see. Pale blue eyes, veiled in gold and pink, met hers. She forgot how to breathe. Caracalla was still sitting on the throne, lazily leaning back with his legs wide apart, his foot rocking gently from side to side, as he stroked the monkey on his shoulder. Cassandra had expected him to break into a cruel smirk, his eyes narrowing to remind her of the shame he had made her endure… But no, he looked away, completely uninterested, as though he hadn’t even recognized her.

It felt like she had been struck, her body trembling uncontrollably. This wasn’t a game—he wasn’t sly or far-sighted enough to torment her like this. He truly barely remembered her. The foolish little bird hadn’t been in his sight for days, and he had forgotten her like some useless trash. And this was far worse than if he had continued his game of being the caring emperor, pretending to be the dutiful husband.

Here she was, standing before him in his mother’s clothes, her body marked with dark bruises he had left, her pride trampled into the dust. She hated him, and he didn’t even care, continuing to listlessly scan the hall.

Tiberius kept talking, and she kept staring at the emperor, wishing she could kill him at that very moment. Then, once again, she caught his gaze, now sharper, more deliberate. It was the same look he had given her before he took her on the altar. Her palms went clammy. She didn’t know what was worse: the indifference or the recognition. What would he do? Would he take her to a private place and talk once more about forgiveness? About the gifts he could give her?

A white hand, adorned with rings and bracelets, rose, and he motioned with his finger. Cassandra froze. Publicly? He was calling her in front of everyone?

She hesitated, unsure of what to do, but then, from behind her, a tall, slender girl in a silk blue dress stepped forward. Caracalla grinned wider, showing his gold tooth.

He wasn’t calling her. Her cheeks burned as she clenched her hands, digging her nails into her palms. Cassandra knew that girl—Antonia, the daughter of Senator Marcus Lecus. They had spoken a few times when her husband and Antonia’s father discussed the gladiator games. She was a noble Roman girl, an enviable bride, and simply a young, beautiful woman. And it was she who obediently settled onto the emperor’s lap, blushing and laughing as Caracalla whispered something in her ear.

Cassandra saw Antonia’s father in the crowd. He looked confused and pale, unable to protest or interrupt what was unfolding before him. She must have worn the same expression: rage, disgust, and revulsion.

"You have a wonderful daughter, Senator," Caracalla burst in laughter, addressing the now-pale man. "So obedient!"

"Thank you, Caesar," the senator replied with a trembling voice, bowing his head as though he truly believed it. "I’m glad you like her."

"Oh, I certainly do!" That cruel laugh came again as his hand slapped the girl’s thigh. What a disgrace.

"I am grateful, my Emperor," the senator continued to babble.

"So why aren’t you smiling?" Caracalla teased. "Have fun, my dear friend, today I’ll give your daughter a truly precious gift." His voice with a hint of taunting amusement, but the underlying meaning was clear: he would violate her in every way possible, then send her back to her father, degraded, miserable, and possibly pregnant. That’s how it had been with Cassandra. Tomorrow, he wouldn’t even remember her name, but for now, he took pleasure in watching the senator’s forced smile.

Emperor Geta, displeased, rose from his seat and approached his brother, whispering something in his ear while holding his shoulder. To humiliate the Senate in front of everyone was too much, even for him.

"This brainless little bastard has completely lost his mind," Tiberius whispered softly beside her. "If that were my daughter, l'd have killed that effeminate little runt."

Her lips twitched. That effeminate little runt had defiled your wife twice, and you hadn’t even noticed. Empty promises from a foolish man. Cassandra couldn’t even recall when she had started to despise her husband so much.

The dark-eyed, beautiful slave who had led her to Caracalla last time approached the emperor with a delicate dish. He inhaled the powder from the dish through his nose, leaned back, and closed his eyes in bliss. Antonia, clearly unaccustomed to this, inhaled the powder next, coughing and rubbing her nose frantically. Caracalla laughed again, stroking her thigh.

Cassandra looked away, feeling both relief and anger at the dishonor. Why hadn’t he chosen someone else from the start? Why had he tormented her so much?

Antonia, who had taken her “honorable” place, had lifted a huge burden from her shoulders. She felt as if she could finally breathe easier. Moving away from her husband, she felt light and free. Inspired, she drank wine, even ate, and chatted with other guests, forgetting the young emperor like a bad dream. He was no longer her problem.

She was engrossed in conversation with a young couple who had come from the provinces for the games. Cassandra hadn’t talked so much in a long time. But then she asked another question, and none of her new acquaintances answered. They stood frozen, staring somewhere behind her.

"Leave us."

No, no, no! The euphoria faded, replaced by trembling. Cassandra turned around. It wasn’t Caracalla, but the trembling didn’t stop.

Emperor Geta studied her carefully, as if seeing her for the first time. His cold fingers lifted her chin, his black eyes scanning her face.

"Where did you get this from?" His fingers slid lower, tracing the edge of her tunic.

"Your brother sent it to me," she replied quietly, trying not to meet his gaze. He, too, was a cause and a witness to her humiliation, though indirectly. She hated him as well.

"Antoninus?" His deep voice faltered.

She almost asked who he meant. Of course, no one ever called Caracalla by his real name. No one but his brother.

"Emperor Caracalla, Caesar, yes."

He continued to study her, not in the same way as his brother of course, but still hardly appropriate, given they were in public.

"Did he say anything to you? Did he do anything?"

She nearly choked on her fury. As if you didn’t see what he did! As if you didn’t stand there and watch the debauchery your own twin brother caused!

"Tell me, domina, why did my brother choose to dress you in the garments of our late mother?" He leaned closer, his voice lowering, growing harsher, as if she had stolen the clothes instead of being forced to wear them. "Let me tell you why. You look just like her, you know? Now I see it clearly—your eyes, your lips, your hair, even the way you furrow your brow." His hand caressed her cheek, the back of his fingers gliding over her skin. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw some of the guests watching them, whispering to each other.

It was disgusting. The whole situation made her stomach turn. She reminded them of their deceased mother. And how could Caracalla… How could he do those terrible things to her!?

"My brother seems chaotic, unserious, but he rarely does anything without a reason," he said, nervously licking his lips before flashing her a smile, one that was anything but kind. "There’s always a meaning, a meaning only he and I understand. You know, we shared the same womb, we’ve always been together as long as I can remember, and we share the reins of power, as you know. Everything that’s mine is his, and everything that’s his is mine. Do you understand?"

The realization of what he was hinting at washed over her like a vile shiver. No, no, not this!

"May I leave, Emperor?" she whispered, her voice trembling.

Geta was different, after all—he liked being adored, admired, but Cassandra’s face revealed nothing but disgust. The emperor didn’t enjoy such games. His lips twisted, clearly wounded by her rejection, but he nodded nonetheless, stepping back and removing his hand from her face. It was strange how cold Geta’s hands were, while Caracalla’s had felt like fire.

Cassandra didn’t warn her husband; she left the throne room alone, not wanting to stay. The brief moment of joy she had experienced was stolen from her once more. The emperors had ruined her life without even meaning to.

Rushing through the dark corridors lit only by torches, she dreamed of one thing alone—to seclude herself in her chambers and this time, not to emerge until the games were over. Of course, her dreams were not destined to come true. The foolish, childish dreams of insignificant little girls were unheard by the gods. Here, in Rome, wishes were granted only to those who tormented these very little girls.

"Wait, domina," a rough voice called out to her from the darkness.

The owner of the rough voice turned out to be a Praetorian guard. He walked slightly ahead, with three others trailing behind. Tall, strong, clad in armor, they escorted the delicate, short figure. Even in the dim torchlight, he seemed to glow. Purple and gold, the soft clinking of his adornments, and the cold smile on his lips promised nothing good. How could such a delicate appearance conceal such evil?

The Praetorians were imposing, large, but it was only him that she feared—standing just a few steps in front of her, smiling, his hands clasped together.

"Wait outside," Caracalla nodded, and the Praetorians obediently stepped back, taking position on the other side of the arch. They could likely hear every word spoken in the corridor.

"Well, well, hello, birdie" his voice softer than usual, but his eyes growing more wild, "It’s been a while since we’ve had our little talks, hasn’t it? Is my company no longer to your liking?"

"Emperor, I…" What could she say that wouldn’t anger him?

"Or have you found better company, dear? Forgotten all about our sweet love?" He stared at her from under his brows, his lips trembling. He was furious.

Let him kill her! Let him do it, but not torture her! But no, he chose the second option. It was clear he wouldn’t have come after her today like divine retribution if he hadn’t seen her speaking to Geta. Fool, she was such a fool! He could have fucked every woman in Rome, but she had no right to even look at another man. Her husband was the exception, since taking her was a way of humiliating him; Tiberius wasn’t his equal. But his brother was.

"And what, you’re silent now? You were more talkative with Geta. Or am I not skilled enough at conversation?" Without waiting for her answer, he grabs her wrist, pinning her against the wall. His knee pressed between her legs, forcing them slightly apart.

"Your brother asked me about the garments you gave me—that’s all, I swear!"

"Ah, he recognized them, didn’t he?" He clicked his tongue with satisfaction. "He couldn’t have missed them, of course. Yet, you lie. Geta always wants everything that’s mine! Always!" Suddenly his voice took on a petulant tone, as if he were a big, dangerous child, but children don’t behave like this. "But he won’t get anything. No, not you. You’re mine, aren’t you, birdie?"

She stared at him with wide, tear-filled eyes, unable to summon the strength to answer.

"Answer me!" he barked.

He had never shouted before. Hissed, purred, laughed—yes. But never raised his voice.

"I am yours, Caesar, only yours."

"Everything in Rome is mine. Everything belongs to me. Do you understand?"

"I belong to you," she breathed.

Hearing her words, Caracalla's expression changed, he lifted his chin, clearly pleased. Though he wore no crown, the flickering torchlight turned his bright curls into a fiery halo framing his pale face, making him seem otherworldly, like a vision. A demon, a true demon, ironically possessing such an innocent-looking body.

A lone tear rolled down her face, and Caracalla's darkened eyes immediately followed its path, stepping closer to Cassandra, licking the salty trail with his hot tongue. The sweetness of oils and powders enveloped her again.

"Good," he finally relented, "and yet, you lied. Lying to the Emperor is a grave crime, you know that?"

"Yes, Caesar," she knew the rules, "I must apologize."

"Apologize?” He burst in laughter. “Oh no, my dear. This time, you’ve earned your punishment for such an offense.”

His lips brushed against hers, but there was no kiss—just a dry touch and a hot whisper, mouth to mouth.

"Where have you been these past days?"

"I… I was unwell."

"Why?" he pressed, sensing her hesitation.

"I…I had woman troubles," she admitted, biting her lip and looking away.

The emperor's pale eyebrows shot up in surprise, and he clicked his tongue in disappointment. His hand slid over her body, pausing on her stomach, pressing down.

"What a tragedy! Neither a senator nor an emperor could plant his seed in your womb!" His palm continued to press against her stomach, forcing her to clench her teeth. "Don't you wish to give your husband an heir?"

"I do," she whispered softly.

"Then why does my seed not please you?" He stared directly into her eyes.

Is he joking? Doesn't he understand this is beyond her control?

"You have pleased me in every way, Emperor," she answered quietly.

His hand was suddenly at her throat, his thumb pressing into the hollow between her collarbones, squeezing,

"You lie! You rejected my gift and lied to me again! This time, you will be punished and I will not be merciful. I’ll teach you how to properly accept gifts from an emperor, and when I’m done, whatever’s left of you, sweet little wife, will be sent back to your husband!"

She was almost choking, but he removed his hand, placing it on her shoulder, pressing down.

"On your knees before the emperor," he commanded.

What? Why? She couldn't fathom what he wanted from her, but certainly not here, in this open corridor where anyone could walk in.

The pressure on her shoulder increased.

"I won’t repeat myself," his eyes crazed, the madness in them burning, fueled by the drug’s effect. His cheeks flushed, as if embarrassed, but no, he had never known such feelings.

Obediently, Cassandra dropped to her knees before him, looking up, her lips pressed together, hands resting on her knees, her thighs touching her heels.

His breath quickened, his fingers tracing her cheek.

"A beautiful garment for a beautiful little thing," his voice trembles with anticipation, and she's clueless about what's about to happen. Caracalla ogles her for one last moment before extending his hand.

"Give me your hand, now."

She obediently slips her hand into his... and then, something she never saw coming happens. She knew he'd force himself on her again, but this? This was beyond her wildest nightmares.

"Feel that? You should be flattered," his voice broke into a rasp.

Her breath catches in her throat as he guides her hand, making her feel his hardness through the fabric. She'd never touched a man like that before, not even her husband.

"That’s it, good," the emperor praised, guiding her further.

Every time Cassandra thought it couldn't possibly get worse, it did. Now, in the corridor leading to her shared quarters with her husband, she was on her knees, like a nameless slave, caught up in something so degrading she never could have imagined it.

"Now, hands behind your back. Keep them there until I say otherwise. Disobey, and I’ll see those pretty hands taken away, understood, dear?" His smile is accompanied by a soft thumb stroke over her lower lip.

Shame burns through her as she slowly clasps her hands behind her back. What now? How will he degrade her this time?

His answer comes as his fingers sliding into her hair, initially petting her like a dog, then his grip tightens sharply, yanking her head back.

"Not a sound, sweetheart, or we’ll have an audience," he warns, "And trust me, I don’t mind at all—I’ll finish either way. But you… think twice."

Then comes the punishment. With a sharp, strong yank, he tears her tunic down, the fabric dropping to her waist. She wants to scream, to cover herself, but his threat keeps her hands locked in place, trembling.

"Sit up straight," he's so close, her eyes locked on his feet, but he grabs her hair again, forcing her to meet his gaze. Shame and fear consume her as his hips are now at eye level.

"Again, I’m doing your husband a favor by showing you what he might enjoy," he said with a sly smirk. "When you kneel before him like this, don’t forget to mention who taught you, hmm?"

The emperor lifts his lavish robes and flings his shimmering cloak aside, letting it fall to the floor. He wouldn't...?

"Come on, open your mouth, don’t give me that foolish look," Caracalla drawls, "if your womb won't take me, then your mouth will. Right, Cassandra?"

Her name makes her flinch—and obey.

He wields it shamelessly, not as a courtesy, but to assert his power. She had thought the young emperor didn’t care enough to remember, yet here, in this moment of utter humiliation, he says her name.

Trying not to look at him, Cassandra complies, fighting the urge to close her eyes, knowing it will only make things worse. Her reward is his raspy moan and the taste of him on her tongue. Unlike her, he's not about to remain quiet.

He doesn’t give her any freedom, holding her firmly with his hand tangled in her hair, his voice raspy as he orders her every move. To her surprise, the emperor is intensely responsive, moaning and biting his lip. His hand moves to the back of her head, the cold press of his rings against her skin sending a shiver down her spine. It’s clear he’s losing patience.

She struggles to breathe, choking on air as he takes her mouth roughly, his grip holding her head in place. Tears blur her vision, but she can't pull away, the pressure in her throat building with each passing second. He doesn't relent, pushing into her harder, more violently.

"Look at me, in the eyes," his voice a half-whisper, half-growl, escaping his red lips, "that’s it, good girl," it didn’t sound like praise, but more like mockery.

Her lip splits at the corner, a taste of blood, but it's insignificant now. All emotions have left her. Disgrace. Disgrace. Disgrace.

His grip grows harsher, his breath ragged, his body thrusting forward. She tries to push him away, her hands coming free to press against him, but he doesn't stop. With deep, harsh thrusts, he goes all the way into her throat, pausing, holding her head by the hair, staring into her eyes, another moan escaping his lips.

Cassandra pulls back as soon as he releases her, coughing, tasting him in her mouth, on her lips. She wants to spit it out desperately but is too afraid. How dare she reject his "gifts"?

Tears streaming, lips swollen, a drop of blood at the corner of her mouth, she's still on her knees in the middle of the corridor, her chest bare, her hair disheveled from his rough grip.

"Did you enjoy that?" he asks, already having adjusted his clothes, looking as innocent as if nothing happened.

"As always, Emperor," she can say nothing else. Now, she just wants to end her life. His taste still lingers.

"Then what kind of punishment is this, little bird? Once again, I've been too generous," he shakes his head theatrically, "you were rushing to your chambers, weren't you? Why are you still here? Come on, come on!" He claps his hands, urging her to move.

Shaking, she stands, head bowed.

"And don't forget who you belong to."

"Yours."

His satisfied laughter follows her as she walks away.

⋆ ⋆ ☼ ⋆ ⋆

Hey friends, thank you so much for all the love and support! It’s honestly so unexpected and makes me so happy that so many of you enjoy my Caracalla 💕 The next chapter is almost done, so you won’t have to wait too long! Love you all, muah!

16 notes · View notes