#i had to do it they won’t leave me alone

[leriexoxo]

Unknown Number

Idol! Chan x Stay! Reader

Tags: strangers to something more, voice kink, phone sex, anonymous sexting, slow reveal, idol!Chan is lurking, dirty talk, mystery man AU, smut 18+, blindfolds, unprotected sex, thigh riding, dom chan, praise kink, oral (f receiving) fingering

Word count: 5.4k

Summary: It starts with a text. A no-name number. A bold stranger in the dark. He saw your comment in a chaotic Stay group chat—“those fingers could ruin my life”—and now he won’t leave you alone. But maybe you don’t want him to. Because his texts are flirty, filthy, and just the right kind of fucked up. Because his voice notes make your thighs press together. Because he talks like he already knows what you sound like when you come. And the worst part? His voice sounds dangerously familiar.

This work contains mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!

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The first text came at 12:43 AM.

Unknown Number:

hey. you awake?

You didn’t recognize it. No name. No contact photo. Just numbers. But something about the timing—and the boldness—had your curiosity flaring.

You hesitated, thumb hovering. Then answered.

You:

who’s this?

Unknown Number:

just a bored stranger. saw your number in that stay gc. figured you wouldn’t mind the company.

You blinked. That group had been pure chaos, a flood of usernames and selfies and people throwing their numbers around like confetti. You almost forgot you’d joined it in the first place.

You:

wow. bold of you to admit you’re creeping in there like that lol

also… which one were you? i don’t remember you posting anything

A pause.

Then—

Unknown Number:

i didn’t

i like watching more than talking

especially when the girls are that pretty

Your stomach dipped.

Flirty. Shameless. You should’ve blocked him.

Instead, your lips curled.

You:

so what—you just stalked and picked the first girl who looked like she’d be down to text a stranger?

Unknown Number:

no. i picked the one who made that comment about chan’s hands during that encore stage.

you said, “those fingers could ruin my life” and i haven’t stopped thinking about it since.

You froze.

Your heart stuttered. You remembered typing that. The GC had been flying, no way to know who’d even seen it. And now it was echoing back at you from some faceless man in the dark.

You:

you’re a menace.

admit it. you get off on lurking. Chan would be horrified.

Another pause.

Unknown Number:

maybe, but i think he’d understand

You:

oh yeah? why’s that?

Unknown Number:

because if i were him, i’d want to know exactly who says that kind of stuff about me.

especially if she meant it.

Your breath caught.

You:

…and do you?

mean it?

Unknown Number:

every word.

but you tell me—should i be worried you’re the type to flirt with strangers this easily?

You smirked at your screen, heartbeat kicking faster.

You:

maybe i just have a thing for mystery

or maybe i like the idea that some stranger out there is thinking about me when he should be sleeping

Unknown Number:

you should stop saying things like that

You:

why?

Unknown Number:

because now i’m wondering how you sound when you’re out of breath

You stared at the message a beat too long. It’s not even what he said��it’s the way he said it. Like he already knew he could be the one to pull that sound out of you.

You:

that’s a bold thing to say to someone you’ve never met. you don’t even know what i look like

Unknown Number:

don’t need to.

i like your brain first.

your mouth second.

the rest is just a bonus.

Your breath stuttered in your chest. Who was this guy?

You:

you talk like you’ve done this before

seducing strangers through a screen

Unknown Number:

i don’t.

just bored. and maybe a little curious.

You:

curious about what?

Unknown Number:

what kind of girl sends texts like that about chan’s fingers

and whether she texts even filthier things when she’s comfortable

You bit your lip, grinning.

You:

maybe you’ll find out if you don’t scare me off first

Unknown Number:

oh baby, if you scare easy… you wouldn’t have replied to me at all

The way he called you baby shouldn’t have made your stomach flip like it did. It wasn’t even a real person. You didn’t know who was on the other end. And yet—you couldn’t stop.

⸻

Day 3

Unknown Number:

still thinking about the way you said “ruin my life”

i wonder how far you’d really let someone take that

You:

depends on who it is

Unknown Number:

so if it were chan? you’d let him?

You:

you ask a lot of questions for someone hiding behind a fake number

Unknown Number:

maybe i’m just trying to find the perfect way to ruin you myself

Day 6

The texting hadn’t stopped.

It was not constant—but it was regular. Little things. Late-night provocations. Random check-ins. Sometimes he was sweet. Sometimes unhinged. But always flirtatious. Always suggestive. And always reading you too well.

Unknown Number:

you at work?

You:

yeah, bored af… why?

Unknown Number:

just picturing you trying to act normal after everything you said last night

like a good girl pretending she didn’t admit she wanted to be choked

Your fingers paused mid-typing.

You:

you’re twisted

i like it

Unknown Number:

i know you do

you’re just as fucked up as me and i haven’t even told you the worst parts yet

A few seconds of his typing bubble coming and going, before the next text dropped.

Unknown Number:

what’s the dirtiest thing you’ve ever imagined about him?

No warning. No easing into it. Just dropped into your messages like a match on gasoline.

You stared at the screen, thumb hovering. You could’ve played coy. Could’ve brushed it off. But it was late, your inhibitions were low, and this was him—your anonymous stranger, your chaos comfort. The one person who let you say anything without judgement.

So, you gave him the truth.

You:

i think about riding his thigh way too much, like full on grinding in his studio, late at night.

headphones on, shirt off, music playing like nothing’s wrong, but i’m coming on his leg while he pretends to mix tracks

There was silence after that. No typing bubble. Nothing.

For a minute, you wondered if you’d finally gone too far. Made it too real. But then your screen lit up again—except this time, not with a message.

A voice note.

You stared at it.

The little waveform pulsed quietly, like it was waiting. And before you could think twice, you pressed play.

It started with a low breath. Like someone trying to keep their cool and failing.

Then—

“Fuck… you’re gonna kill me.”

The voice was deep. Gravel and heat and something so raw it skated straight down your spine. Familiar. Not too familiar—but something about it made your skin prickle.

“I shouldn’t be imagining it, but now I am,” the voice continued. Rough. Lazy. Wrecked. “You bouncing on my thigh, making those soft little noises you don’t even know you make…”

A pause.

Then a quiet, throaty chuckle.

“…and you expect me to sit still and pretend nothing’s happening? Baby, if you ever climbed on me like that, you wouldn’t be leaving the studio for hours.”

The recording cut off with the sound of a sharp inhale, like he was about to say more—but stopped himself.

Your heart pounded.

It wasn’t just the filth. Wasn’t just the way he said baby like he already owned your body. It was the tone. Something in it that teased the edges of recognition, like a song you couldn’t quite place. Not a perfect match—but a ghost of one. You frowned, replayed the voice in your mind, again and again.

And failed to ignore the stupid, impossible thought that whispered— No. It couldn’t be.

Could it?

You:

that voice

have we met before?

The message stayed unread for a few minutes.

And then—

Unknown Number:

not yet

—

You shouldn’t have replayed the voice note.

But you did.

Over and over. Lying in bed with your knees pulled to your chest, phone pressed to your ear like it held answers. And maybe it did—just not the kind that made sense. Because that voice did something to you. Tugged on a thread you didn’t know was loose.

Low. Deep. That exact kind of rough that spilled into your dreams when you thought about Chan whispering filth behind your ear.

Except… this wasn’t a fantasy anymore.

You’d said his name in front of a stranger. Described yourself melting on Chan’s thigh. And he hadn’t flinched. Hadn’t pulled away.

He’d responded like he’d wanted it. Like he was the one holding your hips down.

And God—that voice.

You tapped open a random behind-the-scenes video. Just to compare. Just to check.

Your breath hitched.

No. No way. Not possible. You were being insane.

Still… your chest felt too tight.

You:

i’m spiraling, don’t mind me

just casually obsessing over that voice note. you sound so familiar it’s driving me crazy

No reply. For hours.

But what you didn’t know—what you couldn’t know—was that while you were busy unraveling, so was he.

Because you’d told him your name once. Offhanded. Way back on Day Two, when he called you baby girl in a text and you laughed, saying—

“you don’t even know me, my guy. it’s [Y/N], by the way.”

And that was all it took.

He went looking. Lurking. He searched through the GC again, found your profile. Clicked your socials.

And then he saw you.

Saw the face behind the dirty little texts. The smile that curled when you teased. The thighs you said you wanted to ride his with. The lips. The eyes. The one bikini pic you posted with zero shame and a caption that said “it’s too hot out” like you didn’t just set his whole body on fire.

He stared at your selfies so long he forgot to breathe.

And when he finally responded— It wasn’t with a text.

It was another voice note.

You saw the waveform and your stomach flipped.

Pressed play.

“Just saw your page.”

His voice came out lower this time. Slower. Like smoke and honey and trouble.

“You’re real pretty, y’know that?”

A pause. You could almost feel him grinning.

“Exactly my type. That mouth of yours would look even better wrapped around my fingers.”

You choked on air.

“If I had you in front of me right now, baby… I’d ruin you. You’d be soaked just from hearing the way I breathe your name.”

Your pulse skipped.

“Should I say it? Should I moan it for you next time?”

Click. It ended there.

You stared at your screen like it had slapped you. Your thighs pressed together on instinct, heat crawling up your neck. He knew now. He’d seen you. And suddenly, it wasn’t just a game anymore.

It felt like a trap.

And you were walking right into it.

You:

what else did you see?

Unknown Number:

enough to want more

every. single. night.

You didn’t respond right away.

You needed time to breathe, time to cool down—except, you didn’t. Not really.

You were already wet before the voice note ended.

Already playing it back in your head like it was your favorite late-night playlist. That voice, so low and thick in your ears. That cocky little pause before he asked if he should moan your name.

You almost said yes.

Almost begged for it.

But instead, you smiled—schemed.

You weren’t stupid. He’d seen your socials. He was definitely stalking now. You had no doubt he’d clocked your Chan obsession.

So you decided to play a little.

Test the limits.

You:

i keep wondering what you’d sound like really moaning my name

like… if i had my mouth on you

would you curse? or say something soft in… korean maybe?

Three dots. Then nothing.

A beat.

Then the voice note came in. You didn’t even hesitate this time.

Click.

“…you’d hear both,” he rasped, already sounding out of breath. “I’d be praising you in English and cursing in Korean. You’d earn every damn syllable.”

Your mouth went dry.

“But you’d have to beg for it,” he added. “On your knees. All needy, telling me exactly what you want. Exactly how deep.”

Click.

Your core throbbed.

Still—you had a goal tonight. And it wasn’t just soaking your panties.

So you pushed further.

You:

you’re so good at dirty talk

you sure you’re not some secret idol who’s had media training or something?

you kinda sound like you know how to use a mic

You smiled as you sent it. Waited.

Unknown Number:

haha! you’re cute

That’s it? No voice note this time. You narrowed your eyes, smirking.

You:

i’m serious though, i listened to one of chan’s old vlives today

he’s got a sexy ass voice, kinda deep like yours when you talk slow. you two could be twins

You watched the “read” receipt pop up instantly.

No response.

You:

wait…you’re not him, right?

imagine

Nothing.

Your phone stayed silent for almost ten whole minutes.

And then it buzzed again—another voice note.

You could already feel the grin spreading across your face as you hit play.

“I’m not him,” the voice crooned, low and slow like warm silk. “But if I was… you think I’d let you get away with saying shit like that without consequences?”

You bit your lip hard. The recording continued.

“You’d be bent over that couch before you finished the sentence, baby. Face down. Ass up. I’d remind you exactly what my voice sounds like when you’re full of me.”

Click.

You didn’t realize your thighs had clenched together until your muscles ached.

And still—you weren’t done.

You:

you’re really good at this

whoever you are

maybe too good, maybe i should be scared

Unknown Number:

then stop teasing or i’ll make you say my name while you come

Your pulse jumped.

And for the first time all night… you wondered if maybe, just maybe, you already had.

⸻

Your legs were already trembling.

You’d been edging yourself for the past ten minutes—hand under the sheets, replaying that voice note like it was a playlist you couldn’t live without. Every time he said baby in that ruined growl, your fingers slipped lower. Every time he whispered what he’d do to you, your breath hitched.

And then you got brave.

Your thumb hovered over the record icon. You didn’t think. You just pressed.

You let the silence hang for a second—just your breathing, soft and needy. You let him feel how real it was.

Then you whispered, voice hushed, drenched in heat:

“Wanna know how I sound when I imagine Chan fucking me?”

Another pause. Then a soft, teasing whimper. Just enough to make his imagination snap.

“I moan his name like it’s the only word I know,” you purred. “I picture him grabbing my throat, whispering dirty things in that deep voice and accent, and I can’t help it. I’m already dripping.”

You let your breath hitch again. Just once. Just enough.

“I imagine him pushing me up against the wall in his studio, whispering ‘good girl’ against my mouth, and I lose it. I come just from his voice.”

Click.

You stared at the screen, heartbeat in your throat. No regrets.

He didn’t answer immediately.

But when he did—oh, God.

It was instant.

Unknown Number:

baby.

Another voice note dropped in seconds later.

You didn’t even brace yourself this time. You wanted to hear him break.

Click.

“You really wanna play that game?” His voice was pure gravel now, thick with restraint. You could hear the tension, the crack in it.

“Do you have any idea what you just did to me?”

You bit your lip.

“I’m not gonna last if you keep saying shit like that. Fuck—you’re dangerous.”

Another pause. A breath. Something almost like a growl.

“You wanna take this further?”

Your breath caught.

“Take a chance on me. Meet me. Let me ruin you for real.”

You blinked, heart hammering now for a different reason.

Then the final blow—

“I’ll tell you my name in person,” he said, voice dropping to a whisper. “But you’ll be screaming it by the end of the night anyway.”

Click.

You stared at your phone, stunned. Soaked. Shaking.

Unknown Number:

yes or no

one word baby, and i’ll tell you where to find me

You didn’t text back. You couldn’t. Your hands were shaking too hard to type. So you hit the call button.

Just like that.

Your thumb hovered for half a second before it connected. And then it rang. Once. Twice.

He picked up.

“Fuck,” he breathed—just that.

And it hit you low.

His voice—real, not filtered through a voice note. It filled your ear like silk-wrapped sin, deep and slick and raw.

“You really called me,” he said, almost laughing under his breath, like he couldn’t believe it either. “God, you sound—”

“Wrecked,” you rasped. “I sound completely wrecked.”

His inhale was sharp. You could barely get words out.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” you whispered. “Your voice—your fucking voice—it’s like every fantasy I’ve ever had about Chan, but worse.”

He choked. “Worse?”

You whimpered softly, dragging your palm across your soaked core, no longer caring if he could hear.

“He ruins me,” you breathed. “In my head, he’s so mean. Doesn’t even give me time to adjust. Just whispers, ‘take it,’ and—”

“Jesus Christ,” he growled.

“—And I do. I take it like a good girl. Like I’m supposed to.”

He was silent. But you could hear his breathing—heavy, desperate. Like his hand was wrapped around himself already.

You swallowed, voice dipping lower. “I imagine riding his thigh and crying when he doesn’t let me come. You think I’m sick for that?”

“…No,” he rasped. “I think I wanna see it.”

You bit your lip hard. “You’d really watch me fuck myself stupid over your voice?”

“I’d hold your hips down,” he said. “Make you say please. Make you scream.”

And you moaned. Right into the speaker.

Soft. Real. Honest.

He gasped—just a little. That sound did something to him. You felt it.

“Say it again,” he whispered. “Say my name.”

“Chan—” It slipped. You didn’t even think.

And he shuddered.

“Fucking hell. Say it again.”

“Chan—” breathy, broken.

“Keep going.”

“Chan, please,” you whimpered. “Please, I need—fuck—I need you inside me, I can’t—”

His voice broke, cracked, fractured in your ear. You still didn’t hear it. You didn’t notice.

Because in your head, this wasn’t real. There was no way your ultimate fantasy, your favorite idol, the man who owned your soul with one smirk on stage—was the stranger breathing ragged into your phone right now.

There was no way Chan could be real. No way he’d call you baby in that exact voice. No way he’d whisper—

“Say yes.”

Your lashes fluttered.

“To what?” you asked, dizzy.

“Say yes,” he repeated. “To seeing me. Let me prove what I’ll do to you.”

You swallowed hard. You wanted it. All of it.

Still clueless. Still soaked. Still talking to the one man you thought was impossible.

“yes.”

⸻

The car ride felt longer than it was.

Your thighs stayed pressed together the whole time, hands fidgeting in your lap. You kept reapplying lip balm even though it was perfect. Kept checking your phone even though he hadn’t messaged again—not since you said yes.

Just one message. “Penthouse” One pin drop location.

No name still. No other clue.

But you went. You had to.

You reached the building—quiet street, upscale high-rise. Your heels clicked softly against polished marble floors as you made your way through the lobby, every step heavier than the last.

Penthouse suite.

Of course.

He had money. You knew that already. The voice, the confidence, the way he said he’d show you what your fantasies felt like in real life—he wasn’t bluffing.

You stopped in front of the door.

Stared.

And then, hand trembling, you raised your knuckles and knocked once.

Silence.

And then—

The door opened. Your heart stopped.

The man standing there was familiar.

Too familiar.

Too—

“���Chan?” you whispered, eyes wide, stomach lurching.

He leaned against the doorframe, black hoodie hanging off one shoulder, hair messy like he’d been running his fingers through it for hours. His chain glinted in the soft hallway light.

One corner of his mouth curved up.

And that voice—that voice that had ruined you all night—slid through your skull like molten sin.

“Surprise, baby.”

You froze.

Mouth parted. Eyes locked on his. Brain not catching up.

You were standing face to face with Bang Chan.

Your idol. Your obsession. Your late-night fantasy.

The man who whispered filth into your ear like it was made for you.

“You’re—” You choked. “No way. There’s no fucking way—”

Chan stepped closer. Just one slow, predatory step.

“You called me Chan when you moaned,” he said, dark eyes locked on your lips. “You knew.”

“I—I thought I was just—I didn’t think—”

He laughed softly, jaw flexing. “But it was always right there in front of you baby”

You backed up a step, but his hand shot out—gripped your waist. Firm. Steady. Possessive.

“I’ve been dying to touch you since the second I saw your profile, Y/N. You think I didn’t notice the way you talk about me online? You practically begged me to ruin you.”

Your knees buckled slightly.

“Now,” he murmured, dragging you inside and shutting the door behind you, “I’m gonna make good on every filthy thing we both said.”

Your back hit the wall.

“But this time,” he whispered, voice all gravel and heat, “you won’t be able to pretend it’s just a fantasy.”

His mouth hovered inches from yours. Pupils blown.

Close enough to feel the heat, to smell the faint trace of his cologne—clean, smoky, dark. Your pulse thudded in your ears, wild and loud. You still couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t breathe.

Chan’s hand slid from your waist to your jaw, slow and steady, like he was testing how much of you he was allowed to own. His thumb grazed your bottom lip, tugged it slightly, eyes never leaving yours.

“Still think this is a dream?”

You shook your head, barely.

“Good,” he whispered. “Because I don’t want you waking up anytime soon.”

You leaned in, lips parted, waiting—begging—for his mouth.

But he smirked. Didn’t kiss you.

Instead, he leaned to your ear, breath hot against your skin, and whispered—

“You thought about me in this hoodie, didn’t you?

Your stomach dropped.

“Imagined me pulling it off, pressing you into my mattress—making you forget your own name.”

You whimpered, thighs clenching together.

“I heard every sound you made earlier,” he murmured. “You didn’t even try to hide how wet you were.”

“Chan—” you whispered, but it cracked.

“Mm. Just like that. Say it again.”

“Chan—”

He groaned.

“You don’t know what you’re doing to me,” he muttered, leaning back just enough to look you over. His gaze dragged down your body—slow, heavy, hungry. “Fuck, you’re exactly my type. Pretty little mouth, skin I wanna bite, and thighs begging to be spread.”

You shivered, hands gripping the front of his hoodie.

“Touch me,” you whispered.

“Not yet.”

You blinked. “W-What?”

His mouth was at your neck now, barely brushing your skin. Not kissing. Not biting. Just hovering.

“You already gave me everything over the phone, didn’t you? Your moans. Your voice. Every filthy thing you wanted me to do.”

His voice dropped to a sinful purr.

“So now I wanna watch you beg.”

You gasped.

“You gonna let me see how desperate you get for me? Right here, baby. Against this wall.”

You swallowed hard. Your hands slid down his chest, fingers trembling.

He grabbed your wrists��lightly, but enough to stop you.

“Mm-mm,” he hummed, lips brushing your cheek. “I said beg.”

“Chan, please,” you whimpered, arching your back just slightly, pushing your chest against his. “You don’t know how badly I need you.”

“No,” he said, low and lethal. “I do. And that’s why I’m not giving it to you yet.”

His hand slid up your thigh—almost. Almost.

Then it stopped.

“You think I’m cruel now?” he whispered. “Wait until I’m inside you and still not letting you come.”

You whined—loud.

And he laughed, dark and breathless. “There she is.”

Then finally—finally—he kissed you.

Not soft, Not sweet.

Claiming.

Tongue first. No warning. Hands gripping your hips like he owned them. You barely got a breath in before he pressed you harder into the wall, lips devouring yours like he’d been waiting a lifetime.

You moaned into his mouth, and he swallowed it whole.

And then—he pulled back, chest heaving.

“One more chance to back out, baby,” he said, voice wrecked. “Because after tonight, things are gonna be different.”

“Please—”

He led you down the hallway with his hand on your lower back—no words, no teasing now, just heat radiating off his body like it was built to burn you.

The lights were low, but his room still felt rich. Sleek lines, black sheets, cool-toned walls. And you—blinking at your reflection in the floor-length mirror across from the bed—trying to remember how to breathe.

“Sit,” he said, and you did.

The bed dipped beneath your weight, silk beneath your fingers. He stood in front of you, hoodie still on, eyes dark and patient like a man who already knew how the night would end.

But then—you stilled when you saw what was in his hand.

A blindfold.

You looked up at him, breath catching.

“Trust me?” he asked softly.

You nodded. He stepped closer, brushing hair away from your face before tying the fabric around your eyes. Not too tight. Not uncomfortable. But enough to change everything.

“You don’t need to see me tonight,” he whispered against your cheek. “You’ve heard me. Felt me. Begged for me.”

He guided you backward, hands careful on your shoulders, until you were flat on the bed.

“Tonight,” he whispered, breath ghosting your throat, “you only get sound. And touch. And need.”

You whimpered, arching instinctively, trying to find his mouth, his hands, anything—

But he just laughed. Dark. Low. Almost cruel.

“Desperate already?” he murmured.

“Chan, please—”

“Mm. That’s the one.”

Then his hands—warm, wide—slid down your sides. Slowly. Reverently. But he still hadn’t really touched you.

Until— He moved.

Positioned you without a word. Straddled his thigh between your legs, gripped your waist, and pulled you flush against him.

You gasped—sharp, involuntary.

The muscle flexed beneath you. Solid. Hot. Right where you needed him.

“There,” he whispered. “Didn’t you say you thought about this?”

You nodded frantically, blindfolded and panting.

“Riding my thigh while I whisper all the things I’d do to you?”

“Fuck,” you whimpered, already grinding.

“That’s it, baby. Show me.”

He let you move. Just watched. Let you use him, breath heavy and dirty in your ear as he spoke.

“You’re soaked, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” you cried.

“Messing up my pants like a good girl. Gonna leave a stain right there, huh?”

He flexed again.

You whined.

His lips brushed your ear.

“You want my cock already, but I’m making you come just like this. Wanna hear how greedy you sound.”

You moaned—loud, desperate.

“Shh,” he whispered. “Or I’ll stop. We don’t come until I say so.”

“Chan, please—please—”

But he stayed still, hand pressing lightly on your lower back.

“You’ll come when I let you. Not a second before.”

And that broke you.

Your body shook, thighs trembling as he slowed you down, holding you in place.

“You wanna be good for me, baby?” he breathed, lips against your neck. “Take the blindfold off and get on all fours.”

You froze.

He tugged the blindfold free.

You blinked, dazed, ruined.

“Turn around,” he said. “Now.”

And you did.

Hands on the sheets. Ass up. Back arched.

You looked over your shoulder—heart stuttering when you saw him standing there, hoodie off, black tank hugging his chest, chain catching the light.

“You’re gonna take me now,” he growled, stepping closer, voice low and possessive. “Every inch. Every word. Every fantasy.”

“And after that?” you whispered, eyes wide, skin burning.

His smile turned sinful.

“You’ll never think of me as your idol again.”

You felt his body behind you before you heard him move.

A warm palm smoothed over your back, from the dip of your spine to the curve of your ass. Gentle. Reverent. Worshipping. He breathed slow, like he was grounding himself. Like if he wasn’t careful, he’d devour you whole before he even got inside.

“You’re perfect like this,” he murmured. “Fuck, baby. Do you even know what you’re doing to me?”

You tried to answer, but the words melted on your tongue when he leaned down—chest grazing your back, lips brushing your neck.

“You let me hear you. Let me tease you. Let me own your body before I ever saw your face.”

His fingers slid under the waistband of your underwear, dragging slow.

“And now that I have all of you…” He kissed your shoulder. “You’re not leaving my bed until I’ve ruined you.”

You whimpered.

He laughed, breath hot and low.

“Still so shy? After everything you said to me?”

You turned your head, lips parted. “I want it. All of it.”

That broke him.

The sound he made wasn’t human.

He tore your underwear down and off in one swift pull. Fingers gripped your thighs—tight. Spreading them wide. Exposing you completely.

“Fuck me…” he breathed. “So wet. And you haven’t even been touched yet.”

“Chan—”

He dropped to his knees behind you.

And licked a stripe up your center.

You screamed.

“That’s it, baby,” he growled against you. “Sing for me.”

He devoured like a man starved—tongue precise, relentless, cruel. Two fingers slipped inside, curling just right. Your moans turned messy, hips jerking, hands clawing the sheets.

“That spot?” he rasped. “Right there?”

“Yes—yes—please—”

He spanked your ass once, hard.

“Then take it.”

You shattered—body convulsing, legs trembling, gasping his name like a lifeline. But even through your orgasm, he didn’t stop. Didn’t slow. Didn’t let you rest.

“One more,” he ordered. “I want you crying before I even fuck you.”

Your vision blurred. Your thighs trembled. You came again—harder, louder, incoherent.

And then— He pulled away.

You blinked back into the world to see him standing over you, eyes blown black, jaw clenched.

He grabbed your hips, dragged you up and back, and lined himself at your entrance.

“Last chance to run.”

You shook your head, tears on your lashes. “Want you.”

He thrusted in—slow, deep, unrelenting.

You both moaned—his hands squeezing your hips so tight you knew you’d bruise.

“So fucking tight,” he growled. “Like you were made for me.”

You whined, head dropping.

He started slow. Intentional. Torturous.

Then leaned over, mouth at your ear, one hand wrapping around your throat.

“Gonna fuck you so deep you’ll forget your name. Gonna fill you so full you’ll know who you belong to.”

Your moans spiraled into sobs. You were wrecked. Completely gone.

And still—he praised.

“Good girl. Taking me so well. Look at that pretty pussy swallowing me whole. Just for me.”

You lost track of time. Of the room. Of anything but the sound of your bodies slapping together and his voice dragging you through every layer of hell.

Then he flipped you. Straddled you.

Fucked you facing him. Eyes locked. One hand holding your face.

“I wanna see you come again,” he whispered. “Right here. Look at me while I ruin you.”

You nodded, tears spilling, body ready to shatter.

He slammed into you—hard, deep, ruthless.

“Now,” he ordered. “Now.”

And you screamed.

Came harder than you ever had. Back arched. Vision gone. World spinning.

He held you through it—kissed your forehead—whispered filth you couldn’t even process.

Then he followed you—coming with a groan so low and raw it vibrated through your bones.

He collapsed over you, breath tangled in your skin.

You lay there, chest heaving, both of you coated in sweat and bliss and something dangerous.

Then— A kiss to your temple.

—

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was dangerous.

Your bare skin still touched his, tangled in sheets that smelled like sex, sweat, and the kind of risk you weren’t supposed to crave. His fingers traced lazy lines down your spine, like he didn’t want to let go. Like he was still memorizing how you felt stretched around him.

Neither of you spoke.

Because what the fuck was there to say? He wasn’t your friend. He wasn’t just a stranger. He wasn’t even just some faceless number anymore.

He was him.

And he knew exactly who you were now too. You could feel it in the way he looked at you. Like you were something forbidden he couldn’t stop tasting.

You shifted, chest rising and falling against his, still breathless.

“I probably should go,” you murmured.

His hand flattened against your lower back.

“Should you?” he said.

But he didn’t move. Didn’t let go. Didn’t stop you either.

You pulled away slowly. Found your shirt in a messy heap on the floor, sliding it over your head without bothering to fix your hair. Your thighs still ached. The inside of them still sticky. You weren’t sure if you were shaking from pleasure or adrenaline or both.

“Is this the part where I pretend this didn’t happen?” you asked, voice light but not teasing.

He propped himself up on one elbow, eyes dragging across your figure.

“You don’t have to pretend.”

A beat passed.

Then another. And then—

“I probably should’ve stopped this,” he added, quieter this time.

“But you didn’t.”

You turned to face him fully now, shirt barely covering anything, mouth still swollen from the way he kissed you like he wanted to destroy you.

“No,” he said. “I didn’t.”

You stepped toward him, slow.

Deliberate.

He watched you like prey—like the only reason he hadn’t pounced again was because he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop the second time.

“I’m not asking for anything,” you said, standing between his knees now. “I know what this is.”

His gaze flicked up.

“What is it?”

Your lips twitched.

“Stupid. Risky. Completely fucking insane.”

He smiled.

And fuck, that smile—you could feel it between your legs.

“But you want more,” he said.

It wasn’t a question.

“I do,” you breathed.

“So do I.”

You swallowed hard.

The air between you practically buzzed.

No confessions. No declarations.

Just need.

And beneath it all, the low, simmering thrill of getting away with something you shouldn’t.

“So what happens now?” you whispered.

His hand slid up your thigh. Not possessive—familiar.

“You wait for me to text you,” he said. “Then you come back. Let me fuck that fantasy out of you again.”

Your breath hitched.

“And if I don’t?”

He smirked.

“Then I’ll send you a reminder.”

His fingers dipped between your legs through your shirt, slow and cruel, and you nearly collapsed right there.

“I’ll see you again,” he added, voice rough against your throat now. “You know I will.”

You kissed him. Hard. Brief. Addictive.

Then slipped from his grip like a storm cloud—messy, dark, full of promise.

You didn’t say goodbye. You didn’t need to.

The second the door shut behind you, your phone lit up.

Unknown Number:

Next time, I want you riding my face before you even say hi.

Your smile was sinful. And your reply came fast.

You:

Next time’s too far away.

-~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Authors note: ‘Unknown number’ portrays one of my most vivid imaginations about how i wanna meet Chan 😩 we’re all delulu so dont look at me like that! But yeah, Chan is always lurking? Well i hope he lurks and finds this fic too 😏😏❤️❤️

Taglist: @tsunderelino @innieandsungielover @inlovewithstraykids @reignessance @jeonismm @sttnficrecs @herejusttemporary @krssliu @kenia4 @miilquetoast @thackery-blinks @leeminho-hall @suga-is-bae @butterflydemons @inejghafawifesblog @malunar28replies @minchanlimbo @mal-lunar-28 @breakmeofftbr @itvenorica124 @slut4junho @deepblueocean97 @thequibbie @yaorzu-blog @imagine-all-the-imagines @just-bria @mischievousleeknow @universeyuto @ifyxu @melanctton @thelostprincessofasgard @binniebb @sillylittlecat1 @darkwitchoferie @m-325 @headfirstfortoro @imseungminsgf @ihrtlix @vernorica123 @hwangjoanna @swordswallower2000 @niki007 @yxna-bliss @firelordtsuki @justwonder113 @mbioooo0000

[missadangel]

⊱ AMOR MEUS AETERNUS ⊰

(Marcus Acacius x Ofc)

IV. Matrimonium

prev chapter series masterlist

Chapter Summary:  Here comes the -unfortunate time-traveller- bride! Ceremony: check, Applause: check, Sacrifice: check, Wedding band: check, Love: nah, Desire: unknown Groom: not leaving unlike the previous one Bride: thinking about escaping. Chapter W. Count and warnings: 11k; denial of feelings, blood, mention about sex, mention about virginity, a little fluff, angst injury, romantic comedy, ancient rome, using drugs (tranquilizer), anxiety attacks, violence, waxing, power imbalance, marriage, wedding, wedding night discussion, embarrasment, alcohol consumption. authors note: Pronuba: The Pronuba, the matron of honor, was still married to her first husband. She is univira, a one-man woman. Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Ofc!Reader (Her name is Rose, and her hair is dyed) Rating: Explicit, 18+ MDNI, Smut General Warnings: Harsh, cold, grumpy Marcus, and the reader is NOT innocent a little bitchy, Lucilla is mean, Lucius is a jerk(but falls in love with reader), its Septimius Severus' era but Geta and Caracalla are the prince of Rome, time travel, modern-ancient era travels, falling in love, slow burn, rough sex, smut, sex, oral sex (both f&m receiving), all sex, dirty talk, gladiators, battle, war, violence, blood, ancient time language, fluffy, injury, forced marriage, arranged marriage, sexism, haters to lovers, first love, angst, vestal virgins, vestal priestesses, age gap; reader is 25 Marcus is 42, reincarnation my masterlist

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Theme....

"Julius, are you trying to kill me?"

He looked at you, eyes wide, still glistening with tears though. "Are you well?"

You stood up angrily, still reeling from the heartbreaking story he had just shared. "What exactly was the purpose of telling me all this? Because I'm about to have an anxiety attack." Your hands trembled.

"My apologies. I wanted you to understand the weight of my brother's burdens and the struggles he faces regarding this union—similar to yours."

"I get it; he’s still got that girl in his heart. But honestly, I don’t care. It’s not a real marriage, is it? By the time I get back, it’ll all be over—end of story. I should take my pill now or I won’t be able to sleep tonight due to nightmares." You said, then turned to leave, but he followed. You raised your hand to stop him, needed to be alone—just you and your pill, your best friend.

Trying to push thoughts from your mind as you walked through the dimly lit courtyard towards the stairs was a challenge. Tension gripped you again, a reminder of how cruel this ancient world can be, and you had no clue when you’d escape this nightmare. Your head spun as you climbed the stairs; you had to take your pill, and fast.

Lost in the darkness, your senses dulled by anxiety, you didn’t notice Marcus standing on the balustrade ahead. He noticed you, but just watched you walk by, still in shock and uncertain about what to do.

Upon entering your room, your eyes immediately searched for your bag.

There it was, on the bed. You unzipped it quickly, reaching for your medicine and popping one into your mouth. When you stood to grab the water from the table, you clumsily bumped your knee on the chair.

Yes, the same knee you had hurt earlier.

“Ah, damn!” You plopped onto the bed, lifting the hem of your dress. The wound wasn’t deep, but it was bleeding a bit. You thought you should apply some hand cream to it; after all, there was no pharmacy around. 

“Rosa?”

Startled by Marcus’ voice, you looked up, and he froze at the sight. Oh, right, your legs were exposed again. He averted his gaze, but not before noticing your wound.

"How can you just barge into my room like that?"

"I heard your voice. Are you hurt?" he asked, turning his head slowly, his attention fixating on your knee.

"Why? Are you worried about me now? I thought you came to cut out my tongue."

He exhaled sharply and faced you. "Forgive me, Rosa. I was a bit angry."

"A bit?"

He stepped closer, reaching out to touch your knee, but you instinctively pulled back. “Let me see,” he said, sitting beside you and gently touching your knee. "How did this happen?"

What was going on?

Why was he acting so tender all of a sudden?

"I fell, and Lucius carried me here. Oh right, you didn't bother to ask; you preferred to threaten me instead," you said sarcastically.

"Lucius," he murmured. "Are you interested in him?" His tone sharpened, hinting at something deeper.

Puzzled by his reaction, you decided to tease him. "I don't know; he’s a handsome man."

His brow furrowed. "Keep that opinion to yourself. You’re about to be married."

Ignoring his awkard-possessive tone, you reached for your bag. "Can you hand me my bag? I need some cream for my knee."

He obeyed, passing you your bag while watching intently. His gaze traveled over your face, still stunned by the revelation from earlier. He was trying to reconcile the features of the woman he loved, finding uncanny resemblances in you that sent his mind spiraling.

So this is how she would have looked like if… if they hadn’t taken her from me, he thought.

The same frown line etched on your forehead, the delicate slant of your eyes, your long, lush eyelashes framing your gaze, your perfectly sculpted nose, and, most strikingly, your lips.

Those lips.

They were exactly the same.

Once again, he was taken aback.

How had he not noticed before?

Just the sight of your lips pulled him back into treasured memories, reminding him of their first kiss—a fleeting moment that was forever seared into his mind. So entranced by your lips, he nearly leaned in to kiss you.

Almost.

“Well, I guess this will do,” you said, slipping the cream back into your bag.

Your voice jolted him from his reverie. “That photo,” he said, peering into your bag with curiosity.

“Which one?” You reached into your wallet. “Oh, this one? It’s an old picture of me as a kid. Look, I was really young here—about 11 or 12—and Liz was just five. It was her birthday.” You sighed, gazing at the photo. It held a different meaning for both of you. “I miss her so much,” you whispered.

“Your family... you mentioned that your mother has passed away and that your father is currently experiencing health issues. Is there anyone else in your family?” His serious tone caught you off guard; he seemed genuinely interested, not just asking out of politeness.

“My dad’s in the hospital, in a coma, but I guess you wouldn’t really understand what that means. I have an aunt, but we’re not on the best terms. Why do you ask?”

“Have you always lived in Rome?”

“What’s with the sudden barrage of questions?”

He remained silent, clearly waiting for your response.

“Well, no, I was very young when we moved to Italy from the States— that’s where I was born.”

“States?”

Oh right, how could he know? America hadn’t even been discovered yet; it was still thousands of years away.

“Another... well, another country. Never mind, it’s a long story. I’m not sure I can explain it to you, and honestly, I don’t think you’re ready to hear it.”

You realized he seemed lost in thought, and you wondered what was going through his mind. You broke the silence. “Okay, your turn to answer, Mr. General. Julius said..."

'that the woman you loved when you were younger had a tragic end.'

How could you have said that to him?

The thought twisted in your mind; you could scarcely bear to face it yourself.

“What did he say?”

You took a moment to gather yourself. “Well, he said you visited that place I mentioned. Is that true? Did you go there?”

Nice save.

He looked you square in the eye and stood up. “I appreciate that you informed me,” he said, leaving you bewildered.

“What does that mean—yes or no?”

“You don’t need to concern yourself with that matter now. The wedding is the day after tomorrow. Have some rest. Sleep well, Rosa.” He turned and walked out.

“The day after tomorrow?” Frustrated, you grabbed the pillow and hurled it at the door. “'Have some rest,' you say? You rest!” you shouted as you flopped onto the bed in a fury. “Please, God, help me get back home.”

It was one of those mornings again—heavy, disorienting, melancholic.

Those mornings when you open your eyes and instantly realize that both the place and time you occupy no longer feel familiar. A wave of emotions crashing over—disappointment, longing, a sense of confinement, anger...

And then there’s that other emotion, one that seems to be trying to break through: acceptance.

But surrendering isn’t an option.

No matter what happens, you tell yourself you won’t despair; you’ll find your way back.

You know you will.

Because the moment you let go, the moment you lose hope, this harsh and unforgiving world would consume you whole. You didn’t fit in here; you felt like a puzzle piece that doesn’t belong.

You pulled your phone out of your bag and turned it on, having a sinking feeling when you saw the battery down to 17%.

Just like your hopes, just like your patience, it was wearing thin.

If that weren’t enough, what awaited you in the courtyard with Julius and the others tested your limits further.

"What do you mean I have to stay in another house?" you exclaimed, your voice bouncing off the walls of the courtyard.

Julius placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, trying to soothe your rising frustration. "Please calm down. You only have to stay for tonight."

Balbina lounged in her usual spot, seemingly relishing your discontent, while Lydia stood nearby, smiling awkwardly. "Since you're an outlander, allow me to explain," Balbina started, her tone dripping with condescension. "According to Roman law, the wedding occurs in the bride's home. As patricians, we must adhere to this tradition. Since you don't belong to the patrician class, you might not be familiar with this terms."

"She will be part of our class upon her marriage to my brother," Julius stated, maintaining a respectful tone. He then presented you with a meticulously crafted leather-bound scroll. "This document signifies your new status; you are now a Roman citizen."

You took the document, untying the thread that bound it, and opened it. All you recognized was your name, along with the word 'Roman.' Beneath your name was the seal of Emperor Severus, complete with his likeness. “Well, my Latin isn't great, but is this some kind of identification like an ID?”

“Indeed, it is,” he replied with a smile.

“But why do I have to stay in another house?”

“It’s part of the ritual. You must be brought from the bride's house to the groom's house.”

“Fine, but my house...” -is in Rome in the year 2025.

"You required to stay at Claudia’s house." Balbina instructed, not looking at you. "Julius, take her there at once. We have much preparation to undertake here already."

Julius nodded and turned to you. "If you're ready, we need to leave now."

As you walked to the garden together, ensuring you were away from others, you said, “Julius, please, I don’t want to go. I’m still trying to adjust to this place.”

“You’ll only be there for one night.”

“Where’s Marcus? Does he know about this?"

“He left early for preparations. He chose Claudia’s house—it’s trustworthy and conveniently close to our house. Remember, the law dictates that the wedding must take place at that house, you need to emerge there as the bride, as if the daughter of that house. Marriages within the same family are forbidden, simply as weddings cannot occur in the groom's house.”

“A mere formality, is it?” you muttered, grimacing. Suddenly stopping in your tracks, you added with anxiety, “My bag, I left it in the room.”

“Leave it,” he said as he helped you into the carriage. “Your belongings will be moved to my brother’s chambers tonight, along with your dowry.”

“Dowry?”

He settled next to you in the carriage. “As I mentioned, Marcus is busy with the arrangements.”

It seemed that Marcus had shouldered the burden of all wedding arrangements, paying out of his own budget. Julius had made it clear from the outset that such an approach was rather atypical.

“Your mother, Balbina, asked me to stay in another house to avoid dealing with the wedding preparations she didn't want any part of, right?” you said.

Julius was silent, and you knew that meant yes.

"I'm not surprised," you replied, "after all, she doesn’t like me. But I thought Marcus was the head of the family, that he was in charge. Apparently not, huh?"

Julius chuckled lightly. “You still don’t seem to grasp the seriousness and significance of the situation.”

"What do you mean?"

"You are marrying the head of the Acacius family, and general of Rome. Just imagine how hard this must be for my mother. Soon, you’ll be addressed as 'domina' in the villa. Can you grasp that now?"

You paused, realizing the gravity of his words; you never fully acknowledged how important this was. “But I didn’t ask for that.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Rosa, but your desires are beside the point. What truly matters is what my brother wants. This is the strongest way he can protect you, even from my mother.”

He was kinda right; if you compared it to the modern day, 2025, Marcus was akin to the top soldier in the army, something like a chief of staff. His wife would be both important and respected.

Yet, despite all that, it was an arranged marriage, and the bride had zero desire to marry.

None whatsoever.

The villa where Lady Claudia lived was indeed close by. It was smaller than Marcus’s but still lovely—typical for a Roman villa, modest yet charming. You felt a knot of anxiety in your stomach; staying there even for one night seemed unbearable. As you entered the courtyard, the buzz of activity caught your attention.

Slaves—poor souls—were dashing around: some were decorating with white flowers, others carried trays, while still more were busy cleaning the upper floors. It was a pre-wedding frenzy...

All for you.

Great.

When you spotted a slave who had dropped a cup while rushing along with a tray, you quickly picked it up for him. His eyes widened in surprise, and he bowed his head in gratitude before hastening back to his tasks.

“Julius.”

A woman’s voice called out moments later.

Julius replied, “Lady Claudia.”

At first, you brushed off the similarities in her voice; it had been over a decade since you had last heard it. But as you turned to look at her, shock coursed through you. Lady Claudia’s face mirrored your mother’s—warm smile intact. As she drew nearer, your body trembled, and your heart raced.

The peaceful, lifeless visage you had seen at the funeral was now alive and smiling again. After seeing your father's doppelganger, this was truly mind-blowing.

You covered your mouth, stifling a sob.

"Rosa?" Julius’s voice dripped with concern.

Claudia frowned, her expression a mix of confusion and worry. “Are you well, dear?”

You forced yourself to regain composure, feeling as if you were trying to escape from an invisible weight pressing down on you. "I- I am..." you stammered, struggling to find the right words.

Julius placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. "What’s the matter, Rosa?"

You couldn’t tear your eyes away from Claudia. “Forgive me, I'm just confused. You resemble my mother, whom I lost years ago.”

Claudia smiled softly. "How unfortunate. Please accept my condolences."

Oh, she seemed like a better person than your dad's evil twin.

Overcome by a sudden yearning, you hesitated but then mustered the courage to ask, “Can I hug you?”

The slaves around looked surprised, but Claudia nodded and opened her arms. You embraced her tightly, closing your eyes and burying your head in her shoulder, filled with longing. Claudia wrapped her arms around you, taken aback by the warmth of your affection. "You loved your mother very much, I can tell." You nodded, sniffling, still resting against her. “I hope you meet her again in another life.”

Oh well, that's precisely what is happening now.

Suddenly realizing you were clinging to her a bit too tightly, you pulled back and managed a nervous smile. “Thank you.”

Claudia returned the smile. "That was a warmer greeting than I expected, wouldn’t you agree, Ennius?"

You noticed a young boy beside her looking at you with judgement. He didn’t resemble anyone you recognized, hopefully. “I’d call it slightly inappropriate, Mother.”

“Now, now, my son. Remember, she’s a woman about to marry General Acacius—show some respect. Now, come, dear, there’s much to do.”

“I must take my leave,” Julius said, glancing at you. “I look forward to seeing you tomorrow.”

You waved goodbye. "See you."

Normally, you would be in a panic right now—left alone in a place surrounded by strangers. But Claudia reminded you of your mother, not only in appearance but also in her behavior. It was almost enough to make you feel at ease, and you couldn't tear your gaze away from her.

As the hours slipped away, a growing sense of unease began to creep into you while Claudia passionately delved into the traditions surrounding a Roman bride. She described it in vivid detail, almost as if you were her own daughter. Although your grasp of history equipped you with knowledge, nothing compared to experiencing these customs firsthand.

By evening, when the slaves arrived carrying large shells look like plates, you asked Claudia about the sticky substance they held, her response left you stunned.

“Beeswax,” she explained. “Now, undress, please.”

You instinctively wrapped your arms around yourself. “I don’t have any unwanted hair, I swear.” You lifted your skirts to show your smooth legs, a result of your regular laser hair removal sessions.

"I insist on seeing the rest of you," she said firmly.

At her command, the slaves began to undress you, treating your body with the indifference of peeling fruit. Despite their casual handling, you couldn’t shake the feeling of discomfort; thankfully, Claudia exuded a maternal aura. When she glanced at your armpits and noted the absence of hair -due to the laser treatments-, she couldn’t help but express surprise. However, the pubic area was another story. You had let that grow a bit over the weeks, and Claudia’s solemn words echoed in your ears: “We must remove the hair here.”

“But I usually use a razor for that area; my skin is too sensitive for laser treatment, and waxing, I can't even think of it,” you protested.

She didn’t seem to hear you, -probably didn't understand what were you saying- and you flushed with embarrassment as the slaves guided you to sit on the lectus. “I should’ve just done it myself,” you muttered, remembering the sting of waxing in a sensitive area from a previous experience.

Shaking slightly with trepidation, you settled in. One slave held your arms while another nudged your legs apart, and a third applied the honey-scented wax to your skin, coating the hair with it.

Claudia leaned back, chuckling at your plight. “Stay still, dear. You’re a Roman lady now; all the hair must be removed. Agreed?”

Your answer was nothing short of a shrill scream, piercing the quiet, startling any birds perched nearby on the balcony.

Once the brutal hair removal was complete, pain pulsed through you, mixing with a simmering frustration aimed at Marcus. “This is all your fault, Marcus; I hate you,” you grumbled. Slaves girls and Claudia quietly laughed while leaving you alone to nurse your throbbing discomfort.

Thinking twice, maybe you didn't like Claudia that much.

As dusk settled in, you took a moment to gaze from the balcony of your new room in that villa. Earlier, you had a special pre-wedding bath in the private bathhouse, accompanied by Claudia's advice for your wedding night, which made your face turn red from embarrassment. Below, the slaves still scurried about, busy with their tasks, just as they had been all morning. The area they waxed was still a bit sore, but thankfully, Claudia, being the considerate woman she was, had sent you some soothing oil to ease the discomfort.

You couldn’t help but feel sorry for the women of this era.

When some of the slave girls entered to apply the soothing oil for you, you thanked them gratefully. It worked somehow.

"My lady," one of them giggled, "Maybe you could ask the general to help ease your pain tomorrow night when you’re alone together.”

Confused, you asked, ���How?” as you rose from the lectus.

Their laughter rang out, and you felt heat rush to your cheeks as you realized the implication of their words.

“Don’t you girls have something better to do?” you scolded them.

They bowed their heads and apologized, still snickering as they left the room.

Once they were gone, you felt your blush deepen at the thoughts they had put in your head.

Damn estrogen.

This marriage was a sham after all; why were you feeling so anxious?

Seeking some fresh air, you made your way to the courtyard. You found a quiet corner away from the noise of the slaves and the chatter surrounding you, retreating to one of the gardens.

A wave of melancholy washed over you; you were off your anxiety pills and struggling to believe this was actually happening. Just a few weeks ago, if someone had told you that you’d be kidnapped to ancient Rome and thrust into marriage, you would have laughed until it hurt.

Yet now, you were living through this absurdity, constantly wondering, 'Why me?'

Looking up at the sky, you noted the crescent moon—perhaps two weeks until the full moon? You hoped to find a way back home then.

Suddenly, a crunching sound drew your attention. Before you could react, a large hand clamped over your mouth. You turned to see Lucius and his intense blue eyes signaling for silence.

He slowly removed his hand.

“What are you doing here? Why are you sneaking around?”

He was wearing a black robe. “I came to take you away from here.”

Your eyes widened in disbelief. “What? What do you mean?”

“I can see that marrying him isn't what you truly want. Let me help you.”

“How can you help?”

“I’m heading out of Rome tonight. I can take you back to your family, your homeland. I promise, I’ll make sure you arrive safely,” he urged, determination flashing in his gaze.

You felt a mix of emotions. “Oh, Lucius, if it were only that simple.”

“Where does your family live? No distance is too great for me. I will find a way to take you there."

Confusion clouded your thoughts. “Lucius, why would you do this for me?”

His gaze dropped to your lips as he took a deep breath. “I…” he hesitated. “You’ve changed something in me. I think I’m in love with you,” he confessed with a grin.

“What? You must be joking. Why would you fall for me? Surely, you have plenty of women around,” you countered.

He shrugged. “I’ve never met anyone like you. But that’s not why I’m offering to help. I am here because Acacius is forcing you into this marriage. I can’t allow it.”

With a heavy sigh, you conceded, “Lucius, you need to understand—I appreciate your offer, but I can’t accept. Marcus isn’t forcing me. I want to marry him,” you lied, hoping to sound convincing. After all, Marcus was your only ally in this unfamiliar world, even if he made you furious.

“Are you certain, Rosa? If it’s protection you seek, I can give that to you.”

You shook your head, your gaze steady. “I have faith in Marcus to look after me. He has promised to reunite me with my family someday. Despite the way he can irritate me at times, he’s a man of his word.”

“But you won’t find happiness with him," he murmured.

“Why are you leaving, by the way?” you asked, changing the subject.

His expression turned serious. “Things might get complicated soon. I need to leave before it does, much like I’ve done before. My whole life has been a series of escapes anyway.”

“Why?”

He let out a sad laugh. “Because I’m an unfortunate, damned prince of Rome.”

He touched your cheek, and you swallowed hard, feeling a strange connection between you. “I hope you find happiness, flower. Take care until we meet again.”

Suddenly, he leaned in and pressed a brief, light kiss on your lips. You barely had time to react before he slipped away into the darkness, lost among the trees and shadows. You stood there, stunned, your lips lingering in shock as you blinked away the moment.

As the morning sun poured into your new room, a battalion of slave girls invaded, bustling in with an eager excitement that danced in the air. One girl flung the thick curtains wide, allowing a cascade of golden sunlight to spill into the space, while another approached with the most exquisite wedding dress, placing it delicately upon the bed like a treasure awaiting its moment. A third girl laid down a long, ethereal tulle in shades of soft yellow and orange, and yet another carefully peeled back the sheet, revealing you to the ancient world once more.

Today, as the bride, you were the center of attention, and all eyes would be on you.

The time traveler bride.

The girls began to dress you in a flowing white dress when Claudia entered the room. Instinctively, you smiled at her. She returned your smile warmly and tenderly touched your cheek. “Rosa, did you sleep well?”

“Yes, thank you, Lady Claudia,” you replied.

“Do you feel ready?” she asked.

“For what?” you said, smoothing the hem of your dress.

She laughed gently. “It’s your wedding day, dear.”

"Oh, right,” you said, nodding, trying to mask the tumult of emotions swirling within you. You didn’t want her to sense your unease.

Claudia placed her hands on your shoulders. “I don’t know what you feel about him, but I’ve known General Acacius since he was young. He’s a good man, and I’m certain he will treat you well.”

“I guess he is,” you said, pursing your lips. You wanted the day to be over as soon as possible.

It felt like you were reliving a bad dream.Your previous wedding ended with the groom leaving you at the altar, but now it feels like you want to leave the groom this time.

You wished for a way out, but there was none.

As your hair was braided, the other slave girls announced the arrival of the guests. Soft music and quiet chatter came from downstairs. Soon, they informed you that the general and his family arrived. The girls placed the long, yellowish veil on your head, so long that you had to twist it around your arm a few times. Worse still, it obscured your vision.

“Am I really supposed to wear this all day?”

Claudia chuckled. “Have you forgotten already? Your husband will lift your veil when you reach his home. But first, he’ll unveil your face to kiss you.”

The word “husband” hit you like a punch to the gut.

Claudia took your arm as you made your way down the stairs, and the music shifted to a slower tempo, the atmosphere becoming lighter. As she had mentioned, she was taking you to your groom. It was an ancient ceremony, surprisingly representing a modern one: the groom waits by the priest while the bride walks through the guests.

The only difference was that this was ancient Rome.

You sighed, wondering what Lizzie would say if she saw you like this. She’d probably laugh a lot. Smiling to yourself, realizing you had many stories to share when you returned home.

As you approached Marcus, thoughts began to spiral in your mind. What if you couldn’t go back? What if you were destined to live here forever as his wife?

How could you endure this sham of a marriage?

Would you ever come to love him?

Would he ever soften his hardened demeanor?

If you considered things from the perspective of an ordinary woman living in this era—not as a time traveler—perhaps you could find something to appreciate in him or love him. He was handsome and, despite his tough exterior, a really good man.

But you still couldn’t forgive him. He had pulled you into this situation and forced you to marry him. No matter his reasons, it felt wrong. He still had someone else in his heart, and you had no feelings for him that would ever change.

You stood directly in front of him, dismissing the curious gazes around you, while the high priest began his ceremonial speech. As you caught a glimpse of his face, you couldn’t help but stare.

He looked undeniably handsome.

When you suddenly heard the sound of the sacrificial pig, you found yourself gaping at Marcus, disbelief washing over you.

What the hell?

Did he notice you staring?

Yes, he did, and he was looking right back at you.

That smirk—damn.

Oh no.

Why was your heart racing?

Get a grip, Rose. You’re angry with him—cool your jets.

Why was there this sudden flutter in your chest, especially when you hadn’t felt an ounce of excitement since morning?

You weren't marrying the man you loved; you didn’t love him at all.

You hated him.

The high priest’s words sounded like murmurings, lost amid the cacophony of voices swirling in your head and heart. He gestured for you to raise your hands, and Claudia, as your pronuba, grasped your right hands with both of hers, intertwining them. Marcus slipped a gold ring onto your finger, featuring the image of two hands clasped together, reminiscent of the ones you’d seen in museums.

Oh great, the anxiety was creeping in again.

When he lifted your veil, it became time to recite the words you’d been trying to memorize since the night before. “Ubi tu Gaius, ego Gaia,” you said, your voice steady but avoiding Marcus's gaze, opting instead to focus on his chin.

“Ubi tu Gaia, ego Gaius,” he replied softly. As he leaned in for the kiss, you held your breath; even though it was obligatory, you weren’t prepared for it. Yet, his kiss was gentle and brief, and you were surprised to find his lips warm and soft against yours.

“And the contract is signed. General Acacius, this woman is now yours,” the high priest announced, his voice resounding like a solemn bell. The guests responded with a warm blend of applause and joyful laughter.

Claudia then handed Marcus a cake that one of the slaves had brought on a special plate. You swallowed hard; your stomach grumbled—hunger gnawed at you, and you couldn’t wait to eat something. Marcus made you take a bite of the cake, but he didn’t offer you much. He chuckled when you frowned at him, especially since he broke the cake over your head as part of a Roman wedding tradition.

Damn ritual cake.

You should be enjoying it in your belly, not having it drop on your head.

Fortunately, the rituals wrapped up, and the feast commenced. The food was delightful—lamb, fresh and dried fruits, bread, and, of course, wine.

Okay, the Romans knew how to celebrate.

Laughter filled the air as people indulged in food and drink, coming over to congratulate you both. If you weren’t so busy devouring everything in sight, you might have noticed Marcus watching you intently all night, but your hunger took precedence. You probably ate so eagerly on your wedding night that your appetite became the subject of conversation throughout the entire city more than your beauty did. Julius and other men approached and exchanged words with Marcus. Soon, Lucilla came over to congratulate Marcus as well. He responded to her with a cold but respectful thank you.

“That’s enough,” Marcus said all of sudden, taking your hand to stop you from reaching for the wine cup.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Isn’t this my wedding night? I can drink as I please.”

“Then I’ll stop you, as your husband.”

“I thought this marriage wasn’t real,” you muttered.

Marcus glanced around and then leaned close. “Be quiet; someone will overhear.”

His tone conveyed anger, but it felt more like a warning than a rebuke. Something had changed in him but what?

Or was he merely playing the part of a devoted husband?

After the banquet, you walked from Claudia’s villa to Acacius', accompanied by the sound of drums. To your surprise, the streets outside were crowded with people cheering for Marcus while gazing at you with wide-eyed awe. Their excitement felt genuine, unlike the women who had eyed you with envy during the banquet. As you attempted to walk beside Marcus, young men, including Julius with torches in hand, accompanied the procession. Occasionally, you stumbled over your long veil, prompting Marcus to offer you his arm. Accepting it made navigating the dark streets easier, but by the time you finally reached the villa, your legs were exhausted. After enduring a few more rituals, your patience was wearing thin.

Sure, they knew how to celebrate, but their devotion to ceremonies was grueling.

Once the fire and water rituals concluded in the villa’s courtyard, everyone suddenly turned to stare at you. You were accustomed to the typical glares from Balbina and Lydia, but the attention from even the slaves was unsettling.

Did you miss another ritual?

Marcus leaned in close, whispering, “My apologies.”

“Apologize all you want; I won’t forgive you. How dare you force me to—ah! What are you doing?”

He suddenly scooped you up, tossing you over his shoulder. Others laughter echoed as you thrashed about.

“I meant to say, ‘apologies for this.’”

“Marcus! My stomach is full; put me down now or I swear I’ll throw up! I mean it!” You struggled, but then his hand found your backside, you froze.

“Calm down; I’ll lower you down shortly.”

You couldn’t see much being upside down, but he turned left after ascended the stairs, veered a little, passed through a grand doorway, and behind a satin curtain, gently placing you back on your feet. It took a moment to regain your balance, then you took in your surroundings.

This must have been the biggest room you’d ever seen—a large bed, a big wardrobe, a hefty desk, chairs, and a passage that led to a balcony.

“Wow, so this is Mr. General's room,” you said, glancing around. 

“Do you like it?” he asked. 

You turned to him. “I prefer my own room, but this isn’t bad. Oh, I’m so tired; let me just sit here.” You plopped down on the edge of the bed. “Hey, this bed is really comfortable,” you remarked, bouncing slightly and testing the mattress. Although spring mattresses didn’t exist back then, this one was surprisingly soft.

Marcus approached you. “Let me help you with your veil; it seems tangled in your hair,” he offered, reaching out. 

“Yeah, I’m finally getting rid of this annoying thing.” 

“It suits you,” he said with a smile. 

You squinted at him.

“I didn’t intend to call you annoying; it suits you beautifully I meant to say.” 

“Whatever,” you yawned. “What a long day.” 

“Yes, it truly was,” he murmured.

You both stared at each other in awkward silence for a moment until you finally broke it. “It feels strange, doesn’t it? The fake wedding, and now we’re pretending to be husband and wife.” 

Suddenly Marcus frowned, turning away to lift the curtain and scold someone outside. “Return your quarters immediately. No one is allowed near this room."

Once he was came back, you were taking off your shoes. “What just happened?” 

“Slaves. Must be Balbina’s doing.” 

“What do you mean?” you asked, removing your other shoe. 

Marcus let out a weary sigh. “She’s intent on finding out if the marriage has really been consummated.”

You widened your eyes in surprise. “They were actually waiting to listen? Wow, you people surprise me every single time.” 

Marcus began to remove his shawl. “It’s tradition. Isn’t it the same in your time? The married couple does something different on wedding nights?”

“At least no one eavesdrops on you there, except in some narrow-minded cultures,” you replied, struggling to untie the belt around your waist. “Ugh, it’s too tight.” 

He stepped closer. “Allow me,” he said, effortlessly untying the knot. 

“Wow, you follow traditions so well. Are you taking this marriage seriously or what?” you said with a smirk. 

But you immediately regretted the joke when he shot you a piercing look. “If I truly took this marriage seriously, I wouldn’t be standing here having a conversation with you. Instead...” He tilted his head, gesturing the bed.

You turned your head away, swallowing hard. “Okay, okay, it was just a joke. By the way, where’s my bag?” you asked, glancing around. 

Marcus unfastened his belt and left it on the bed, then retrieved your bag from the wardrobe and handed it to you. “Here.” 

“Oh, my bag,” you exclaimed, taking it from him and giving it a tight hug. 

He laughed. “You must really have missed it.” 

“Oh, you have no idea,” you admitted. “Thanks for looking after it.” You pulled out your cell phone. “Now I can finally clear my head,” you said, sitting back on the bed. 

Marcus came over and perched on the edge of the bed. “What are you doing?” 

“I need to jot down the lunar calendar and important dates. The battery might die soon,” you explained while searching for your notebook in the bag. 

“You mean you need to write? You can use my desk,” he suggested, glancing at it. 

You peeked over and noticed a reed pen, ink, and parchment set up nicely. “Thanks, Mr. General, but I’ve got something better.” You pulled out a ballpoint pen and a small heart-shaped notepad. 

Marcus frowned. “You’re going to write with that thing?” 

You chuckled. “Oh, I’m sorry; you don’t know about this invention, do you? It has a little reservoir for ink, so you don’t have to keep dipping it.” 

He examined the pen and scribbled something on the paper. “If I’d known about this earlier, I would have written my letters faster.” 

You took the pen back from him. "Just be careful; you might change history in a dangerous way."

You both smiled.

He stood up and grabbed some fruit from the table while you continued to write on the notepad. 

“Care for a taste? Or perhaps you've had your fill after the banquet,” he asked with a teasing glimmer in his eye, lifting a luscious grape to his mouth. 

“Yeah, I’d love some grapes, please.” 

“You certainly possess a much appetite for a woman,” he teased, placing a plate of grapes on the bed. 

“Hey, it says here that the next full moon is in six days,” you remarked, focused on your screen while popping a grape into your mouth.

Marcus seemed to enjoy watching you. “Six days,” he echoed, and a strange sensation pricked at him. He didn’t like the thought of you going back home in six days; it stung. 

“Yeah,” you replied cheerfully. “I hope it works this time,” you said with a grin. 

“And what if it doesn’t?”

You frowned at him. “Hey, let’s steer clear of negative thoughts; we need to stay positive.” 

He couldn’t fault you for that; he understood. He had already promised to help you return, yet he found it increasingly challenging to let you go, as the mere thought of it hurt him.

“Oh shit, no fucking way.”

“What happened?” he asked, bending down to look at the phone's display. 

“My battery's almost dead, the phone's going to shut off,” you said sadly.

“This little device was everywhere in your time; every individual was holding it. It must hold a lot of significance.”

“Yes, very much so. Some people walk around never putting the phone down. You can keep up with the news, chat with your friends, get recipes, take notes, anything you can think of.”

"It allows you to send messages and speak with each other, it does not?"

“You are a good observer, general. You know, you could have called the barracks with it,” you laughed at the prospect. “Of course, first you'd have to have a cell phone and a cell tower nearby."

He laughed softly. "It could've simplify things."

“Yeah. You know what I say? Since the battery is running out, I might as well look at the photos for the last time. I miss my sister. Do you want to take a look? After all, you're stuck here with me tonight.”

“True, I have nothing else to do,” he said, smiling nervously.

He asked you a lot of questions as you showed him the photos from the gallery, he didn't look amazed like Julius, just observant and detailed. When you mentioned that Claudia looked like your mother, he was surprised and even more surprised when you showed him an old picture of your mother.

And then he was lost in thought.

When you paused at a picture, he realized that your face had fallen.

“I should have deleted this photo,” you said angrily. And you deleted it and threw it in the trash.

“Why?”

“I mean, I tore that stupid wedding dress and seeing it again made me angry.”

“You never mentioned that you were married before.”

“I wasn't, the asshole left me on my wedding day.”

"What kind of man would do such thing," he muttered.

“Someone who's not a man, obviously,” your voice cracked.

He touched your shoulder. “Rosa,” he whispered. You looked at him, his brown eyes were intense, sparkling. "He is not worth your sorrow; do not allow yourself to feel sad because of him."

What the hell?

Your heart raced, pounding against your ribcage like a drum—thump thump thump thump.

“Thanks, Marcus,” you said, feeling warmth spread through you at his kindness. His hand lingered on your shoulder, igniting a flutter of nerves within you—not in a bad way but in a thrilling, electric way as he looked you over, his features undeniably charming.

Suddenly, the phone vibrated, and then the screen went dark.

“Shit,” you said and threw the phone across the room.

Marcus picked up the phone from the floor. “It might be broken now,” he said.

“Forget it,” you said, standing up. “There's no electricity anyway, I can't even charge it, so it doesn't matter.” you said, pouring the wine decanter on the table into a cup. Then you took your pill out of your bag and were about to pop one in your mouth when Marcus came up to you and stopped you by grabbing your wrist. "You have consumed enough wine already, and I've noticed you reaching for that medicine too frequently."

“What, have you decided to pretend to be my husband?” you asked sarcastically.

He took you in his arms without breaking his serious expression. You gasped. “Hey Marcus, I was joking!”

He approached the bed and laid you on it. You opened your eyes wide when he leaned over you, but he was bending down to pull the covers over you. “Sleep now, you must be tired.” he said, turning around to extinguish the oil lamp.

“But where will you sleep?”

“Here,” he said as he lay down on the lectus.

You sat up on your elbow and looked at him. “Hey that thing looks pretty uncomfortable.”

He smiled and put his arm over his face.“I’ve endured far brutal conditions during the war. This is comfortable option compared to that one.”

“Hmm, okay then,” you murmured and lay back down. “Good night, Mr. General.” As you closed your eyes, a wave of unexpected drowsiness washed over you, and you drifted into sleep almost instantly.

Marcus shifted his arm from his face and turned to watch you slumber, a soft smile gracing his lips. “Good night, Rosa,” he whispered, his voice barely audible in the quiet darkness.

Marcus awoke before you, the remnants of a restless night still etched on his face. He had spent countless hours watching you sleep, captivated by your peacefulness, while thoughts of you swirled in his mind. In an attempt to quell his overwhelming desire to reach out and touch you, he had paced the room like a caged animal, frustration simmering beneath the surface. A nascent anger bubbled up within him—for your inability to remember him—but he quickly quelled those feelings, aware that neither of you held the power to change things.

It felt as if the gods themselves were casting a mocking smile in his direction.

As you stretched in bed, you were pleasantly surprised to feel refreshed when you opened your eyes. It had been a long time since you had slept this well. Marcus's bed was far more comfortable than you had expected.

But where was he?

You sat up and scanned the room, yawning.

Just then, he lifted the curtain and walked in, his face lighting up with surprise at the sight of you awake. "Did you sleep well?" he asked.

"Yes. You won't believe it, but I actually slept great," you replied. He approached the bed and lifted the covers, which caused you to startle. "What are you doing?"

When you spotted the dagger-like knife in his hand—an instrument used by Roman soldiers—you instinctively pulled back and curled your legs up. "Marcus, are you out of your mind?"

“Easy now, I won't hurt you,” he reassured you. “The slaves will be here shortly to collect the sheets."

He pressed the knife into his palm. You were shocked that he didn't even flinch when he cut himself. He placed his hand firmly on the sheet and clenched his fist, few drops of blood trickled down and stained the fabric. You looked at him in confusion, but he seemed completely at ease, as if he were completing a task.

"Geez, we should have poured some wine or something. Did you really have to cut yourself?" 

"Balbina would have noticed." 

"What is she, Sherlock Holmes or something?" you muttered, wrinkling your nose in disgust at the sight of blood on the sheet. 

As he wiped the knife on a piece of cloth, you stood up, reached for his hand, and examined it. The cut was deep, but it was nothing Marcus would worry about. "You're quite determined to cut yourself, aren't you?"

He frowned at the insinuation in your voice. 

“Julius told me you were willing to die.” He looked into your eyes, waiting for you to continue. You sighed before you spoke again. “He also mentioned why that is.”

You both locked eyes in a moment that stretched on, the air thick with unspoken words. “Do you really feel that way? Do you want to die so badly because it would take away your pain?”

He didn't answer, he was still looking into your eyes, but he wasn't angry, as if he had a lot he wanted to say but couldn't put it into words. He looked at the piece of cloth again and picked up the other one, but you took it from him. “Let me do it,” you said as you wrapped it around the cut on his hand.

He watched you intently as you worked, swallowing hard, captivated by the sight of your eyelashes and the beauty in your eyes. Resisting the urge to touch you, to kiss you... Such a strong urge that it felt far more challenging than facing an enemy on the battlefield. He knew he would have to learn to cope with it.

“Don't die,” you whispered, not taking your eyes off his hand as tears began to trickle down the sides. "If anything happens to you, I can't go back. You're the only one I trust here. I need you." When a tear fell on his palm, he surprised, took your face in his hands. “I assure you that I won't. I no longer have a desire to die, so please, do not cry.”

You smiled and wiped your tears, sniffling. “We have a deal.”

He smiled and wiped the other tears with his thumb, nodding. 

"Besides, you promised to help me back. You can't die without keeping your promise." you said, teasing him.

He nodded again. "You have my word."

And at that moment there was a knock at the door. Marcus withdrew his hand and returned to the bed. He picked up the sheets and walked to the slaves waiting at the door. Then he came back. "I have some duties in the barracks and need to leave soon. You shall have this room—and the entire villa—as your own home now. Feel free to indulge in whatever pleases you."

You looked around. “Okay, I'm sure I'll find something to do.”

"And please, don't go out unannounced. Now that you are my wife, you can put me in a difficult situation, you understand? It's essential to consider the reputation of your general husband."

With a playful salute, you nodded. “Yes, sir.”

He chuckled and took one last look at you before leaving the room. 

After he left, you sat on the bed.  It felt peculiar; something had changed within Marcus—he was softer now, more open than before. Even when you brought up the past with him, he didn't get angry or avoid the subject. Maybe he felt sorry for yelling at you last time, who knows.

Later in the day, the slaves entered the room to change the sheets and dress you in your new attire. You walked around, feeling uncomfortable in the elaborate attire. Sewing and designing appeared to be easier than actually wearing it. The gold bracelets on your arms and the necklaces and earrings around your neck clinked with every movement. Typically, you weren't fond of wearing so much jewelry, but it seemed that being a married woman in this era came with such expectations.

How lovely.

Your heart sank when one of the slaves informed you that Balbina wanted to see you. You hesitated, dreading the encounter with her, but you had no choice; your step mother-in-law called for you. Sooner or later, you would have to face her, given that you lived in the same house.

As you descended the stairs, you stumbled a few times, struggling with the stola while trying to keep the shawl wrapped around your arms. Balbina was seated in the courtyard with Lydia and Claudia. Once they spotted you, all heads turned in your direction. You smiled at Claudia, you were pleased to see her. She stood up and greeted you, “My lady.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Me?”

She chuckled. “Now that you’re the General’s wife, you must be treated with respect.”

Lydia looked away, while Balbina stared at you intently. “What wife? Your husband left the villa early, it seems he’s not quite satisfied with you. You obviously failed to please him.”

You rolled your eyes, trying hard not to say anything bad. 

Claudia joined you on the same lectus, making herself comfortable. “Come now, Balbina, isn’t that typical for the first night?”

Lydia let out a sarcastic laugh. “Lady Claudia is right mother. It’s quiet impressive they even managed it.”

They all burst into laughter.

What the fuck?

Were you really being interrogated about your wedding night? And worse, being ridiculed for it?

What was wrong with these people?

The rest of their conversation was nothing short of appalling, filled with discussions about blood on the sheets and other cringeworthy topics. It seemed normal to them to make the newlywed woman feel embarrassed, part of their tradition.

Before she take her leave, Claudia discreetly spoke to you in the garden by the fountain. She not only resembled your mother but treated you like one too, almost. “I noticed the sheets. Are you in pain or bleeding?”

You sighed, feeling annoyed. “No, I’m fine, really.”

“I’m relieved to hear that. Try to gather strength for the next time you’re together. I know it’s tough, but I assure you you’ll adjust in time, Each time, it will get easier."

Your face flushed, but you felt irritated. Remembering your first time, you hadn’t even thought about it, much less discussed it. It was just a fleeting memory. Yet, in this era, it seemed to carry immense weight. But it was hard to listen to her, not only because you are not inexperienced but because you and Marcus are not really husband and wife, and you had not done it but pretending like you did.

“To earn Balbina's admiration and respect, you must bear a child. If you give the General a son, you’ll earn the highest respect in this villa.”

You pursed your lips, still pretending as if you cared. “Does it really matter that much?”

“Indeed. When you’re together, after he finishes inside you, I advise you to lie back, stay still, and place a pillow under your hips—it will help."

Oh, damn, you were well aware of all this and more, coming from a modern era.

But how could Claudia have known? You wouldn't blame her for that.

You nodded, your cheeks burning. “Well, thank you,” you replied nervously.

What she suggested got something stirring inside you; it had been so long since you last hooked up that it was hard not to feel anything.

Yet, there was no fucking way you were going to sleep with someone in ancient Rome.

“Damn it,” you sighed softly as you sank onto Marcus's bed in the dim light of the evening, squinting into a small mirror you had fished out from the depths of your bag. The roots of your hair stood out starkly against the golden caramel hue, begging for attention. Your natural color contrasted sharply with the caramel hue. As you fidgeted with your hair, frustration bubbling beneath the surface, Marcus stepped into the room. He caught sight of you—holding the mirror in one hand, your fingers tugging at the offending roots with the other. He couldn't help but smile as he observed you from behind the curtain. “Is it your hair that’s making you so angry?”

You turned to face him, noticing he was wearing his dark red tunic. You hadn’t seen it on him before because he usually kept it hidden under his armor. That’s right—you were in his room, and you were technically his wife, so he felt at ease around you.

“As soon as I get back, I need to get it root-dyed again,” you sighed.

“The color of your natural hair is more beautiful,” he said.

You rolled your eyes. "Thanks, but you're not helping. And my French nails are a disaster, too. I need to get those done as well. You have no idea how tough it is for someone who goes to the salon every week.” You stretched out your hand to him.

He took your hand , observing. “I think your nails are perfect."

"Why am I even asking for your opinion?” you complained.

“How was your day?” he asked, settling on the edge of the bed.

"It was a bit dull. It’s so hard without my phone."

"I am considering forgoing my duties at the barracks tomorrow. Would you be interested in joining me for a horseback riding excursion?"

You raised your eyebrows. “Really?”

He smiled, and for the first time, he enjoyed saying the word from your time: “Really.”

"That would be fantastic, Marcus. So you can skip work whenever you feel like it?"

"Not quite," he smirked. "Julius and my second-in-command will be present in my absence."

"Your second-in-command? Since you're a general, is he a lieutenant general, major general, or something? I’m not great with military ranks."

"I do not understand the terms you are using. A second-in-command is called Optio."

“Hmm.”

A peculiar silence fell between you.

Normally, as newlyweds, you should have been preoccupied with other activities during your alone time at night, but this wasn’t a real one. You both exchanged anxious smiles that lingered until the silence became nearly unbearable.

You finally broke the stillness.

“Marcus, I just had a great idea. Since we have some time to sleep, why don’t we play a game? It would help us get to know each other better. What do you think?”

“A game?”

You stood up. "A drinking game—It called 'I Never.'"

He frowned. “I am uncertain about what that is.”

You set the wine decanter and cups on the tray, returned to the bed, and placed them down. “It’s quite simple,” you explained as you settled cross-legged in the middle of the bed. "You say 'I never,' and finish the sentence. If it’s something you did, you drink; if not, you don’t."

Marcus positioned himself more comfortably at the edge of the bed, facing you with his arms crossed. “It doesn’t seem to make much sense.”

You rolled your eyes. "That’s why it's called a game. Learn by example. I’ll start: I never killed a man. Now you drink, because you did, right?"

"True, I killed many." He smiled slightly as you poured him some wine. “I think I understand the logic now.” He took a sip.

"Yes. Now, Mr. General, your turn.”

Pursing his lips, thinking. “I never had a phone."

You laughed. “You’re getting the hang of it.” Pondering your next move, you continued, “I never fell in love.”

He met your gaze.

You shrugged. “I thought I was in love with that jerk, but I was mistaken.”

Marcus took another sip of his wine, clearly enjoying what you just admitted, a smirk playing on his lips as he spoke. “I never dyed my hair.”

You chuckled. “I'd pay to see that.” You considered the things you were curious about him. “I never slept with a woman.”

Marcus shot you a look. “Do you think I’m pure?”

“Okay, let’s put it this way: I never slept with a whore.” You raised your eyebrows, waiting for his response.

He sighed, taking a sip of his wine sheepishly.

“Aha, not quite so innocent, are we?”

"I never claimed that I am an innocent man," he explained, smiling.

"Wait, are you actually playing or just saying?" 

"Just saying," he echoed your words, looking at you piercingly, which left you blinking and swallowing.

“I’m not judging. I don't care who you slept with or... how many." You cleared your throat. "It’s just a game. Okay, your turn.”

“I never slept with a man.”

You rolled your eyes. "Come on, really? You know I’m not a virgin."

He tilted his head curiously. “The game, you said.”

“Fine.” You squinted and took a drink. “Just one man, and you know who.”

He nodded in understanding.

And the game continued on.

By the time the jug of wine was empty, your head was spinning. “I think I’m getting drunk,” you admitted, feeling a bit woozy. "I guess you won," you said, laughing uncontrollably as you clapped your hands and leaned your head on his shoulder.

He wrapped his arm around you gently. "Are you well? Rosa?" He lowered his gaze, checking your face, but your eyes were closed—unconscious. Brushing the hair back from your face, he sighed softly.

"I regret having made that promise. How can I endure watching you leave?" His fingers gently caressed your hair. "After all these years of yearning, how can I allow you to slip away once more?" He leaned down and placed a tender kiss on your temple.

"When will you truly remember, my love?”

“It’s beautiful here.”

As the midday sun bathed the landscape in a golden glow, Marcus led you to that enchanting spot he had spoken of. The meadow unfolded like a green carpet, vibrant and alive, with a shimmering pond nestled at its center, reflecting the azure sky above. You eagerly took off your shoes, walking barefoot on soft grass that tickled your toes as you stepped onto the earth.

“What are you doing?” Marcus asked, astonishment written all over his face.

“Earthing. I’m just savoring the feel of the soil,” you replied.

“Be careful, Rosa—you might step on a thorn."

But then, a realization struck him; this moment felt oddly familiar.

“Relax, I’ll be fine. It’s good for your feet and body; it helps you unwind, lowers the stress. Just give it a try, Marcus.” 

'Come now, Marcus. Try.’

He smiled.

The way you pronounced his name was like music to his ears, just as she used to say it. In that moment, he realized that no one else could say his name quite like you did. He had brought you here hoping to spark some memories, but he felt uncertain.

This was where he had first met her—a sanctuary, a place of refuge where they had spent countless moments together. Now, as he heard that familiar phrase from you, it ignited a flicker of hope in his heart. He needed to try something different. 

He removed his sandals. “It might be a bit challenging to fasten these later. Would you be able to lend me your assistance?” he asked, his heart racing in anticipation, waiting for your answer. 

The response he received wasn’t what he expected—not even close. “What am I, your babysitter, old man?" you laughed while reaching for an apple on the tree. "'Ain't your mama. Oh, I love that song. I wish I could listen right now.” you kept murmuring the song unaware of Marcus' feelings.

He frowned, feeling annoyed.

Still, he shook off the momentary disappointment; he was determined to keep moving forward. While you dipped your legs into the cool pond, he wandered through the meadow, gathering a bouquet of wildflowers bursting with colors—bright yellows, violets, and whites. He returned to you, presenting the vibrant collection with a hopeful smile.

“Okay, you’re starting to freak me out,” you said, your eyes wide in surprise. 

He raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean by that?” 

“Because you’re being way too nice to me.” 

He took a breath and said, “I realize I haven’t treated you as kindly as you deserve. How about these flowers I collected for you? Will you accept my apology?"

“No, but it’s a step in the right direction, I guess,” you said with a wry smile as you accepted the flowers. 

“Which one do you like more?” 

“Hmmm. The daisy. It’s simple and lovely, just as it is. Plus, it doesn’t have a scent, which is perfect because I’m allergic to pollen.” Just then, an itch made you sneeze. 

He frowned. “What about jasmine?” 

“No way, the smell will make me sneeze even more,” you grimaced in response. 

Marcus was taken aback; this was different—she had loved jasmine. What was it that made you so uniquely distinct, yet somehow mirrored her in so many ways?

As the days went by, that day finally arrived; the radiant full moon loomed ever closer on the horizon. You and Marcus had agreed to head to the temple that evening together, so you found yourself anxiously waiting for him all day. But he never arrived; in fact, Julius was nowhere to be seen either. You ventured down to the courtyard and glanced around. Balbina and Lydia were in their usual spot, chatting with some other women. Ah, those curious ladies again—the type who scrutinize you with interest and pepper you with questions about your family, homeland.

Luckily, they didn’t notice you slipping away.

On your way out, you spotted one of the slaves and told him you were headed out to meet Marcus. It wasn't a lie; he would have suspected you were at the temple anyway. You could no longer bear staying cooped up, especially with your phone out of battery and only two anxiety pills left.

The soldiers at the gate hesitated to let you leave alone, insisting one of them accompany you to the temple. You had no choice but to accept their escort; the general had given strict orders not to let you wander off unaccompanied.

Minutes felt like hours as you arrived at the temple, and yet, no one awaited you there. The soldier lingered on the stairs, while you gazed into the stillness of the temple. Suddenly, you heard the familiar sound of a horse's neigh, and Julius arrived. He instructed the other soldier to return and approached you with a serious expression. “Rosa, it would be better for you to leave right now.”

“What do you mean?” you replied, confusion twisting in your gut. “Marcus said we were to meet here.”

“Emperor Severus has been poisoned. Prince Geta and Caracalla are preparing to seize the throne.”

“What?”

“We’re keeping all soldiers on high alert,” he continued, glancing around as if the shadows held unseen threats. “We’re prepared for an uprising at any moment.”

“Julius, I need to go back. The full moon is up there; it'll be even more prominent at midnight. This time, I know it’ll work.”

Julius sighed, troubled. “Marcus is gathering a force to counter the praetorians' threat. However, If he promised to arrive, he will. My orders are to control the city’s entrances. Stay hidden. I’ll try to return shortly.”

“Okay. Just be careful, Julius.”

He smiled reassuringly and hurried down the stairs. You settled into the quiet of the temple, waiting, but no one came. The silence felt suffocating. You couldn’t go back to the villa; your patience had worn thin.

Just then, you heard the quick gallop of horses outside. You instinctively hid, unsure who rode by. Another minute passed; this time, footsteps echoed on the stairs. You glanced up to see not Marcus, but a young boy who gazed at you with curiosity. "Lady Acacius?"

You tensed but nodded.

“The general is wounded and sent me to deliver a message. He said 'if I don’t make it in time, you should leave without waiting for me.'”

The boy glanced over his shoulder before dashing down the stairs. You wanted to ask how he was hurt, but he was gone in an instant, swallowed by the shadows.

What was happening?

Why was he wounded?

You pulled out the parchment, reading the words just to try, shock washing over you.

It had worked.

Your mouth fell open as a wave of joy surged through your body. Instinctively, you took a step toward the rift of bright light, but then stopped. The last time you saw Marcus was that morning, and now he was hurt, maybe close to death.

Panic tightened your chest.

How could you abandon him like this?

What if something happened to him?

No, you couldn’t let that happen. The rift would have to wait. You couldn’t leave without seeing him safe and sound. Determined, you knelt by one of the temple pillars and prayed—both to your god and to all the Roman gods.

Fear crept into your heart. For perhaps the first time, you found yourself crying for him.

If it was before weeks ago, you wouldn't care about his well-being and would jump at the chance to leave here.

But now...

Now you couldn't leave without seeing him.

Had you truly fallen in love with him?

You pushed the questions aside, focusing only on your desire to see him safe.

A little later, you peeked over the pillar as hoofbeats approached. When you saw him, you quickly stood up.

“Rosa!”

You scrambled down the stairs to meet him, your heart fluttering. “Marcus!” you wailed, throwing yourself into his arms. He caught you, his warmth enveloping you, but the moment was cut short as he pulled back to gaze intensely into your eyes. “You were awaiting?” His eyes widened in disbelief as he noticed the pulsating rift shimmering within the temple. "You managed..."

“Forget that. Where are you hurt?” You noticed the rag wrapped around his calf, which was stained red with blood.

“It’s nothing—”

Suddenly, an arrow flew from nowhere, piercing the air, striking him in the shoulder. He stumbled toward you, and you cried out in shock, “Marcus!”

“Acacius is here!” someone shouted, followed by the clamor of more horses approaching.

He shielded you behind him and drew his sword. “Run into the temple! Leave now, while you can!”

“No!”

Struggling but determined, he grabbed your hand and urged you into the temple. “Rosa! I said leave! I can’t let anything happen to you!”

“I won’t leave you in the middle of this chaos! Come with me. That wound looks serious; you need modern treatment!”

Just then, several soldiers arrived, clashing with the guards as the sounds of swords echoed around you. “Leave now! I can’t abandon my men!” Marcus yelled.

“No, I can't leave you like this!”

Suddenly, another arrow flew through his stomach. Then, another one, from behind, all from behind, dastardly, cruelly.

Another arrow plunged into his chest. Marcus spat blood from his mouth yet forcing himself to stand. You froze, shuddering with terror.

“NO! Marcus!” you screamed.

You forced your brain to think.

As soon as Marcus sank to his knees, struggling to catch his breath, you slipped under his arms and hoisted him up with every ounce of strength you could muster, ignoring the sting in your muscles, ignoring your dress covering in blood, his blood. You focused entirely on saving him. "Come on, Marcus, don't die, please! You promised me! Don't die!“ You cried out as you pulled Marcus toward the rift. "Please, God! Don't let him die! Help me! Marcus, I can save you. Please don’t die; the doctors can help you. You have no idea what they are capable of. Please, just stay with me!"

“Amo te, Rhea,” he murmured, his voice barely escaping his lips as he surrendered to the darkness, closing his eyes. You heard that name for the first time, but you didn't care. Panic surged through your veins. "Marcus, open your eyes, damn it! Don’t you dare slip away from me!”

You dragged him into the light, leaving his blood painting everywhere, and then something happened.

A blink.

A blinding light, intensely bright.

An unusual wind, chilling and invasive, seemed to seep into every cell.

And then, once more.

A blink of the eye.

And darkness.

But not just any darkness—the deep, enveloping darkness of the night. Rain poured down, heavy yet warm. You stood up in shock, taking in your surroundings.

Tall buildings loomed over you, street lamps flickered, the car horns filled the air alongside the tangles of wires on electric poles.

You were back.

Tears of joy streamed down your face, blending with the rain. Then you came to your senses, you had just been crying—for him.

For Marcus.

You turned around, frantically scanning the area, searching the ground. The shadows from the trees cloaked everything in darkness.

But there he was.

Marcus lay there, motionless.

You rushed to him, heart pounding.

"Marcus! What the fuck-"

There was no blood on him, just a few scattered drops. You ran your trembling fingers over his armor. The holes in his armor were visible, but the arrows had vanished along with the wounds they caused. Placing your head on Marcus's chest, you listened intently. His heart was beating.

His face was wet from the fall of rain. As you gently brushed your fingers against his cheek, you felt warmth.

Not dead.

He was alive.

It was absurd, impossible—even miraculous—but he was alive.

Your jaw dropped, then a grin spread across your face.

And then he opened his eyes, blinking as raindrops fell on his eyelashes. Relief washed over him as he saw you, yet confusion clouded his gaze as if he couldn’t believe it was happening again.

You smiled at him, “Marcus, I know this sounds crazy, but you’re not dead. We’re back. Together.”

hope you enjoyed the chapter babies, thanks for reading ❤️

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[elleaitch22]

Terms of Endearment

Chapter 8: The Lie of Quiet

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd

A/N: I'm still sleep deprived. I hope you guys love it! xx Elle

Warnings: Panic attack, mentions of past abuse, slight homophobia

Word Count: 4.1k

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Azzi woke up slowly, just like she had been doing the past few days. It was nice to not have to be up before the Sun every day. She smiled to herself realizing she didn’t really have any plans today. Granted, she needed to figure out what she was going to do next, but according to Paige, she had no reason to rush.

Her phone vibrated on her nightstand. Brow furrowed; she turned it over.

Paige Bueckers.

Why the hell was Paige calling her at 6:30 in the morning?

“Hello?” She spoke softly.

“Good morning, Azzi. Sorry to call so early, but I have a meeting at 7:30, so I won’t be able to take Soleil on her school tour. I know it’s last minute, but can you get her ready and take her?”

Azzi didn’t think Paige took a breath. “Let’s calm down. I’ll come up now.”

She pulled an oversized hoodie over her pajamas, slid into her slippers, and headed up to the penthouse.

She was in another suit. God. Azzi needed her to stop wearing those. They made her brain and her face overheat. She was so freaking hot, and Azzi couldn’t have her.

“Hey, Az.” That nickname. Again! Blue eyes trailed from her fuzzy slides, up to her bare legs, the tiny strip of her pink pajama shorts, to the big gray sweatshirt, finally landing on her face and messy bun. “You’re making it hard to want to leave for work.”

Azzi’s face was burning up. “Oh! Th-thanks.”

The smirk on Paige’s face turned into a genuine smile, small, but there. “Thank you for covering on such short notice. It’s just a new client, and they’re going to bring in millions if it goes well.”

Azzi exhaled, walking to the couch. “No problem! What all do you need me to do with Soleil today?”

“It was supposed to be a chill morning for us. We were gonna go out for breakfast, go to Four Oaks Christian to see if it would be a better fit, have lunch, maybe watch a movie. I hate missing time with her for fucking meetings.” She sighed.

Azzi’s eyes widened. “You want me to tour another Christian school after everything that happened yesterday?”

Paige’s blue eyes locked onto the doe-eyed ones. “I made sure they knew she had a gay mom. Said it’s fine and they respect all kinds of families.” She shrugged. “It’s just a tour. You know what a school needs, and I trust you. You’ll know if that place is good enough for Lei or not.”

Eyes wide, Azzi choked out, “You’d trust me with a choice that big?”

“Azzi, I told you. You’re family now. That means I trust you. Means we all trust you.”

Warmth blossomed in Azzi’s chest. She had forgotten what it felt like to be trusted, needed, accepted. “O-okay. I’ll make sure to take notes for you.”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I promise I trust your judgement.” She smiled.

Azzi’s ears rang. Paige smiled. At her this time. The first smile she’d seen that wasn’t directed to one of her sisters or Soleil. It was a smile for Azzi.

God, she had to get a handle on this stupid crush.

She was snapped out of her trance by the press of cold metal on her hand. She felt a slight spark when Paige’s fingers brushed over hers. “Here’s my card. Whatever you need goes on here.” She paused, smirking. “Actually, I’m gonna check and make sure you spent enough for breakfast and lunch for two people. If it’s not up to my standards, you’ll be receiving a nice gift from me.”

Azzi rolled her eyes.

She’s so dramatic. She thinks. But she likes to take care of you. The other side of her brain helpfully provides. Yeah, because you’re like a sister to her. She literally just told you that you’re family now.

“I’m gonna tell Soleil bye, then I’ll be out of your hair. She’ll wake up and come out when she’s ready. Please just make sure you’re at the school by 11.”

And Azzi was left alone. She plopped down on the sofa, turning on Zootopia. She scrolled on TikTok, volume down so she could hear Soleil when she wakes up.

After a while, she heard light footsteps. A lump of fuzz crawled onto the couch, burrowing into Azzi’s side.

“Good morning, Soleil.” Azzi whispered.

She got a grunt in return and let out a light giggle at the lack of energy. She had no idea Soleil could be this still.

The two stayed cuddled on the couch until the movie ended. “Okay, Pretty Face. We gotta get ready. We’ve got a busy day ahead of us.”

A mumbled “Kay,” and two outstretched arms was all Azzi got in response.

She helped the girl brush her teeth and wash her face. She sat cross-legged on the floor while she waited for Soleil to pick an outfit.

After she’s dressed in a yellow gingham romper, Soleil approached Azzi shyly.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” Azzi brushed the girl’s hair from her face.

“Wan you to do my haiw.” She mumbled. “Please?”

Azzi smiled. “Of course I’ll do your hair! I thought you’d never ask!”

Soleil giggled. The first sign of normalcy from the girl.

“Let’s get your shoes on, and we can do your hair downstairs at my house.”

Two bubble braids and a pair of stark white Converse later, Soleil was ready. Azzi was very much not.

She was slicking her damp hair into a ponytail, going through different outfit options in her head. She should probably look the part. She should look like she could afford a thirty-thousand-dollar tuition. She should look like one of those moms who had it all together — the kind who dropped their kids off at school, hit Pilates, cleaned the house, baked dessert, and finished laundry before pickup. Even though she didn’t belong, she needed to look like she did, for Soleil and Paige’s sake.

Before her mind could spiral, Soleil’s voice called out from her closet. “We match?”

Azzi was secretly grateful that the girl had helped her eliminate some choices on what to wear. “Of course, sweetie!”

She met the girl who was holding on to one of the yellow dresses, much too short to pull it off the hanger. The dress was perfect. It would hit the middle of her calf, and it had thick straps with a neckline that covered most of her cleavage. She decided to pair it with woven wedges, a matching purse, and a pair of sunglasses.

Soleil came up to hold her hand while she looked in the mirror. They made a cute pair.

Azzi made sure to grab Paige’s black card off the table before meeting Morgan downstairs.

Today, Morgan was driving Paige’s everyday car instead of the Escalade. “Hi Mo!” Soleil greeted cheerfully.

Morgan replied back just as happily, and the two launched into a conversation as Azzi buckled the girl in.

“Good morning, Morgan. We’re headed to Wheat’s End Café.”

The ride to the café was short but filled with lighthearted comments from Soleil about being happy to stay home from school today.

The two of them walked into the café, hands tight in each other’s grasp. Azzi saw that shyness peeking out of Soleil again, almost shocked at how quickly she hid into herself. She took a picture of the menu and pulled the girl to the side, so they could talk about what they wanted in private.

“So, do you want something sweet or something meaty?” Soleil pointed to a picture of a cinnamon roll and a chocolate chip waffle. “How about we get one of each and share?”  Soleil nodded, burrowing her face in Azzi’s neck. “We can get some fruit and some bacon too, and maybe a bagel and lox for Morgan.”

Azzi hoisted her up and held her quietly until they got to the front of the line. “Do you want to tell the barista what you want, Lei?” She burrowed her hair into Azzi’s neck, even more than before.

“My daughter is shy like that too. What would you to like to get?” The barista smiled gently.

Azzi’s smile faltered a bit at the woman’s assumption. She couldn’t have known any better, the matching dresses and closeness definitely made them look like a mother-daughter duo. She put in her order quickly, adding two hot chocolates, getting the order just as quickly.

Morgan drove them to Lakeshore East Park and started on her bagel while Soleil and Azzi found a table in the shade. Soleil sits quietly while Azzi sets out the fruit, bacon, part of the muffin and waffle. When Azzi blows on her hot chocolate before giving it to the little one, who smiles. “Mommy does that too.”

“There she is,” Azzi grins. “I didn’t think you were ever gonna talk to me again!”

Soleil giggles, “I don’t like new people. Mommy telled me stwangews not safe.”

“Your mommy is right, like always. But you don’t have to worry when you’re with me. I got you Lei Lei.”

She nodded, looking at her food. “Awe these gluten fwee? I don’t wanna get sick.” Soleil asked, face falling slightly.

Azzi gasped, placing a hand over her heart. “Of course they are gluten free! I’m allergic too.”

The smile that stretched across Soleil’s face was worth all the gluten-filled foods Azzi would miss out on. “Nobody else was gluten fwee. Now we can be best fwiends!”

She crawled into Azzi’s lap, content to eat her breakfast in her lap. Their informal breakfast date was filled with giggles and jokes about any and everything.

They ended breakfast full and happy. Azzi snapped a selfie with her and Soleil’s syrup and icing covered face and sent it to Paige.

Azzi: Soleil is a MENACE. a perfect, cute, sugar-coated menace 😍 10/10 would recommend.

She’s just finished wiping her face when she gets a reply.

Paige Bueckers: She gets it from me. You can do this every day if you want. We’d love it

A little shocked and flushed, Azzi hearts the message, while she and Soleil walk back to the car.

Azzi: heading to four oaks christian now. will lyk how it goes

“Okie dokes Soleil. We’re going to see a new school. I know you get a little nervous when you go somewhere new, but that’s okay. I’ll be right there with you, and if you don’t like it, we don’t have to stay! I just want you to try, and then we’re going to pick up lunch and go home. And we can eat and watch a movie if you want?”

Soleil’s brows furrowed with determination. “I twy my best.” She paused. “And I want Fwozen.”

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Four Oaks Christian School was a nice school. It would take about an hour to get there in the mornings, but the view of Lake Michigan made it worth it. The campus didn’t even look like you were still in Cook County; full frees lined the road. It was quiet out here, and Azzi felt the stillness may work well for Soleil.

Soleil reached for Azzi’s hand, grip firm as they walked to the office. Her romper looked bright against the landscape; sunshine personified. Seeing a few parents getting in and out of cars, Azzi smiled knowing her dress made her look like she belonged in the PTA meetings and lunch bunch clubs.

When a smidge of doubt started to peak in, Azzi felt Soleil grip her hand a little tighter, looking up with a nervous face. She didn’t have time to be insecure; Soleil needed her to be steady.

Soleil’s grip tightened the closer the got to the front desk, but after Azzi checked them in, the girl stood next to her, instead of hiding behind her legs. Small victory.

A bubbly redhead came up to them. “Good morning. My name is Ms. Clarkson We are here for a school tour for Little Miss Soleil Bueckers, right?” She knelt, much like Azzi did the first time she met the girl. “Hello Soleil. I like how you’re matching with your mommy!” She smiled. “I have shoes just like yours too!”

Before Azzi could correct the woman, Soleil had muttered a quiet, “Thank you.” She’d pushed herself closer to Azzi, but she was proud of the girl for trying so hard.

Azzi felt her shoulders drop a little when the woman turns away from them to lead them deeper into the school.

The three of them walked to all areas Soleil would see during the school year. The cafeteria had fresh fruits and vegetables and a separate prep area for children with allergies. She would go to art and music classes twice a week, but she had PE every day. Science classes occurred on Tuesdays and Thursdays, while she would have Spanish on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.

They had chapel the first thing every morning. “As we are a Christian school, we provide instruction about the attributes of God and character of Christ. Every week, the children learn about a new virtue, and they talk about it every morning in chapel. They will have many opportunities to work on these virtues throughout the week, and the child with the most positive points in each class will be recognized at Friday chapel.”

Ms. Clarkson continued to add little facts here and there. Parents were always able to come have lunch whenever they wished. There were multiple security guards throughout campus. People couldn’t get into buildings or classrooms without being buzzed in or with a badge (Paige would love that). Soleil would have a buddy in second grade to help her adjust to any changes, and once she got to second grade, she would get her own little buddy.

Once they approached the two preschool classes, Ms. Clarkson spoke a little quieter, only to Azzi. “She seems a bit shy, but if she would like, she could sit in Mrs. Russell’s class. That’s the class she would be in you decided to send her here. It shouldn’t be too overwhelming; our classes are very small. There would only be five other students in there with Soleil.”

Azzi nodded and thanked the woman, guiding Soleil a few feet away. “How you feeling, sweetheart?”

Soleil shrugged a bit, “It’s pweety. But want you to be my teachew.”

Azzi’s heart clenched, like it always did when Soleil said something sweet. “Well do you wanna see how the other teacher is? It doesn’t mean you have to stay with her. Just trying it out, okay?” Soleil nodded. “If you don’t want to, you don’t need to. We can go get lunch and go home right now.”

She tugged at the hem of her romper, shuffling her feet nervously. “I twy. But I can come back?”

Azzi touched her forehead to the girl’s. “You can come back whenever.”

With a nod, Soleil let herself be guided into the classroom. Azzi stood back and watched Soleil introduce herself to the group.

She slowly and silently backed out of the room to finish the tour with Ms. Clarkson.

“So, do you have any questions for me?” Ms. Clarkson beamed.

Azzi inhaled deeply. “Soleil was just pulled out of St. Paul’s because of their views on our family. She was getting bullied about it, and we’re not putting up with that again. How do we make sure that doesn’t happen?”

Ms. Clarkson’s brows pinched together. “I’m so sorry she had to go through that. At Four Oaks, we have a zero-tolerance policy for bullying, for any reason. We also teach the children that we must be accepting of all people, no matter their background, religion, race, wealth. We pride ourselves on creating close classroom communities where children wouldn’t even think of picking on others.”

Azzi nodded, finally able to breathe a little easier. She let Ms. Clarkson go through the student handbook and list the extracurriculars and parent nights they offered. She noted all of them, making sure to listen more intently on things Soleil would like. She wanted to make sure she could give a comprehensive report to Paige.

She watched Soleil through the window. After a few minutes, Soleil had come out of her shell a bit, raising her hand to give input about the story Mrs. Russell was reading. Once the story was over, she sat next to a darker skinned girl. She shared her crayons and paper with Soleil.

Azzi snapped a picture of a bright smile and sent it to Paige immediately.

Azzi: maybe got a winner? 🤩🤩 sunny girl loves it!

Paige Bueckers: She’s shining already. Thank you so much, Azzi.

When 1:00 rolls around, Mrs. Russell’s class moves into silent reading time, and it’s time for Soleil to go.

Completely gone is the shy girl from an hour ago. “Mrs. Wussell’s woom smells like candy! Did you see my new fwiend? Hew name is Mia!” She reached her arms up, and once Azzi had Soleil perched on her hip, the girl went on her tangent.

Ms. Clarkson walked them back to the front office, and Azzi took advantage of the deep breath Soleil paused to take and turned towards the redhead. “Thank you so much for the tour; she loved it. I’ll talk to Paige, and she should be getting back to you all this evening.”

Azzi walked to the car with Soleil on one arm and the student handbook, tuition paperwork, and enrollment packet in the other.

The sun was bright in their eyes, and Azzi knew Soleil’s future at Four Oaks could be just as bright.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Their day had been perfect. They had a perfectly delicious breakfast at the park. They had found the perfect school for Soleil (even though she said she still wanted Azzi to be her teacher). They had picked up pho from Azzi’s favorite Vietnamese restaurant. They were heading home to watch Frozen and pig out on the delicious soup.

Nothing can stay perfect for long though.

Downtown Chicago was always busy. People always knocking into each other without a second glance. For this reason, Azzi held Soleil close to her chest, having the little girl wrap her arms around Azzi’s neck before they got out of the car. Morgan had pulled as close as possible to Aurelia’s doors. She’d offered to carry the food up to the penthouse, since Azzi’s arms were full of Soleil.

Azzi was it three steps from the car before she saw him.

When she’d looked out of the car window and caught the first glance of the slicked back blond hair, her breath hitched a bit.

But she talked herself down. There was no way anyone had already found out she’d moved to Aurelia. And in a flash, the hair had disappeared. She was just anxious and wound up because of all of the people.

She exhaled deeply. Morgan came around to open the door for Azzi and Soleil.

Adjusting her grip on the girl, she slid out of the Range Rover smoothly.

With the first step, she felt a heated gaze on her. Not like the one from Paige this morning, the kind that made her warm inside. No. This gaze made her spine go straight.

With the second step, her eyes darted around. Eager to find who was staring at her and making all the hair on her arms stand up. So focused she didn’t hear Morgan calling her name.

The third steps she took had her locking eyes with him.

He found her.

Grant found her.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Paige had a spending problem. Not all the time, but when she decided to spend money, she went big every time.

She wasn’t impulsive. She was comparing cars, seeing which one she should get next. She’d narrowed it down to the Aston Martin DBX707 and the Porsche 911 Turbo S. They could both fit Lei’s car seat in the back. There were both performance cars, and the cost for each was well over 100,000. But Paige had just signed her biggest client of the year; she deserved a treat.

Before she could compare the engines, her phone rang. MoChellie.

Paige’s heart stopped for a second. What the fuck happened for Morgan to be calling her?

She took a deep breath, answering the call.

But before she could say anything, she could hear whimpering in the background. Soleil.

“Morgan wha –”

The chauffeur cut her off frantically. “I need you to get here. Like now.” She rushed out. “I don’t even know what happened. I was dropping them off, and we got out, and Azzi just starts looking around like crazy. Holding on to Soleil real tight. She looked scared. And I thought it was just a lot of people or something. But then she got real stiff, and I couldn’t even ask her nothing before she was back in the car with Soleil.”

Paige was already up and on the elevator to the lobby before Morgan had started the second sentence. “Where are you now, Mo?”

“I haven’t moved! Azzi still has Soleil in her lap, and I don’t wanna drive if she’s not in her seat.”

“Alright, I’m on the way. Stay on the phone and let me know if anything changes. Try to get her to calm down, okay?”

Paige made it to Aurelia in record time. Spotting the car the girls are in, she turned off her McLaren with the push of a button, rushing to the SUV.

She probably shouldn’t have knocked on the window. She could tell that she’d startled Azzi. The brunette’s eyes were wide, wild, and wet.

Paige yanked open the door roughly and pulled Azzi and Soleil out of the car. She didn’t let Azzi say anything, just pulled the two of them into her body and moved them into the lobby.

She knew the three of them were getting strange looks from people in the lobby, but she didn’t care. She just needed to get Azzi and Soleil somewhere safe, so she could figure out whatever the fuck was going on.

As soon as the elevator doors shut, Paige let out a deep breath.

“I think she saw someone in the crowd.” Paige jumped, forgetting Morgan was following her. “I think that’s what freaked her out.”

Paige nodded, “Thanks for getting them back to the car Morgan.” Her eyes drop to the bag of food. “You can keep that, and I’ll DoorDash something. You’re off the rest of the week.”

“Thanks P,” Morgan says as the elevator dings. “I’ll see you later. Let me know if y’all need anything.”

Paige walked them off the elevator, giving Morgan a head nod before the doors closed again.

After guiding Azzi to sit on the couch, Paige went to take Soleil from her arms.

“No.” Azzi’s arms tightened around the girl, voice sharp.

“Hey, hey, Az. It’s me. It’s just Paige.” Her hand came up to cup her tanned cheek.

Big brown eyes fluttered, head shaking a bit. Azzi’s eyes met Paige’s, and her arms fell limply to her side. “I – I – I’m so sorry, Paige. I just – I didn’t know. And he just – I don’t –” Tears filled her eyes again as she tried to explain.

“It’s okay, Azzi. I’m gonna put Lei down. I’ll be right back. Don’t move.” Paige said softly.

Paige was unsure how Soleil was able to fall asleep with all of the commotion, and thought maybe it wasn’t as bad as it seemed.

Azzi was in the exact same spot, still like a statue.

“Can you tell me what happened, Azzi?” Paige sat next to her.

“He found me. My ex – Grant – he found me, and he was waiting outside. I thought he was gonna get Soleil. Didn’t want her to get hurt. I’m sorry, I just wanted her to be safe.” A whimper escaped, and Azzi shot up, turning to the elevator. “I have to go.”

At this, Paige stood quickly. “Wait, wait, wait.” She said reaching for Azzi, hands dropping when Azzi flinched. “Azzi, you don’t need to go anywhere.”

“But he found me. He’s gonna be pissed. I don’t want you to get hurt.” Tears were falling down her face fast now.

Paige raised her hands and moved towards Azzi slowly, “Did he hit you, Azzi?”

Another flinch and whimper. “Only once. I left that night.”

The blonde pulled her into a tight hug, her body tense with rage. She took a deep breath, noting the man’s name. She’d have Ash look into him. “That’s good Azzi. You got away from him, and you don’t have to go back.”

Pagie tugged her closer. One hand on her waist, one hand on the back of her neck. Azzi melted into Paige’s embrace. Then, sobs racked her body.

“It’s okay, Azzi. Everything’s gonna be fine.”

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

A/N: I had to end it here, or this would’ve been a 6k word chapter! I’m hoping to be able to post the next chapter by tonight! Go Wings!! xx Elle

[whywaittofallinlove]

off limits ch2 | jesse x miller!daughter reader

summary: as tommy’s daughter and joel’s niece, there is an unspoken rule in jackson that you’re off limits. jesse, someone known for sticking to the rules, breaks this one rule

pairing: jesse x miller!daughter reader

word count: 1,673 words

warnings: none, although have changed the story from niece to daughter

Chapter 2

“You’re both lucky it was me… if it was Tommy…” Maria doesn’t finish her sentence. She doesn’t need to. All three of you know the unspoken threat in her words.

You say nothing.

You don’t even spare a glance at Jesse as you hold Maria’s gaze. Steady, unflinching, defiant.

“Jesse, why don’t you get out of here, get the patrols ready.” Maria says coolly, her words directed at the young man, yet her eyes are fixed solely on you. The dismissal is subtle but enough to be understood.

“Maria…” Jesse protests quietly. “Jesse,” her tone stronger. “Don’t make me ask you again.” A beat of silence between the three of you, so silent you’re able to hear the faint sound of falling snow around you. “Yes, ma’am.” You can hear the tightness in Jesse’s voice as he leaves the pair of you alone, obeying the orders directed to him.

Maria casts a glance to Jesse’s retreating silhouette and then to the quiet house behind her, her expression hardening as she turns to face you. “I don’t want you to do anymore patrols together.” Maria says matter of factly. It’s not a suggestion, but a command.

“What? You can’t do that!” You shoot back in disbelief. You and Jesse had patrolled together now for several months, moved as one, trusted each other to keep the other safe.

“You’ll find that I can,” Maria says simply. “And I am.”

Maria’s face softens ever so slightly, if you blinked you might’ve missed it. “I’m not doing this to hurt you, I’m doing this to protect you. Both of you. You know Jesse’s place on the council would be questioned.”

You open your mouth ready to argue, ready to defend, but Maria, always one step ahead, holds her hand up, silencing your words.

“You think they won’t start whispering that he got that position because of you? Because of your Dad? Because of me?”

“So it’s self-preservation then?” you snap, anger searing through your veins. “You know Jesse worked hard for that position, he deserves a seat on that council more than anyone.”

“I know that, but it won’t matter.”

“I’m patrolling with Jesse.” You refuse to accept her command, zipping your jacket up as a cold gust of wind sends a chill through your body. You move to follow Jesse’s path to the stables, no doubt preparing for the patrol. Maria gently but firmly catches your arm, stopping you in your place.

“I’m not asking you, I’m telling you, no more patrols together. You get distracted for one second, or he makes one wrong call and someone doesn’t make it home.”

“What?” You say incredulously, offended that Maria believes you won’t be able to separate your professional and personal relationship with Jesse. As if you haven’t already been doing that for the last year. Not that she ever knew. Not that anyone did. “You think I don’t take my patrols seriously when I’m with him? Or that he can’t control himself? That we’d let someone get hurt?”

“When you’re out there?” Maria points, signalling to the world outside of their small protected community. “When there’s a horde of infected or a group of raiders, you have to make a choice, you don’t get to hesitate, you don’t get to feel. You start to think with your heart and not your head?” Maria pauses for a moment, emphasising the next words. “Someone dies.”

You want to argue, to tell her she’s wrong. But then she drops the final blow.

“Might be someone else… but most likely? It’d be you… or Jesse.” She’s not trying to scare you, she saying it because it’s true. And that’s what terrifies you more. You could never forgive yourself if an error in your judgement led to Jesse getting hurt. Or worse.

“No more patrols together.” Her words are final, no more room for argument. You don’t say anything, just nod, albeit reluctantly, at her words. She releases the gentle hold on your arm. “You can patrol with Joel today, Ellie can go with Jesse.” ‘Joy.’ You think bitterly. You’re already thinking of the ways you’ll have to repay Ellie for dragging her out of her bed earlier than usual.

Maria begins to retreat back to the main house, taking a few steps before turning back to you. “Are you happy?”

You think of the morning you just shared with Jesse, the feel of his skin on yours, the look in his eyes when you caught his gaze lingering on you for that extra moment, the smile that he reserves solely for you. Your lips unknowingly curve at just the thought of him. “He makes me happy, Maria.”

Maria softly nods, her expression unreadable to you, “We’ll figure it out, kid.”

•

You softly knock on the familiar white door, rubbing your hands together in an attempt to ward off the early morning chill. “You know you don’t have to knock, baby girl.” Joel stands in the open doorway, steaming hot mug in hand, the scent of the elusive coffee he had somehow managed to scavenge, wafting into the air. “Habit.” The older man steps aside so you can enter his abode. Joel is already prepped and ready for his patrol, snow jacket on, boots laced tight, his pistol strapped to his thigh. You can’t help but notice how the years have changed your uncle. There’s more grey than brown in his thick hair, the wrinkles around his dark eyes a little deeper, a slight heaviness to him, as if he’s been carrying the fate of the world on his shoulders…

“Everythin’ alright?” He asks, closing the door behind you. The house is familiar and warm as you glance around, taking note of the new hand carved ornaments.

“Is Ellie still asleep?” You lightly touch the intricate wooden owl, appreciating the finer details.

“It’s barely light out, of course she is. What’s wrong?” Joel’s tone is concerned as he places his mug down, a little harder than necessary, on the small table by the door, seeking your attention. “Can I patrol with you this morning?” You glance at your uncle, the confusion evident in his face. He knows your schedule. Hell, he’s the one who makes it half the time. And he knows that you almost exclusively patrol with Jesse. “Did Jesse do somethin’?” His voice tightens, the fingers on his right hand stretching before clenching into a fist, almost on reflex.

“No!” You say immediately. “No, nothing like that… I just want to go with you, if that’s okay? Plus, we can talk about what we can get Dad for his birthday.” You offer a little smile, trying to lighten the mood and deflect away from Jesse.

Joel narrows his eyes in suspicion, studying you for a moment before deciding to let it go. “If you’re sure, kiddo.”

“I’m sure… Do you want me to wake Ellie to tell her?” Like the rest of the community, you couldn’t help but notice the tension between the pair of them. You knew that Joel and Ellie had travelled the country, seeking out the Fireflies to develop a cure, and along the way had developed a bond similar to that of a father and daughter.

A small smile appears on Joel’s face.

“No, let her sleep in.”

•

You and Joel walk side by side, the Main Street of Jackson slowly becoming alive, marking the start of another day. “So, what patrol are we on today?” You try your best to sound casual, it’s probably something that you should’ve already known as one of the senior members of the community.

Joel raises his eyebrow as he side-eyes you. “Copper Mine, it’s not too bad. Maybe one or two infected.”

“I thought so.” You say confidently, if you knew the answer the whole time, a small laugh escaping you as your uncle rolls his eyes at you.

“Nothin’ we can’t handle.” He gently pushes his shoulder into yours giving you an affectionate push.

It’s only a short walk before the stables come into view, the smell of hay and horse shit rampant. You watch as Jesse prepares the horses and commands the outgoing patrolling teams around him. He turns his head at your approach, a ghost of smile on his face, but that soon vanishes when he notices Joel walking beside you. Joel and Jesse nod their heads in greeting, neither man says anything. Both men similar in that they use their actions to speak for them, rather than using words.

“I’m patrolling with Joel today. Maria said Ellie would cover my patrol with you.” You lightly emphasize Maria’s name, hoping he catches on to the hidden meaning. There’s a moment’s pause, a hardening in his gaze, before Jesse gives the smallest nod, understanding. “You have to wake Ellie up though.” You pat Jesse’s chest in fake sympathy as you walk past him to mount your horse.

“What patrol you on today, Jesse?” Joel calls out as he mounts his own horse with ease.

“Cottonwood.”

“Straightforward run,” Joel nods slowly, no doubt analysing the Cottonwood run in his head.

You watch as Joel’s face contorts, the lines in his face deepen, his voice sharp and commanding. “You keep her safe.” Ellie. “I will.” Jesse hands Joel the green and yellow flags. Thankfully, he doesn’t need to give Joel the typical patrol instructions, the routes and procedures a second nature to Joel at this point. ‘Stick to the road, scan the country side, hit the checkpoints, and sign the logbooks.’ The phrase echoes in your mind.

You glance above at the darkening sky. “Storm?” “We think it’s going to hit hard later on, try and be back by then.” Jesse comes closer to you under the pretence of tightening the straps on your saddle. Hidden from Joel’s view, his strong hand strokes your calf, before gently squeezing his fingers around you. “Be safe out there.” You reach down to touch his gloved fingers on the saddle. “You too.” Jesse stands back from the horse, his hand raising to signal for the gates to open.

“COPPER MINE MOVING OUT!”

note: if you’ve got this far, thank you so much! i think i might do a little tag list, so if you would like to be tagged in the next chapter update, let me know! also, i have changed it from niece to tommy’s daughter, i think it just made the story make a little bit more sense

[spinecouture]

꒰ jerk off ꒱

themes: nsfw, gn!pov, male masturbation, sub!daryl, dirty talk, use of ‘good boy,’ handjob

a/n: i’ve had this cooking for awhile. sorry i’ve been inactive. coming back slowly!

to get daryl into a comfortable enough headspace to even consider letting go of control, is no easy feat. getting a dixon to open up is like trying to break a brick wall with a plastic spoon. he’s hard-headed, stubborn and cold. so why do you have the feeling he’s a whimpering mess underneath it all?

it started on accident. you were looking for someone else, and frankly, daryl was the last man you wanted to run into. but on your hunt, you stumbled across daryl, leaning against a tree. a hand clasped over his mouth, muffling the whines as his other hand pumped his cock, leaking pre-cum all over the forest floor. what a mess, you thought. there’s no way that’s…

but oh, yes it was. daryl dixon, eyes watery and fluttering, hips bucking like a wild animal. shit, you’d never seen him so desperate. hell, you’d never seen him expressive at all, let alone gasping and moaning like a total man-whore.

of course, the show was short lived, as daryl came minutes after you found him. spurts of hot, white load spill onto the grass, and daryl’s soon huffing, puffing, flushed and guilty.

the image haunted you for weeks, plaguing your mind like a sick disease. of course, you let no one know what you saw. because hell, you’d be called a pervert for it, despite daryl being the one jerking it in the woods.

but it’s not an easy thing to get over. when you saw him wandering away from the crowd next, you had to follow. curious.

back against the tree, eyes fluttering, zipper pulled down. daryl was at it again, like a dog in heat. you didn’t know what to think, what might’ve gotten into him that made his libido spike—you weren’t even sure he could get it up before now—but something had him whipped.

which was all fine and dandy until you slipped and hit your face on a rock. blood pooled, spilling from your nose with a groan, one that had daryl pulling his pants up, stuffing his aching dick away as he saw you struggling.

“jesus H. christ,” daryl growled, before marching over. “the hell y’doin’?!”

you blinked, a goofy, messy grin on your face. “totally not watching you jack it,” you said bluntly.

daryl scowled, ready to rip you a new one. “oughta leave y’here to rot,” he grumbled.

“you oughta,” you spat, grass and dirt coming out of your mouth as you stood. “but you won’t.”

“says who?” the man snapped, glaring accusatorially.

“says the boner in your pants,” you replied with a shit-eating grin. “you ain’t just gonna leave yourself hangin’, are ya?”

daryl debating smashing your face into a tree. but lord knows he ain’t one to start something he can’t finish. instead, he stared at you with a beet red face, trying to process what just happened.

“are ya?” you repeated, taking a step closer.

daryl meant to move back, to lean away from you, but he was frozen. “shuddup,” he spat.

“nah,” you snickered, cupping his chin. “y’know what i think? heh… i think you wanna keep going. think you’d like an audience, someone to push you while you desperately try t’cum.”

daryl grumpily moved his head out of your hold, but felt his pants tighten further. goddamn, where did this side of you come from?

“c’mon, dar,” you cooed, smirking something fierce as you stepped even closer. “you know how irritable you’d be if you just… walked away? how pent up and stiff?”

you let your hand rub up and down his arm, feeling him shudder against your touch. damn, this man was a mess—a broken wreck who’d never been given an ounce of love in his life.

“i could help you,” you breathed, brushing your nose against his ear. “c’mon, jus’ lean up against the tree… let me help…”

you pushed him until his back hit the wood, and your fingers danced around his belt, mocking him. the man wanted nothing more than to bash your head in, to scream at you, call you a sick pervert and fuck off somewhere for the rest of the day.

unfortunately, he couldn't seem to move. he stood frozen, allowing your hands to undo his belt, unzip his fly. "damn," you snickered. "still hard as a rock, doll." "don't fuckin' do that," daryl grumbled, looking away with a flushed face.

"why?" you cooed, licking a stripe up his neck as your hand wrapped around his aching cock slowly. "can't take it?"

"ain't no doll," the man spat.

you couldn't hold back a laugh. it was adorable, how shy he got like this. you never knew him to be hesitant, to be nervous. but here, now, with his cock in your hand, slowly stroking him... god, he was a wreck.

it was inevitable that he'd start giving in. soon, daryl's hips were bucking into your hand, nails digging into the bark, breath heavy. your hand moved faster, but not fast enough to give him what he needed. curse you and your taunting ways.

"fucker," daryl snarled, still unable to make direct eye contact.

"oh, c'mon," you purred, leaning in close. "you can do it, baby, c'mon. cum."

daryl shook his head. not because he didn't want to finish, but because christ, he was humiliated. and that fact only got him closer.

"f-fuck off," he growled.

you scoffed, hand slowing until it came to a stop. "heh. okay," you replied, letting go of his swollen dick.

daryl huffed in frustration, suddenly looking you dead in the eye, a hint of desperation hidden beneath the anger and irritation. "what..." he panted.

"you said to fuck off," you smirked, stepping back. "so... i'll go."

daryl let his head fall back against the tree, catching his breath. his dick was throbbing, twitching, uncomfortable in the cold air without a hand to grasp it, to keep it warm. daryl knew this game. he was going to have to admit it. kill me now, he thought.

"please..." he muttered under his breath, looking down in defeat.

"hmmm?" you leaned back in, mocking him with your expression. "what?"

daryl groaned, wiping his face and debating whether or not to go through with this. his own hand grasped his cock, desperately attempting to relieve that tension. but he knew what he wanted.

"please," he repeated more firmly. "jus'... fuckin'..."

he grunted, stroking faster. he had to. he couldn't stop now.

"you want... hm?" you tilted your head, eyes glazed over with lust as your hands traced his sides. "ohhh... you wanna cum, huh?"

"fuckin' please," daryl roared, heart pounding. "don' care anymore, just fuckin' do it, god, fuck-"

"shhh," your face moved into the crook of his neck, breathing him in. "relax, baby. let me take care of you..."

daryl sighed, a breath of relief, as you replaced his hand. slowly, you matched his pace, your grip god-sent. it was humiliating, horrendous and gut wrenching, being degraded like this. and yet, he was letting you do it.

“you got it,” you praised, squeezing him just right, letting your thumb swipe across the tip. “jus’ drippin’ for me, ain’t ya?”

daryl whined, nails digging into the tree bark. he felt his stomach churning, that familiar coiling. he almost wanted to draw it out, to feel your hand forever. but god, he needed to cum. his hips thrusted involuntarily, eliciting a snicker from your lips. he glared up at you through wet lashes, but you only went faster. he tensed, panting and gasping like a pathetic dog.

“gonna cum?” you breathed, biting his neck gently.

daryl only nodded.

“got it,” you smirked, moving at the perfect pace, just enough pressure. “go ‘head. cum for me.”

daryl’s head fell back, scraping his scalp on the rough wood of the tree. he didn’t even feel the sting, just the pounding in his chest and his balls tightening. “fuck, fuckin’, fuck, i’m–“

his words were cut off by a strangled snarl, something deep and primal as he let go. your hand slowed, but didn’t stop as you milked his orgasm out. he spilled onto the forest floor, tainting it with his seed as he wheezed, breathless.

“ohhh, there ya go,” you cooed. “so good for me, doll. so good. such a good boy.”

soon, your hand left his cock, and daryl nearly collapsed. his legs were jelly, mind blank. you looked over his disheveled appearance, how the sweat stuck strands of hair to his forehead. he looked utterly wrecked. it was beautiful.

daryl finally looked up at you, flushed and spent. “fuck… fuck you,” he grunted.

“you would,” was your only response.

[slutforwoo]

☆18. I still wanna jump him☆

previous|masterlist|next

☆ written part below!! ☆

were you most likely going to regret this? absolutely. you knew that the minute you responded to his text message. it’d been 2 weeks. 2 weeks since he found out, and you’ve been avoiding him like the plague.

has it been hard as fuck? yes. considering your friend groups mingled a bit. but you managed, you weren’t going to talk to him til he came to you. after all he told you to leave him alone. so you did.

you walk towards the lake, leaves and branches crunching under your footsteps as you get closer. finally you see a tall figure as you get closer to the lake. it’s yunho, with something in his hand? a box?

“yunho”you say as you finally reach where he was waiting, sitting on the bench that was just a couple of steps away.

“y/n.. thank you for um agreeing to talk”he stumbles over his words a bit, clearly nervous about this.

“well i’ve been waiting til you wanted to talk yunho”the sign leaves ur chest. “so. what are we here to talk about?” you ask. acting like you didn’t know exactly why you’re here. you just need to have him admit why you’re here.

“we need to talk about the other day..”he trailed off slightly “I shouldn’t have ran off and lied. I was just caught severely off guard. I didn’t know how to process it. I mean y/n i’ve seen you in a very intimate way. and I didn’t even know it was you. I talked to you.” he rambled. “I just. I was in a shock okay? I didn’t.”

“yunho. I understand but you didn’t even let me explain. you ran out on me, you told me to leave u alone. I wanted to explain. but reality being, I don’t need to yunho. you know exactly why I do this” you said looking up at the man standing in front of you. “I do this to pay my rent, help my parents, pay my tuition. you think I enjoy this?”and you locked eyes with him. “I mean sure I like doing the things I do but it was a last resort” you sigh

he didn’t see it that way. quite frankly when he found out, none of that had crossed his mind. he was just in shock and ignored you instead of talking to you.

“y/n look im sorry. and im sorry because I did tell san”he whispered that last part.

you’re eyes go wide as you fill with slight anger. “you told san?” the question leaves ur mouth as a whisper.

“I’m sorry.. I needed to have someone help and I couldn’t tell mingi or hongjoong because they watch you and well. I didn’t wanna tell jongho”the apology is rambled together. and this time, you turn to look at yunho and you look him in the eyes.

“I really should beat ur ass for telling him you know… but I won’t, because at least you didn’t tell the others.” and your eyes land on the box in his hands. “what’s that?”you ask

yunho takes a deep breath and with shaky hands he hands you it. “I just got you some weed and new rolling try and grinder as an i’m sorry” he says, rubbing his neck awkwardly.

you fight the smile, as you take the box and open it. and sure enough there’s a bag of weed, a black and red gorey rolling tray and matching grinder. he also added pink joint papers. “are u trying to buy my forgiveness?”you question, raising a brow.

“n-no I just”he began to stutter before you cut him off.

“yunho im kidding. I understand why you reacted the way you did. you didn’t know but to be fair it’s not like I knew you were watching my shit”

he lets out a sigh of relief, “I know and after san talked to me I kind of came to that realization. I really hope you can forgive how I acted y/n. I shouldn’t have and i’m sorry” his voice was slightly trembling.

just like that, any anger and frustration you had towards him melted away slightly. you genuinely just wanted him to apologize so you could talk again. especially considering you liked him. and this time you couldn’t deny it anymore.

“I forgive you yuyu. but pull some shit like that again and I will have my friends jump you and i’ll beat your ass myself you got that?”you spoke.

the anxiety washed away from yunho’s body as he let out a small laugh. “I got it don’t worry I don’t plan on doing something like that again” he smiled down at you.

god there it was, the smile that made you feel butterflies every time you were with him.

“just one question though” he said locking eyes with you. “who do you use for ur streams?” he ask with a genuine curiosity.

you freeze looking at him “um well. you can’t say anything okay? because eventually you and ur friend group will find out. but it’s seonghwa and wooyoung” you said trying to read his face as his jaw dropped

“no fucking way? that’s why you all hide your face-”he’s stunned he’s been watching ur friends fuck you this entire time. and he’s been getting off on it???

“didn’t expect that one honestly” he says

“they’ve been very helpful but, i’ve always told them they’re welcome to stop at anytime. like when seonghwa eventually tells hongjoong he likes him. he’ll be cut. and same for whenever wooyoung finds someone” you say taking some of the weed from the bag and putting it in the grinder to roll a joint.

yunho wasn’t shocked honestly, it made sense that they’re help you and thenw when they find someone it’s just immediately over. but how the hell did u never catch feelings?

“how have you not caught feelings for either of them? I mean you guys are like very intimate”

you laugh “you think I can pull seonghwa away from hongjoong? that man has been yearning for years for him. he’s gay yunho. wooyoung on the other hand he. just. yea no. not ever happening. I love him as my friend though” you say shrugging as you started to roll. “plus I like someone so it wasn’t gonna happen” you say.

oh you like someone. yunho felt his heart sink. he was too late there was no way he had a chance with you.

“oh you do?” he said trying to hide the disappointment in his voice. and it made you smile a bit. this man really was oblivious and clueless.

“I like you. yunho” you said, locking eyes with him.

what? there is no way he heard you right. you. like. him??? out of all the people who call at ur feet. you want him?

when you see him freeze you begin to regret what you just told him. and when he notices the words just blurt from his mouth.

“I like you too”

p☆rnst☆r tag list

@roxhanah @sunnysidesins @spenceatiny18 @kookieswithjung @kcharlyy @bloomyroses @jiminssluttyminx @fairy-jojo @oceanside-view97 @domfikeluva @mountquokka @frecklypotato @bambbiisworld

[coco-loco-nut]

Champagne Problems

pairing: Oscar x reader

summary: the thrill of winning is intoxicating, maybe even more than the thrill of love

masterlist requests open

—————————

The crowd roars as you lift up your trophy, smiling proudly beside your teammate. You won the race and took home the first female 1-2. Cameras pan to the crowd, stopping briefly on a recently retired Oscar. He won three drivers championships and decided to leave formula one, however he remains a fixture in the paddock by supporting you.

“To my girls!” your team principal cheers as she begins to spray both of you with champagne. You are becoming a feature on the top step and it’s addicting. You and your teammate exude pure joy as you battle to drench one another in champagne, reaching a high you will forever chase.

“I love you guys,” you tell them as you pose for a photo.

“I’m winning next time,” your teammate gently nudges your ribs.

“You’ll have to take me out,” you joke, but the charged air between you tells a different story.

Oscar waits in your drivers room as you finish your media duties. He looks around, surprised at how sterile it is. The only photos decorating the room show you on the top step or receiving the pole position trophy. Oscar kept little things in his. A photo of the two of you on the beach back home in Australia, a fake plant you got him after joking he had the opposite of a green thumb, a little note from his mom. Yours looked like you only cared about winning.

You are taken by surprise when you walk in, Oscar’s always shy smile greeting you.

“Osc! Hi!” you cross the small room into his waiting embrace.

“Hi baby, incredible race today,” Oscar says warmly.

“Thanks, it feels great to be winning more consistently,” you relax, peeling off the ‘fresh’ fireproofs that stick to your champagne soaked skin despite changing before media.

“Maybe I won’t be the only championship winner soon,” Oscar’s eyes sparkle as you laugh happily at the idea.

“Hopefully. I just want to celebrate this win first,” you slip into the shower, washing away the the sweat and champagne.

“The guys already got a bar,” Oscar tells you, your friends happy to celebrate with you.

“Ready to head out?” you ask fifteen minutes later, hair slightly damp and sporting one of Oscar’s old hoodies.

“Yeah, let’s go,” his hand intertwines with yours. a familiar warmth as you walk through the paddock. “This place was a madhouse earlier after you won,” Oscar says, a different kind of chaos now filling it as teams work to move to the next race.

“It’s nice to be on this side of it,” you take the less crowded way, avoiding fans and photographers. “Have you thought about racing again post-retirement?” you ask.

“Some stand alone races, sure. I haven’t thought about full time. Why do you ask?”

“Just curious,” you shrug. Oscar doesn’t push it but he does make a mental note to ask again later in the season.

Within the hour you pull up to the club, immediately handed a glass of champagne as the grid and your team gathers to celebrate with you and your teammate.

Oscar stands at the bar beside Jack, who watches Oscar pull out his wallet to pay for a drink. A photo of you falls out with his credit card.

“You really love her,” Jack smiles, sipping his drink.

“Yeah, I do,” Oscar returns his countryman’s smile and leans in a little closer. “My mom gave me her ring,”

“Congrats man, that’s exciting,” Jack’s reply is cut off by you dragging Oscar onto the dance floor, his hand holding yours as he spins you around.

The lights flash, bodies packed tightly on the floor, but Oscar keeps a hold of you. A few songs pass and he opens his mouth to yell something to you, but you drop his hand and run off to a couple drivers who distracted you from him. Oscar stands on the floor, watching you for a moment before finding a friend to chat with. You look back at the dance floor and frown, disappointed that you couldn’t see where Oscar went.

You continued to chase the high throughout the rest of the season, no win was enough to satisfy you, especially not when you kept getting closer and closer to the championship. Rumors began to circulate that you would retire once you won, join Oscar in the post-racing life. Your contract was up after this year and you hadn’t signed a new one.

Oscar spent races planning. He figured out what race you will have won the championship and invited his family to a surprise celebration, one he planned to propose to you at. Only Hattie knew of the plan.

You won the championship right when Oscar expected you to. The thrill, the high of winning, was everything you craved and more. Another piece of fuel for your addiction. Oscar made a comment about how convenient the family dinner being so soon was, an opportunity to celebrate your win with his family and your family. So you flew back to your hometown in Australia with him for the supposed normal dinner.

“Congratulations!” the families and friends cheered as you and Oscar walked in. Despite being overwhelmed with joy, something in you feels off, but you push it down. You make the small talk and make your rounds with Oscar. Hattie pours the expensive champagne and gives everyone a glass, then it happens.

Oscar gets on one knee. Your heart drops as your grip on the champagne flute tightens. You two never discussed marriage, and you never had an answer about it until now.

“Osc, please stand up,” you tensely whisper, but he clears his throat anyway. Your shoulders are tense as you stand there awkwardly, loved ones circling you.

“Y/n, my champion, there is nothing I want to do more than to marry you. I want to explore life after F1 with you, and slow down with you. You make me a better person, our lives are woven together, and I want to keep it that way. Will you marry me?” Oscar asks as your eyes well with tears. The ring box opens to show his mother’s ring.

“No. I’m moving to America, I wanted to tell you tonight. I’m racing in Indycar next year. I love you, but I don’t think that I can be that person for you,” you shake your head, taking a step back. “I’m so sorry,” you bolt. Oscar stands up and watches you disappear from the room as an awkward silence falls. He isn’t sure who pulls him into a hug as his own tears fall.

You didn’t know until he asked, but you both know there is no coming back from that. You booked the next flight to Monaco and Oscar booked the final night train to Melbourne.

Part of Oscar wants to just get lost in a crowd and disappear, but another part of him craves the silence the night train gives him. He isn’t sure which is best for the situation.

You ghosted his friends when they reached out to check on you, knowing that Oscar is better off without you now. His family told him you would never settle down until you were finished chasing the high of winning, champagne problems as the media called it.

Instead you kept silent tabs on him as you focused on learning a new series, watching as he falls in love with someone else. An old flame from his studies when he raced in feeder series. You watch as she treats him better than you, and you are happy about it. You still love him, but it’s the kind of love that is best from afar. one that appreciates him finding someone who fixed the mess you left and helps him forget you.

[writeriguess]

hii! can I please request a fic where Denki is having a mental breakdown alone in his room but the reader (his partner) walks in because they have a spare key to his dorm, resulting in the reader comforting him.

sorry if this is too much to ask

Electric Storms

The room was dark except for the faint glow of a charger light on Denki’s desk. The usual hum of music from his speakers was absent, leaving an unsettling silence in its place. Clothes were strewn across the floor, textbooks stacked haphazardly on his chair, and his comforter was half-pulled off his bed like he’d been tossing and turning before giving up on sleep.

And in the corner of the bed, curled into himself like a wounded animal, was Denki.

His fingers dug into his golden hair, gripping so tightly his knuckles had turned white. His shoulders trembled, breath coming in short, uneven gasps. His chest felt too tight, like someone had wrapped an extension cord around his ribs and kept pulling. Thoughts ran through his mind at lightning speed—static, white noise, echoes of self-doubt. I’m so dumb. Why can’t I be better? Why do I always mess everything up?

Then a soft click came from the door.

Denki barely registered it at first, too lost in the whirlwind in his head. But then there were footsteps—light, careful—before the warmth of a familiar voice broke through the static.

“Denki?”

His head jerked up. His golden eyes were wild, pupils blown, breath still erratic as he registered the person standing in his doorway. You. His partner. The one person he never wanted to see him like this.

You held up the spare key he’d given you ages ago, your expression soft with concern. “You weren’t answering your phone. I got worried.”

Denki opened his mouth to say something—maybe to brush it off, maybe to tell you to leave—but his throat felt tight, like something was lodged there. He turned his head away instead, pressing the heel of his palm against his eye.

“‘M fine,” he mumbled, voice barely above a whisper.

You sighed, stepping further inside and shutting the door behind you. “You don’t have to do that with me, you know.”

Denki let out a bitter laugh, but it was choked, like it hurt to even make a sound. “Yeah? Well, I don’t exactly look fine, do I?”

You walked over to his bed, moving slowly like you were approaching a frightened animal. “No. You don’t.” You sat down beside him, close enough that he could feel your warmth, but you didn’t touch him yet. “Want to tell me what’s wrong?”

Denki swallowed hard. His fingers twitched where they rested against his knee. He didn’t want to do this. Didn’t want you to see him like this—pathetic, broken, not the happy-go-lucky idiot everyone expected him to be.

But God, he was tired. So damn tired of pretending.

“I…” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I don’t know. My head just won’t stop. It’s like—like a storm up there. Too loud. Too fast. And I just—” His voice cracked, and he clenched his jaw, eyes burning. “I feel like I’m gonna short-circuit.”

Your heart clenched at his words. Slowly, cautiously, you reached out and placed a hand over his, rubbing slow circles with your thumb. “Denki…”

He shuddered at the contact but didn’t pull away. If anything, he gripped your hand tighter.

“It’s okay,” you whispered. “You’re okay.”

Denki let out a shaky breath, his shoulders slumping. “I hate this,” he admitted. “I hate feeling like this. Like I’m not enough. Like I’m just… just a joke.”

“You’re not a joke,” you said, voice firm but gentle. “You’re Denki. You’re kind, and strong, and so much smarter than you give yourself credit for.”

Denki let out a weak chuckle, though there was no humour in it. “Smart? That’s a new one.”

“I mean it,” you insisted. “Just because you struggle sometimes doesn’t mean you’re stupid. And you don’t have to go through this alone.” You squeezed his hand. “Let me be here for you.”

Denki’s throat felt tight again, but this time for a different reason. He stared at your hand in his, at the way you were holding on so firmly, like you weren’t going to let go no matter how bad things got.

His vision blurred.

“Can I—?” His voice wavered. “Can I just hold you? Just for a little bit?”

Your heart ached at how small he sounded. You nodded immediately. “Of course.”

Denki barely waited for you to finish speaking before he was moving. He collapsed into you, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face in your shoulder. His body trembled against yours, and you held him tighter, running your fingers through his hair in soothing strokes.

“You’re safe,” you murmured against his temple. “You’re loved.”

Denki clung to you like you were his lifeline, his grip desperate, grounding. His breathing was still uneven, but little by little, the storm inside him started to quiet.

And for the first time in a long time, he let himself believe your words.

[sebmindbreak]

Angst request..? User has Hanahaki Disease and is trying to hide it from Azure? (Idk sorry :,3)

OOO

user/you with an hanahaki disease , you got it! >u<

now you didnt precise if you wanted one shot or headcanons

SO FOR A CHANGE I DID HEADCANONS!

i had to do some research , i hope i did okay!

LIKE ALWAYS IF YOU SEE ANY MISTAKES TELL ME!

i alwas reread myself , but a mistake can escape me..

i hope you like it!

TYPE: ANGST

TITLE : flower bearings

AZURE

-He's incredibly perceptive, especially when it comes to you.

-At first, he notices your behavior changing how you flinch when you cough, how you always excuse yourself when you feel something rise in your throat.

-You try to smile it off, pretending you’re just tired or sick with a cold, but Azure isn’t convinced.

-He tries not to pry at first, giving you space. He respects boundaries.

-But every time he hears a stifled cough behind closed doors or sees the petals you failed to clean up, it gnaws at him.

-When he finally finds out it's Hanahaki, he panics internally.

-He hides it well, but inside, he’s terrified. Terrified of what it means, of how much pain you've been enduring alone.

-He demands to know why you didn't tell him. Not out of anger, but out of hurt. "Why didn't you trust me? Why did you think I wouldn't care?"

-Once he understands the disease is rooted in unrequited love, his tone softens.

-Azure refuses to let you suffer alone. He becomes more attentive carrying tissues, checking your pulse, making tea (if you like tea), even brushing petals out of your hair gently.

-He doesn’t leave your side unless he has to.

-He starts researching obsessively, desperate for a cure, a treatment, anything.

-When he realizes the disease is about you loving him, he freezes.

-"...It's me, isn't it? The one you... feel for?"

-If he realizes he loves you too, he won't waste another second. He’ll confess, with shaky breath and teary eyes, and hold you tightly.

-If he doesn’t feel the same (or isn't sure he does-), he still won’t let you go through this alone.

-He'll cradle you like you're fragile glass, quietly crying when you sleep, cursing himself for not seeing it sooner.

-Azure is soft with you, even when he’s scared.

-He brushes your hair back after every painful coughing fit, whispers encouragement, and makes sure you feel cared for.

-He might not have all the answers, but he makes sure you know: he isn’t going anywhere.

-Even if it hurts him too.

I HOPE YOU LIKED IT!

i kinda did a mix of past and present azure for fun too <3

[strawb3rry-hon3y]

Rough Edges, Soft Spots

Pairing: Jeon Seok-dae x GN!Reader Requested: Yes / @adelaaeverden

Summary: A headcanon collection for a opposites-attract dynamic between Jeon Seok-dae and a calmer, reserved reader.

Length: 1,093 words. Genre: Romance, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort

Warnings: Mentions of fighting, jealousy, emotional vulnerability, comfort scenes. Status: Complete!

♡. You met him when he came confidently strolling into the convenience store you were working at after school. It took him a moment to grab everything he wanted before setting it at the counter, as you began scanning the items one by one. Ruckus was heard outside causing you to turn your head. Around three guys were outside, yelling, smoking, looking like they were about to start a riot if they could.

♡. “Idiots” was mumbled from your lips as you finished bagging the items. The guy just seemed to chuckle before handing you cash. ‘Them? Complete Idiots” He agreed. You watch him give a small smirk before leaving the store, the door giving a small ‘ding’. As you watched him walk around the store you rolled your eyes as one of the guys happily wrapped an arm around him.

♡. After that first encounter, Seok-dae starts showing up at the convenience store more often, always with a new excuse. “Forgot my ramen,” “Needed gum,” You're not convinced. He starts lingering longer. Sometimes he just leans against the counter, casually chatting about random things while you restock or count change. You act like he’s annoying you, but secretly it was kind of nice.

♡. You didn’t hold back. The first time he had a split lip and a bruised knuckle at the counter, you crossed your arms and muttered, “You’re gonna end up in jail at this rate.” He just winked and said, “Wanna visit me if I do?” You rolled your eyes but kept the ice pack you handed him a little longer than necessary.

♡. Seok-dae tossed a pack of cigarettes onto the counter. You frowned immediately. “Really? now you wanna wreck your lungs too?” He looked caught off guard, used to people laughing it, not caring. “Fine, I won’t get ‘em,” he mumbled. You raised a brow. “just today?” You asked as he chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re kind of intense.”

♡. One evening, he notices you're working alone during a storm. He stays until your shift ends, claiming: "I’m just waiting for the rain to die down," but he walks you home under his hoodie one your shift ends anyways.

♡. You both end up walking home together more often. At first, it’s just by chance. Then, it’s on purpose.One day he grabs your wrist to stop you from crossing too soon and says, “You gotta look both ways. Can't have you dying, who else is gonna judge my life choices?”

♡. He teases you relentlessly for being such a ‘goodie-goodie.’ “You probably say ‘sorry’ when people bump into you, don’t you?” You roll your eyes but don’t deny it. Still, he starts calling you “angel” just to fluster you.

♡. He got your number through some casual excuse (“in case I forget my wallet and need to Venmo, duh”), but started texting little things like, “Store boring without me?” or “What’s your favorite snack? Don’t say granola bars, I’ll block you.”

♡. You never planned dates, but they sort of happened. He’d show up when your shift ended, hands in his pockets, like, “Wanna walk?” And somehow you’d end up at a corner store, buying cheap candy before sneaking into a late showing at the local theater.

♡. You’re the one reminding him to do homework, reminding him to eat healthy. He’s the one dragging you into random fun spontaneous bike rides, crashing rooftop hangouts, convincing you to skip your overly scheduled day for a thrill.

♡. You noticed how Seok-dae always bought two drinks now: your favorite included. He noticed how you started keeping extra napkins behind the counter in case he walked in with bloody knuckles again.

♡. You yelled at him once. really yelled, after a particularly bad fight. He expected you to ghost him after that, but instead, you showed up the next day with bandages and a bag of his favorite chips, grumbling, “This doesn’t mean I’m okay with it.”

♡. One night, Seok-dae called, voice lower than usual. He didn’t say much, just asked if you were still at the store. When you said no, he asked to meet anyway. That night, sitting in silence outside a closed ramen shop, he mumbled, “I don’t get why you care... but I’m glad you do.”

♡. It wasn’t planned. You were fixing his shirt collar (again), muttering about how reckless he was, and when you looked up, he was already staring at you. “You talk too much,” he said with a grin and kissed you before you could argue back.

♡. When others talk down about you, mock your straight-laced attitude, or try to act like you're too soft for someone like him, Seok-dae shuts it down fast. No one messes with you.

♡. One night he shows up with a split lip and bruised knuckles, trying to act cool. You scold him, but then he suddenly hugs you tight, desperate and mumbles something about needing you around. You stand there stunned, but you hug him back just as hard none the less.

♡. He’s not subtle. If someone’s flirting with you at the counter or lingers a little too long while talking to you, Seok-dae will step right in: arm casually slung over your shoulder with a glare sharp enough to cut glass. You always sigh and mutter, “Really?” to which he replies, “What? I was just saying hi.”

♡. Sometimes the tension builds. You tell him you’re tired of him acting like you belong to him. He throws it back that you’re always acting like he should know better but never say what you really want. Voices rise, feelings slip out. Eventually, someone storms off.

♡. Making up isn't easy: both of you are kinda stubborn. Seok-dae is the one who shows up late at night, hoodie on, eyes soft: and when he notices your tear stained face his eyes get softer.

♡. He reaches out for you: when you don’t pull away his hands cup your face pulling you into a kiss. It’s slower, more tender. Like both of you are trying to say everything you didn’t know how to with your mouths. When it ends your forehead leans against his all your apologies speaking for themselves.

♡. If you call him sobbing, no matter the time, he’ll be there. He’ll wrap his jacket around you, press a kiss to your temple, and hold you close letting you talk, or just sitting in silence while you bury your face in his chest.

♡. Seok-dae’s not the romantic type, and he definitely doesn’t plan it. It slips out one night when he’s walking you home, your hand brushing his. You’re talking about random stuff school, work, your day and he just watches you, soft smile tugging at his lips. “You know I love you, right?” he says casually, like it’s a known fact. You stop in your tracks, wide-eyed. “What did you just say?” He shrugs like it’s nothing. “You heard me.” You’re flustered, trying not to grin. “I hate how smooth you think you are.” He snorts. “You don’t. You love it.”

Taglist: N/A Header Creator’s: @saradika-graphics

[august-anon]

Hello my friend!! You called for batfam prompts and I will happily deliver!! Ok here is one of the ideas that have been circulating around in my head: dick tickles damian pretty often and every time his excuse is something like 'this is just what big brothers do!' and so damian starts thinking that jason and tim are out to get him when they're literally just Existing. Not even Breathing in Damian's general direction. But Damian is Hypervigilant and finally cracks under the pressure and is like "JUST DO IT ALREADY" but jason and/or tim is like do what??? and damian explains that grayson said big brothers tickle little brothers (but in his own Damian way like "what, you don't think I can handle it?? You don't think I'm WORTHY?!?!?") and so jason/tim are like this has literally never crossed my mind but now that you've ASKED how could i not??? and damian gets flustered and wrecked by a Tickle Monster of His Own Creation.

ROSIE!!! as you can tell by the sheer wordcount on this fic, i was Obsessed with this idea skdjfhdsf Tickle Monsters Of Damian's Own Creation coming right up, my friend!!

____________________

Little Brother Privilege

Fandom: Batfamily (no specific source material/continuity)

Ship(s): Gen!!! Platonic!! Familial!! No batcest here

Characters (lee/ler): Lee!Damian, Ler!Dick (briefly), Tim, and Jason

Word Count: 6974 words

Summary: 

Damian isn't quite sure why Todd and Drake have not made their attack yet, but he's not going to let his guard down until they do. He will not be made a fool of, even in brotherly contracts.

AKA, Damian gets tickled to pieces by two tickle monsters of his own creation.

[ao3 link]

____________________

It was the third time that weekend alone. Damian kicked and scrambled and tried his hardest to get away, but Richard was bigger and stronger and could contort his body into the oddest of poses. His grip was near-impossible to escape. It was clear why Nightwing was such a feared and respected hero, even if those skills were currently being used to absolutely mortify Damian.

“Come on, Little D! I just need to hear a few of those giggles. I need something to tide me over for when I go back to Bludhaven!”

“I do not giggle,” Damian grunted before sealing his lips shut, trapping the condemning noise inside before he could prove Richard right.

“Sure you do! I just gotta get your giggle spot– which is riiiight here!”

Richard lowered a clawed hand to Damian’s stomach, digging his fingertips into all the correct pressure points to have Damian doubling over in a futile attempt at protection. Richard laughed above his head and twisted his hand ever-so-slightly, hitting that accursed “tickle spot” (as Richard called them) to the right of his navel. Damian swiftly lost the battle, his laughter bubbling out from between his lips in a horrendously childish display.

“There they are!” Richard crowed, doubling-down on his attack.

No matter which way Damian squirmed, Richard was easily able to follow. He bounced between Damian’s ticklish spots without rhyme or reason, drawing out surprised noises in between more of those horrendous giggles. He heard Richard cooing over his head and had the distinct urge to stab him, but he settled for jabbing an elbow hard back into Richard’s ribs. Not that it deterred him in any fashion. No, it just seemed to give him the idea to start crawling his other hand up Damian’s own ribs.

“You said– you said just a few!” Damian called out, his laughter garbling his words.

“Hm?”

“Just a few giggles!”

Richard laughed, slowing his attack. “Oh, alright, alright. I suppose that’ll have to be enough baby brother giggles to tide me over until my next visit.”

Damian scoffed. “I don’t delude myself into thinking you won’t attempt to attack me again before you leave.”

Richard grinned, wide and toothy. “Probably.”

Damian scowled – it was not a pout, no matter what his siblings said, it wasn’t his fault his cheeks were still plush with baby fat and puffed out when he frowned – and tried to get his clothing and hair back in order. “I do not understand why you insist on doing that so much.”

Richard scrubbed a hand on his head, ruining his attempts at straightening his hair. “You had fun – don’t deny it! You totally could have stabbed me if you weren’t.”

Damian said nothing. He kept scowling.

“Besides – that’s just what big brothers do! Tickle the snot out of their baby brothers.”

Forget stabbing. Damian was starting to feel the urge to bite. “I am not a baby.”

Richard tilted his head at him. “Jason’s my baby brother, too. Do you think he’s a baby?”

Damian tilted his head, considering, and it earned him another laugh from Richard. 

“Okay, maybe don’t answer that one. But – it’s just a way to have fun with your siblings, Damian. It’s alright to let loose and laugh and have a little fun here and there.” Richard’s grin turned mischievous as he raised two clawed hands. “Especially when the Tickle Monster’s involved.”

Damian would forever deny that he let Richard catch him. He just wasn’t able to gain enough speed to escape Richard’s game of chase, was all. He’d have to work on that in training later.

*     *     *

It’s just what big brother’s do! was a common insistence of Richard’s, every time Damian demanded an explanation for one of his (mortifyingly frequent) tickle attacks. There did seem to be some merit in the phrase. After all, Damian wasn’t Richard’s only target. Todd, Cain, Drake, Thomas, even Brown, and she wasn’t even related to them. Richard launched his surprise attacks against them all, tickling them to the floor and teasing them all the while. Todd did as well – pinning Drake or Brown to the training mats and tickling them until they tapped out or screamed loud enough that Father put an end to it. Cain was a bit harder to catch in the act, but he swore he saw her tickling the others at various times herself.

But the only one who targeted Damian was Richard himself (and sometimes Father – but he did not count, as he was not a “big brother” to any of them). Damian did not know why the others seemed disinclined to participate in this bonding activity with him. They seemed to engage with it plenty between each other, so why was Damian left out? Not that he wanted to be tickled, certainly not – it was humiliating. It would be remiss of him, however, to not participate in this so-called “family bonding.”

The only explanation Damian could come up with was that they were luring him into a false sense of security. They wanted his guard down, so that they could topple him with little resistance. Well, Damian wouldn’t let them get away with that. No – Damian would be ready, whenever they decided to strike. He would be hypervigilant, ready for their attack at any moment. He wouldn’t rest. He wouldn’t let his guard down. Todd and Drake would never make a fool out of him.

Except – well, the thing was, hypervigilance became tiring after a while. He grew weary of being on edge when around his brothers. With Richard he’d learned to know what to expect. Any playful moment – an unserious argument, a competition, a spar, anything – Richard had the possibility of taking advantage of. He didn’t know Todd and Drake’s habits surrounding this event, he didn’t know what to expect from them or when to expect it. As the days went on, the anticipation wreaked havoc on his nerves. Eventually, he couldn’t take it anymore.

Todd and Drake were having a pre-patrol spar in the Cave. Damian observed as he completed his own warm-ups on the mats nearby. He swore he could feel their eyes flickering in his direction and it took all of his hard-learned self-control to not fidget under their watch. Finally, after toying with him for nearly five minutes, Todd pinned Drake under his weight until he tapped out.

“Come on Baby Bat, you want a match?”

Damian’s guard immediately went up. The training mats – this is where many tickle attacks had taken place, from any number of his family members. Even Father was known to participate, if he was in a particularly playful mood.

“I suppose.”

Drake shifted himself to the sidelines as Damian took his place. He could feel Drake’s eyes burning through his back.

“Damian, are you injured?”

A false injury check – he’d seen Todd and Richard (and even, on rare occasion, Father) use that ploy on Drake more than enough times. With ribs as sensitive as that, it made him an easy target. Was that method now to be used on Damian?

“No,” Damian said firmly. “Why do you ask?”

“You’re just all,” Drake waved his hand in the air, gesturing to Damian’s form, “stiff.”

Todd’s stance shifted as he eyed Damian up and down. “The Bird’s right – you sure you’re not injured, kid?”

“I am in perfect physical condition. Are we going to spar or not?”

Todd raised his hands in surrender, backing into place across the mats. “Alright, alright. Timmers, you referee.”

Not the injury check, then. The spar was still in question. This may finally be the moment. Damian could begin to learn their patterns and perhaps finally relax in their presence again. He hated being so tense any time they visited.

Drake called for the match to start and Todd immediately lunged for him. Damian was put on the defensive, dodging and weaving between his attacks. He managed a few good hits, but despite his bulk, Todd was fast, and Damian always had to back off quickly. He knew he couldn’t take Todd head-on, the man was twice his height and three times his weight, so he needed a strategy. Without his belt or any of his gadgets, it would be a difficult victory.

Unfortunately, Drake had been correct – Damian was stiff. Not from injury, but hypervigilance. And it certainly had a poor effect on his focus in a spar. Every lunge, jab, swat, Damian was convinced it would connect with a ticklish area and Todd would proceed to pin him to the mats until he was red-faced and cackling. 

It only took one failed swerve for Todd to tackle him down to the mats and pin him. Damian held his breath, watching Todd with wide eyes. After a moment to make sure Damian wasn’t going to try and break the hold, he was released and Todd maneuvered off him, wiping the sweat from his brow. The dam burst.

“That’s it?” Damian blurted out, unable to stop himself.

Todd and Drake both turned to him, frowns and furrowed brows in place.

“Damian?” Drake said.

“I grow tired of these games! Just do it, already!”

For the second time that evening, Todd raised his hands in surrender. Drake’s confused expression melted into concern. The jittery feeling in Damian’s stomach did not abate.

“Do… what, exactly, Dami?” Jason spoke to him like he was a child – the same voice he used on the young street rats of Crime Alley to try and build trust and rapport.

“Do not patronize me, Todd, I am no fool. Grayson made the rules of this game quite clear to me. Do you find me unworthy in some way? Too weak for such things? What is it?”

“Whoa – Damian, hold on,” Drake sat down on the mat, like he was trying to make himself smaller, and scooted closer. “We don’t even know what you’re talking about. Explain it to us first.”

“I told you not to–”

Todd cut him off. “We’re not patronizing you, Damian. Neither of us has any clue what the hell you’re talking about.”

Damian thinned his lips, shifting uncomfortably where he sat on the mat. He shoved his hands under his thighs so he wouldn’t be tempted to fidget with them. “Richard – he said older brothers tickle younger brothers. It’s ‘just what they do.’”

Drake let out an incredulous laugh, Todd pressed his lips together as if he was trying to avoid doing the same. Damian felt himself flush, starting in his neck and travelling all the way up to his forehead.

“Yeah,” Todd said, his voice trembling with withheld laughter. “I remember he used that line on me plenty, when I was as short as you.”

“Think he’s used it on all of us,” Drake said, still laughing. “Still uses it now, honestly.”

Todd plopped himself back down on the mat next to Damian. “It’s not a rule, kid – Dick’s just teasing you. Giving himself an excuse for why he tickles the snot out of you three times a day when he visits.”

Damian’s shoulders dropped. “Oh.” His face grew even warmer, travelling up his ears now.

Drake chuckled again, leaning forward with a sudden mischievous tilt to his mouth. “But, since you asked…”

Todd’s smirk took on the same quality. He wrapped an arm around Damian’s shoulders and Damian’s breath caught in his throat. He was torn – did he run? Did he stay and face the torment he asked for? The jittery feeling in his stomach grew stronger, almost ticklish in and of itself. He was paralyzed with indecision, but found himself fighting off a grin anyway.

Drake crawled closer. Todd’s clawed hand inched towards his neck. Damian shrank in on himself, making no move to flee and preserve his dignity.

“Boys!” Father called. “Suit up, let’s go!”

Drake and Todd snapped to attention, grumbling under their breaths. Damian felt like he was still trying to catch his own. When Drake reached out to squeeze his shoulder, he nearly jumped out of his skin. He let out an unbecoming squeak when Todd’s hand jumped away from his neck to scrub at his hair.

“This isn’t over,” Todd said, heaving himself to his feet.

“We are so talking about this later.”

Damian was, as Todd would say, fucked.

*     *     *

They didn’t even have the decency to put him out of his misery immediately following patrol. Todd returned to his own apartment afterwards to lick his wounds, and since Father had incurred an injury of his own, Drake took straight to the Batcomputer to log the night’s events and plan their next moves. Damian was sent upstairs alone, ate the post-patrol snack laid out by Alfred alone, and went to bed alone.

They continued to not have the decency the next day, or the next, or anything for near a week. Oh certainly, when they would run into Damian on patrol they would give him those infuriatingly teasing smiles, perhaps wiggle some fingers in his general direction or give a quick verbal tease, but even they knew better than to start such nonsense on patrol. Still, it infuriated him to no end, all this buildup and no follow-through.

Damian had half a mind to stab them, the next time he saw one of them. No one could say they didn’t deserve it.

That was, in fact, what wound up nearly happening the next time Drake stopped by the Manor for an extended period of time. Damian had been in his bedroom, perfecting a sketch of Titus as he sat at his desk. He had taken up listening to music as he worked, finding that it helped calm his mind and improve his focus, and that day he’d chosen to use earbuds to properly experience the full layers and mixing of all the sounds.

As such, he didn’t hear the knock on his door, nor did he hear Drake enter. He only became aware of Drake’s presence when a calloused hand ruffled his hair, startling him out of his hyperfocus and nearly making him ruin his sketch. Without thinking, Damian snatched a spare blade off his desk and made to stab his attacker. A hand grabbed his wrist, squeezing the pressure points just right to force him to drop the dagger.

“Damian!” 

Damian finally turned to face his intruder, then took a deep breath and tugged the earbuds out of his ears. “Perhaps you should learn not to sneak up on people.”

Drake scowled. “I didn’t even sneak! I knocked and everything!”

Damian scowled back, resenting the way his cheeks puffed up a little with the expression. It made him look far too childish.

“You know what,” Drake continued, tugging Damian out of his chair and over toward the bed, “I’m gonna make this even worse because of that.”

Damian’s face dropped in shock. “Wait, Drake–”

Drake gave him an absolutely devious smile. “Don’t stress, Dami. Just fulfilling my big brother duties.”

Damian resolutely did not yelp when Drake scooped him up underneath the arms and tossed him onto the bed, no matter what Drake claimed later. Damian scrambled against the sheets, trying to crawl off the bed, but Drake launched himself as well. The bed bounced under his sudden weight, knocking Damian off-balance just enough for Drake to snatch his ankle, tugging it to force him onto his back and quickly crowding into Damian’s space.

“Drake, no!” Damian’s voice had gone shrieky and shrill, embarrassingly childish and out of his control.

Drake, of course, laughed at him. Damian sealed his own lips shut to prevent any other incriminating sounds. Just in time, too, as Drake started squeezing at his sides. Damian made a protesting noise in his throat, but swallowed down any other sounds. 

“You know,” Drake said conversationally, “you’d think after making such a big deal about this, you’d be less stubborn about it.”

Damian’s ears grew hot, but he knew what Drake was doing. He kept his lips stubbornly sealed.

“I mean, you outright asked for it – were practically begging for it, actually.”

The heat in Damian’s ears spread to his cheeks. “I did no such thing!”

Curse him.

Drake grinned, digging into Damian’s stomach the moment he began his protest. Damian snapped his mouth shut, but it was too late. Strained chuckles escaped through his sealed lips as he squirmed away from Drake’s hands. He fumbled for Drake’s hands trying to push them away, but Drake was unfortunately successful at tossing his hands off.

“I’ve seen Dick tickle you, you know.”

Damian tried to glare at him. He didn’t imagine he was very successful, what with the wavering smile on his lips. In fact, based on the way Drake paused his one-sided conversation and pressed his lips together in a tight smile, he was likely resisting the urge to coo at him like Richard often did. His face grew warmer.

“I know generally where to target, you can’t hide the tickle spots from me. Just takes a little effort to find just the right place.”

As if he timed it, Drake’s wildly skittering fingers passed over that accursed spot to the right of his navel. Damian squealed and tried to toss himself off the bed. Drake laughed, bright and open, and lunged after him, pulling Damian back in with an arm around his waist. Damian kept his face turned away from Drake, trying to hide just how bright his smile was. Drake would almost certainly know it wasn’t just from the tickling – he was infuriatingly insightful like that.

“Get back here!”

“No!”

Drake’s fingers found that spot again and Damian doubled over in giggles. He shoved fruitlessly at Drake’s arms, trying to free himself, or at least stop the ticklish feeling.

“What’s wrong, Dami? Ticklish tummy?”

Damian growled through his giggles. “I’ll kill you!”

Drake laughed again. “That’s fair.”

Thankfully, Drake moved away from that spot. Unfortunately, his next target was Damian’s neck. He scratched at the skin with short, blunt nails, occasionally skittering them behind Damian’s ears. Damian was lost to mortifying squeaks and snorts, shaking his head to try and throw Drake off.

“See, I get why Dick does this so much, now–”

“Shut up!”

“– you’re actually pretty adorable like this. Still got those murder-eyes, but they’re almost cute when you’re being tickled silly.”

Damian twisted around and flopped back onto his back, throwing himself away from Drake’s tickling fingers. Catching sight of Drake’s face again, he could see the bright, teasing grin splitting across his face. Based on the way Drake’s eyes brightened, he’d caught Damian’s smile as well and read into it much further than Damian wanted.

“Alright, I’ll quit with all the teasing. Let’s get on with the main event.”

Teasing? Main event? Damian’s heart thudded in his chest, that jittery, almost-ticklish feeling in his stomach taking over again. That hadn’t even been part of Drake’s true attack? Drake had just been toying with him?

“Wait, Drake–”

Damian held out a hand, as if that would do anything to hold Drake off once he lunged. Drake snatched his wrist and pinned it to the bed.

“Why? I’m just doing what you asked.” His smile turned evil and mischievous again. “Gotta prove that you’re not weak or unworthy, after all.”

“No–!”

Damian burst into loud, childish laughter as Drake attacked his exposed underarm, scratching and scritching away against the fabric of his t-shirt. Damian tugged at his arm, but unfortunately the tickling and laughter had weakened him, leaving him firmly trapped. Instead, Damian tried to pry at Drake’s fingers with his free hand, but he couldn’t quite get the coordination he needed.

Damian squealed as the tickling dipped below his underarm, fingers wiggling along the length of his ribs and delivering nibbling pinches between them. He kicked out at Drake, aiming for his midsection to push him off, but Drake dodged his uncoordinated attempts easily.

“Man, Dames, you’re so right – I should’ve been doing this the whole time.”

“Stoppit!”

“I really dropped the ball with my older brother duties before, but you have my word that I’m gonna rectify that.”

“Cut it out!”

Damian finally got a good amount of momentum and corrected his arm, landing a foot directly in Drake’s abdomen. Drake grunted, releasing Damian’s wrist and ceasing his tickling as he was pushed back. He let out a little “oof” as the air was forced out of him.

“Did you just kick me?”

Damian blinked at him. “Yes.”

Drake narrowed his eyes. “You’re gonna regret that.”

Damian didn’t have a chance to protest or even gasp before Drake had thrown himself over his calves, pinning them to the bed with his body weight. The only sound that left Damian for a while after that was hysterical, cackling laughter and wordless almost-screams as Drake attacked his knees with ruthless precision.

“Are you sorry, yet? Apologize, you brat!”

Even if he wanted to, Damian wasn’t sure he could. The only thing he could think about was how badly it tickled. Richard’s tickling was ruthless and impossible to beat, certainly, but Drake’s methods were their own special form of torture. Damian felt as though he were being studied as Drake cycled through different techniques.

He would pinch at the pressure points just above Damian’s knee, making Damian’s legs jump as he choked out yelps between his laughter. He clawed at Damian’s kneecaps, driving Damian into a full-bodied squirm as he laughed helplessly into a pillow he tugged over his face. After tugging said pillow away, he did an egg-cracking motion over Damian’s knees, and Damian squealed until his voice went out. When he traced designs on the backs of Damian’s knees, Damian hiccuped with frantic, high-pitched giggles, the likes of which he had never made before. 

Damian thought he might go insane.

“Drake! Timothy! No more!”

Drake’s hands faltered, but only for half a moment. Then the tickling started up again with a vengeance, combining all the most ticklish techniques he had found to make tears of mirth spring to Damian’s eyes.

“What was that, Dami? Didn’t quite catch that.”

“I’m sorry!”

“Oh yeah? For what?”

“Kicking you!”

Drake released him, rolling off his legs to instead recline next to Damian. Damian did not move, lying boneless on his bed as he caught his breath and tried to get his residual giggling under control. He swore he could still feel Drake’s fingers on his skin, tickling away at his sanity.

“They’ll never find your body.”

Drake snorted. “You think that was bad? Just wait until Jason comes after you.”

The jittery feeling in Damian’s stomach came back with a vengeance. He smacked Drake in the face with a pillow for the crime.

*     *     *

Todd’s attack was almost predictable, after all the games of anticipation he had played. Damian had known Todd was in the Manor – his motorcycle was in the garage upon his and Thomas’s arrival home from school with Alfred – and he knew Drake’s warning would not have been without meaning. After all, he’d seen Todd take Drake to pieces many times in the past. Drake would know well the brutality he was capable of.

They entered the Manor through the side entrance, the door closest to the kitchen, and were accosted almost immediately by Todd. An apron hung around his neck, dusted in flour and some sticky-looking batter, which he began untying once he caught sight of them.

“Hey, Alfie,” he said, passing the apron off when Alfred reached out an open palm. “Cookies are in the oven, I’ve got a meeting.”

Before Damian could think of a snappish retort, Todd was yanking the backpack and school blazer from his shoulders and tossing them to Thomas.

“Hey!” He yelled.

Thomas stood there, slightly dumbfounded. “I didn’t realize I was a coat rack.”

“You are today, sunshine. I’ve got business to attend to.”

Damian yelped as his feet left the floor, and grunted as his stomach met Todd’s shoulder. He started squirming almost immediately, trying to break Todd’s grip.

“Unhand me, you imbecile!”

“Do try to keep it down, Master Jason.” Alfred seemed uninterested in the happenings of the mudroom as he entered the kitchen, taking in the state of it. “Master Bruce acquired a concussion last night and I’ve only just finally convinced him to get some rest.”

Todd scoffed, bouncing Damian’s writhing body on his shoulder a couple times. “Come on, Alf – you know those bedrooms are basically soundproof.”

Alfred leveled them both with a look, so flat that Damian even stopped squirming for a moment. “Do not disturb your father.”

Todd huffed, moving toward the door leading to the rest of the Manor. “Fine, we’ll keep it first-floor only.”

“Thank you, Master Jason.”

“Uh – should we not be, like, concerned?”

Damian scowled at Thomas. “Are you going to just stand there? Help me!”

Thomas hesitated. Todd shot him a look over his free shoulder. “You intervene, you get your own big brother treatment. Where was it that got you shrieking, last time? Your feet? Or maybe it was your armpits? Eh, my arms are pretty long. I’m sure I could get both at the same time.”

Thomas cleared his throat and took a step away from them. “No, yeah – I’m good. I’ve got, like, homework and shit.”

Todd hummed. “Better get to it.”

“Yup.”

Thomas, the coward, fled via the kitchen.

“Thomas, you get back here and help me! Thomas! Duke!”

Todd snorted and made his way through the door of the mudroom, stalking through the halls as Damian fruitlessly kicked his legs and pounded on Todd’s back. “Resorting to first names, kid? Damn, you must be ticklish.”

Damian growled and twisted his hips in Todd’s grip, aiming to knee him in the face. Todd grabbed his ankle before he could, holding it fast as the rest of him continued to wriggle.

“Damn – ex-Boy Wonder was right, you’re a real squirmer. Dick ever call you a wiggly worm?”

Damian let out an enraged shout, punching at Todd’s back even harder. Richard had, in fact, called him a wriggly, wiggly worm before. Damian had bit him in response.

“Let me down, you brute! You bumbling beast! You–”

Damian yelped as he was unceremoniously dumped onto a plush couch. He scrambled upright, barely getting a glance of his surroundings – the library, he should’ve known – before Todd was upon him, properly wrestling him down against the cushions. A dangerous smile crossed his face.

“See, Dickie? He would’ve used that little comment to play some silly tickle monster game with you, really play into the whole ‘beast’ thing.” He effortlessly caught Damian’s wrist in his hand before Damian could punch him in the midsection. “Me? I’m just gonna make you regret it.”

“Todd, wait–!”

Todd cocked his head to the side. “Why wait any longer? Thought you would’ve had enough of that, by now.” His grin widened. “Timmers said you were practically crawling out of your skin. Don’t think I didn’t notice too, on patrols.”

Damian gasped as his other wrist was captured, feeling the heat flood his face at Todd’s words. His heart thumped in his chest and he stared up at Todd’s face helplessly.

Todd’s grin twisted into a diabolical smirk. “Giving up already, baby assassin?”

Damian could just accept his fate. He could give in, let his nervous system have a rest from the hypervigilance, allow Todd to tickle all of that out of him… But when had Damian ever endeavored to make things easy for his brothers.

Damian wiggled, half-trapped under Todd’s bulk as he leaned over him, and managed to squeeze his legs underneath Todd’s arm and up into his own chest. Then, he shot them out towards Todd’s chest, putting all the power behind the kick that he could manage. Todd laughed, deep and low, and darted backwards. It was almost like he had been anticipating the attack.

He snatched up Damian’s legs, bringing them to a tight hold against his chest with one arm as he stood from the sofa. Damian growled as his world titled upside-down, trying to kick out of Todd’s grasp and finding it near unmoveable. Only his head and shoulders still rested against the cushions, the rest of his body dangling in the air from the anchor point of his calves.

“Todd!”

Todd chuckled. “You know – maybe you should be eating more. You feel way too light for a baby vigilante.”

Damian threw a punch at Todd’s thigh, though he didn’t even flinch. “I am in peak physical condition!”

Instead of answering, Todd latched his free hand onto one of Damian’s knees, sending him into immediately hysterical laughter. Being held in the air like this, his legs so securely pinned, Damian had nowhere to squirm. All he could do was twist his body back and forth and bounce his knees – though as he quickly lost strength due to his laughter, he lost the ability to do even that effectively, as bouncing his knees meant raising his whole body along with them. After what felt like an eternity (but likely wasn’t more than a minute), Todd stopped and let him breathe. 

“See, I could stay there all afternoon – make you beg and cry. I think it would end too quickly if we did that, though.”

Damian groaned and uselessly tried to kick out again. It was no use, Todd’s grip was inescapable.

“I mean, I made you wait more than a week. It would be pretty shitty of me to tickle you out so fast, huh?”

Damian bared his teeth. “I will make you regret ever being born.”

Todd mimicked his expression, though his version was far more gleeful. “Wanna bet?”

Damian inhaled, opening his mouth to speak, and all the air immediately left him in a giggly yelp as Todd began clawing at his stomach – right in that spot next to his navel. In the privacy of his own mind, Damian let out a slew of curses. Did everyone know about that accursed “giggle spot?” He blamed Richard’s repeated exploitation of it.

“See, I do my research, kiddo. I know all the best places to tickle already – and we might even find more along the way. And I’m not going easy on you like Timerbly did.”

Damian shot a wide-eyed look up at Todd, trying to pry his fingers off his stomach. Todd smirked.

“Good thing you’re already having fun, then, right?”

“Screw you,” Damian hissed through his giggling.

“How viscous,” Todd said, voice flat. “Like a truly fearsome kitten, really.”

He switched to clawing his hand up and down Damian’s ribcage, jumping back and forth between his left and right. Damian screeched, trying to leverage his shoulders against the cushions to twist away from Todd’s hand. Todd grumbled something in response and hitched Damian up even higher, lifting him away from the cushions, and stepped away from the couch. Damian dangled freely now, hanging uselessly in the air. Every squirm sent him swinging, making it even harder to control his movements despite the fact that Todd was able to follow his momentum easily.

Easily enough for his hand to crawl all the way up into Damian’s underarm, massaging deep into the muscle.

“No!” Damian cried out before losing himself to bubbly, boyish laughter and humiliating snorts.

Todd chuckled along. “No? No, what? Is something wrong down there, little demon? Something bugging you?”

Damian barely caught the sound of jingling through his own laughter, tilting his head up (or was it down, considering his flipped position?) to see Titus trotting into the room at the sound of his torment. Damian reached an arm out for him – the one not currently glued to his side from ticklish shock – which quickly turned out to be a mistake, as Todd switched to tickling that underarm instead. His arm snapped back to his side, but the brief movement had still caught Titus’s attention and he approached.

“Titus, help me!”

Todd laughed above him. “What’s the dog gonna do, you little snot? Take me down? Doubt it.”

Damian made his voice as commanding as he could despite the laughter. “Titus, attack! Bite him!”

Unfortunately, childish guffaws did not a commanding voice make. Titus tilted his head to the side at the unintelligible words before lowering himself down into a bow. Damian gasped as he realized what was about to happen, bringing his free arm up for protection, but it was too late.

Damian had learned early on that Titus loved the sound of laughter. He seemed to recognize what it meant – a happy, joyful human – and it always put him in a playful mood. Damian’s laughter in particular seemed to excite him more than most, likely due to the close bond they shared.

Low in his bow, Titus barked twice, before bouncing back up and prancing a bit on his front paws. Then, he shoved his cold noise right into the crook of Damian’s neck, snuffling away against the skin.

Damian squealed, then shrieked, then flapped his hands uselessly at the overwhelming ticklish feelings flooding through his body. Todd laughed again, thankfully pulling his own hand back, but doing nothing to deter Titus. Damian waved his hands around in the air, disoriented from hanging upside down and not certain how to even push Titus away with his lack of leverage. Titus, spurred on by Damian’s happy noises, continued to nuzzle away in his neck and at his ears.

“Titus, no! Down!” Damian shrieked again at a particularly breathy snuffle to his ear, trying to swing his body away from Titus unsuccessfully. “Todd! Todd!”

“What?” Todd’s voice was heavy with his own laughter, low and fond in a rare way that made Damian feel even more bashful. “I’m not even doing anything, Dames. That’s all Titus.”

“He’s– it’s– No!” Damian cut himself off with another squeal.

“Aw, what? Does it tickle? See, look, you’re so ticklish that even Titus knows what to do. Didn’t realize your neck was that bad, though. Reminds me of the one time I was able to get Bruce.”

Damian put his hands on either side of Titus’s head, trying to push him away. The touch only excited Titus even more, his licking and sniffing getting even quicker.

“Like father like son, I guess.”

Damian slapped at Todd’s thigh. Normally when Titus started this game, Damian would have been able to redirect him by now. The longer Titus stayed in his neck, the more hyper-sensitive he seemed to get. He knew it wasn’t his most ticklish spot, that curse lay firmly in his knees, but he didn’t think he’d ever been tickled so unbearably in this spot before. Todd seemed to get the message, shooing Titus off towards the dog toys in the dog bed in the corner of the library.

“Alright, go to bed, boy. Don’t want you tiring him out and stealing all my fun.”

Titus huffed, but trotted obediently off towards his bed, his tail wagging wildly at Damian’s continued giggles.

“How do you get anything done when you’re this ticklish, huh? I bet your clothes even tickle.”

“They do not,” Damian said, though the vehemence of his protest was lessened by how breathless and giggly he still was. The slight wooziness from the blood rushing to his head made the laughter even harder to stop. “I’m not that ticklish!”

“Really, you’re not?”

“No!”

“Hm. Are you sure? Why don’t you tell me how much this tickles.”

Todd’s hand shot towards his side, and Damian shrieked and swung his body the opposite way. All that did was get him swaying like a pendulum, practically swinging his body into Todd’s wiggling fingers and away again. Todd hummed out another chuckle, rocking to add a little more sway to Damian’s body to keep him rocking into and away from his tickling hand. It was a horrible tease that had Damian whimpering and giggling in equal measure, trying to shove at Todd’s hand every time he grew close.

“You’re doing it to yourself at this point, kid.”

“Stop talking!”

“Mm, nah. It’s pretty funny when you go all red. Especially since you’re the most uptight preteen I’ve ever fucking met.”

“I’ll kill you!”

“Been there, done that. Get some original material.”

Damian tried to growl, but the sound was interrupted as Todd targeted his giggle spot again as the pendulum swinging slowed. Damian clutched at his wrist, squeezing his eyes shut. After Titus’s attack seeming to set his nervous system alight, everything seemed to tickle even worse than before.

“Jason! Cut it out!”

Todd whistled, low and impressed. “I get a first name shoutout? Damn, maybe it’s time for the grand finale before your brain turns to mush.”

Damian’s eyes snapped wide open. His hands started flailing to try and catch Todd’s before he could up his attack. It was a pitiful attempt, and Todd’s hands connected with the muscle above his knee in moments, massaging away at the pressure points.

Damian practically screamed, and he hoped beyond hope that they were far enough from the stairs to the family wing to avoid waking Father. No doubt he would join in, seeing Damian red-faced and cackling. He was as bad as Richard when it came to his childishly named “tickle monster” tendencies, and if he decided to join in, Damian doubted he would see mercy for a long while yet.

And as much fun as Damian refused to admit he was having, adding in another set of tickling hands when he was already so consumed by the ticklish feelings with just one of Todd’s? He might truly die from it.

Todd jumped around, exploring around his knees as Damian cackled and snivelled and screamed in laughter. Clawing at his kneecaps, skittering at the thin skin behind his knees, jumping down to his claves or up to his thighs when Damian started to run out of air to give him some semblance of a break. He wasn’t methodical like Drake, but he was still precise. Every minute weak point was found and targeted with single-minded focus, until Damian thought he was going to die from tickles from just one hand.

Then, just when Damian was beginning to think he couldn’t take anymore, just when he was debating swallowing his pride and begin begging, Todd stopped. Damian gasped in a deep breath and it left him in a whoosh as he was dropped unceremoniously back onto the couch. His head swam from how long he’d been upside down and Damian allowed himself the luxury of going boneless, sinking into the plush cushions. He could see why Todd spent so much time in the library when he came by the Manor – this was exceedingly comfortable. He could fall asleep right there.

“Still with us, Baby Bat?”

Damian debated kicking Todd as he plopped on the couch next to him, but decided that it was ultimately too much effort to move that much. 

“Your days are numbered,” he mumbled instead.

Todd let out a humming chuckle deep in his throat, reaching over to ruffle Damian’s hair. If Damian leaned into the touch, it was entirely because his neck was too tired to support his head. It was absolutely not because he enjoyed the affectionate touch.

“Me ‘n Alfie’s cookies are probably cooled enough to eat, by now. Want one?”

This time, Damian did kick at Todd, just lightly against his hip. “I deserve at least three.”

Todd ruffled his hair even more. It was probably sticking up in every direction, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Yeah, probably. You got it, kid. Three cookies and a glass of water coming right up. If your limbs start working again, pick a book out. I’ll read you something.”

If Damian wound up cuddled up to Todd’s side under a fluffy blanket, munching on cookies as Todd read to him aloud, no one needed to know. Especially not the fact that he dozed off only a few minutes after finishing his snack, Todd’s deep rumble soothing him into slumber before he even realized what was happening.

*     *     *

“Heard you had quite the eventful couple weeks,” Richard said as he practically bounded into the training area.

Damian refused to look at him. “We will not speak of it.

Richard slipped behind the punching bag Damian was attacking, forcing his cheery grin into Damian’s sight. “Aww, Dami – it’s okay! You wanted some more big brother tickles. No one will blame you for that!”

Damian delivered a particularly vicious punch to the bag, but Richard was unphased, only smiling brighter.

“I think Jay and Timmy had fun, too. Better look out though, kiddo – now that they know you’re tickle-able, you won’t be escaping them anytime soon.”

Damian’s ears grew hot. “I know,” he grumbled. “They’ve already proved as such.”

Now that whatever unspoken wall protecting Damian had come down, it seemed as though he couldn’t go more than two days without Drake or Todd deciding he deserved another round. Damian didn’t think he’d laughed this much even when Richard was in town, tickle-attacking him at least twice a day. He would likely never have a day's peace again.

Richard smirked, releasing the bag and leaning down so they were closer to eye-level. “Something tells me you don’t mind as much as you pretend to.”

Damian bared his teeth, aiming his next punch for Richard’s nose, overly telegraphing the movement. Richard laughed, snatching the wrist up and using it to spin Damian around, pulling him into a backwards hug to dig his fingers into Damian’s sides and ribs. He immediately burst into bubbly laughter.

“That’s okay, though, kiddo. Those are just the privileges of being a little brother.”

Someday, Damian vowed, he would be bigger and stronger than all of them. He would exact his revenge ruthlessly and without mercy, and as frequently as possible. Someday, they would fear his “tickle monster” prowess.

For now, though, he supposed he could live with these so-called “little brother privileges.”

[whumpsday]

"Something's Wrong"

@medwhumpmay Day 17

Medwhump May Masterlist

content: demon whumpee, caretaking, hoof whump‼️, infection

heavily inspired by this video by the hoof gp, which can provide context, visuals, and terminology

-

All the farmhand had said was “Something weird’s in the barn.” The boy could have prepared him a little better than that.

Caretaker had never seen anything like it. The critter–was it really a critter?–huddled itself in the back corner of the barn. The cows gave it a wide berth, and none of them seemed injured, at least. It looked almost like what he could describe as a satyr of myth, with the head and torso of a man and the legs of a goat, spiral horns growing from his head.

There was another cloven-hooved being it fit the description of, though. Just to be safe, Caretaker made the sign of the cross. It didn’t seem to take any effect.

And yet, despite having never seen one before, Caretaker was somehow positive he was looking at a demon in his barn.

“Hoo boy.” Who was he supposed to call for this? The police? A priest? An exorcist?

Before he could make up his mind, the demon growled at him. Caretaker may work with cows, but he knew that when an animal growls at you, you stay away. He took a step back to the barn’s entrance.

“Easy now,” he said out of habit.

“Leave me alone,” the demon spat.

Caretaker blinked.

“You talk?” he asked incredulously.

“Leave me!” The demon’s voice broke a bit. It scrabbled further against the wall, wincing as it did so, as if the action hurt it. It held one hoof aloft, balancing on the other with its arms spread against the wall behind it.

It looked unnatural and uncomfortable and… familiar.

Something’s wrong, that little voice in his head said.

Caretaker put his hands up, taking another step back so he was fully out of the barn, looking in. “Alright. I’m all the way over here, not comin’ near you. That hoof bothering you?”

The demon glared at him, like it was trying very hard to be intimidating. “What’s it matter to you?”

“I fix hooves. I could take a look at it.” What the fuck was he saying? He should be taking this thing’s advice and leaving, calling someone to come get it out of his barn.

“Don’t touch me!” it shrieked, startling a few of the cattle.

If this demon were capable of hurting him, he was pretty sure it would’ve done it by now.

“Okay, okay, not gonna,” Caretaker assured it. “Not taking a step into this barn unless you give me the all-clear. I’m just saying, it looks painful. Usually when my cows won’t use a foot, means they’ve gotta get looked at.”

“I’m not a cow,” it glowered. And then, after a little hesitation: “It… hurts.”

“I can take a look. Only if you want. And only if you promise not to hurt me or my cows.” Even as Caretaker’s brain screamed at him that he was a dumbass about to get himself killed, he couldn’t stop himself. He’d done dumber.

They stood there in silence for a long moment.

“F-fine. Just do it,” the demon conceded.

“Alright. Not gonna hurt’cha. Just looking,” Caretaker reminded it. He approached slowly, no sudden moves. The closer he got, the more dread he felt, like the demon was radiating an aura of it. Still, he persisted, kneeling down in front of it, trying to ignore the feeling. “Can I see? It’d be easier if you turn around.”

Just as slowly, the demon extended its hoof. Caretaker took it gently by the ankle, resting it on his knee. He could feel the demon’s skin jump a little bit, but it let him. It was something he’d usually never dream of doing, but the demon was rather smaller than a cow and capable of reason, and Caretaker was sure he’d never get it to agree to go in a chute.

Coarse brown fur, rather unlike that of a goat, led to a dirty hoof. Despite the demon’s lower half looking like a goat from afar, its hoof looked more like a cow’s than anything else. Lucky, he knew what he was doing with that. Immediately, this close, it was apparent that the inkling he’d had was correct: the bit of the inner claw more toward the heel was higher than the rest, darker in color. If it were a cow, he’d start grinding it down to free the problem clearly lying inside, then get a block on the other toe to keep the pressure off while it healed.

But, as the demon had pointed out, it wasn’t a cow.

“Yeah, something’s wrong on your inner claw right here. Can’t tell exactly how bad without giving you a trim. I’ve got the tools to do it, if you’ll let me.” Caretaker dropped the hoof. “When’s the last time you got these trimmed?”

“Trimmed?” the demon asked, skepticism dripping from its voice as he went back to balancing, turning back around to face him.

“See, that’s where you’re going wrong. You’ve gotta trim your hooves.” Caretaker stood back up. “Two or three times a year for cows, that’s what I’ve got experience with. I know goats are more often. Not sure about demons, if that’s what you are. Maybe someplace in between.”

“I’ve never met anybody who trims their hooves,” the demon retorted.

“And do they get problems with ‘em a lot?”

The demon looked away. “Most demons fly. I don’t have wings.”

“Well, there’s your answer, then. Gotta trim ‘em.” Caretaker raised an eyebrow, waiting.

“Ugh. Fine.” It was almost cute, the way it pouted. Made Caretaker wish he could talk to all his patients.

“There you go,” he praised. “Lemme grab my tools.”

He returned with a grinder, a hoof knife, a block, glue, and a blowtorch. “I know it might look intimidating, but none of this should hurt. Reckon you’ll start to feel real better soon. Don’t kick me.”

The wariness never left the demon’s eyes, but it turned back around, hoof extended. “Just do your job, human.”

Well, that was something Caretaker could work with.

He knelt and rested the hoof on his knee again. “I’m going to grind down both toes to correct the height and balance the soles. Then I’ll use the knife to model them out and hopefully relieve that pressure. I’ll put a block on your good claw with the torch and glue, and that’ll let you walk on it and stay off the bad one while it heals,” he explained.

He started up the grinder, only for the demon to jump at the whirring. “What is that!?”

“The grinder. Won’t hurt you, just try to relax,” Caretaker soothed. “Let me know if you need a break and I’ll stop. You ready?”

The demon nodded hesitantly, and Caretaker touched the grinder to the hoof. Already, he could see a few cracks in that inner claw as soon as he got past the very surface. Once the toes were evened out, he took the knife for the more precise work.

He carefully chipped away at that cracked area, modeling it out, until finally, one of those little cracks opened, releasing a trickle of built-up fluid.

All at once, the demon relaxed. Its shoulders drooped, its entire being went from tightly wound up to the picture of relief. It let out a little sigh. “How did you do that?”

“You’ve got a cavity in your hoof right there, got filled with fluid.” He resisted the urge to say poor thing. “Just got to the tiniest opening and it started to get outta you. I’m gonna get this taken care of, so just sit tight for a few minutes.”

“Okay.” There was no hostility in the demon’s voice anymore. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome.” He kept chipping away at it, the cavity growing and growing until he’d exposed and drained the whole thing. The hoof horn was downright flexible with damage, but hopefully now it’d be able to dry and cure until it could grow back healthy. “I’m going to use the torch on your good hoof now, just to make sure it’s completely dry before I apply the block. It shouldn’t hurt, might feel a bit warm.”

The demon nodded, and Caretaker got to work. Just a quick thrice-over with the blowtorch was enough. He spread glue generously over the outer claw, then pressed the block into the hoof. He waited a few minutes for it to set, petting the demon’s shin a little. It seemed to appreciate that, appearing calmer by the minute.

“There. You should be all set,” he announced, setting the demon’s leg down. “Try walking on that block. You might be a little unsteady at first.”

Slowly, the demon touched its injured hoof to the floor. Only the block touched it, the cavernous claw raised up. It took only a few unsteady steps before it got the hang of it, walking confidently.

“It doesn’t hurt,” it said, amazed.

“Come back in a few weeks and I’ll take the block off. I’ll let the farmhands know I’m expecting you. Want me to trim your other hoof?” Caretaker offered. “So it stays healthy, too.”

The demon smiled. “I’d like that.”

-

Oneshots taglist:

@icyheart-and-friends

@kira-the-whump-enthusiast

@whuarri

@reborrowing

@paperprinxe

@what-if-i-just-did

Everything taglist:

@lilac-and-lemon-whumps

@t0rture-me

@whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump

@whumpshaped

@pigeonwhumps

@the-scrapegoat

@whumpycries

@lonesome--hunter

@whumpy-wyrms

@all-hail-pigeons

@wolfeyedwitch

@starfields08000

@jumpywhumpywriter

@scoundrelwithboba

[aleksa-sims]

RL Story

This is where my Sis, Sonja, Rafi and I used to spend our summer holidays with our Grandma, when we were little . After the fight with my Mom yesterday, today started quite relaxed. We were all looking forward to this trip and wanted to spend a nice day together. For my son and nephew our trip was almost like a little adventure. We splashed in the lake, saw turtles and picked berries.

Later that afternoon, Sonja and I had a picnic with the kids. That was so funny. Lucas fell asleep while eating!!😄Almost exactly as in the picture above, just without Teddy Bear but with a slice of bread in his hand. And little Denis played soccer with Nico.

As the sun slowly set, this beautiful day ended with a quarrel like yesterday.  After finishing dinner together, I left our table for a short moment. On the way to the bathrooms I was approached by a stranger. I immediately felt uncomfortable. On the one hand I just wanted to ignore that guy- but on the other, I didn’t dare to be rude. After all he asked me for help?

Anyway, he wanted to know if I was familiar with this area? I told him that I was only visiting my grandma. Then he just started yapping... He told me he was here with his father, who has married a girl and yada, yada, yada....

Nico sat somewhere on a bench just a few steps away from us, but I didn’t notice. He watched me/us. I think he was waiting for me to end this conversation, but somehow I couldn't, bcs that guy just wouldn’t stop talking!!

Now I saw N. heading toward us. He explained to the stranger that I am his girlfriend! The guy apologized, several times! And wanted to leave. But that wasn’t enough for N. He wanted me to understand and feel, how pissed he was. 🤦‍♀️

So, he demeaned me in front of that strange guy 😒 and my DAD, who I (but also N.) didn’t see right away! And even though I was used to N.'s .....anger issues and all the fights with my Dad in the past, I got... really mad & hurt at the end.

N. asked the stranger if he finds me hot? 🤨 He wanted to know what the guy would do with me, alone? N. explained to him that I belong to him. That guy must ask him first, if he wants me! And I will do what Nico asks, whether I want it or not. That’s about how.... it came off and my Dad heard everything and understood it just the same! 😠And ofc, my Dad confronted Nico!

Nico: Come on, man, just relax. I was just joking.

Dad: You haven’t changed at all! Stop treating my daughter like a dog! Apologize to her! 😠

Nico: Stay out of our lives! I can talk to her any way I want! And since you just mentioned it, how about you apologize to me? 🤨

Dad: I certainly don’t apologize to you for trying to help my kid!

Nico: By getting me out of the way, to do Philip a favor?.. That was your first mistake back then! The second was, that you let her marry a drug addict. But well, I get it, everybody’s better for her than me... Why don't you just give up? You fucked up anyway.

Dad: Watch how you talk to me! And now listen to me so that you finally understand it! I didn’t like Daniel at first too. I threw him out of my house just like I did with you and her. But compared to you, Daniel had the balls to apologize to me AND ask for help! You instead left my daughter alone with your mother for weeks, to play soccer abroad. Then you took her pills away from her to get her clean. Like you’re a fucking doctor! And when that also didn’t work out, you got Philip into this shit, so he could watch her while you’re away!!! That’s crazy what you did!! You could have just come to me or my wife and just admit that you can’t deal with her alone.

Nico: That’s exactly what I did, man! But you sent me away! You forced me to break up with her or you didn’t want to help her.

Dad: By that time, she had already started using. And be honest! She asked me for help, not you! You broke my daughter then, and will do it now too. Because you haven’t changed at all! But I won’t let that happen!

Nico: And I don’t make the same mistake twice!

Nico: If you ever try to get rid of me again, I’ll take everything you have. Lucas! He's my son! If I want...... you’ll never see him again! 😠

Dad: What are you going to do? You’re never here anyway? And my daughter won’t keep my grandkid away from me.

Nico: If she doesn’t do what I say, I leave her.

Dad: Fine! Thats perfect! 🤷‍♂️

Nico: But I’m taking Lucas with me! He’s my son!

Dad: And she's his MOTHER!!!! 😠

Nico: A drug-addicted Mother, who may..... even relapse? And is still, married to a smackhead! 😡

Me: STOP!! I can’t listen to you two anymore! Honestly, I’m gonna puke! Besides, all this crap you two are always arguing about is PAST and over four years ago! 😡🤷‍♀️

I got my Mom to help me with them. I was afraid they might come to blows. And as for N’s threat to take our son away from me bcs of my addiction, my Mom warned me exactly about this already during my pregnancy. But I never told him or talked to him about it. I just never believed he could- or would do that to me.

But now, I wasn’t sure anymore. 😓😢Also I didn't really get why N. got so mad at me today? I mean,..... I had an idea, but....yea, anyway. He has clearly gone too far this time!! 😠

Previous/Next

[gravehags]

ooh i just had a spooky thought, i know i’ve briefly mentioned on here how natalie starts to be able to see ghosts the longer she’s at the abbey but what if it starts to become a problem? what if one night when she’s sleeping after going to bed unusually early she stirs to see a hollow-cheeked old man in an all-too-familiar red cassock? and she immediately knows something isn’t right and when she reaches for copia she realizes with horror that copia is in the middle of confession and she’s all alone. she pushes herself as far away from the too-solid looking apparition with sunken eyes as she can, drawing the covers up to her chin like a child having a nightmare. when she demands who are you, what do you want he opens his thin mouth and out pours viscous black liquid, spilling down his front and covering his grucifix. you know, he rasps. and in her gut, she does. she’s wondered when the specter of cardinal zachariah von shreck would come to haunt her and here he is. he raises a knobbly finger and points accusingly at her with bared, blackened teeth. she killed me for you, he intones. natalie’s never been more scared in her life and when his body jolts forward, bending and hunching over unnaturally to place his hands on the edge of the mattress, natalie tries to scream but nothing comes out. it’s all she can do to throw herself out of bed and sprint out of the room and out the door. she can barely see for the volume of tears pouring from her eyes as she runs as fast as she can to the confession chapel and she’s well aware she’s drawing eyes with her short, revealing nightgown but she doesn’t care. she doesn’t feel safe until she throws open the confession booth and her eyes meet those of her beloved’s. amore, what is it, what happened, are you okay? the sibling on the other side of the booth quietly slips out, leaving the lovers alone in the chapel. she collapses into his arms. i saw him, she sobs, burying her face in the red wool of his pellegrina. i saw von shreck. copia holds her tight against him, rocking her gently and cupping the back of her head. i won’t let him hurt you, copia murmurs, i swear to you natalia. we need to go see secondo. no one knows a banishing ritual like him and this fucking ends tonight.

[livingdeadmlm]

Hcs for VDLG with an s/o that just loooves to give head. He thinks it’s soooo much fun. Cause it is. It’s awesome.

It it’s pretty fun until my jaw starts hurting and now nothing has ever been fun and I’m going crazy💔

Also this is ignoring the stigma of oral sex in America at the time lol cause back then in America people looked down on it even within relationships

Arthur

Depends on his honor‼️

High Honor Arthur is sorta awkward about it because he’s didn’t expect you to be so willing to please him in a way that technically doesn’t benefit you

But seeing how much you enjoy yourself he starts to enjoy it more and more

Won’t push your head but has a hard time keeping his hips from thrusting forward.

And now Low Honor Arthur loves this about you

Is a head pusher and probably likes getting head standing so he has more control of your head and pace

Is more talkative with a mix of praise and degradation, he’s inconsistent

You enjoying it is a plus cause he’d probably do it anyway (he’s a selfish lover at low honor is my hc)

Charles

He tries to be cool about it but he’s jumping for joy when you tell him you love giving head

Just a bit of foreplay and he’s starring with his big wet eyes waiting for you to take initiative

Won’t push your head but likes to rest his hand on the back of your head and follows the motions you’re doing

I don't think he'd like to thrust or anything like throat fucking because the gagging freaks him out that you're in pain or about to puke

Dutch

Oh god

He's expecting it fairly often now. Sitting on his cot before bed, pants already down, and lighting up a cigar.

He’ll pat his thigh, probably also has a special pillow for your knees

I think he'd like it much slower and sensual.

Keep him in your mouth until your jaw aches or just before it starts getting uncomfortable.

Hosea

He's happy to get oral from you but he fears he can't keep up if you offer it regularly

Poor hoseas refractory period takes a lot longer now

Talks the whole time for sure

‘You're doing amazing.’ ‘I must be the luckiest man alive.’ ‘you’re sucking the life out of me’

Kieran

Oh, brother, you can leave him a mess at just the offer alone

I think he wouldn't last long, he's pretty sensitive as if you'll let him, he'll move your head himself at a pace he likes

If you go two times in a row not pulling off once, he might cry from over stimulation but he won't push your head away cause he likes it

Javier

The two of you will be in a back-and-forth “returning the favor” cycle

I had this in my oral head canons but he views it as a selfless act of love so if course he's gonna return the favor

He'd probably want to 69 now and then to spice it ip

Sean

Oh, you don't have to tell him twice, his pants are off, and he's hot to go

Don't let him stand while you do it he will fall over once he cums cause his leg strength is gone

Pin his arms down so he can't push your head and he's whining about it

John

He doesn't believe you at first until you're down there and he can hardly form a thought anymore with how you're sucking

After he's back and clean from a job he's standing at the edge of your tent with the money in his hand to impress you

And ask if he gets a reward for his hard work in providing

Lenny

Again, all it takes is telling him once, and he's celebrating his riches

Be a little teasing with him and have him read as you slowly tease him, and when he struggles to focus, pull off completely

Eye contact during both pushing him to the edge and drives him crazy

[inkyrainstorms]

oh what a nice young man, i sure hope he doesn't take the same pitfalls as his idols and do something that will haunt him forever in the form of his sibling :)

AFK?????????.?.?.?.?????.? FUCKING HELL AFK GET BACK HERE YOU CSNT THROW THIS AT ME AND THEN L E AV EWHAT

I sure fucking HOPE SO.

god what happened to Hyde. What happened

an experiment gone wrong, leaving him hospitalized, and when Jekyll visits, guilt ridden and teary-eyed, when Hyde wakes up again after days, weeks—

Hyde won’t even look at him.

Won’t listen.

there’s nothing Jekyll can do to fix this. Any of it.

When Hyde is finally discharged, he shakes off Jekyll’s hand and stumbles off of that bed, ignoring the wheelchair they’d provided and hissing in pain as he crumples to the floor, and muttering curses the whole way (maybe he lost his voice) (maybe Jekyll is imagining him cursing, maybe he’s pretending everything is still normal) (what kind of injury is it, what happened)

in the months that followed, Hyde didn’t speak to him once. Even when his voice came back (if it left at all)

When Jekyll got the news that he’d been accepted at Oxford, that he was leaving the country — Hyde looked him in the eyes for the first time in months.

He’s known Hyde his whole life. He could see what Hyde meant from his eyes alone. He could see the mixture of relief and fear and anger hardening into something that screamed “good riddance”

When Jekyll left, Hyde didn’t even say goodbye

Jekyll couldn’t blame him

—

He tried, those first few months. Sent letters. But none of them ever got a response. When the first one came back, “return to sender”, Jekyll felt himself smile, an ugly little thing that held no joy, no bitterness. Some unnamed, third emotion between the two. Relief, maybe.

“Good riddance” he tried to say, but the words tasted like ash and caught like glass in his throat until all that came out was a choked, wet sound. It didn’t matter. At least he knew where they stood, now.

He kept that letter, and every single one written after it, in the bottom drawer of his office table, the one that locked with a little silver key that he never went anywhere without. He never looked through them, either.

And yet.

No matter where Jekyll fucking turned, his stupid brother was there. He took to covering up the mirrors. Took to cutting his hair even shorter than he’d kept it before, trimming the sides until they were just stubble.

When he got really, really shitfaced one night, early in those years before he’d started cutting his hair every damn month and it was growing out in that choppy, awkward way hair did, he looked in a mirror and laughed. He hugged the bottle to his chest, kneeling on the floor of his dorm, and giggled at his reflection.

“What,” he slurred, Scottish accent thick, “You want some too, Hyde? This is my bottle, you get your own.”

And then, despite himself, Jekyll started crying.

He woke up that morning, face sticky and mouth tasting like shit, and stumbled straight out of his dorm — throbbing headache and all — to get his hair cut so short he could hardly recognize himself anymore. Lanyon laughed at him, when he saw him later that day. Jekyll just shrugged, told him he was trying something new.

And it was better this way. He had to believe it. This was better for the both of them.

—