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jobean12-blog · 3 months ago

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Easy to Fall

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female reader

Word Count: 2.3K

Summary: You and Bucky have been dating for a while but the tension is building and you both feel you’re ready for the next step.

Author’s Note: Love a shy and unsure Bucky! Especially when he finds his way and is just 🫠🤭and special thanks to Sam for his encouragement hehe 😏thank you all for reading! Much love always❤️❤️❤️ thank you lovely Daisy @firefly-graphics for the divider🥰

Warnings: soft sweetness, fluff, fun, flirting, tension, lots of kisses, fingering, some oral (f rec), p in v, smut

“Maybe you should have a drink or somethin’ before she comes over?”

At Sam’s sincere but pointless suggestion Bucky’s eyes lift from his phone and he just stares wide eyed.

“I wish that would help,” he says. “Maybe I should just cancel.”

“Buck,” Sam says, stepping around the kitchen island. “Don’t. You know you’ll kick yourself if you do that. You really like this girl. And it’s not the first time you’re hanging out. Why are you so nervous this time around?”

“That’s exactly it though. I really like this girl…”

Sam’s eyebrows meet his hairline. “And?”

“I’m gonna fuck it up. Things are good…really good and I think we’re ready…”

Bucky’s words trail off and Sam remains silent, expression still unsure.

“Aw Wilson come on,” Bucky says with exasperation.

At Sam’s continued silence Bucky turns spins around and runs a hand through his hair.

“We haven’t…but I think…”

When Bucky turns to face Sam again the realization finally hits. “Oh. OH!” Sam exclaims.

Bucky let’s out a defeated sigh.

Sam waves him off. “You won’t fuck it up. Just relax and have fun. Enjoy each other. Let things happen…organically.”

Now Bucky laughs. “Organically or…?”

“You said it. Not me,” Sam chuckles with his hands up in defense.

After a beat of silence and unspoken camaraderie Bucky smiles.

“She’ll be here in half an hour. Get out.”

“And there’s the Barnes I know!” Sam grins as he grabs his jacket. “Good luck!”

“Want something to drink doll?” Bucky calls out over his shoulder as you take off your shoes and drop your bag to the floor.

“I’ve got beer, water…juice boxes…”

You come up behind him in the kitchen, pressing yourself to his back and looking under his arm into the fridge.

“You have…juice boxes?”

He shrugs, leaning into you, discreetly inhaling a whiff of your scent, and closing his eyes.

“Buck? Juice boxes?”

He blinks, looking back down into the fridge and focusing on the cold air hitting his face.

“I took Mrs. Adams food shopping last night and she always insists on getting me snacks.”

“You have the nicest neighbors! Mrs. Adams is my favorite of the old ladies in your building!”

“We can invite her to our wedding then,” he teases.

You laugh and lean up to kiss his cheek. “One juice box please.”

“She also got me Oreos, ice cream and tried to get me to buy condoms when I told her I had a hot date with you.”

“Does she think you were going to get lucky tonight?”

“She likes me to be prepared,” he says lightly.

“And well stocked on snacks apparently,” you giggle.

He grabs the juice boxes and Oreos and points to the living room.

“Me. You. A scary movie.”

“I barely got through the last one,” you sigh defeatedly.

“But you did,” he says. “And remember, you can hide in my hoodie again.”

“Probably the best idea,” you say.

You sit down next to each other, arms and thighs touching, the feel burning through your clothes.

The crinkle of your straw wrapper crackles in the air and Bucky turns to you, watching as you cheekily puncture the top of the box and slide the straw into the side of your mouth.

“I love fruit punch.”

He keeps watching, his gaze fixated on your lips. Finally, he looks away from your mouth and back to the television.

“I like them all,” he says. “Sugar.”

He starts the movie, and you settle back against the couch cushions, grabbing for an Oreo. The beginning scene lights up the screen and the suspense builds almost immediately. Something jumps out and Bucky flinches and fumbles his Oreo.

“You okay there, Barnes?” you ask with a smirk. “Even I knew that was coming.”

“My mind was occupied. Lost my focus.”

You shake your head and look back at the screen. “Do I want to know?”

“Probably. But I’m not tellin’ ya.”

The movie continues and you inch closer to him until you’re resting under his arm and against his chest. Your face is half hidden in his hoodie and you’ve got a death grip on his wrist, holding it to keep his hand in front of your eyes.

“You could use your own hand you know,” he jokes.

“But yours is so much bigger!” you whine and tense when you hear the creepy music come to a crescendo.

Before anything jumps out in the movie Bucky sneakily moves his free hand toward you then shouts and pokes you in the side.

You scream and jump up.

“OH MY GOD! You did not just do that!!!

He smiles sweetly, eyes bright and full of mischief.

You reach for your empty juice box and hurl it at his face. Your eyes widen when he deftly catches it and throws it right back at you, hitting you squarely in the chest.

A beat of silence and stillness passes before you lunge for him, shoving him back on the couch before lifting a pillow and smacking him in the face with it.

Your unrestrained laughter hits him right in the chest, and he’s unprepared for your assault, cough-laughing through a flurry of your fingers digging down and tickling roughly.

He bucks up beneath you, growing more aware of your precarious arrangement of limbs, and advances toward you on the couch, swatting at your hands, and darting his fingers between your arms to tickle your ribs.

With his other hand he grabs a pillow from behind you and uses it to hit you right in the face. You shove at him hard, sending him right off the couch and onto the floor, where you dive on top of him, pinning him down, wrestling in earnest.

You’re laughing and yelling and one of you knocks the containers of Oreos onto the floor and it crumbles under you leg when he rolls you over to hover above, getting the upper hand.

He finds the place on your waist that, when prodded with a long finger, makes you cry out in hysterics.

His fingers dance up your sides and under your shirt, the feel of your warm skin only egging him on until his fingertips brush the lace edge of your bra.

At the same time, you both seem to realize that he’s over you, lying completely on top of you, situated between your legs with his hand up your shirt and, in unison, you both freeze.

You have two tight fistfuls of his shirt in your hands and your eyes travel the slow path from where his hand is hidden up to his face.

Your breath catches and you let your legs slide up over his hips. Your body gives beneath his and he’s suddenly intensely aware of the soft warmth between your legs and the press of your curves against him.

“Doll?” he murmurs.

You suck your bottom lip into your mouth to stop from smiling.

He presses forward, not much but just enough to feel more. Your lips part and you watch a pink blush creep up his neck and onto his cheeks.

“Bucky.”

“Fuck,” he growls, bending and pressing his mouth to your neck as he starts to rock against you.

He nearly comes at the sound you make, soft and restrained.

“Kissing you again is all I could think about since our last date,” he admits as his lips trail along your neck.

“Just kissing?” you ask, nearly breathless.

He smirks and kisses you again. A kiss you feel from the place where you lips meet to the tips of your curling toes.

When he pulls away and sits up you mourn the loss of him, but then he falls back down onto the couch and takes you with him so you’re straddling his lap.

His hand slips between your legs to rub you over your leggings, going slow enough that he can check in with you, his expression soft but his eyes heated.

You tilt your head and brush your lips to his, moaning when he rubs small circles right where you need it.

“I…” he starts, his breathing heavy as he slowly slips his fingers inside your pants.

“Please Bucky.”

It’s all he needs to hear as his fingers stop teasing and dip between your legs, sliding into your panties to where you’re ready and wet.

He takes your hand and holds it over his cock, and rocks into your palm. You can see the shape of him beneath the denim of his jeans, long and pressed against his stomach.

A wave of heat flashes beneath your skin and you grab for the bottom of his shirt, lifting it up and over his head. His mouth meets yours and he drags his teeth over your bottom lip.

His fingers push deeper, and you arch into him, his satisfied hiss swallowed by your mouth. Your hands fall to his jeans, and you work open the button and pull down the zipper, reaching in and wrapping your hand around him.

“Oh god.”

He slumps against the back of the couch and watches, his darkened blue eyes dragging from where you’re touching him to where he’s touching you.

His cock is perfect, just like the rest of him.

“Pants off,” you breathe out. “Please.”

You lift up and wait while he shoves them down his thighs. Before you can sit on his lap again he grabs your hips and pins you in place in front of him, hooking his thumbs into the fabric at your waist and slowly peeling it down your legs.

“Fuck baby doll. Look at you.”

Everything in you catches fire when his fingers slide up the inside of your thigh and he sucks in a breath-you’re skin is wet and glistening-and looks at you like you’re a meal and he’s deciding what to eat first.

He makes a guttural sound, and it vibrates down to your bones when his eyes meet yours. His fingers slide over you, dipping inside and teasing. His other hand smooths along the curve of your ass and he pulls you closer, kissing your stomach and then lower, where he licks softly, his nose a soft brush against your skin.

Your hands fall to his hair, and you tug hard, eliciting a moan from the back of his throat. Your stomach begins to tighten, and you whisper his name, giving his head a light push.

“I want to come with you inside me,” you purr.

He licks his lips and reluctantly leans back against the couch, gripping his cock and calling you closer with a crook of finger then guides you over his lap again.

He leans in and tugs off your shirt, kissing along your collarbone and down to your breasts, teasing your nipple with his teeth and moaning around it.

You sink down slowly, and he sits back against the cushions to watch where he’s disappearing inside you.

“Doll.”

You move over him, slowly.

“Fuck you look incredible.”

His hands settle on your waist, gripping softly but strong enough to keep the rhythm. He kisses you like he still can’t believe he’s doing it, and you adjust the position of your knees and you both gasp as you bottom out, your ass coming to rest on his thighs.

“Oh Bucky,” you moan, pressing your face to his neck while you catch your breath.

His palms smooth along the curve of your spine and down to your waist and he presses his fingers into your hips, rocking you faster then slow again.

“I want you in my bed,” he says through a grunt. “I want to spread you out under me. I want to kiss and feel every inch of you.”

He sits up, nips at your neck before sucking gently. You kiss for what feels like forever and your movements narrow into small rocks forward and back, just feeling him inside you. You try to keep it together when he reaches down, and his thumb starts moving in practiced circles over your clit.

Your hands dig into his hair, steering his mouth back to your breasts and watching as he captures your nipple with his tongue. He bares his teeth, sliding them over the sensitive flesh and you cry out, feeling him twitch inside you.

The tightening in your belly builds and he’s watching you, watching the way you move together and the place where your bodies connect. You follow his gaze and look down, the way the muscles in his stomach clench, where the beads of sweat have collected in the dip where his dog tags lay. You circle your hips, and he groans, tightening his grip where he holds you.

“Fuck baby. Do that again.”

You do, moving over him and using the back of the couch for leverage. He throws his head back.

“I’m so…I’m…” he says between gasps of air.

His fingers return to your clit with renewed enthusiasm and with each rock of your hips and each thrust of his the cord around your spine tightens until his name is spilling from your parted lips.

He presses up into you, hard and fast and over and over until he’s coming with a long, helpless groan against your shoulder.

With such softness it steals your breath, he reaches up and cups the back of your neck, bringing your lips to his and whispering, “stay with me tonight.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fluff #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader

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shrimpybbq · 3 months ago

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the thought of drew and obx actress!reader sweeping award season with their crime drama😍 maybe it’s about 2/3 seasons too to really get their characters yearning…

Hehe they’re on the red carpet at the Emmy’s with the rest of the cast but they’ve split off together to do interviews. The reporters are ecstatic at getting the main actor and actress of the hottest tv show this year in front of them. Ever the gentleman, Drew has his hand resting on her lower back as he guides them through the interview line ups.

“So Drew! Y/N! How are we feeling? Your show is predicted to sweep the awards tonight - what’s that feeling like?”

Drew looks over and obx actress!reader before smirking cheekily. “I mean… I’m honoured,” he drawled, laughing as he received a playful swat to his chest at the now-famous remark. “No, but really, it’s really rewarding to know that people are liking and appreciating our work. Just a big thank you to everyone who has watched our little show. For letting us put two seasons out as well - it’s amazing to see people have faith in us.”

When the reporter turned to obx!actress reader, she spoke too, “Pretty much just echoing Drew, but it’s been quite intense! You know, you always have hope that your project is going to do well, but seeing the way this has blown up and the love from the fans for us and these characters has been incredible!”

Drew nodded alongside her. The cameras caught the way the pair had subtly begun to lean into each other, though it was clear neither was aware of it.

“And guys, coming from Outer Banks to this kind of show, it must be crazy! You two played an on-off couple before, but now for your characters, the stakes are a lot higher. What would you say has been the most important thing to help you portray this different kind of relationship, especially balancing the really challenging scenes you’re filming?”

Drew reached for the mic first, looking towards obx actress!reader momentarily for approval before speaking. “Yeah, I think knowing each other for so long beforehand was probably the most important thing. We would always debrief after scenes and check in to make sure we were both good, just keeping ourselves in good condition.”

He passed the mic to the shorter woman by his side, turning his attention to her.

“When you’re filming scenes that put you on edge and really push you out of your comfort zone, having people you feel safe with is just so invaluable. Pedro was great with that too, and all the cast on the show really recognised the nature of what we were portraying. Drew and I had a routine that each evening after filming, we would go and get ice cream from this place near the set and just chill. It was really great to just sit silently and eat for a while, you know?”

The interviewer nodded, incredibly pleased with the answers she’d managed to get from the pair so far.

“Ok! So my last question before you go is this - who is the best dancer on the set? Drew, I know you love to show off your dance moves, but there are quite a few great dancers in the cast!”

The pair both thought silently for a moment, before obx actress!reader leaned into the mic, “it has to be Pedro! He loves a quick dance party in between takes.”

“I’m also gonna go with Pedro,” Drew chimed in.

The interviewer grinned widely, thanking them quickly as their publicist began to shuffle the actors over to the next interview stand. The camera caught the pair waving goodbye as they moved over, not failing to capture the way Drew’s hand still rested on obx actress!reader’s back. This time though, her hand was resting on his bicep as she turned to talk to him, their bodies pressed closely together. The interviewer thanked her lucky stars that the pair were so touchy because her editor was going to love this.

#drew starkey x actress!reader #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey x female reader #drew starkey x oc #drew starkey imagine #drew starkey x y/n #drew starkey x you #drew x reader #drew imagine #drew starkey #obx actress!reader #actress!reader #outer banks imagine #outer banks x reader

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playnextdoor · 4 months ago

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Bad Example

summary: abby sets a bad example for your little one

cw: mom!abby x mom!r, fast forward a couple months to fit what i wanted to write lol, mentions of sex, no smut, abby is being lazy and reader is bitchy hehe, abby slaps your butt. you two still love each other ok?!?!?!!?!?

"Whoa there, partner!" you say, quickly scooping up your little rascal of a daughter as she reaches for the bowl of chocolate chip pancake batter. She may be over 18 months old, but that hasn’t stopped her from climbing to grab whatever you set on the counter. You set her back on the floor, revoking her breakfast-helper privileges, and she glares up at you, babbling out in protest.

"Hey, don’t talk back to your mother missy!" Abby’s voice booms as she enters the kitchen, startling both of you. You spin around, eyes meeting your beautiful wife. Her blonde hair, tousled from sleep and the quickie you snuck in before you were off to your wifey duties, falls perfectly over her shoulders, and her oversized crewneck just barely hides the shorts she wore to bed. Your stomach flutters, the desire to drag her back into your shared bedroom, but you’re interrupted by your little one grabbing at your pant leg, steadying herself between your knees. “You say that, but where do you think she learns it from?” you mutter as you turn back to mixing the batter. You think Abby didn’t hear, but she just scoffs, sorting through the mail you picked up earlier.

Usually, Abby’s a big help, but lately, she’s been testing your patience. Like earlier this week: she left her shoes right outside the shoe rack again. You tripped over them coming in with your daughter, nearly dropping her. When you yelled about it, all she did was laugh, reaching over to kiss your forehead “You're so cute when you're mad,” you immediately wiped the kiss off. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, pressing a quick apology against your cheek before wrapping you and the baby girl in her arms. The little one giggled, but you just rolled your eyes, fighting the urge to smack Abby.

Or like yesterday: Abby offered to put the baby down, but by 8:30 p.m., peeking into the nursery, there they were, Abby, blowing raspberries on your little one’s belly, sending her into a fit of giggles. Adorable, yeah, but it was well past bedtime. "I don’t know if I want to yell or kick you," you said, Abby froze like a kid caught in the cookie jar. Without another word, you scooped up your baby girl, wrapped her in her blanket, and headed out of the room. It wasn't a big deal, really, but it was the cherry on top of a frustrating day. Abby apologized later that night, swooning you with kisses and tangling you both in the sheets.

Even though you woke up to a nice surprise this morning. Abby's hand traveling down your pajama pants, her whispering in your ear, “Let me get a taste, yeah?” in that husky morning voice that makes you weak, you're still pissed at her

“Ugh, they need to stop sending me this garbage,” Abby grumbles, tearing up a campaign flier and tossing it in the trash. The kitchen grows quiet as your little one now stands at your side, reaching her tiny hands up at you, whining to be held. Just as you turn around, you feel a sudden sting on your left butt cheek, a familiar smack. Abby’s got a habit of this, so you try to ignore it, denying her the reaction she’s after. But then you feel three little slaps on your thigh, just under your rear. You look down to see your little one mimicking Abby’s antics, her sweet face looking up at you.

You let out a laugh of shock, looking up at Abby, whose mouth hangs open in a proud, slightly shocked grin. “What did I tell you, Abby?” you say, raising your voice as Abby breaks down laughing. Your little girl crawls over the blonde, picks her up, and joins in her laughter.

“You think it’s funny, but now she’s going to start slapping stranger’s asses,” you say, trying to keep a straight face but failing, biting back your smile. Abby stifles her laughter as she looks at your mischievous little one, who babbles a few “mamas” in between giggles.

“No, lovey, we don’t hit Mama,” Abby says, wagging her finger playfully. Your daughter's face crumbles, her bottom lip jutted out in a pout as tears well up and spill down her chubby cheeks. Abby cradles her, muffled sobs in the crewneck of your wife as Abby silently laughs.

“Babe! Go put her down for her nap. And be a good mommy and apologize to her!” you say, rubbing the little one's back gently. Abby shakes her head, laughing to herself as she kisses your daughter's head, soothing her as they head off to the nursery. As Abby turns to walk away, you sneak a little squeeze on her butt, her glaring back at you playfully.

You turn back to the batter, giggling to yourself as you add a bit of water to smooth the mix, listening to Abby and your baby girl’s babbling conversation down the hall. Suddenly, there's a loud thump, followed by a frustrated “SHIT!”

“What happened?!” you call out, dropping the spoon and standing still, waiting for Abby’s response.

“My damn shoes!” she yells back, voice muffled as you hear her step into the nursery and closes the door behind her.

You smirk, shaking your head. That's what her ass gets.

a/n: all my ideas come when it's 4am and i cant go back to sleep but i dont want to look at my phone bc then i wont go back to sleep so i will just make these fake scenarios to help me sleep. LOL. should i make this a series? lmk <3

#tlou abby #abby x reader #abby anderson fluff #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x reader fluff #abby anderson #abby anderson fanfic #tlou2 x reader #abby anderson tlou2 #wlw writing #orion's writing

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writingforatwistedworld · 1 year ago

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Hi! Can i ask for a self aware twst when the reader surprises adopted Silver as their son. Like just pointing at him and saying 'you are my child now' with Silver, Lilia and Sebek. Hope you have a good day!

Hehe. Anon, you know what you are doing. In fact, I would say you even want the chaos. And for that I love you come here so I can hug you.

Self-aware au

I do not take any responsibility for you reading this no matter which age group you are from!

WARNINGS: Yandere themes, Diasomnia chapter spoilers (Lilias part, maybe Sebek), religion, violence, isolation, kidnapping, obsessive behavior

Lilia Vanrouge/(Platonic) Silver/Sebek Zigvolt-Adopting Silver

Oh ok. Cool cool coolcoolcoolcoolcool

Well, at least that one room dedicated to you in the form of an altar can now be used for more practical uses (finally)

When Lilia heard you say those words and point at his son, he fell from the chandelier he was dangling from

Not only did he have to navigate through not accidentally telling his son that he was the blood related son of an enemy general and that exactly this general killed Malleus mom

But also that he had now a second parent that also happened to be god

Mhm totally normal

Conversations to strangers about his family were already playing out like this in his head:

Hi, I am Lilia Vanrouge, yes the one in your history book, this is my son Silver, yes he looks like a certain knight, and my lovely partner and also parent of this lovely human, yes, FU**ING GOD THEMSELVES

Ah yes, sitting in church will totally not be awkward after this

Bro legit sits you down with a pen and paper, asking you to sign the marriage certificate

Asks you what flowers you want to have on your wedding. Doesn't matter if you are a woman, man or identify as something else, he is planning that

Also has already planned out how to get you into the Valley of Thorns without anyone noticing

Because no matter how devoted he is to you, he will always be too greedy to share your attention with someone else

You could have said this as a joke or some other protective instinct towards the silver-haired male but all that man's father hears is a marriage proposal

Lilia is just happy that you feel some sort of positive way to his family member (makes things easier when you are stuck in that cabin)

I mean, he did see Silver as a present from you, a child meant to bring him back to the light after being so long in the shadow of war

And now the three of you were together! How lovely!

Which would mean that you planned this all along. Dear Overseer, if you liked the idea of you being a family you could have just told him so

He will be the best partner to raise a child together you could dream of

And should someone dare to interrupt the perfect, peaceful life you three (plus two more) had, he wouldn't mind swinging that sword again

Wait what?

What do you mean with that?

Are you sure you want him to be your son? Really?

Apparently he was not the only one surprised since he could hear the thud of his father falling to the ground behind him and Seek screaming somewhere behind him

Be prepared for a silver haired knight to look at you with the biggest puppy eyes and ask "Do you really want me as you son?"

Critical hit! Someone call a doctor. I think the Valley of Thorns god can be killed by cuteness

After that he is glued to your side (even though you have to part sooner or later since he is not living in Ramshackle)

One morning you woke up to the guy standing there with some food being like "I made some food."

Like where the Heck did he even get the keys for the dorm? (He broke in through a hole in the ceiling)

Silver always comes running to you whenever he does something and wants praises

Once he was best in one of his classes and he stood there with the report like he could turn into a dog and get headpats from you any second

But, as I am sure you are aware of, this is a blog with yandere themes and we have to say goodbye to the fluff at some point

That sword training comes in handy is all I'm saying

I mean, he has probably enough strength to break someone's leg with his bare hands by simply applying some pressure

And that one Diasomnia student that tried to take his son-status away from him was found again in a not-so-compatible-state-with-life kind of situation

I'm letting you imagine what happened

Like Lilia he is ready to burn everyone who dares to interfere with your little family

The forests of his homeland are pretty though so no need to worry about the appearance of your surroundings once they bring you to your new home (who needs social interaction anyways?)

A second of silence

And then the screaming started

“OH HOW KIND OF OUR OVERSEER! TO SHOW A MORTAL THEIR KINDNESS AND CARING SIDE!”

Seek would be lying if he said that he wasn't surprised

You, aka the Overseer, aka some higher being, AKA GOD, were known in the Valley of Thorns to be kind and caring, yet also distant and never approaching others directly

But then you literally adopt someone, making that person someone in your inner cycle?

Well, if Sebek knew one thing then that those Priests were going to have a crisis as soon as they learned about this

Totally not jealous

He would try to get closer to you since, apparently, you did allow others to get close to you

But he was happy as long as you were

After all, he was now the (not-so-official appointed) shield of the Valley of Thorns, something he got passed on by his grandfather

So of course he couldn't be family with you

That didn't mean he couldn't “help” you

Someone intruded on that dinner you had with Lilia and Silver?

Ouch… that punch must have hurt

Whenever Silver or his Father had to interfere because someone else came too close then they were some incredibly slick (looking at you Rook) or lucky person

Don't let his loud mouth fool you

This crocodile has done unmentionables in your name in order to make things easier for your new found family

For what? Oh you know, becoming his neighbor back home… forever

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theetherealbloom · 3 months ago

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IF THERE'S NOTHING LEFT - CH.2

Chapter Two: Hold On For Dear Love

Summary: You, a skilled healer, are brought to Rome by Senator Gracchus under the pretense of treating gladiators and Roman elites. You work with General Marcus Acacius to fight against the cruel reign of the twin emperors. Through danger and shared hope, your connection becomes a source of strength as you both dream of freeing Rome.

Paring: General Marcus Acacius x F!Reader

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, ANGST, Fluff, SMUT, Age-Gap(ish), Ancient Rome, Canon-Typical Violence, Gladiators, Blood, Gore, War, Romance, Politics, Alternate Universe, Eventual SMUT, Slavery, Sexism, Misogyny, Guilt, PTSD, Rebellion, Empires, (Very Light) Strangers-to-Enemies-to-Friends-to-Lovers, Crowds, Shouting, Animals, Duels, Loose Historical Fiction, Kissing,

Word Count: 10.1k

A/N: Chat, I am giving the reader a super vague background, like it won't matter too much, lol. You’re here for the vibes, and so am I ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ So this entire fic isn’t gonna be overly complicated, I don’t think this is the fic for that. I mean, they put sharks in the Colosseum, so… we’re going to take some liberties here and there for funsies. It’s fanfiction, it’s supposed to be fun :> ALSO YA’LL I GOT INTO A GROOVE. I wasn’t planning on updating til next week but the words kept coming to me and suddenly I’m done with chapter two hehe. AND YES YES SHUSH NEXT CHAPTER IS SMUT. MAYBE. Ok enjoy girlies heheh.

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: Hymn To Virgil by Hozier

Previous Chapter → Next Chapter | Series Masterlist |Main Masterlist|

SENATOR THRAEX’S PARTY — DAY

The grand villa was alive with music, laughter, and the heady scent of roasted meats and spilled wine. Senators, high-ranking officials, and Rome's wealthiest citizens mingled among trays of fruit and platters of delicacies, their voices filling the air with a cacophony of conversation and self-indulgent boasts. Courtesans draped in sheer silks wove through the throng, their laughter as light and false as the smiles of their patrons.

You stood to the side, partially hidden in the shadow of a marble column. The position offered a semblance of privacy while giving you a clear view of the room. You made mental notes of the faces present—senators, generals, and merchants, all drunk on wealth and power. Their alliances and rivalries played out in every guarded glance and overly polite toast.

Senator Gracchus approached you with a goblet of wine, his face etched with age but kind. “You look like a soldier observing a battlefield,” he remarked dryly.

You smiled faintly, accepting the drink. “It feels like one. Though I’m not sure which side I belong to.”

Gracchus chuckled, leaning slightly closer. “In Rome, one must always choose a side, my dear. Even if that choice is to appear invisible.”

Before you could respond, a voice interrupted. “Ah, the daughter of misfortune graces us with her presence.” Senator Thraex’s saccharine tone drew the attention of those nearby. He strode toward you, his beady eyes alight with thinly veiled mockery. “I was just telling Gracchus how tragic your loss must have been. Your poor parents—what a terrible end.”

Your jaw tightened, but you forced a polite smile. “Your concern is appreciated, Senator. They are at peace now.”

Thraex clasped his hands, feigning sympathy. “Still, such a pity. A young woman like you, left all alone in this cruel city. Surely by now, you should have found a husband to protect you from its dangers?”

The words stung, though you refused to let it show. Keeping your tone steady, you replied, “I fear my reputation for independence precedes me. Not all men wish to marry someone who refuses to play the meek lamb.”

Gracchus coughed into his goblet, poorly disguising a laugh, while Thraex’s smile faltered. “How... peculiar,” he said, his tone sharper now. “Though perhaps not surprising. It would be difficult to find a suitor for one so... outspoken.”

The room seemed to hum with energy as Thraex’s face, darkened with irritation from your earlier remark, shifted into a mask of forced hospitality when his gaze landed on a man entering the crowd—a towering figure wrapped in silk and jewels, his presence as commanding as it was enigmatic. You followed Thraex's movement as he moved to greet the man, a name rippling through your thoughts: Macrinus.

You had heard whispers of him before. A former gladiator who had fought for his freedom, now a powerbroker in Rome. He supplied food, wine, and oil for the empire’s armies, manufactured weapons, and even maintained a stable of gladiators. His name carried weight, his connections extending into the darkest corners of Roman politics.

As Thraex approached Macrinus, his false charm returned, his arms spreading wide. “Macrinus!” he greeted, his voice dripping with exaggerated warmth. He clapped the man on the shoulder with an enthusiasm that bordered on theatrical. “I knew the provinces could never contain you.”

Macrinus accepted the embrace with a faint smirk, his dark eyes scanning the room with calculated ease. “I’m just here for the games,” he replied, his tone casual, though there was a hint of something sharper beneath the surface.

Thraex chuckled, his grip lingering on the man’s shoulder. “Ah well, you won't be disappointed. Rome has all the games that men like you like to play.”

“Men like me, cracks men like us.” Macrinus shot back, his grin widening. “I know nothing happens in Rome unless you… tasted it first! ”

Thraex laughed at the jab, the sound too loud to be sincere. Their exchange continued, a dance of veiled threats and mutual amusement. You lingered at the edge of the room, doing your best to blend into the shadows, your ears straining to catch every word.

Thraex handed Macrinus a gilded chalice of wine, his eyes glinting with curiosity. “What's this we hear about you being interested in standing for an election to the senate practice?”

Macrinus stiffened, his surprise poorly concealed as he let out a dry chuckle. “Me? You know, I don't even know how to use an abacus,” He sipped his wine before adding with a wry smile, “but I do understand that… it's customary for your guests to make wagers at these affairs.”

Thraex’s eyes narrowed slightly, though his smile didn’t falter. “How large a sum did you have in mind?”

Macrinus tilted his head thoughtfully, the jewels around his neck catching the light. “A thousand gold aureus?”

Thraex’s lips curled into a grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “Two,” he countered smoothly.

Macrinus glanced at the courtesan draped over his arm, as if seeking her approval. The woman gave a slight nod, and Macrinus shrugged, turning back to Thraex. “Denarius,” he said simply, the single word carrying enough weight to silence Thraex for a fleeting moment.

Macrinus walked away with an easy swagger, leaving Thraex standing alone with his forced smile slipping into a scowl. The flash of irritation on his face, so quickly concealed, didn’t escape your notice.

You couldn’t suppress a small smirk of your own as you turned your attention elsewhere. Rome’s elite might dress themselves in finery and smiles, but it was clear that every word exchanged tonight was a thread in the intricate tapestry of power. Threads you were determined to unravel.

The air in the grand hall shifted, thick with anticipation as the crowd clustered toward the edges of the room. The glint of opulence—golden goblets, silk-draped tables, and jewels adorning the guests—clashed against the dark reality of what was about to unfold. Your eyes lingered briefly on a figure across the way: a man, bound in chains, sitting quietly. There was no fear in his expression, only a smoldering anger that made you uneasy.

The sound of clapping drew your attention back to the center of the room. Senator Thraex, ever the showman, raised his voice above the murmur of the crowd. “Stand back! Stand back!” he called, his tone a mix of authority and delight.

You stepped aside, blending into the edges of the gathering, as the spectators parted to form a circle. The twin emperors, Caracalla and Geta, lounged decadently on their perch, surrounded by concubines who laughed and whispered among themselves. Their indifference to the gathering's undertones was maddening.

Thraex turned toward them with an exaggerated bow. “My emperors,” he began with a grin before addressing the audience. “Lords, ladies, senators—tonight, for your entertainment... the art of combat!”

Excited gasps rippled through the room, the revelers’ reactions equal parts anticipation and bloodlust. You fought the urge to roll your eyes. Thraex gestured dramatically toward the two men brought forward—one was the same figure you’d seen earlier, still brooding but now standing tall.

“And now,” Thraex continued, “the barbarian, versus from my own stable, the mighty Vijay!”

The crowd erupted into applause as Vijay, a towering figure in a yellow tunic, was escorted forward. His opponent, the gladiator from across the room, now squared his shoulders and met Vijay’s gaze.

“It is your gladiator?” Emperor Geta asked, his tone laced with mild amusement, as he glanced at Macrinus.

Macrinus inclined his head respectfully. “It is, your Majesty.”

Chains were removed from both men, their freedom feeling more like a death sentence. Thraex began to set the terms. “Three rounds, hand-to-hand—”

But Emperor Caracalla’s voice cut through. “Swords!” he barked, his grin wicked.

The room fell silent.

“We want swords. A fight to the death!” Caracalla continued, his voice rising with glee. “No quarter to be offered, or given!”

Thraex hesitated, his expression faltering for a moment, but the guards stepped forward, placing swords into the gladiators’ hands. You felt your stomach twist as the two men began circling one another.

The gladiator of Macrinus spoke first, his voice calm but edged with pleading. “Brother, come now. Let us not kill each other for their amusement.”

Vijay’s only response was a roar as he lunged, his sword slicing through the air. The next moments were chaos. Blades clanged as they met, sparks flying from each blow. The room seemed to shrink around the violence as tables splintered and decorations toppled.

The climax came when Vijay’s sword slipped from his grasp in the scuffle. The other gladiator seized the opportunity, driving his blade into Vijay’s chest. A sharp gasp escaped you as the larger man crumpled to the marble floor, his blood pooling beneath him.

The victor tossed his sword to the ground with a clatter, breathing heavily, his face and tunic spattered with blood. Around you, the crowd erupted into applause and cheers, their delight in stark contrast to your quiet horror.

“Remarkable!” Emperor Geta exclaimed, standing as he clapped his hands. He approached Macrinus with an approving nod. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you, your Majesty,” Macrinus replied smoothly.

Geta then turned to the gladiator, studying him with newfound interest. “From where do you hail?”

The man said nothing, his jaw set, his silence defiant.

The tension in the room grew thick. Even you found yourself leaning forward, curiosity mingling with unease.

“Speak,” Geta commanded sharply. When no answer came, his impatience boiled over. “I said speak!”

Macrinus stepped in quickly, bowing his head. “Your Majesty, he is from the colonies. His native tongue is all he understands.”

The gladiator finally raised his head, his voice cutting through the room like a blade. “The gates of hell are open night and day; smooth the descent, and easy is the way: but to come back from hell, and view the cheerful skies, in this the task and mighty labor lies.”

The poetry stunned you, the eloquence jarring against the brutal spectacle that had just unfolded. Around you, the room fell silent for a beat before Caracalla broke into a laugh.

“Poetry!” the Caracalla declared, grinning as he turned to Macrinus. “Very clever, Macrinus. Very clever indeed.”

Macrinus bowed slightly. “To amuse you is my only wish, your Majesty.”

“We are amused,” Geta said, though his gaze remained fixed on the gladiator. His voice rose as he addressed the room. “And we all look forward to seeing your poet… perform in the arena.”

“As do I your majesty's.” Macrinus gestured to his guard. “Viggo,” he said softly, and the guard stepped forward to escort the gladiator out of the room.

As the crowd began to disperse, murmurs of excitement rippling through the air, you remained rooted in place. Your eyes followed the blood trail left by Vijay’s body as it was dragged away. The victor—dripping in another man’s blood, yet unbowed—disappeared through the doors, his haunting words lingering in your mind like a ghost.

LUCILLA'S VILLA — LATE AFTERNOON

The villa of Domitia Lucilla stood as a serene contrast to the chaos of Rome—a sprawling sanctuary of pale stone walls and gardens heavy with the scent of roses and citrus. The late afternoon sun stretched shadows across the courtyard as you entered, the weariness from Senator Thraex’s debauched gathering weighing heavily on your shoulders.

Lucilla awaited you, standing poised near a column. Her cream stola shifted with the breeze, but her sharp gaze was unwavering, as if she had been expecting this moment.

“You’ve returned,” she said, warmth in her voice tempered by the gravity of her expression.

“I have, my lady—”

She waved off the formalities with a flick of her wrist. “Enough with that. How many times must I tell you?”

“Habit,” you replied with a faint smile, though it lacked its usual brightness.

Her lips twitched with amusement, but concern quickly took its place. “And how was Senator Thraex’s gathering? As intolerable as I feared?”

You sighed, the grotesque excess of the night flashing briefly in your mind. “More wine than wit. And blood, of course. Always blood.”

Lucilla’s mouth tightened, her brow furrowing just enough to betray her displeasure. She stepped closer, resting a hand lightly on your shoulder. “Rome devours itself with spectacle. It leaves nothing but emptiness behind,” she murmured.

You nodded but didn’t speak. The heaviness of her words settled heavily on you because they were true.

“And Thraex himself?” she pressed, tilting her head.

You hesitated. “He made his usual jabs about my… unmarried state. Feigned sympathy for my family. And spent an inordinate amount of time with Macrinus, the arms dealer. It seemed more calculated than casual.”

Lucilla’s eyes narrowed slightly, her mind already turning. “Macrinus does not waste his time on frivolities. If Thraex is courting him, there’s more at play.”

“Something to do with the games tomorrow, perhaps?” you suggested. “He seemed eager for them.”

Lucilla’s lips pressed into a thin line. “It’s possible. His ambitions are endless, and I fear his alliances will be the ruin of many.”

“Rome always finds a way to drag us into its mire,” you muttered bitterly.

Her hand on your shoulder tightened briefly, reassuring. “Then we tread carefully. But not tonight. Tonight, we focus on what lies ahead. The senators will convene soon, and General Acacius is to join us.”

You huffed a soft laugh, though it carried a trace of exasperation. “A grand gathering in his honor, and he doesn’t bother to attend the festivities.”

Lucilla arched a brow, her expression turning sly. “Were you hoping he would?”

Heat rushed to your face, and you fumbled for a response. “I—no, of course not. I just thought it odd.”

“Mm.” Her tone was noncommittal, but her knowing smile made you glance away.

Before you could dwell on your embarrassment, Lucilla turned down another garden path, leaving you to follow. It was there, amid the soft hum of cicadas and the golden haze of the late afternoon, that you saw him.

Marcus Acacius sat beneath a pergola, his broad shoulders bent slightly over a parchment, a quill poised in his hand. A goblet of wine sat forgotten beside him, the scene unexpectedly tranquil for a man of his reputation.

Lucilla glanced over her shoulder with a smirk. “It seems you’ll get your wish after all.”

Your stomach twisted at her words, but before you could form a protest, she disappeared around the corner. Left to your own devices, you took a steadying breath and approached. The crunch of gravel underfoot drew his attention, and he looked up, his dark eyes softening as they met yours.

“I was beginning to think you wouldn’t return,” he said, his voice low and warm, though a flicker of relief betrayed him.

You tilted your head, folding your arms as you came closer. “And I was beginning to think you’d forgotten the party was meant for you.”

Marcus chuckled, setting down his quill. “Crowded rooms filled with drunken senators and empty promises hold little appeal. I prefer the quiet.” He gestured to the bench across from him. “Join me?”

For a moment, you hesitated, the unspoken tension between you filling the air. But then you sat, folding your hands neatly in your lap.

“The games tomorrow will be particularly… extravagant,” you said, glancing at the parchment. “I’m to serve as a healer for the event.”

His brow furrowed. “You’ll be in the arena?”

“Not in it,” you replied quickly. “But close enough.”

Marcus’s jaw tightened. “It’s barbaric. They celebrate death, and you’re left to mend what’s left behind.”

“It’s Rome,” you said with a shrug, though the bitterness in your voice was unmistakable.

“Does it not anger you?” His voice was steady but insistent, his gaze searching yours.

You hesitated before answering. “Every day,” you admitted quietly. “But anger doesn’t heal. It doesn’t save lives.”

His hand moved, resting near yours on the table—not touching, but close enough that the space between felt charged. “You do more than heal,” he said after a moment. “You remind us of what’s worth saving.”

The sincerity in his words made your breath hitch. For a moment, you didn’t know what to say.

“I only do what I can,” you said finally.

“And it’s enough,” he replied, his voice firm.

Silence settled between you, but it was not empty. It was heavy with questions left unasked, with the unshakable feeling that you knew him from somewhere beyond this life.

“You’re different,” he said suddenly.

You raised an eyebrow, half-amused. “Is that a compliment or a warning?”

He smiled faintly. “A truth.”

You studied him, the edges of recognition tugging at your mind. “Have we met before?”

His hand stilled, his expression unreadable. “Why do you ask?”

“It’s the way you look at me,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “Like you know something I don’t.”

For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, softly, “Perhaps I’m just trying to understand you.”

“And do you?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, he didn’t answer. Instead, his gaze lingered on yours, as if he were searching for something—something hidden behind the words you didn’t say. His jaw tightened, and then relaxed, his hesitation drawing out the silence until it felt like the whole garden held its breath.

The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting an amber glow across the courtyard. The scent of citrus blossoms drifted through the air, mingling with the faint tang of oil from the bronze lamps. You and Marcus sat across from each other, the heavy quiet between you punctuated by the distant hum of the city below.

“I think,” he said finally, his voice low and measured, “that you’re not as much of a mystery as you’d like to believe.”

You said nothing, the truth of his words settling over you. He wasn’t the first to try to understand you, but he was the first whose attempt didn’t feel like an invasion. Still, you kept your silence, hoping it would shield whatever he thought he saw.

Marcus leaned back slightly, his gaze unwavering, though his tone softened. “You wear your defiance like armor. It suits you, but…” He hesitated, as if searching for the right words. “Even armor cracks under enough weight.”

Your chest tightened. There was no judgment in his voice, just quiet understanding, and that somehow made it worse. You turned your eyes to the horizon, watching as the light bled into dusk.

“And you?” you asked at last, your voice quiet, almost tentative. “What cracks your armor?”

He didn’t answer immediately, his jaw tightening as he looked away. For a long moment, you thought he might deflect or let the question fall unanswered. But then he sighed, his shoulders dropping slightly, the facade of the unshakable general slipping.

“The things I’ve done,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “The wars. The lives I’ve taken. I tell myself it was duty. For Rome. For honor. But when I close my eyes…” His hand curled into a fist on the table, the scarred knuckles white with tension. “I see their faces. The ones I killed. The ones I couldn’t save. Sometimes, I think that’s all there is left of me. Blood and ghosts.”

His words hung in the air, raw and unguarded. You felt the sharp sting of his pain as if it were your own, and it stirred something deep within you—a desire not to fix him, but to let him be broken without shame.

“There’s more to you than that,” you said softly, surprising even yourself with the conviction in your voice. “Let the brokenness be felt, Marcus, until you reach the other side. There is goodness in the heart of every broken man who comes right up to the edge of losing everything he has.”

He looked at you then, his expression unreadable, but his eyes—those fierce, commanding eyes—betrayed a flicker of something fragile. “And if the edge is all that’s left?”

You shook your head. “Then you find your way back. One step, one breath, one choice at a time. You’ve already come this far.”

A faint, wry smile tugged at his lips. “You sound certain.”

“I am,” you said simply. “Because I’ve seen it before. I’ve seen men lose everything and still find the strength to rebuild. You’ve endured so much, Marcus. And yet, here you are.”

His gaze lingered on you, and for a moment, the air between you felt impossibly heavy, as though the weight of both your pasts had settled there. But then, something shifted—just a fraction—and the tension eased.

“Tell me,” he said quietly, leaning forward. “How does someone like you—someone who speaks of goodness and second chances—end up in a place like this?”

You let out a soft laugh, though it held no humor. “A long story,” you said, your tone laced with irony.

He smiled faintly. “I’ve got time.”

The simplicity of his statement caught you off guard. You studied him for a moment, searching for any trace of mockery, but found none. He was patient, steady, like a man who had weathered every storm and learned to endure the waiting.

You hesitated, then began to speak—not all at once, but in fragments. You told him of the choices that had brought you here, the moments of defiance and loss that had shaped you. He listened without interrupting, his focus unbroken, as though each word mattered.

When the story faltered and the silence crept back in, Marcus spoke again, his voice gentle. “You’ve carried much on your shoulders.”

You shrugged, your gaze fixed on the table. “Haven’t we all?”

He nodded, a faint smile playing at his lips. “Perhaps. But not everyone carries it as well as you.”

The compliment startled you, and you looked up to find him watching you with something like admiration. It wasn’t romantic, not yet—but it was real, and it unsettled you in a way you couldn’t quite name.

“You don’t know me well enough to say that,” you said, though your voice lacked its usual bite.

“Not yet,” he agreed. “But I’d like to.”

Something in his tone—a quiet sincerity, unadorned by pretense—made you pause. You realized, with a small jolt, that you wanted to know him, too. Not just the general, but the man beneath the armor.

“Maybe,” you said finally, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “If you’re patient.”

His smile widened, just a little, and for the first time, you saw a glimmer of hope in his eyes. “I’ve learned to be patient,” he said. “For the right things.”

And as the night deepened and the stars began to dot the sky, you found yourself wondering if, perhaps, this was one of them.

The room was dark, the faint glow of torchlight from the grilled window casting long, flickering shadows on the walls. Lucilla stood beside you, her sharp eyes trained on the guards below as they exchanged shifts. She watched silently, her body tense but still, until the last of them disappeared around the corner.

With a soft sigh, she turned back into the room and extinguished the candles one by one. The light died away, replaced by the cover of darkness. Outside, a guard’s voice called up, noting that she must be retiring for the evening.

You remained quiet, holding the lamp as Lucilla adjusted her robes and pulled up the hood, the fabric obscuring her features. The air felt heavier now, laden with unspoken tension. She glanced at you, her gaze sharp even in the dim light.

“Are you ready?” she asked, her voice a low murmur.

You nodded and pulled your own hood over your head. The warmth of the lamp in your hand was a small comfort against the chill of the night.

Lucilla stepped closer, her hands gripping your forearm briefly as she said your name. “You must know,” she said, her voice quiet but firm, “if you do this with us, there is a possibility that we may be discovered. And the penalties—”

“I’m aware,” you interrupted gently, meeting her gaze. There was no hesitation in your voice.

She studied you for a moment longer, then nodded, a faint flicker of respect passing over her features. Without another word, she turned toward a small shrine tucked into the corner of the room.

Kneeling, she rolled back a slab of marble with deliberate care, revealing a narrow passage that led downward. The air that seeped out was cool and damp, smelling faintly of earth and stone.

Lucilla motioned for you to follow, and you descended after her, the spiral staircase winding tightly into the depths. Your lamp cast shifting shadows on the walls, and the faint echoes of your footsteps seemed louder than they should have been.

The tunnel at the bottom was carved with care, though the stone showed its age. Lucilla moved through it with practiced ease, her robes brushing against the walls as the passage widened and opened into a massive underground catacomb.

You stopped short, your breath catching at the sight. The vaulted ceilings arched high above you, their grandeur almost otherworldly. This place was built for eternity, every detail a testament to early Roman splendor. Statues of gods and long-dead ancestors stood sentinel, their marble faces solemn in the lamplight.

Lucilla’s steps slowed as she approached a series of crypts. Each one was marked with the bust of a family member, their likenesses carved into the stone. She stopped before the bust of Marcus Aurelius, her father, and laid a hand on its smooth surface.

“Father,” she whispered, her voice tinged with both reverence and sorrow, “protect us and guide us.” Her fingers lingered for a moment before she turned away, her expression unreadable.

You wanted to say something, to break the silence, but the words escaped you. There was a sacredness here that felt unshakable, a weight you couldn’t quite explain.

ANTECHAMBER — MINUTES LATER

The air in the antechamber felt thick, like the weight of centuries pressed down upon you all. Torches lined the stone walls, their flickering light casting wavering shadows on faces lined with tension and purpose. The damp chill of the underground space only added to the solemnity of the moment.

Lucilla moved forward with practiced grace, her head held high despite the gravity of the meeting. The first man stepped into the torchlight, his wiry frame and sharp features softened only by the faint trace of a smile.

“Gracchus,” Lucilla said warmly, extending her hands. “Old friend.”

Gracchus clasped her hands briefly, his grip conveying both respect and concern. “My lady. I wish we were meeting in better times.”

Lucilla’s lips curved into a faint smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “The sun shone once—it will shine again.”

Gracchus raised an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth quirking into a sardonic smirk. “And what in heaven’s name does that mean?”

Before Lucilla could answer, a low, resonant voice emerged from the shadows. “It means hope, Gracchus.”

You started slightly, your heart skipping as a figure stepped forward. Marcus Acacius. The flickering light caught the edges of his armor, making it gleam like liquid fire. His presence filled the room effortlessly, his broad frame and steady gaze commanding attention.

Gracchus let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “Oh yes. He is shiny.”

Marcus didn’t react to the jest, but his eyes flicked between Lucilla and Gracchus before settling briefly on you. His gaze held for a beat too long, making your pulse quicken.

“Did I startle you?” he asked, his tone smooth but edged with faint amusement.

You straightened, tightening your grip on the lamp you carried. “Not at all,” you said, though your voice betrayed you.

The faintest hint of a smile touched his lips, but he turned his attention back to Gracchus, his expression growing serious. “We want to take back the city. To restore Rome to what it should be.”

Gracchus’s expression darkened, doubt creeping into his voice. “An exciting venture. When?”

“On the final day of the games,” Marcus replied firmly.

Gracchus raised a skeptical brow. “How?”

Marcus’s jaw tightened, the tension clear as he measured his words. “My army waits for my command at Ostia. Five thousand soldiers loyal to me will enter Rome. I intend to arrest our emperors in front of the crowds at the Colosseum for their crimes against the Senate and the people.”

A long, heavy silence followed. Gracchus exchanged a wary glance with Thraex, who stood silently in the background. The two senators appeared burdened with years of cynicism, the spark of belief long extinguished.

Lucilla broke the quiet, her voice sharp and resolute. “We cannot continue to see Rome damaged, sliding further into corruption and decay.”

Thraex snorted softly, folding his arms. “Does he want to be Emperor?”

Marcus’s gaze sharpened as he shook his head. “I am a soldier, not a politician. Rome will be yours to administer and—”

Gracchus interrupted him, his tone cutting. “Your father spoke of returning power to the Senate. But that was a generation ago. Much has changed. The people haven’t seen hope for years, and—”

This time, Marcus’s voice rose slightly, his frustration bleeding through. “Rome is not yet ready to be a republic, but with time—and guidance—a vote by the people, for the people, would mean—”

Lucilla placed a steady hand on Marcus’s arm, quieting him. She turned to Gracchus, her voice calmer but no less determined. “Rome can live again. Do we have your support, Gracchus?”

Gracchus hesitated, his gaze shifting to you, then back to Marcus. Finally, he nodded slowly, his voice soft. “Lucilla, you are the daughter of Marcus Aurelius. He had my loyalty, and so do you.”

Lucilla allowed herself a small smile. “A political answer, but good enough. Senator Thraex?”

Thraex hesitated, his eyes flickering to you. He seemed to brace himself before speaking. “Politics follows power, my lady. Take back what is rightfully yours, and the Senate will support you.”

The room seemed to exhale as the senators gave their tentative agreement, but Gracchus’s gaze lingered on you. His voice softened. “I vowed to your parents I would take care of you. To give you a life beyond this... chaos.”

Your grip on the lamp tightened as you met his gaze, your voice steady despite the turmoil in your chest. “There is no point in life if the future of Rome is nothing but an abuse of power and position.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Marcus’s expression shift. His gaze rested on you, his brow furrowing slightly, as if he were seeing you in a new light.

The torches flickered, their flames casting light on faces filled with determination and shadows that hinted at the dangerous road ahead. You glanced at Marcus once more, and his eyes caught yours, a faint, unspoken understanding passing between you.

THE COLOSSEUM — DAY

The air around the Colosseum is alive with a chaotic energy that hums through the sprawling crowd. The great amphitheater towers above, its shadow sprawling across the dusty streets. Vendors shout over one another, selling honeyed dates, roasted nuts, and cheap wine. Children dart between the throngs, their quick fingers snatching at coin purses while wide-eyed newcomers marvel at the spectacle before them.

As you approach the towering Capitoline Arch, your eyes lift to the imposing statue of General Marcus Acacius atop a marble plinth. The sunlight gleams off the bronze plaque beneath, bearing the inscription: ACACIUS, VICTOR AFRICAE.

You pause, a faint sigh escaping your lips as you take it in. The statue is majestic, carved with precision to capture his strength and valor, but there’s something about its stillness, its perfection, that feels wrong. The man you’ve come to know is far more complicated than the warrior immortalized in marble.

Pulling your hood closer to shield yourself from prying eyes, you make your way toward the entrance of the Colosseum.

Outside the massive arena, the crowd is dense, funneling into the arched entrances like water forced through narrow channels. The scent of sweat, baked bread, and dust clings to the air.

A wagon lumbers past, its wheels creaking as it pulls into the rear gates of the Colosseum. The iron gates groan shut behind it with a finality that makes you shiver.

Your eyes catch on one of the gladiators stepping down from the wagon. He is broad-shouldered, with a grim expression and scars that tell stories of survival. Recognition flickers in your mind—he was at Senator Thraex’s gathering, one of Macrinus’ men.

For a moment, his gaze meets yours, sharp and searching. You quickly turn away, the weight of his stare lingering like a brand on your skin.

COLOSSEUM UNDERCROFT — DAY

The undercroft is a world unto itself, hidden beneath the grandeur of the arena above. The air here is damp and stale, filled with the mingled scents of blood, sweat, and the earthy musk of the animals kept for the games. Torches line the stone walls, their flames barely cutting through the heavy gloom.

You step carefully, the hem of your robe brushing against the uneven stones beneath your feet. Around you, the sounds of preparation echo—metallic clangs of swords being sharpened, the low murmur of prayers whispered by gladiators, and the distant roar of the crowd above, a constant reminder of what waits beyond.

A sudden shout breaks through the noise, and you flinch instinctively, your hand tightening around the lamp you carry.

“Keep moving!” A guard barks, shoving a gladiator forward.

You press yourself against the wall to let them pass, your eyes following the line of chained men as they march toward their fate. The air feels heavier here, thick with despair and the metallic tang of blood that never quite fades from the stone.

The main chamber opens ahead, a cavernous space carved from the bedrock, with a stone memorial spanning two centuries etched into one of the walls. The names carved there seem endless, a testament to the lives given—or taken—beneath this roof.

You step into the room, your eyes searching for Ravi, the healer who has been your closest ally in this grim underworld. He is leaning over a battered table, his thick canvas coat bristling with the tools of his trade—scalpels, needles, and small bottles of tinctures.

Ravi glances up as you approach, his dark eyes meeting yours. He nods, his expression weary but kind. “You’re late,” he says, his tone more teasing than reproachful.

“I was delayed,” you reply, setting the lamp down on the edge of the table.

Ravi straightens, his hands covered in the telltale stains of his work. “Delayed by a statue, no doubt,” he says with a smirk, nodding toward the hallway you came from.

You sigh, rolling your eyes. “Not just the statue. The entire crowd outside could rival an army.”

He chuckles softly, but his humor fades as his gaze shifts to the tools laid out before him. “It’s a mad world out there. And in here. They’ll call it glory, but we know better, don’t we?”

You nod, your fingers brushing against one of the bottles of tincture on the table. “How many today?”

“Too many,” Ravi replies grimly. “It always is. But if we don’t patch them up, they’ll be thrown back into the arena like lambs to the slaughter.”

You glance toward the memorial wall, the endless names a stark reminder of what happens when healing is no longer enough. “And yet they cheer,” you say softly, more to yourself than to him.

Ravi follows your gaze, his expression hardening. “They cheer because they’re too far away to hear the screams. From up there, it’s just a show.”

A heavy silence falls between you, the weight of his words settling in the space like a tangible presence.

Finally, Ravi breaks it, his voice quieter now. “You could have been anywhere. A villa in the hills, a proper clinic, somewhere far from all of this. Why here?”

You meet his gaze, your voice steady despite the ache in your chest. “Because someone has to be.”

Before Ravi can respond, the distant blare of a cornu horn echoes through the chamber, its mournful call summoning the combatants to the arena.

Ravi exhales, shaking his head. “That’s our cue.”

You nod, grabbing the lamp and turning toward the corridor. “Let’s hope today isn’t worse than the last.”

Ravi follows, his canvas coat swaying as he moves. “Hope’s in short supply here,” he mutters. But then, as if to lighten the mood, he adds, “But if anyone can keep these bastards alive, it’s us.”

A faint smile pulls at your lips as the two of you head toward the chaos waiting above. The sound of the horn grows louder, blending with the roar of the crowd—a noise as relentless as the tide.

The roar of the Colosseum was muffled slightly where you and Ravi stood in the shadow of the lower arches, but the sight above was impossible to ignore. Caracalla and Geta had already taken their places in the royal seats, their expressions imperious yet lacking true command. The crowd’s response to their arrival was lukewarm, tepid applause barely rippling through the masses.

Ravi glanced at you, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “They can’t even fake enthusiasm for their own Emperors. Telling, isn’t it?”

You nodded grimly, shifting your gaze to the arena floor where the fight’s Master of Ceremonies stood, clearly tense. He gestured sharply to the musicians, prompting them to play a fanfare in a desperate attempt to rouse the audience.

Through the giant copper horn mounted on a stand, his voice bellowed, “Citizens of Rome! These sacred games are held to honor the victory of Rome over the barbarians of Numidia—”

You winced at the crude remark, the words cutting through the air with their arrogance.

“And to honor Rome's legionary commander, General Justus Acacius!”

At the mention of Acacius, your eyes instinctively sought him out. There he was, emerging in white and gold, a gleaming figure against the harsh backdrop of the Colosseum. His presence was magnetic, commanding without effort. He moved with the same purpose he always did, though you could sense a tension in his posture, a reluctance masked by the pageantry.

Lucilla followed close behind him, her chin lifted with practiced grace. When the Master of Ceremonies announced her name—“Lucilla, the daughter of Emperor Marcus Aurelius!”—the crowd erupted into thunderous applause, a stark contrast to their earlier indifference.

Beside you, Ravi let out a low whistle. “They still adore her.”

“They always will,” you murmured, watching as she ascended to the royal seats under the guise of honor, though you knew better. The two Centurions flanking her were not mere escorts but guards, a subtle display of control that would escape the average onlooker.

From this distance, it seemed she embraced the accolades, her every gesture perfectly measured. But you caught the slight flicker in her expression when she glanced toward Acacius.

“You honor us with your presence. Speak to the plebeians, Acacius,” Geta commanded, his tone laced with condescension.

You held your breath, sensing the reluctance in Marcus’s stillness. He exchanged a look with Lucilla, brief but telling, before his gaze swept across the crowd, searching. When his eyes found yours, something in his demeanor shifted—resolve, perhaps, or a need for grounding.

Finally, he rose, stepping to the railing as the crowd quieted, anticipation thick in the air. His voice, deep and steady, carried over the expanse with ease.

“I am not an orator, nor a politician,” he began, the simplicity of his words a sharp contrast to the pomp surrounding him. “I am only a soldier. Real heroism is not the stuff of games.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd, confusion and intrigue mingling as Acacius’s words sank in.

“It reveals itself to us only in the service of life itself,” he continued, his gaze unwavering. “I have seen bravery in men during war, and from women, too—bravery that does not falter in the face of fear but rises to meet it. And even, once, in this arena.”

Your breath hitched, the weight of his words pressing against you. Though his gaze never left the crowd, you felt as though those words were for you alone.

“If you pray,” Marcus’s voice deepened, his tone almost pleading, “pray that the gods will deliver us bravery like that. Because Rome needs it now.”

The silence that followed was profound, the kind that held more weight than applause. Then, slowly, the crowd erupted, their cheers cascading through the Colosseum like a wave.

You watched him step back from the railing, his expression inscrutable as he returned to his seat. But as the applause thundered on, his eyes found yours again, and in that brief moment, you saw it—something unspoken yet unmistakable.

Ravi nudged you gently, breaking the spell. “He’s good, I’ll give him that.”

You nodded, your heart still pounding. “Better than they deserve,” you said softly, though your thoughts were far from the Emperors.

The tension in the Colosseum was recognized as the opening ceremony came to an end. Caracalla and Geta clapped from their royal seats, their applause mechanical and devoid of genuine enthusiasm. Below, the Master of Ceremonies stood nervously, his voice amplified by the great copper horn.

“From the South Gate... fighters from the stable of Macrinus of Thysdrus!”

Your gaze darted to the southern entrance, where the gladiators emerged into the blinding sunlight. You recognized one of them—Hanno of Numidia—whose name Ravi had told you earlier. The crowd greeted them with scattered boos and jeers, a stark contrast to the grandeur of the arena itself.

Hanno walked with measured steps, his expression stoic as he led the small group to the center of the arena. His shoulders bore the weight of more than just the armor; you could see it in his eyes.

“And from the stables of our Emperors Caracalla and Geta themselves: Glyceo the Destroyer!”

The eastern gates creaked open, revealing a towering figure clad in ornate armor, seated atop a great white rhino. The crowd erupted in frenzied cheers, the noise reverberating through the stone walls. The rhino trotted with surprising agility, its hooves kicking up clouds of dust as it carried Glyceo with the ease of a seasoned warrior.

From your vantage point, you saw the glint of weapons strapped to the rhino’s side—an axe, a sword, a mace, and a bola. Glyceo reached for the mace, gripping its heavy handle with a confidence born from countless victories.

The first gladiator dared to challenge the beast, stepping forward with his sword raised. He attempted to dodge the rhino’s charge at the last moment, but the creature’s speed and precision were unmatched. The horn struck him with brutal force, sending him flying across the arena before the rhino finished him off with a savage thrust.

Your stomach churned as the body was tossed aside like a ragdoll. The crowd’s cheers only grew louder.

Hanno stood still, his gaze fixed on the carnage. Then, almost imperceptibly, he crouched and scooped a handful of sand from the arena floor, letting it sift through his fingers. The gesture was hauntingly familiar—a ritual Maximus had performed before every fight.

Beside you, Ravi murmured, “Do you see that? He remembers.”

You glanced at Lucilla in the royal box, noting the flicker of something in her expression—recognition, perhaps, or sorrow. But she quickly masked it, her face hardening as she turned back to the arena.

The rhino charged again, this time with Glyceo’s mace raised high. Hanno sidestepped at the last possible moment, but the rhino’s horn clipped him, sending him sprawling. Dust clouded the air as the beast wheeled around, disoriented by the sunlight.

Hanno was quick to act. He flung the remaining sand into the air, creating a bright, blinding curtain that obscured his movements. The rhino charged again, unable to see clearly, and slammed full force into the arena wall. Glyceo was thrown like a ragdoll, his body hitting the stone with a sickening thud.

The rhino staggered, its massive frame reeling as it struggled to regain its footing. Hanno retrieved his sword and advanced on Glyceo, who was already scrambling to his feet. Their blades met in a clash of steel, sparks flying as Glyceo’s superior strength began to overwhelm Hanno.

You leaned forward, gripping the stone railing as Glyceo delivered a brutal series of blows, forcing Hanno to his knees. The crowd chanted, their bloodlust palpable.

Lucilla gasped, turning away, her hand trembling as it gripped the edge of her seat. Even Macrinus, who had been watching with a calculating gaze, shook his head slightly.

Glyceo raised his short sword, poised to deliver the final blow. He paused, turning to the royal box for approval.

“Shall we spare his life, brother?” Geta asked, his tone mockingly casual.

Caracalla shrugged, a cruel smile playing on his lips. “I wouldn’t mind seeing some blood.”

Geta ignored him, his attention shifting to Lucilla. “Lucilla, shall we show mercy?”

Lucilla hesitated, her voice trembling. “Mercy.” The word was barely audible, choked with guilt and something deeper.

Geta stood, raising his fist. The crowd fell silent, holding their breath as he slowly extended his thumb upward, granting Hanno his life. The Colosseum erupted in cheers, but the celebration was short-lived.

“No,” Hanno said, his voice cutting through the noise like a blade.

The crowd stilled, murmurs of confusion rippling through the stands.

“No mercy,” he repeated, his tone resolute.

Geta’s face twisted in disbelief. “Gladiator, we have spared your life. No one refuses—”

“I will not accept mercy,” Hanno interrupted, rising to his feet despite the blood dripping from his wounds. He turned to the royal box, his gaze unwavering. “I would sooner face your blade than accept Roman mercy.”

The crowd erupted in chaos—laughter, jeers, and shouts of encouragement mingling in a cacophony of sound.

“Fight on, then, fool, and die,” Geta spat, his face reddening with embarrassment.

Glyceo lunged, his mace swinging in a wide arc. Hanno ducked, his movements fueled by desperation and fury. With a final burst of strength, he seized his fallen short sword and drove it into Glyceo’s abdomen. The mighty gladiator staggered, his expression one of shock before he collapsed, lifeless, into the sand.

The crowd roared its approval, chanting Hanno’s name as he stood victorious. From the royal box, Macrinus smiled, his eyes gleaming with intrigue. You couldn’t help but watch Hanno with a mixture of awe and apprehension, your heart pounding as the weight of the moment settled over the arena.

COLOSSEUM HOSPITAL ROOM — NIGHT

The dim light of flickering oil lamps cast wavering shadows on the rough stone walls of the makeshift infirmary. The smell of blood, sweat, and burnt herbs clung to the air like a heavy shroud. Ravi moved methodically among the injured, tending to other gladiators with a calm, steady hand.

You were left alone with Hanno. He sat on a wooden stool, his posture tense despite the exhaustion etched into his features. A deep, jagged wound marred his upper arm, the torn flesh angry and raw. Mosquitoes buzzed around him, drawn to the scent of blood and sweat.

You crouched beside him, your hands deftly inspecting the wound. “This needs to be cleaned and stitched up,” you murmured, glancing up at him briefly. His eyes met yours, dark and unreadable.

He broke the silence. “What’s your name?”

You paused, meeting his gaze again as you answered, giving your name. You nodded toward the other side of the room. “That man over there is Ravi. We’re both doctors—or as close to it as you’ll get here. More men die of infected wounds than in the arena itself.”

Hanno tilted his head slightly, watching you as you prepared the tools of your trade. “This is going to hurt,” you added, your tone both matter-of-fact and soft.

You handed him a small pipe, its carved edges worn smooth from use.

“What’s this?” he asked, examining it with mild suspicion.

“Devil’s breath and opium,” you explained. “For the pain. Breathe it in.”

Hanno hesitated for only a moment before placing the pipe between his lips. He inhaled deeply, his expression neutral as the sharp, bitter taste hit his tongue. Slowly, his eyes fluttered shut, and his breathing steadied.

“The effects are different for us all,” you said gently, noting the way his features softened, the tension in his shoulders easing.

When his eyes opened again, they were hazy, unfocused. “Your voice…” he muttered, blinking at you as if trying to place something familiar.

“What about it?” you asked with a small smile, distracting him as you began cleaning the wound.

“It’s… nice,” he replied, his words slow and slightly slurred. “Kind.”

You gave a soft chuckle, focusing on the task at hand. “Don’t get used to it. This part isn’t going to feel so kind.”

He took another draw of the pipe just as you began stitching the torn flesh with catgut. The needle pierced his skin, and he hissed through clenched teeth, coughing as a puff of opium-laden smoke escaped his lips and drifted into the air between you.

“Where’d you learn your trade?” he asked, his voice rough but steady.

You kept your focus on the stitches, your hands moving with practiced precision. “Why do you ask?”

“You’ve got a light hand,” he said, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

You glanced up briefly, the corners of your lips quirking. “You don’t strike me as someone who hands out compliments easily.”

The faint flicker of the oil lamp threw warm shadows across the stone walls of the infirmary. The low hum of muffled groans and whispered prayers filled the air, mixing with the faint metallic tang of blood and herbs. His dark eyes, hazy from the drug, remained fixed on you as you worked.

“I don’t,” he murmured, his voice soft and slow. “But I’ve had enough wounds stitched up to know the difference between butchery and care.”

The corners of your lips quirked upward, and a soft chuckle escaped you. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It is,” he said, his tone unusually earnest.

Your laugh echoed softly in the quiet room, and his lips curved in response. Hanno was inebriated now—high on the devil’s breath and opium. He looked at you, his gaze almost childlike in its wonder, as if the haze had stripped away some of the weight he carried.

“What we do in life echoes in eternity,” you said suddenly, your voice a mix of reverence and melancholy.

The words hung in the air, timeless and heavy. You paused, your fingers stilling over the bandage.

Hanno blinked, as if chasing a memory. “I feel I know those words…”

You smiled faintly, your eyes meeting his. “I can’t take credit for them. They’re written on a tomb here, over the bones of a gladiator.”

He let the words sink in, his gaze distant but thoughtful. You returned to your work, your hands moving with practiced precision as you tied off the final stitch and smoothed the bandage over his wound.

“There,” you said, leaning back to admire your handiwork. “I think that should hold.”

Hanno’s eyes drifted to his arm. He reached out, almost absently, and ran his fingers across the crude stitches. His touch was featherlight, as if testing the reality of it.

You stood, gathering your tools and reaching for the pipe still clutched in his hand. But before you could take it, he brought it to his lips again, inhaling deeply. The motion was slow and deliberate, his dark eyes fixed on you through the curling smoke.

You paused, watching him, but said nothing. After a moment, you gave a small nod and turned back to pack away the rest of your supplies.

“Why did you let me take another hit?” he asked suddenly, his voice softer now, as if the opium was tugging him toward vulnerability.

You glanced over your shoulder, your expression unreadable. “Because sometimes, we need the pain to go quiet for a while.”

Hanno held your gaze for a long moment, his lips curving into a faint, lopsided smile. “You understand more than most,” he said quietly.

You didn’t respond, but the weight of his words lingered. As you turned back to your work, his voice broke the silence again, softer this time.

He said your name a tender echo in the quiet room. “Do you believe it?”

“Believe what?” you asked, not turning around.

“That what we do in life echoes in eternity.”

You stilled, your hands tightening slightly around your tools. Finally, you turned to face him, your expression thoughtful. “I think… the choices we make, the lives we touch—they ripple outward. Whether it’s eternity or just a fleeting moment, I think it matters.”

Hanno’s gaze didn’t waver, even through the haze of the drug. “You matter,” he said, his voice low but steady.

The words hit you harder than you expected, and for a moment, you could only stare at him. He wasn’t smiling, wasn’t teasing. He meant it.

Your throat tightened, but you forced a small smile. “Rest now, Hanno. You’ll need your strength.”

He didn’t protest, but his eyes lingered on you as you turned away, your heart inexplicably heavier and lighter all at once.

LUCILLA’S VILLA – EVENING

The villa shimmered under the moonlight, its alabaster walls soaking in the silver glow. Marble columns cast long shadows across the flagstones, and the air hummed with the gentle chorus of cicadas. Somewhere in the gardens, the delicate aroma of night-blooming jasmine mingled with the faint tang of the sea breeze.

You stood at the edge of the terrace, a delicate glass of spiced wine cradled between your fingers. The cool air kissed your skin, but it couldn’t chase away the heat simmering beneath—an ache born of exhaustion, frustration, and something you dared not name. The day had unraveled like a tragedy, the gods watching with cruel amusement as you struggled to hold it together.

Behind you, the sound of soft footfalls broke the stillness.

“You stand there as though the weight of Rome rests on your shoulders,” a voice drawled, smooth and familiar.

You turned, finding Lucilla leaning against the stone archway, her golden hair catching the light of the lanterns flickering nearby. She regarded you with a mixture of curiosity and knowing—Lucilla had a way of reading people like scrolls, unrolling their secrets with unnerving ease.

“Does it not?” you replied, attempting a wry smile, though it faltered before it could fully form.

Lucilla stepped closer, her movements fluid, regal. “Rome’s weight has crushed stronger people than us,” she said softly, joining you at the balustrade. “The key is learning when to carry it—and when to set it down.”

You scoffed, swirling the wine in your glass. “And how often do you set it down?”

Her lips curved into a faint smile. “Far less than I should.” She glanced at you from the corner of her eye. “But I’m not the one standing out here, staring at the stars as though they hold the answers.”

The faint humor in her tone was a lifeline, grounding you. “If the stars do have answers, they’re not sharing them with me,” you muttered, shaking your head.

Lucilla’s expression softened, and she reached out, placing a hand lightly on your arm. “The answers aren’t in the stars,” she said. “They’re in here.” She tapped lightly against your chest, her gaze unwavering. “You’ve already carried so much. Don’t forget you’re allowed to put it down—just for a while.”

Her words settled over you like a balm, and for a moment, the tension in your chest eased. You opened your mouth to respond, but the sound of distant laughter interrupted, drawing both your gazes toward the villa’s golden glow.

Lucilla sighed, stepping back. “The night calls,” she said, her tone laced with resignation. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Lucilla,” you replied, watching as she disappeared into the shadows of the villa, her presence leaving an unspoken promise of strength in its wake.

The door clicked shut behind you, sealing off the night’s hum. You exhaled, leaning against the wood, letting the day’s exhaustion seep into your bones. But the solace was short-lived.

“Finally,” a low, gravelly voice murmured from the shadows.

You startled, your hand flying to your chest. “Marcus!” you hissed, your heart pounding. “What are you doing here?”

He stepped forward, his broad frame illuminated by the flickering lantern light. His tunic was slightly disheveled, and his dark curls fell across his brow, softening the hard planes of his face. Yet his eyes—those piercing eyes—held a fire that made it impossible to look away.

“I couldn’t stay away,” he admitted, his voice low and rough. “Not tonight.”

You crossed your arms, more to steady yourself than to rebuff him. “And you thought sneaking into my quarters was the solution?”

Marcus’s lips quirked into a faint smirk, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “You’ve been on my mind all evening,” he said simply, the weight of his confession hanging between you. “Do you know how maddening it is? Seeing you, hearing you, but never being close enough?”

Your breath caught, and you shook your head, trying to keep your composure. “Marcus, this—whatever this is—it's dangerous. You know that.”

“Danger is nothing new to me,” he said, stepping closer. His presence was magnetic, and you found yourself rooted in place as he closed the distance between you.

“Marcus…” you began, but your voice faltered as his fingers brushed against yours, tentative and fleeting.

“Tell me to leave,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I will. But if you don’t—”

The unspoken promise in his words sent a shiver racing down your spine. You opened your mouth to protest, but instead, you found yourself tilting your face toward his touch as his hand cupped your cheek.

“I’ve seen you fight for others, care for them,” he said softly, his thumb tracing a gentle line along your jaw. “Let me fight for you. Let me care for you.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, unbidden and unwelcome. “You don’t understand what you’re asking,” you said, your voice trembling.

“I do,” he countered, his forehead nearly touching yours. “And I’m asking anyway.”

His breath was warm against your lips, and before you could stop yourself, you closed the distance, your mouth meeting his in a kiss that was equal parts desperation and surrender.

The world fell away in that moment, the chaos and the danger replaced by the warmth of his embrace. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer as the kiss deepened, his lips moving against yours with a fervor that left you breathless.

You pulled back, your chest heaving, your hands clutching the fabric of his tunic. “This doesn’t make the world any less dangerous,” you said, your voice barely audible.

“No,” he agreed, his gaze locked on yours. “But I’d burn the world to ash just to feel the heat of you.”

His words sent a shiver through you, a dangerous mix of devotion and desire. And as he kissed you again, softer this time, you realized that perhaps the fire he promised wasn’t something to fear—but something you’d already been consumed by.

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slytherinboysvip · 4 months ago

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hiiii, i love ur writing so much, u capture the slytherin boys perfectly chefs kiss 😘 and i was wondering if u could do 69 or ab/thigh riding with any of the boys?? heehee 🤭 if ur not comfortable with that that’s totally ok, js wanted to ask and see

thanks!!

Hide and seek- T.R

(tw: thigh riding, 69, ab riding, overstim, praise, slight degradation, prey+predator mindset)

first of all thank u smmm, annnd okay sooo how about both.. hehe >:)

you see, tom was a man who was into many things. some, usual, and some well.. deranged?

he wasn’t the type to immediately get into sexual relations upon getting together, but believe me once he’s there, there’s no going back. he watched over you constantly as if you were his prey, ready to be taken over by him, your main predator.

and when i say predator i mean it, once hes got you you’re his and there’s no getting out, he will literally eat you out the second he’s got you. he loves playing this special little game, one where you run, hide, and he seeks. now it seems easy, the castle is huge there’s no way he could catch you.

not to mention the fact that you two only play at night- prefect privileges.

you’re running, heart pounding against your chest at the thought that any given moment tom would snatch you up and you’d lose your game, though that’s what you really wanted. the adrenaline starts kicking in when you hear echoed footsteps from another hall, attempting to sprint away as quietly as possible failing miserably; hearing the footsteps getting louder and closer.

no thinking necessary you ran out of the castle and it was pitch black. peeking behind as you were running you caught a glimpse of tom chasing after you- this time you did think but only for a split second before running towards the forbidden forest not looking behind at all and rushing throughout different bushes and passing creatures.

finally stopping for a second to take a rest and catch your breath you slid down a tree and sat breathing heavily. you closed your eyes for a second and as you were getting up you heard a twig break. looking behind you there stood tom smirking. you had two options in this part of the game, surrender and have some mercy, or the fun option, run more and whatever happens.. happens.

obviously choosing the fun option you immediately ran for your life in the opposite direction of him and swerved around trees trying to offset him from your trail, to no avail you heard twigs breaking behind you after you’ve thought you’ve gotten away.

stopping for a moment you realized there were no more breaking twigs, or any noise at all for that matter. you looked around worried, there was not even the sound of a cricket. all you could hear was your breathing, until you felt warm sporadic breathing over your left shoulder. abruptly turning around you were stopped by strong arms. “caught you dove”

even though you knew it was tom, even though you knew he wouldn’t hurt you, your heart was practically beating through your chest. you could never imagine what he was going to do to you whenever you lost this specific game, even if you’ve never actually won.

“you know, running into the forest like that.. not very smart of you. i think someone might need a bit of a punishment”. his hand met your throat tightly wrapping around it, whispering a charm that brought you back to his dorm. “how the fuck” you breathed out suddenly dizzy. “watch your tone” he slapped your ass harshly pushing you on the bed.

“strip for me doll”, his voice was deep and seductive his words making you hypnotized doing exactly what you were told. removing your skirt slowly looking up at him with your fuck me eyes, followed by removing your shirt giving him a smile. “i have no problem ripping that shit off hurry up.” no hesitation you threw your underwear and bra across his room revealing yourself completely.

“mm you get hotter and sluttier everyday” he breathed out walking towards you unbuttoning his shirt. though your boyfriend didn’t look it, he was hiding a raging six pack underneath that white button down. absolutely toned to perfection you stared in awe, as you did everytime he took his shirt off. “can i touch” you looked up at him reaching for his stomach.

he smirked slapping your hand down “actually, you’re going to do something for me.” he laid on the bed and looked over at you, “you’re going to ride my abs, just like the slut you are doll” his smirk only growing wider at your visual embarrassment. “what’s wrong? i thought you loved them..” he chuckled mockingly in amusement.

your face was an indescribable color of crimson and you couldn’t even look him in the eyes as you straddled yourself over his stomach and brought yourself down onto his abs. “spit” he nodded towards your pussy not even looking back up at you, doing as you were told you spit down onto his abs lifting yourself slightly so it could roll down underneath you, lowering yourself back down.

his hands met your hips harshly and began grinding you back and forth onto his abs, to your surprise your clit was being perfectly stimulated dragging over his abs your wetness now mixing with the previous spit as low moans escape your mouth. “i knew you’d like this shit whore” he slapped your right breast causing a loud moan to leave your mouth “i need you tom” you cried out desperately for his dick.

“well dick is only for good girls who surrender for me, someone didn’t surrender.” he pushed you off of his stomach and shoved you on his thigh, “get yourself off for me, and maybe, just maybe i’ll let you have dick” his eyes darkened waiting for your next move, wanting any chance to fuck him you began moving your hips chasing your high just looking at him.

you desperately moved yourself back and forth leaving a slick spot of wetness on his school pants that he’d yet to remove. your eyes trailed up and down his body- scanning his abs admiring how shiny they look covered in your arousal. balancing yourself onto him your hand landed onto his raging boner. it felt like a complete fucking rock. and you absolutely needed it. just the thought of it alone made your immediately reach your high. moaning for him as he watched you carefully.

he reached his fingers down to your pussy sliding them under and pushing them inside the pleasure making you moan even more before he abruptly removed them taking them into his mouth “so delicious dove” he smirked. “i think overstimulation is the perfect punishment for your forbidden forest incident.” he pushed you off of him and onto the bed, getting off the bed and dragging your legs to the end. he bent down and his head dived into your pussy.

he shook his head back and fourth licking and twirling his tongue all over your clit you could feel another high coming and you didn’t want him to stop no matter how much the pleasure hurt. just when you were about to cum he shoved three fingers inside of you pumping them in and out at a harsh speed. you were unable to control your own reactions drool ready to spill from your mouth as you moaned like there was no tomorrow.

you tried to keep yourself from cumming, you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of it. he sucked and twirled his tongue around your clit licking up and down all while fingering you expertly. he knew every spot that made you feel pleasure and had no problem finding new ones. everything finally took over and you couldn’t hold back.

even when you screamed “i’m cumming oh fuckkk”- he didn’t stop. tom curled his fingers up and began curling and un curling them all while pumping in and out of you, his long slender fingers hitting your g-spot perfectly. he suddenly stopped. removing all fingers and his face from your pussy. without any words he got back on the bed and smirked. “ever done six nine before, love” he winked dragging your ass to his face and immediately going back to eating your pussy.

through your moans and undeniable pleasure you tried your best to remove his throbbing boner from his pants, most of it springing out of his boxers you took what you could in your mouth and began bobbing your head. “fuckk” he took a break from your pussy leaning back and groaning lowly. you swirled your tongue around his tip multiple times before taking all of it and leaving it there for a second.

you were about to keep going when his mouth began to suck harshly on your swollen clit. your moan barley escaping over his dick in your mouth the vibration itself gave him pleasure, he continued abusing your clit, slapping your ass over and over before you bobbed your head more. you were a moaning mess gobbing on tom’s cock, spit was all over yours and tom’s body.

managing to get one arm to his dick you pumped the base of his shaft and sucked only the tip, attempting to give him a taste of his own medicine. you knew he wouldn’t last long if you did this. just then he began thrusting himself up into your throat fucking your face all while eating you out. at this point it wasn’t only a game of pleasure and overstimulation, but it was a game of you trying to breathe while he attempts to catch his own high.

his thrusts were harsh and your throat would surely be bruised by tomorrow but oh my god did it make you want to cum. and so you did, you came hard, loud, and well, you squirted all over his face. the noise that left your mouth was almost demonic-yet heavenly to him as the pleasure truly became too much. and with that you felt tom’s cum shooting down your throat making you gag at the harsh impact of his thick cum.

“good fucking girl.. fuck y/n” he sighed heavily pulling you off of him and bringing you on top of him, “i love this game” you sighed catching your breath.

this was so fun to write tbh not having to come up with my own ideas is great LMAO

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brittle-doughie · 8 months ago

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Hello! Hello! I'm a shy cookie run artist Just dropping a silly summer sketch of Benign butter cookie since I liked their design a lot :))!!

(I think that they secretly (or not) enjoys to go fishing so.. i drew them like that. Maybe they enjoyed go to at some kind of beach day (in a day off) with the beasts when they weren't corrupted yet like, mystic flour Refusing to get off the beach umbrella shadow or eternal sugar was playing with shadow milk with water soda).

I also think that since they're basically butter I think that in hot days they hair just melts. A silly HC though.)

I'm so sorry if it's cringe or something. I'm not used to this things... (Sorry if bad English)

Ayo @ax0lotly , it’s fishing season

You: “Come on, Mystic Flour Cookie. Why not have fun out in the sun with us?”

Mystic Flour Cookie: I am afraid that I cannot join you. The sun will show no kindness to my dough. I will wait for you here under the umbrella…

You: “Ok…how about you, Eternal Sugar Cookie? You always like doing things with me.”

Eternal Sugar Cookie: “Forgive me, my love. I don’t want to get in the way of how handsome/beautiful you look as you fish. You wear that outfit wonderfully!”

You: “Burning Spice, Silent Salt. I feel like I don’t even need to ask with you two, hehe.

Burning Spice Cookie: “Damn it, give us a minute! We’re so close to building this large sandcastle! Silent Salt Cookie, structure your side more firmly!”

Silent Salt Cookie: “…..” (Silent Salt nodded as they patted down their side of the sandcastle.)

You: “Ok, don’t take too long! I want us to catch as many fish as possible together!”

Your fishing line tugged suddenly! You got one! You start to slowly reel it in, you didn’t want to risk lose it!

You pulled it in…pulling…pulling…THERE! You lifted up your line to see…a willing fish? You rolled your eyes with a knowing smile.

You: “Shadow Milk Cookie…”

The cookie himself poofed right next you.

Shadow Milk Cookie: “Yes, love?”

Him and his pet names!

You: “Shadow Milk Cookie, you know it’s not true fishing if the fish come to me so easily. Let me fish them naturally!”

Shadow Milk Cookie: “Oh, but why would I want to see a frown on my dearest’s face. Your smile is what inspires me to get morning, it’s what I want to see now…”

You: “Oh you~!”

You and Shadow Milk laugh as you two held each other in a hug. This garners the attention of the others.

Eternal Sugar Cookie: “My love, I’m coming down now!”

Mystic Flour Cookie: “On second thought, if that’s your wish, then I must do everything I can to grant it.”

Burning Spice Cookie: “We’re done! Heading over to you now!”

Silent Salt Cookie: “…..!“ (Silent Salt nodded vigorously as they followed after Burning Spice.)

Shadow Milk Cookie: “Now now, everyone. I was here first!”

You sigh with content as your friends head over to your fishing spot.

Fishing is always fun with friends!

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morgana-larkin · 1 month ago

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Hii! I just want to say, I really enjoy your style of writing!!

And also perhaps request :)

I’ve been thinking about the Party ep from S3. Maybe reader attends with Melissa, and ends up having to take care of a drunk Mel, could be fluffy or smutty whichever hehe.

I am thinking though established relationship, either wife or girlfriend :))

Hopefully you like this concept and can put your own twist on it!

Thank you 🥰

Hello! I can’t believe I’ve gotten 3 prompts for this specific episode and I love all the different ideas! Here’s your request! Not edited in the slightest and I hope you like it!

My Lovely Fiancé

Warnings: smut, mommy kink, breast kink, strap on

Words: 3.2k

“So tonight, I’m your protector? Making sure you don’t do anything stupid while drunk.” You ask her while you sit on her desk and she nods.

“You know I can do crazy things when I’m drunk.”

“Like propose to me?” You ask and she smiles.

“That was only stupid because I wanted to ask you the right way.”

“And you did, and now we're getting married next summer.”

“Who knew that my miracle would be a woman.” Melissa tells you and you wrap your arms around her. She gets in between your legs and kisses you.

“And who knew that Melissa Schemmenti would be soft when in love.”

“Zip it you.” She says and then kisses you again.

“Lovebirds, I’m closing the school in 15 minutes.” Mr Johnson says and you pull away from each other.

“We should go, we gotta get ready.” You tell her and you both walk out of the school and to Melissa’s car.

You both get home and change into your outfits for Janine’s party.

“Barb wants to get there an hour early as we know Janine will need help.” Melissa tells you and you nod.

“Well you can go early but I’ll be there a little late.” You tell her and she tilts her head at you.

“And why are you going to be late?”

“I have to go pick up my outfit from the tailor, remember? It’s been ready for 2 days but I haven’t been able to pick it up yet.”

“Ok, I have to go, Barb is almost here to pick me up.” She says after checking her phone. “She was going to drive us but I guess I’ll meet you there.” She says and gives you a kiss.

“I’ll see you there, I love you.” You tell her.

“I love you too.” She says and then you both go downstairs. You head to you and Melissa’s car just as Barb pulls up.

“Aren’t you coming to the party dear?” Barb asks as Melissa walks to the car.

“I gotta go get my outfit from the tailors but I’ll be there as soon as I can.” You tell her. “Keep an eye on my wild fiance until I get there.” You tell her and she nods.

“You know I can hear you.” Melissa complains and you smile.

“I know.” You say and then get in the car and drive to get your outfit.

You pull up to the party about 30 minutes late and knock on the door to see Mr. Johnson blocking it.

“Mr. Johnson let me in.” You tell him.

“Do I know you?” He asks.

“Do you want me to punch you in the face? Melissa taught me how to do it properly.” You tell him and then he moves out of the way. “Thank you.” You walk in as the party looks to be in full swing and you look around for Melissa or even Barb. You run into Janine who looks to be stressed out. “Hey Janine.”

“Hey, Y/n.”

“Something wrong?”

“Everything is wrong, nothing is going right.” She says and you look at her confused.

“Alright, I’ll leave you alone to whatever crisis is happening with you, do you know where Melissa is?” You ask her.

“She’s in the middle of the dance floor with Barb.” She tells you and you nod.

“Thanks, your party looks great.” You tell her and then walk to the dancefloor. You see Melissa and Barb dancing and you go to walk up to them. “Melissa!” You yell over the music and she turns to look at you.

“Heeeyyy! You made it!” She slurs out and gives you a dramatic hug.

“Holy crap, how drunk are you?”

“I’m not drunk, just happy that you’re here.” She says happily and you smile at her.

“You’re clearly drunk…and apparently so is Barb.” You add as you look to see Barb dancing without shoes on.

“Dance with me, my lovely wife.” She says and grabs both your hands. “I can’t wait to permanently make you my lovely wife. Let’s get married right now!” She says and you widen your eyes.

“No, I’m not marrying you when you’re drunk.” You tell her and she pouts.

“I’m not drunk on alcohol though, I’m drunk in love with you.” She says very close to your face and you smell the alcohol on her breath.

“How about I get us both drinks?” You offer and walk to the kitchen.

“I’m too sober for this.” You say and roll your eyes. “Here Melissa, your favourite beer.” You tell her and hand it to her.

“I have the best fiance in the world!” She shouts out and takes a sip.

You and Melissa start dancing with each other and you keep having to stabilise her as her coordination isn’t the best when drunk. Then the lights go out and the music stops playing and you hear a lot of ‘boos’ from everyone.

“Y/n?” You hear Melissa ask and you turn on your phone flashlight.

“I’m right here Mel.” You say with a smile and she giggles.

“It’s like we’re in an eclipse.” She whispers and you laugh.

“Ya it does.” You tell her and you mess up her hair a bit and she gives you a glare. She then leans forward and captures your lips with hers. Melissa puts her hands in your hair while you wrap your arms around her neck.

“Ah! I’m blinded by the light!” You hear Barb say and pull away. You quickly realise your phone flashlight was pointed right at her eyes.

“Sorry Barb.” You tell her.

The lights suddenly come back on and the dj gets the music ready and they start the music again.

“Come on Y/n, let’s dance!” She says and starts dancing. She then suddenly pulls you in closer to her and takes control of the dance. She spins you around so your back is pressed up against her front and she wraps her arms around your waist. She then leans in close to your ear so only you can hear her. “With you pressed up against me like this, I just want to pound into you with the strap until you can’t walk.” She says and you lose your balance for a second and Melissa notices. “I think you want that too.” She adds.

“Melissa, you’re drunk and not thinking straight.” You tell her.

“Thinking straight is for straight people.” She tells you and you giggle.

“That’s true, and we’re not straight.” You say with a smile.

She’s about to reply back but then you see Janine start to dance and people backing up to form a circle.

“GO JANINE! GO JANINE!” People chant and you and Melissa join in.

An hour later, everyone starts leaving and Barb calls Gerald to come pick her up. You and Melissa wait until Barb is picked up and then you lead Melissa to the car to drive you both home.

“You know I had a lot of fun tonight!” She says quite loudly and you giggle.

“And you’re gonna feel like shit tomorrow.” You tell her and she laughs.

“You know I haven’t forgotten about wanting to pound into you until you can’t walk.” She says and you glance at her quickly before turning your attention back to the road.

“Play on your phone.” You tell her and she does take her phone out.

You get back home and you help Melissa as she stumbles back into the house.

“Let’s get you upstairs and to bed.” You tell her and she hums.

“Want me already?” She asks and she gets closer to your ear.

“We need to get you upstairs before you pass out.” You tell her and she scoffs.

“Schemmenti’s don’t pass out because of a bit of alcohol.” She slurs out and you shake your head at her.

“You didn’t have a bit of alcohol though, you had a lot.” You tell her as you make it to the bedroom. You drop her onto the bed and then you take her blazer and shirt off.

“Seems like you want me since you’re undressing me.” She says and then you take her bra off and put a pj shirt on her. “What the fuck? What’s with the shirt?” She complains as she tries to take it off. You then push her gently and she falls back on the bed. You then take her shoes, leather pants and underwear off. You try and put some shorts on her but she moves her legs, making it harder so you decide to just ditch the shorts.

You tuck her in and then you go and get ready for bed yourself. Once you come back out of the bathroom, you see her already asleep and you roll your eyes and then climb into bed. Once you get in, she unconsciously moves closer to you and you wrap an arm around her before you fall asleep.

Melissa wakes up first as the sun is in her eyes and she whines. “Y/n?” She calls out and you wake up but don’t open your eyes. “Y/n where are you?” She calls out again.

“I’m right behind you genius, my arm is around you.” You tell her and she grabs hold of your hand. She then gets a notification on her phone and she grabs it to see a calendar note.

“Y/n?” She starts.

“Ya?”

“Why is there a reminder on my phone that says pound into Y/n with strap?” She asks you and you open your eyes and look at her phone.

“When the hell did you… you must have put that in there in the car when I kept denying your advances.” You tell her and you laugh.

“You were able to deny me?” She asks and you nod. “And how hard was I trying?”

“Honestly? Not as hard as I thought you would.” You tell her and she turns around to face you.

“Why don’t I have shorts on?” She asks and you chuckle.

“You kept kicking your legs when I tried to put them on so I gave up.” You tell her.

“And why do you have shorts on?” She asks and you look at her.

“Because I didn’t get plastered last night. I had one drink when I got there and nothing else.” You say and she hums.

“I think you should take the shorts off.” She says with a deeper voice and you look at her eyes and see how dark they are, her normal green is now gone.

“And why’s that?” You ask with a smile.

“Because you’re on my to do list today.” She says and she takes her shirt off. Melissa knew that you can’t deny it when she’s fully naked, or if she’s topless, as her boobs are too perfect for you to say no to.

“You're using my weakness against me.” You tell her and move closer to her and she winks at you. She leans forward and kisses you and doesn’t pull away until you moan. You start to move down to suck on her nipples but she stops you and you look at her.

“You can’t touch them unless you take your clothes off.” She tells you and you quickly take your pj shirt and shorts off. “That’s better. As cute as you are with my shirt and your little shorts on, I much prefer you without anything on.” She says and she tilts your chin and places a kiss on your lips. “Now be a good girl and suck my tits really well.” She says and you happily move your body down and put a nipple in your mouth.

You start sucking and swirling your tongue all over and she’s spewing out moans and gasps. It doesn’t take long until you move your hand down and start circling your clit, turned on by the noises she’s making and sucking on her tit. It isn’t until you’re sucking on the other one that she notices you touching yourself. She pushes you off of her nipple and grabs the hand that you’re touching yourself with, and you let out a whine.

“I think you’re being bad, touching yourself without my permission.” She tells you and you look up at her. “Without mommy’s permission.” She adds and you try to suck on her nipples again but she stops you.

“I’m sorry mommy, let me please you.” You plead and she smiles.

“I know how you’re going to do that.” She tells you and then she goes into the nightstand and pulls out the strap and the dildo. “I’m going to put this on with some lube, and then you’re going to ride it.” She tells you and you nod.

You watch as she puts the strap on and then puts the dildo on it, she grabs the lube and puts a good amount on it. She lays down on her back and instructs you to start riding it. You get up and straddle her lap, you go up a bit and she aligns the dildo with your entrance. You slowly sink down on it, feel as it slowly fills you up, stretching you out. It isn’t until you’re halfway down that you realise that she grabbed the biggest one and it’s filling you up nicely, stretching you out a good amount, especially since you haven’t used the biggest one in 2 months.

“It’s big.” You whine out and she grabs your hips, helping you slide down all the way.

“I know, I want to watch as your pussy just swallows up the entire thing, like the little whore that you are.” She says and that just makes you wetter. You take the whole thing as she bottoms out and then you take a second before you start moving your hips. “That’s it, keep going until you come all over it.” She says and you whimper before you move faster. “If you come like a good girl then I’ll reward you by pounding it into you.” She says. “The way I know you like.” She adds and you suck in a breath at imagining that.

Melissa made sure to position the dildo exactly where it will rub against her clit, knowing how you’ll ride it as she’s gotten you to do it before. She decides to tease you more. She brings a hand down to her pussy, under the strap, and she covers two fingers in her wetness. She then brings them close to you and instructs you to suck on them. You put them in your mouth and you immediately taste her in your mouth, making you move faster and getting you to want to come even faster than before. Melissa watches as you suck her fingers and feels them in your mouth and how your tongue is licking them clean. She really should have thought that through as it’s teasing her more than you. She decides to fuck it and grabs your hips, she pulls you off the strap and you’re looking at her confused.

“Don’t give me that look, you look and feel so good, I can’t wait any longer.” She tells you and she gets you on your hands and knees before she slams the dildo in your entrance and you gasp out. She doesn’t start off slow, she starts pounding into you and you start gasping and moaning right away and that makes her smile. “You like that baby, don’t you? When I’m a bit rough with you, isn’t that right?” She asks you and you whimper. “Use words my love.”

“Yes Melissa, I like it when you’re rough with me.” You tell her and she stops and bends down to your ear.

“When I’m making you feel good, I’m not Melissa, remember baby?”

“Mommy.” You say and she smiles before she sits back up and continues slamming the dildo into you. She watches as you just take the dildo, all of it, all at once and she moans out.

“I just love watching you take all of me, all I give you.” She tells you and she stumbles a little as her orgasm is building. “Oh god baby, do you feel it building, your orgasm?” She asks and you nod.

“Yes mommy, I’m getting close.” You tell her and she grabs your hips to stabilise herself.

“That’s good baby, mommy is getting close as well.” She tells you and you can tell as she’s getting messy, stumbling a bit.

“Make me come mommy.” You whimper out and she moans out.

“Oh god, I love it when you beg.” She says and she sees your legs start to shake. She can hear your breathing get heavier and she has to move harder so she knows you’re clenching around the dildo. “Come baby, let me hear you.” She says and you take a few breaths before you come with a moan. Melissa comes a few seconds after and she holds onto you for stability. She gently pulls out of you but it still has you whimper as it’s big and you’re still coming down from your high. “I know baby, shh.” She says and then she’s out of you fully and she takes it off. “Come here.” She says as she lays down and you join here, and she wraps you protectively in her arms.

“You sure got over your hangover quickly.” You say after a few seconds and she laughs.

“Well my lovely fiancé needed me to make her feel good. I still have a headache though.” She tells you and you look up at her.

“You know you said something last night.” You say and she hums.

“I bet I said a lot of things last night. What stupid thing did I say now?” She asks.

“It wasn’t stupid actually, it was nice.” You say and she looks at you. “You called me your lovely wife and said we should get married right now.” You tell her and she smiles.

“Well I do think about just going to city hall and getting married but this is your first wedding and if you want a wedding then you’ll have a wedding.” She tells you and you kiss her.

“Really?” You ask and she nods.

“I asked you to marry me a month ago because I wanted to spend the rest of my days making you happy and seeing that smile of yours.” She tells you and you can’t help but smile at her words. “That’s the smile I’m talking about.” She says and boops your nose.

“I know next year we’re getting married but if you want to start calling me your wife then you can.” You tell her.

“Really?”

“Ya, I mean you’re going to be calling me that for the rest of our lives, why not start now?” You tell her and her smile grows.

“Ok, my lovely wife.” She tells you and gives you a kiss.

Taglist: @esposadejoyhuerta

@imaginesmultifandoms

@idonothingalldays-blog

@sexysapphicshopowner

@dvrkhcld

@lilfartbox1

@ricejucie

@unicorniusfallapatorius

@a-queen-and-her-throne

@sleep-deprived-athlete

@og-kxsh-420

@sasheemo

@midnight-lestrange

@dashbag-art

@morgananyx

@schmentisgf

@cblanchetts

@that-october-night

@schemmentigfs

Let me know if you want to be added!

#melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti x oc #melissa schemmenti x you #melissa schemmenti fanfic #melissa schemmenti #x reader #fanfic #lisa ann walter #law #abbott elementary

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