#it’s a sin fic | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sinofwriting · 1 year ago

Text

I ❤️ MILFS - Max Verstappen

Words: 9,747 Summary: Max wasn’t too sure who the woman was that was always with Logan, but he was sure that he wanted to get to know her. Note(s): Sargeant Reader, Age Gap, Older!Reader, Logan and Oscar are both 20 during the 2023 season, not 22. The 2023 driver standings are different (I am giving Logan the season he should have had). Reader has the nickname Pan (short for momma panther). Logan is sweetheart, Max is head over heels in love. I’m gonna be honest I never thought this fic would get written or finished. I got the idea for it back in December but only started writing it on March 16th. And it would have never happened without @burningcupcakefire & @pucksandpower. Thank you both so much for all your help. (also if anyone wants to see more of Max and Pan, let me know)

Masterlist | Support Me! | I ❤️ MILFS verse

Max remembers the announcement of Oscar’s arrival to F1, the drama and hilarity of it. Sometimes he sees the kids name and has to stop himself from laughing. No nineteen-year-old had any business being that funny.

Max doesn’t remember much of Logan’s announcement to F1. Only that he was young as well, being the first American in forever, and Williams' quick admission that they hadn’t wanted to sign, had wanted to wait another year.

He wishes now that he had paid more attention.

There’s a woman standing in the William’s garage, on Logan’s side. She’s clearly there for him, with the similar pass that his trainer has around her neck, and the way her eyes intently follow Logan’s movements around the garage as he talks to the mechanics and engineers.

She also happens to be the most beautiful woman Max has ever seen.

—

She can’t help but clutch at Benny’s arm the whole race, terror gripping her along with pride.

Benny chuckles when the race comes to an end, Logan doing his cooldown lap and she finally lets go. “And just think you’ve got over twenty more races of this.”

Her nose wrinkle and a hand goes over her heart that’s thudding. “Please, Benny.”

He chuckles again but pats her shoulder. “You’ve got this.”

“Not gonna tell me it gets easier?”

He snorts. “No. This is far worse than F2 or F3 and we still were both scared watching him out there. We’ll never know a day of peace now.”

She sighs, watching the screens as it shows the top three getting interviewed and in the background you can see some of the drivers getting weighed. “He’s going to be sore and in pain.” It makes something clench inside her, the knowledge that Logan would be in pain. It was part of the job, the aches and the bruises, but it didn’t make it any easier for her to know.

“I’ve already got everything set up as soon as he’s back and debriefs are done.”

Her eyes catch on the screen showing where all the drivers placed and tears prick her eyes and she shakes her head. “Twelfth in his first grand prix. I can’t believe it.”

The garage is filled with chatter as the team celebrates getting their first points of the season and their rookie driver performing better than they expected. The way they don’t even try to whisper it makes her jaw twitch. She was grateful that Williams was giving Logan his dream, but she didn’t like how they were going about it. Quickly and publicly stating that they didn’t want to sign Logan yet, wanted to wait a year. And now this.

A light nudge to her ribs makes her unclench her jaw and she gives Benny a grateful smile.

Both of their attention is quickly drawn however to the two Williams drivers entering the garage, the space filling with cheers.

She smiles as Logan grins at the team, basking in the smiles they have on their faces for him and Alex, the pats on the back he’s getting. The grin turns to a beam when he spots Benny and her and he quickly bounces over to them.

A laugh leaves her at the way Benny pulls him into a bear hug, lifting him off his feet a little. “Proud of you, kid.” He murmurs.

She can’t hear what Logan says, but he’s put down and it’s her turn.

She wants to bundle him up in her arms, hold him and not let go, but doesn’t want to embarrass him in front of his team, so she raises a hand and pushes his hair out of his face. “You did amazing, baby.”

He smiles at her, all bright and shiny eyes and then he’s wrapping his arms around her, hugging her tight and she’s quick to return it, rubbing his back.

“You did so good, Logan. So good. I’m so proud.” She tells him again, pressing a kiss to his sweaty head.

“Thank you, momma.” He tells her, hugging her tight for another moment before letting her go.

She smiles up at him and god, that makes her heart ache. Her son, her baby, taller than her somehow. She woke up some days and still wasn’t sure where the time had gone and how he was taller than her shoulders. “Go shower and debrief and then Benny and me will take care of you, yeah? And I’ll get your favorite ordered to the hotel, ready as soon as you get there.”

He beams at her again, darting forward to press a quick to her cheek before starting to rush away. “Best mom ever!” He calls over his shoulder and she laughs.

—

Y/N Sargeant will never forget the first time she held her son, only then at nine years old, he had been her cousin.

Logan was small, wrinkly, pink skin, and full of small cries. She could remember staring at him with furrowed eyebrows, trying to understand how he could be what her baby dolls were made to be like. She remembers her mama having her sit on the couch after asking her if she wanted to hold him and how she had quickly nodded, hoping that maybe holding him would somehow make him look better.

She remembers the sudden nerves that built in her stomach as her mama started to hand him to her. Remembers being scared that she would drop him, remembers thinking how stupid it would be if he was still weird to look at like this.

And she remembers finally holding that and it disappearing. His small cries, no more, his wriggling calmed down, and his wrinkles no longer looked weird but cute. She remembers holding him for the first time and feeling unconditional love for the first time in her life.

—

She’s twelve when she realizes that her uncle and aunt don’t like Logan much. It didn’t make sense to her then, still doesn’t know. Because they liked Dalton just fine, but not Logan.

She remembers asking her dad about it. Asking him why they didn’t love Logan, but loved Dalton and worse, she remembers the pained look in his eyes as he realizes that his child picked up on what he and his wife had as well.

It’s the first hard adult conversation she has with her parents and it’s fitting that it’s about Logan, as they sit her down and talk to her about how not all parents love their kids, and how sometimes that includes them only loving one child and not the other.

—

She remembers clearly the first time Logan calls her mom.

It’s her fourteenth birthday and she’s got the four-year-old in her lap as she sits in a rocking chair, reading her English essay aloud for him. Logan’s eyes are closed, head resting on her chest, over her heart, and his little fingers of his one hand are curled in her shirt right by his head.

She wants to sit there forever, reading to him as she rocks back and forth. But she wants another slice of cake before Martha puts it away and Logan needs to sleep in his bed where he can stretch out fully and drool on his pillowcases and not her shirt that Martha will surely tut over but then smile fondly when she sees Logan doing it all over again.

Setting the essay down on her dresser, she runs her now free fingers through his blond hair. “C’mon Logan, time for bed.”

He grumbles, fingers tightening on her shirt and she can feel it being pulled slightly.

“You can put on your new race car jammies, cuddle with Ello.”

He shakes his head, squirming a bit in her lap as he tries to shove himself closer. “Stay with you.”

“Oh, baby.” She whispers, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Y’know I’ll stay with you until you fall asleep.”

His head shakes again and she has to bite her lip as his head hits her collarbone. “Want cuddles, momma.”

Her heart thuds painfully in her chest at the name he called her, tears pricking her eyes. “Okay, baby. Let's get you in jammies, grab Ello, and you can stay with me tonight.”

—

She’s only been eighteen for ten hours when she asks her father for the near impossible.

“I want custody of Logan. I want to adopt him. And I need your help to make that happen.”

He stares at her, no expression on his face, not even shock.

“He’s,” She pauses, jaw twitching and tears springing to her eyes. “He wants to do karting, just like Dalton. And he’s good at it. I’ve taken him. They told him no. They haven’t bought him clothes in two years. They don’t know a single thing about his school, his grades, his teachers. He hasn’t called David dad since he was six and he hasn’t called Madelyn mom since he was four.” Her hands are formed into fists, nails digging into her palms as she speaks. “I have money, I can provide for him. I’ve got my shares of the company now and I’ve got my inheritance from Grandma Talls. But I know that a judge won’t sign off without some influence.”

“Madelyn and Daniel?”

She leans forward in her seat, a spark of hope filling her. “I already talked to them, they’ll do it.”

One of his hands comes up to rub at his mouth, sighing. Then it drops to open up one of his desk drawers and he’s pulling out a bunch of papers, dropping them on the desk in front of her.

“I figured this was gonna happen and I knew after you talked to them and they called me. They signed away their rights three hours ago. Michael and Lily are waiting outside to come in so you can sign the papers.”

Tears slipped from her eyes, joy wrapping itself around her entire being from his words, the fact that he called their family lawyer to be on standby, that he and her mother were so supportive. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

He smiles at her. “I couldn’t say no to you. Not when it comes to Logan. I’m way too young to have a grandkid, let alone one that’s eight, but I made my peace with that years ago.”

“Thank you.”

—

Max watches the free practice session coverage intently as they focus on the Williams garage, nose wrinkling when they focus on Logan’s trainer, Benny and then James Vowles. Could it really be possible that they never once caught a shot of her? He starts to get a sinking feeling in his stomach that he's gonna have to go on Twitter when the camera moves and suddenly she’s there and he’s scrambling for the tv remote, pressing the pause button just before the camera switches to an overhead shot of the Bahrain track.

His heart skips a beat as he gets his first good luck at her. Her pretty eyes and smile. His eyes then travel down, wanting to know her name and his heart drops.

Y/N Sargeant, Mother of Logan Sargeant.

Fuck.

—

“Momma Panther!” Oscar greets to the confusion of other drivers as Logan and a woman enter the room.

Lando’s eyebrows are raised as he watches Oscar stand. Watching as his teammate claps Logan on the back, before giving him an actual hug. Before he then hugs the woman as well, whispering something to her that makes her laugh.

Pulling away from her, Oscar grins when her hand comes up to pat his cheek for a second. “Thank you for the invite, Os.”

“Of course.” He sends a fond look to Logan, who's standing awkwardly by the table.

“Y’know Logan and you are always welcome.”

She makes a humming noise.

“C’mon, let me introduce you to everyone.”

Turning around, he smirks at the table. “Everyone, Logan.”

Charles lets out a laugh, as the others chuckle.

He gestures to her, “This is Momma Panther or Pan.”

“Y/N or Pan.” She corrects, playfully shaking her finger at Oscar. “I only let the F2 boys call me Momma Pan.”

He sighs. “Okay, this is Y/N. Logan’s mom.”

Lando coughs, water going down the wrong pipe. Fernando’s eyes are wide as he looks at her. Charles, George, and Alex are all nodding. Max has a weird expression on his face and Carlos looks dumbfounded.

“She,” Carlos points at her. “Is his,” he points at Logan. “Mother?”

Logan moves away from the table to stand by his mom, easily melting into her side at all the attention. The action makes Oscar smile, all too used to the easy affection between the mother and son. “I got pretty lucky right?”

She shakes her head. “I’m just happy you weren’t a difficult child.”

Logan both blushes and preens at the same time.

Carlos shakes his head, disbelief still clear.

“Please, sit.” George says after a moment. “We haven’t ordered yet.”

The seasoned drivers and her watch amused as both Oscar and Logan usher her to sit first. Oscar easily then lets Logan sit next before sitting beside the American. The two of them sharing a grin after.

It makes her shake her head as she turns her attention to the menu, tuning out the sound of conversation picking back up.

The gentle sound of a throat clearing makes her glance to her left.

The current two time world champion smiles a bit awkwardly at her. “Have you been here before?”

She shakes her head, turning her head a bit to look at him better. “No. To Australia of course, for Logan’s races and to visit Oscar once, but not here.”

He nods and she can’t help but notice the way he swallows harshly. “We started coming here in 2021, it’s good food. Good drinks.”

She laughs, “good gin and tonic?”

He flushes a little, but laughs. “Yes. Very good. Heavy on the gin.”

She nods, “I think I’ll have one of those then.”

Her eyes drift back to the menu, not even wincing at the prices next to the dishes. This was nearly cheap compared to where she had been forced to eat growing up.

“Momma, can we,”

“Yes.” She answers before Logan finishes, already knowing what he’s asking. “Also you two, no hard liquor. We have plans tomorrow.” She continues, still looking at the menu.

They wouldn’t get drunk from a few drinks, but she had a feeling that Lando would try to instigate something again with Oscar, making the poor kid so drunk he could barely walk, again. And she didn’t mind people thinking that she was overbearing with Logan and even Oscar. The boys knew that if they really wanted to do something they could, even if she said otherwise. It was one of the nice things about being an adult.

Logan wrinkles his nose, glancing at the drinks part of the menu, before grinning. “They have it.”

Oscar glances at what he’s pointing at, shaking his head. “You and your goddamn obsession.”

“We come here like once a year.” Logan defends. “And no other country sells it.”

It’s not until after the server leaves, all of their orders taken, that conversation starts again.

“So, Mrs. Sargeant,” Lando starts.

“Just Y/N or even Pan.” She sends a fond look to Oscar who had made that nickname stick. “And I’m not married.” She says, amused.

“Ah.”

“Not married.” Fernando shakes his head. “Now that doesn’t sound right.”

She looks at him amused. “Don’t believe in premarital sex?” She teases.

The older driver laughs and so do the others. “No. Just hard to believe that you aren’t married. You are a very gorgeous woman.”

“Thank you.”

“So,” Lando starts again, giving Max a weird look seeing how his friend is gripping his glass of water. “Will you be coming to all the races?”

She nods. “Yes, I have since Logan started his career. Haven’t missed one.”

Logan shakes his head, grinning at her. “Nope, not one.”

“Your work allows you to do that?”

Her lips press together for a second to try and hide her smile at the gentle but obvious fishing they are doing. “I have shares in some companies and a very generous inheritance. So, no true, real work.”

“You do some work for Grandpa when we’re in the states.”

“I organize his desk for him, which he then messes up as soon as he sits back down at it.”

“You do not mind the constant travel? It is quite tiring.” Charles asks, curious.

“No. And once I got Logan in karting, I promised him that I’d make it to all of his races. Maybe in a few years, I’ll stop going to all of them, but I am part of his team as well.”

“Manager?”

“God, no.” She shakes her head at Carlos’ assumption. “Cook slash nutritionist. Benny, his trainer is amazing, also doubles at being a physiotherapist for Logan, but he doesn’t know how to cook to save his life. So I make their meals.”

“Mine as well.” Alex pipes in. “They’re truly amazing, by the way.”

“Thank you.”

“Can you make mine again?” Oscar asks, leaning over Logan a bit to look at her. “I’ve missed having them.”

“Sure.” She laughs. “Get me your new sheets before the next race, yeah?”

“Done.”

—

Max watches from the corner of his eyes as she takes her first sip of her gin and tonic. Her brows raise a bit when the drink hits her tongue and he has to force his eyes up, to not focus in on her lips, to think about them and what they’d feel like on, he shakes his head. Forcing the thoughts, the ideas away.

“Very heavy on the gin.” She whispers, turning a bit to look at him.

He rubs his hands against his jeans. “Do you like it?”

“It’s nice.” She smiles.

Relief fills him. “Good.”

He continues to look at her, wanting to tear his eyes away but being unable to. She was simply lovely. And getting this closer look at her, he can’t believe that she’s a mother, or at least a mother to a twenty-year-old. It didn’t seem possible. She looked barely older than him. Not at least thirty-five. She was probably more like Fernando’s age as well and he glances at the fellow two world champion, more disbelief filling him. Because how could the two be close in age at all?

—

Logan sighs as he collapses face first onto Oscar’s bed. Laying there for a solid minute before groaning and turning his head.

“Dinner was nice.”

Oscar hums and he can feel the bed dip beside him.

“You seemed a bit more relaxed.”

“No media, and you and Pan were there. A bit more relaxed.”

Logan scoffs. “Yeah, because you were so tense with media before.” As he speaks, he reaches out to lay a hand on Oscar’s thigh, giving the muscle a squeeze. “It’s nuts, isn’t it? I mean we all got told that the media was so much more, so different, but…” He trails off, shaking his head.

“Yeah.” Oscar sighs and then he’s laying beside Logan, the American luckily moving his hand off and away from the other’s thigh before he lies on it.

“Y’know I have no personality, apparently.”

Logan snorts, eyes opening when he hadn’t even realized he had closed him. The Australian driver also has his head turned so they’re looking at each other. “What? Have they never seen a Prema video?”

He shrugs as best as he can.

“I’d take that over my apparent frat boyness.”

“You? A frat boy?” Oscar laughs.

Logan sighs as he thinks a bit more about it, the mood turning a bit serious. “I just hope momma hasn’t seen it.”

“What happened?”

“She’s just worried. Thinks I haven’t noticed, but she’s wondering if she did a good job with me, done enough for me. And she’s given me everything y’know. I can’t imagine what I’d be like with them as my parents.”

Oscar moves a bit closer, just a few inches between their faces now. “You’d still be amazing, still great. Maybe a frat boy.”

The American rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling.

“I think Fernando has a thing for her. For Pan.” He clarifies.

“What?”

“I mean, just during the dinner y’know, he kept looking at her. And him calling her gorgeous.”

“Well, he’d be dumb and blind to not notice that.” Logan scoffs, rolling onto his back and turning his head to the side, keeping his eyes on Oscar.

“I’m being serious.” The younger laughs, poking him lightly. “I think Alonso has a thing for her.”

Logan’s face scrunches up in disgust. “Dude, no. That’s gross. Momma isn’t even thirty and Fernando’s like forty-three. And isn’t he dating that journalist?”

Oscar’s brows press together. “What journalist?”

“The one that gave Fred shit.”

“I thought she died?”

The two look at each other, both baffled.

Logan thinks again of the journalist he’s seen around Fernando and the one that all of the Prema drivers, former and at the time current, had avoided or given shit statements too. They did look a bit different now that he really thought about it. Fernando’s journalist slash girlfriend didn’t have a fucking complex.

“Different journo.” Logan mutters. He then blinks, “wait, she died?”

“Mate, you didn’t hear about that?”

“No!”

“She was supposed to be at Spa, remember. And we all were relieved when she wasn’t there. She died, car crash or something, I can’t remember.”

“How do I not remember this?”

Oscar shrugs as best as he can while laying down. “I don’t know.”

It’s silent for a moment, “you don’t think,”

“No.” Oscar shakes his head, but he doesn’t sound too sure. “I mean, yeah no.”

“Right.” He looks up at the ceiling.

“Okay, so Fernando is out of the running.”

Logan groans, “Os, no.”

“Look he clearly has eyes, but if he’s dating someone he’s out. He wasn’t the only one looking.”

“Oscar, please, it’s my mom.”

“She’s like my mom too, which is why we have to talk about this.” Oscar insists, wriggling closer to Logan. Their sides completely pressed together and when Logan turns his head to look at the other, their noses nearly brush.

He looks at Oscar’s face, all earnest and caring and sighs. “Fine. Charles was looking, but he only dates one type, so safe from him.”

“Lando was looking.”

Logan snorts, “I thought this was for potential dates, not another kid.”

He laughs, their noses brushing together from the movement. “Okay, no Lando. Max.”

“He kind of looked weird when you introduced her.” He frowns.

“I saw that too.”

“But he also got all blushy when they talked.”

“The drivers do know, I mean Alex knows that she didn’t like birth you, right?”

Logan’s frown deepens. “Of course. I mean, it’s not super well known, but it’s a little hard to believe that she naturally had a kid twenty years ago.”

“Thought so.” Oscar then chuckles. “Imagine, them thinking that she did, though. Just thinking she’s got some sort of insane skin care routine.”

—

“How in the hell does she look like that with a twenty-year-old kid?”

“I know right?” Alex says, looking at Carlos. “It’s insane.”

Charles pokes at his own cheek. “I think I need to ask her for advice, what products she uses. I want to age like her.”

“We all want to age like her.” George agrees.

“What are you saying?” Fernando frowns.

A few of them share a look, but Charles and Max share a different one. “Mate, you’ve got wrinkles and all these lines.” Max says. “I mean those are natural, but look at her. The skincare helps.”

Fernando frowns, “Lines?”

Charles touches at his own lines, “see lines. From smiling, laughing, frowning. All good things, very nice. Just not uh,” his brows furrow drawing a blank.

Lando snorts at his struggle. “You just want to help your skin. Keep it healthy.”

The older driver makes a humming noise, considering.

—

Her breath is caught in her throat, eyes wide as she watches the screen. Her heart feels like it is beating in double time. She wants to look away, doesn’t want to watch in case something horrible happens, but she can’t. Because Logan just overtook both Magnussen and Ocon in the same lap. Logan is in 9th. Logan is in a point scoring position with only five laps of the race left. Logan might score his first formula 1 points at his home race, at his actual home race, at his first ever home race.

Her hands are shaking, fingers locked together as she presses them against her mouth, trying to breathe, praying that Logan won’t fall back out of the points.

She doesn’t even notice that he’s lessened that gap to Pierre until suddenly he’s overtaken the other French driver, just three laps later. “Oh my god.”

“Fuck.”

“Benny,” she whispers, and one of her hands is dropping so she can clutch at the older man. “Benny, I think,”

“He’s gonna do it.”

And sure enough he does it. Logan holds his place in front of Pierre and finishes in 8th.

“Yes!” The whole garage is cheering and she’s wrapping her arms around Benny, laughing when the trainer lifts her.

“He did it! He did it!” She cheers.

The garage quiets though as Gaetan starts to speak on the radio.

“Logan, you are on your cooldown lap.”

“Got it. Where’s Alex?”

She winces at the question, one of her hands grips at Benny’s shoulder as he sets her back down, the other holding onto her headphones that miraculously didn’t get thrown off her head or disconnected when celebrating. “Alex is P14, P14.”

It’s quiet for a moment. “Okay, I’m sorry we didn’t get any points today, next race is ours right? The car felt great.”

Both of her hands fly up to her mouth.

“Logan.” Gaetan’s voice is full of disbelief and laughter. “Mate, you finished P8. You got us points. You got your first points.”

She can see him react to the news, the car jerking underneath him for a second, before he wrangles it back under control.

“What? What do you mean?”

“You finished in P8. Clean race, finished ahead of both Alpines and Magnussen.”

“Holy fuck.”

The garage fills with laughter at his reaction and tears start to build in her eyes.

“You guys,” his voice breaks. “Thank you guys so much. This was you guys, the car felt great, really.”

She watches as James hops on the radio. “This was you as well, Logan. Amazing drive today.”

“Thank you, James. Thank you so much for this.”

His mechanics, Benny and her, quickly go over to where the cars are parking, watching as Logan slots it into place. He’s a little shaky as he gets out of the car and he’s about to dart towards them but someone from the FIA, is ushering him to the scale.

His reluctance is clear even with his helmet on, but he goes. Letting them take his weight and as soon as it’s written down, he’s stepping off and away, fumbling with his gloves and then his helmet.

There’s an awed grin on his face, tears in his eyes, and seeing it makes the tears that have built in her own fall.

His gloves and helmet tumble to the ground as his mechanics and Benny surround him, celebrating his points.

Logan laughs when they finally let them go and his eyes light up when he sees her and he darts to her and she easily welcomes him into her arms.

“I’m so proud of you.” She tells him, squeezing his sweaty body close before running a hand through his hair. “You did amazing.”

“I did it, momma.” His voice is weak and she can feel tears hit the skin of her neck where his head is buried.

“You did it.”

—

“Logan did amazing, it was a good drive.”

She blinks in surprise at the voice, turning in her barstool to look. “Max?”

He smiles at her, cheeks flushed. “He did really well.”

“He did.” She agrees before patting the stool next to her.

His smile widens as he takes the seat.

“I didn’t realize that Red Bull was in the same hotel.” Maybe she should have since she had spotted a few Red Bull polos, but she figured it was fan gear.

“I think Aston is here as well. You aren’t celebrating with Logan?”

She shakes her head. “We already celebrated. Him, Oscar, and a bunch of his friends here are throwing a party. I wasn’t really interested in watching them all get wasted, so this,” she gestures to the hotel bar, “is me having a drink to celebrate before going up to my room and ordering some room service.”

“Could I join you?” His cheeks redden at the words, at the way her eyebrows raise. “Not like that. But for food? I’ve never actually eaten anywhere in Miami that wasn’t catering.”

She stares at him for a moment before nodding. “Yeah. And I have the perfect place to take you.”

—

“Did I actually score points yesterday?”

“You did.”

“Sweet.”

“Very. How’s the head?”

Logan shrugs, “I mean, I drank a lot, but like I’m just dehydrated.”

She shakes her head, “That will change in a few years.”

“Not gonna tell me to not drink underage?” He teases, bending down to press a kiss to her cheek before grabbing her glass of juice and draining it.

She snorts. “We’re in Europe most of the time and I gave you your first drink. I don’t think I have a leg to stand on. And you were celebrating.”

“True.”

He sits across from her, refilling the glass and taking another drink from it before setting it down and starting to help himself to her pancakes, which she just pushes closer to him. “How was your night? You could have joined us. We wouldn’t of minded.”

“I’m your mom, Logan.” She laughs. “I think the me going to your friend's parties ship sailed a few years ago.”

“Yeah, but you're awesome. We like having you around.”

“I know.” She smiles. “I wasn’t in the mood to watch all of you get wasted.”

“Fair.” he says around a bite of pancake, which she sends him a look for and he quickly swallows the food. Giving her a smile that says sorry.

“So, how was your night?”

“It was good.” She tells him, spearing a piece of fruit with her other fork. “I came back to the hotel, had a drink, and then got dinner with Max.”

His brows press together. “Max?”

“Verstappen.” She clarifies. “Red Bull is staying here as well, he saw me at the hotel bar and asked if he could join me for some food.”

“You went on a date?”

Her eyes narrow at him. “It wasn't a date.”

“You went on a date.” He scrambles for his phone. “Oscar is never gonna believe it.”

“I go on dates.”

“Momma, you’ve gone on like five dates. And two of those were before you turned eighteen.”

She scowls at him. “It wasn’t a date. We just got dinner.” She insists.

“Uh huh.” He says, clearly not believing her. “Did he pay?”

“Yes.”

“Pull your chair out, help you with your coat, anything like that?”

Her mind flashes back to Max helping her get out of his car, his insistence on opening doors for her. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean,”

Logan continues. “Did he walk you to your hotel room? Say that he had a good time and he’d like to do it again?”

“Oh.”

Logan grins at her, smug, as he finishes typing out a text to Oscar. “You went on a date last night.”

“I went on a date last night.” And she doesn’t mention the fact that a new number resides in her phone.

—

“Logan!”

He stops at the sound of his name, turning to look behind him, where Max Verstappen is nearly jogging to catch up with him. “Max.” He greets, when the older driver is next to him, nerves filling him at the eyes of said driver on him, along with how a few other drivers are also looking at the pair, shock and surprise clear on their faces.

“Hey.” Max grins. “How are you feeling about the track?”

He looks at the older driver in confusion. They had just left the drivers briefing, why was he asking him this? Alex had already spoken about how the team was feeling about Monaco. “The car won’t be the best here, but we said that in Miami, so we’re hoping to repeat that here. Alex has a good chance at ending in a point scoring position.” He reiterates what he's been told and what he’s been telling the press.

“But how are you feeling about it?”

Logan stares at the Dutchman, eyes flickering around trying to see if cameras are there, if his momma is there, but there isn’t anyone. The other drivers are already gone, so are the FIA people. It’s just him and Max. “Y’know you don’t have to talk to me because you went out with my mom.”

He expects relief, like that one dick Jase, and really who puts that on a birth certificate, but Max just frowns. “I know, I don’t have to.”

Logan swallows around the lump in his throat, “right.” Turning around, he starts to walk, somehow knowing that the other driver will join him. “It’s a tricky track, it’s Monaco. I was here last year and I barely got in the points.”

“P10 and P9.”

He throws the driver a look, because that was too much to know, but Max is just looking at him, encouraging him to continue. “The car isn’t suited for it. I mean it wasn’t for Miami, but this is different. And I’m still not managing my tyres correctly, so even if I did manage to gain positions, I’d get called in to pit and lose them.”

Max huffs out a laugh. “You are a rookie in a Williams, it’s impressive that you’ve already gotten points. If you could manage your tyres, when sometimes even I struggle, well I’d put you in Checo’s seat.”

“Not yours?”

He laughs again, “No. I’m a bit better at it than Checo.”

Logan couldn’t really deny that.

“Do you want some advice? On the tyres?”

Logan quickly nods. “I’ll take anything I can get.”

“Don’t fight the car too much on the turns. If you need to get it to turn properly or without going on the brakes too soon, fight it. But when you don’t, let the car be stable, keep it fluid. When you come out of the corner, press harder. It might feel like you’ll go into the wall, but you won’t.”

“And if I go into the wall?”

Max laughs, clapping him on the shoulder. “I think you're a better driver than that mate.”

—

“How are you doing that in the turns?”

Logan looks up from his notebook, where he’d been scribbling a bunch of random words. Looking at the screen, he watches his own onboard. He thinks about saying that it was Max that told, but no one at Williams liked hearing about Red Bull, especially with Alex in the room. “Just something I thought I’d try.”

“Well, it was good, continue doing it. We may have ended up out of the points, but we got close.”

Logan nods. Even with his five-second penalty, he had still kept fourteenth, and Alex ended up in twelfth. “Will do.”

—

Max had thought about her in his apartment a lot, an embarrassing amount. He had also pictured it very differently. A nice dinner, wine, even though a majority of it made his nose wrinkle, perhaps some kissing on his couch as a movie plays that they both don’t care about.

He hadn’t expected lunch, with juice that he’s trying to figure out how he’s never had it when he’s lived in Monaco for so many years, and a somewhat serious conversation, though maybe he has been expecting that one or rather anticipating it.

“I like you, Max.”

He flushes, “I like you too.” He really did, even though his mother was going to have a heart attack when she found out how much older Pan was than him.

“And I want to continue doing this.” She gestures between them with her free hand that isn’t being held in his.

“So,” sensing that there’s something she wants to say.

“I’m a mom.”

He blinks at her words, panic starting to fill him. He thought he’d made that clear that he knew that, understood that. He always made sure to ask about Logan. He even had Logan’s number now after talking to him about how he felt about the Monaco track. “I know.”

“Logan is important to me.”

Oh, god, did Logan not like him?

“The most important thing to me. And if we're going to continue to do this, I just need you to know that. He’s always going to be my first priority.”

“Of course.” Relief fills him, his heart slows from its frantic beating. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

She stares at him, trying to gauge how truthful he’s being before nodding. “Okay.”

“Did you think that I didn’t know that?”

She shakes her head immediately. “No, it’s just. I don’t really do this.” She laughs. “Dating, relationships. Logan pointed that out to me, so I don’t really know how this goes and I just had to make it clear, put it on the table now.”

“I don’t really do this either.” He hesitates to ask his next question, but does. “Logan’s father. What was your relationship with him like?”

Her face screws up in disgust. “Ew.”

He laughs, not expecting that reply or that word to sum up a relationship. But fair enough.

“I mean the idea of a relationship between me and Logan’s father is gross. Logan’s,” she pauses, seeming to settle on a different word. “Birth parents are my aunt and uncle.”

“His what?” He could have sworn she said birth parents, but that couldn’t be right.

“His birth parents.” She looks at him, concerned. “I adopted Logan when I turned eighteen. Did you think I gave birth to him?”

“No.” He says, shaking head and clearing his throat. “Of course not.”

She stares at him, lips pressed together.

He sighs, slumping in his seat, eyes closing. “I may or may not have thought you were just a really, really young looking forty-something year old woman.”

She immediately bursts into laughter and his eyes fly open at the sound. “You thought?”

“The graphic for the race footage says you are his mother, I did not think otherwise. I just thought you looked great for your age.” He defends, a little embarrassed, but delighted by the expression on her face and her laughter that is still filling his ears.

“I am his mother, just adopted.”

“Not that either of you see it that way.”

“No.” She shakes her head, laughing one last time before calming down.

“No. Logan’s mine, he’s been mine practically since he was born. It just wasn’t seen that way legally until I was eighteen and custody got signed over to me.”

“Of course.” He then flashes her smile, “So can I ask how old you are?”

She laughs, nodding. “Yes, Max. I think just this once it’s better to ask a lady her age than assume it.”

“How old are you?”

“I’m twenty-nine.”

He looks at her with new eyes, the age making much more sense. “I would’ve said twenty-five.”

“Really? I think you would’ve said forty-something.”

“How was I to know?” He throws his free hand in the air at the tease, his other still holding hers.

—

“Hi, baby.” She greets when Logan stumbles out of his room, practically still asleep, as he drops onto the couch.

“Momma.” He whines, resting his head on her lap and turning his face to press it into her stomach, trying to block out the sun.

Her fingers brush through his hair as she forces her body to stay relaxed. It was always a fight when he did this.

She hated that her body didn’t bear any signs of being pregnant before, no stretch marks around her belly. She hated that she hadn’t actually gotten to carry Logan no matter how impractical it was, unless of course she was as old as Max had thought she was. She smiles at the memory of how flustered Max had looked when he realized her actual age.

He mumbles something and she turns his face away from her stomach.

“What?”

“How was your date last night?”

Her smile widens. “It was good.”

“Yeah?”

She nods.

“Did you see Jimmy and Sassy?”

“No.” She runs her hand over his forehead, knowing that he’s thinking of Sooty. “We should talk though after you’ve had some breakfast.”

“About what?”

“Breakfast first.”

“What do we need to talk about?” Logan asks nearly thirty minutes later, his fruit bowl all gone and his coffee on its way to be there as well.

She swallows, hands flexing. “Max.”

“What about Max?”

She sighs. “Well, baby, him and I talked about becoming serious last night. But that’s not gonna happen until I know how you feel.”

“You know, I’m okay with it.”

“I know you're okay with me dating, but this is a bit more complicated. Max is on the grid with you and we’re talking about a relationship.”

Logan eyes widen a bit at the word relationship. “I mean, how does Max feel about it? About being with someone who has a kid on the grid?”

He asks knowing it will give him time to figure out how to tell her how he feels and because he wants to know, he kind of wants Max to be okay with it. He likes Max, and not just as a driver. The older driver is kind and funny, he also looks at his mom like she’s the sun, he makes her happy and that’s enough to put him in Logan’s good books. His mom deserves the best and he thinks from what little he’s seen, from how much more happy his mom has been (and god that was weird, because it wasn’t even like she wasn’t happy before) that Max might be the best for her. And Max now every time he sees Logan is always stopping to talk to him even if it’s just for a second to say a quick hi.

“Max is good with it. He knows that you're my number one and that’s never going to change.”

Logan flushes at the words.

“He also likes you, thinks you're a good kid.” She lets out an amused huff as the word kid leaves her mouth. It was odd to hear Max describe Logan that way, with only five years between them. But at the same time she knew it came from being practically a veteran in the sport. Max was coming up on ten years in Formula 1 despite his young age.

He flushes even more. “Really?”

“Yeah.” She smiles. “He always asks about you, it’s really sweet. And he knows to that if you aren’t comfortable with this or need more time then that’s what will happen.”

“I am an adult.”

“You are.” She was sadly well aware of that fact. “But you are my baby, my kid. I couldn’t be in a relationship with someone if you didn’t like them or if it made you uncomfortable.”

He nods. “I’m okay with it. Max makes you happy, he’s nice.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

—

She lets out a giggle as arms wrap around her from behind, lips pressing against her cheek. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Another kiss is pressed to her cheek. “Can I help?”

She glances down at what she’s finishing up. “No. You could set the table, though?”

“Done.” A kiss is pressed to her temple and then the blanket of heat that covered her back is gone. “What cabinet?”

“First one entering the kitchen on the left.” She says, turning her head a bit to watch as Max pulls the dishes out.

Her mouth goes a little dry as she watches him. His t-shirt is tight around his biceps and chest. His skin is a little tanned after their date a few days ago on a friend's yacht. She forces her eyes to not look at his hands, instead trailing them up to his strong shoulders and neck and then to his face. Max, she thinks as he starts to put the plates on the table, is unfairly attractive. Before he can catch her staring, she checks on the final thing on the stove. “Perfectly done.” She mumbles with a smile.

The sound of the front door opening makes her smile grow wider as she grabs a pot holder.

“Am I late?”

“Just on time.” She tells Logan as he steps into the kitchen.

“Can I,”

She stops him before he can continue. “No, go wash up.”

“Alright.” He bends a little to press a kiss to her cheek before turning on his heel, offering a wave to Max. “Hi.”

“Hi, Logan.”

Picking up the pan, she shakes her head as Max goes to try and take it from her.

“Logan and you are both going to get on too well.”

“Why’s that?” He asks, a twinkle in his eye.

“You both don’t like when I lift anything.”

“What’s the point of having a son or a boyfriend, then?” Logan says, clapping Max on the shoulder as he comes back.

Max grins at the younger, delighted as he claps him back. “Exactly. We feel a bit neglected.”

She rolls her eyes, shaking her head, though a smile is stretching across her lips.

—

Max watches amused as the mother and son argue.

“Mom, it would be for two races, two, that’s it.”

“One race, really.” Max chimes in, smiling when she glares at him. “Spa is nice, but Zandvoort is really what I consider my home race.”

“See, it would be one race. Max wants you in his garage.” Logan says, looking at the other driver, begging for him to help but at the last sentence Max shakes his head.

“I never said that. Well, I would like to see Pan in my garage, not for the whole weekend, or even a day. She’s part of your team.”

Logan looks at him, bewildered. “But, it’s your home race.”

He shrugs. “I’d like for her to stop by, you as well. I already have it cleared with the team. Staying for even a whole session though just doesn’t make any sense. I don’t need her on my side of the garage to know that she’s supporting me, wanting me to do well, not when you are on the grid.”

“Are you sure?”

Max smiles at Logan, because yes he was sure. Did he want her there, supporting him? Maybe even dressed in something with his number? Of course. But, he liked seeing her in Logan’s garage. Supporting him, wearing his merch, being a mom. “I’m more than sure.”

“Besides,” she says, drawing both of their attention. “Max and I haven’t gone public yet. Or really told anyone yet.”

—

“Well, this is a bit of an odd one.” Laura says as they stop in front of the Red Bull garage.

The cameraman focuses on what she’s looking at.

“Both Logan Sargeant and his mother, better known as Pan from Formula 2 fans, are in the Red Bull garage, currently talking with our current championship leader Max Verstappen, his engineer GP, and Daniel Ricciardo.”

“Shall I see if I can steal one of them away?” Will asks, smiling at the camera as he holds the F1 TV microphone loosely.

“Please.” She gestures.

Will steps towards the garage smiling at the small group hovering just inside. “Could I steal one of you for a quick minute?”

The five exchange a look and Will stops himself from rolling his eyes at the way they all look annoyed at the idea, but Logan nods. “Sure.”

“Thank you.”

He watches as Logan says something quietly to them, getting nods from them all. His brow furrows when Max squeezes his shoulder before the younger driver gives his mom a quick hug, making him shake his head. Logan Sargeant was an absolute mommy’s boy and it was embarrassing as all hell to see. He couldn’t imagine being twenty and hugging his mom in public, let alone all those videos and photos of him reaching for her hand.

Will ignored the part of him that did think it was sweet and felt bad for the kid. He couldn’t look all sappy while filming, especially not when in front of the Red Bull garage.

“Hi everyone.” Logan greets, taking the third mic from the newest crew member.

“Hello, Logan. How are you feeling about this weekend?”

He smiles at Laura. “I’m feeling okay, I’ve raced here before, obviously not in an F1 car, but I do have some experience with this track.”

“And you and your mum’s visit to the Red Bull garage, should we expect an announcement of you switching teams?” She teases.

“No.” He laughs. “No, uh, just visiting for personal reasons. Saying hello to Daniel, wishing Max a good home race.”

“I mean, I’m not sure, he needs it.” Will jokes, gaining a few laughs. “So, no business to be done at Red Bull? Just saying a hello and wishing a good race to a fellow driver.”

“Yeah,” he pauses, looking back at the garage where it’s just Max and his mom standing now watching him with smiles on their faces. It’s only that he continues when his mom gives a brief nod, one barely able to be seen by the camera. “And I wasn’t just wishing a fellow driver good luck.”

“Oh?”

Logan grins, looking pleased with himself. “I was wishing my new dad good luck.”

—

“Carlos Sainz is a cunt.”

Max freezes at her words, hand still on the doorknob from just stepping into the room.

“Hi, schat.”

“Carlos Sainz is a cunt.” She repeats.

His brain is scrambling because what exactly had Carlos done but also why was it so attractive to her say the word cunt. It had to be the accent, he decided quickly, still trying to figure out the Carlos thing. “And why is Carlos a cunt?” He finally asks, releasing the door knob and stepping further into the room.

She’s on her laptop, rapidly typing something, and he can feel anger radiating off her.

“That bullshit he spewed, blaming Oscar’s inexperience.” She scoffs, pausing her typing as she shakes her head. “It was an incident, a racing incident, something he knows a lot about. There was no inexperience fault.”

“Oscar’s okay?” He already knows that he is, but knows it's good to ask.

“He’s good. He knows that it's a racing incident.”

Max winces. Wonders for a second if he should warn Carlos to keep his mouth shut, but shrugs. It wasn’t his fault that Carlos was getting in trouble because he couldn’t watch his mouth or correctly look at footage. “Can I help?”

She sighs, hitting close on whatever she was writing in. “No.” She then closes her laptop, turning to face him, with a smile. “Hi. Congrats on the win.”

“Thank you.” He bends to kiss her. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just,” she waves her hand at her laptop, “stuff.”

“Anything I can help with?”

She starts to shake her head no as he sits on the edge of the bed, but she stops.

“Actually, could I get your insight on something? Not just as a driver, but as someone who lives and breathes racing, loves data, really knows how the sport works.”

“Of course. What’s going on?”

Another sigh leaves her, hand coming up to rub at her mouth for a second before it drops. “Why would a team not resign a driver?”

His eyebrows furrow, because she knows the reasons, but he answers. “Not performing well, they want out of the team or sport, sponsorship issues.”

“The driver wants to stay in the sport and the team.” Her lips turn downwards a bit at the word team. “And the driver brought new sponsorships to the team.”

“They have to be not performing well.”

“They’re a rookie in a back marker team.”

“They have to be really performing badly.” Max says, trying to think of who in Formula 2 or 3 she’s talking about.

“They already have six points and have placed ahead of their experienced teammate three times.”

His mind is scrambling again, trying to find a reason, because what? ��How many does his teammate have?”

“Nine.”

“I have no idea. Not unless there’s conflict within the team.”

She shakes her head.

“Is there potentially a more experienced driver for the spot?”

She shakes her head. “They’re looking at another rookie or maybe someone who stepped away from the series for a year, though they’d rather take a rookie than him.”

“I don’t have an answer for you. It doesn’t make sense to me.”

She nods, expression falling and she’s rubbing at her face.

“What’s going on?” He asks, standing up just to crouch down in front of her, taking her hands in his.

“The driver’s Logan.”

“What?”

“Williams isn’t sure they want to offer Logan another year.”

Max stares at her. “How?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugs, laughing. “There’s talks of them signing whoever wins this F2 championship or even the runner-up depending on who it is. Logan’s making too many mistakes.”

“He’s costing them too much money.” Max fills in the blank, shaking his head. “That’s ridiculous. Don’t take a rookie if you can’t afford it. You are supposed to account for the worse. And he’s doing well. It’s not his fault that they built a shit car.”

“I don’t know what to do.” She admits, voice just a whisper, and his heart clenches painfully at the sound of it, at the tears in her eyes. “This is his dream. I don't know what to do if that gets taken away from him.”

“It won’t. We’ll figure something out.” He tells her, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

—

“I think I’m spoiled.” Max says, watching as she gets ready for bed. A faint feeling of arousal pooling his gut as she pulls on one of his shirts. He absentmindedly wonders if it would be weird to wear it tomorrow to the track, the scent of her lotion clinging to it.

“Why’s that, honey?”

He smiles, cheeks a bit pink, and that arousal builds a bit more at the pet name, at the way she shifts in the vanity chair to loosen some tension in her back. “You come to every race, you see me win, you celebrate them, you got to see me win my third championship today.” Those words feel weird off his tongue, today, but totally sober to celebrate. He wants desperately for tomorrow to come, for the race to finish so they can celebrate, him, her, Logan, the team.

“I guess you are a bit spoiled.”

He gasps, clutching at his heart, making her giggle.

“That’s okay though.” She says, getting up and moving onto the bed, straddling him. “I think I like you spoiled.”

He groans as she dips her head, pressing a kiss to the flutter of his pulse. “Schat.” It's a warning to stop and a plea for more.

“I know.” She kisses the spot a bit firmer. “Celebrations will have to wait just a day longer.” She then rolls off him, his arm immediately lifting so she can press against his side.

“It’s cruel to win with a sprint race.”

She snorts, “A sprint race never stopped us before.”

“It’s cruel to win with a sprint race in Qatar.” He amends.

“Very true.”

He sighs, staring at the ceiling as he calms down, luckily the feeling of her fingers tapping along his stomach not making it harder.

“How’s Logan feeling?” Max asks, remembering how pale he looked when they got dinner.

She sighs, moving somehow closer. “Not great. No fever, but his stomach is still a bit upset.”

He winces. “He gonna be okay tomorrow?”

“I hope so. The team knows that he’s sick, they’ll make the right choice.”

“I hope so.” He echoes, wishing that Logan felt better, hoping that he feels better by the time the race starts.

—

“We are confident in him.” Max scoffs, tossing his phone aside.

“I know.”

“Logan still wanting to do his new routine.”

She nods, lips pursed.

He shakes his head. “He did good.” It wasn’t the rookie season that Oscar had, but it couldn’t be. Oscar got lucky enough to get a seat in a near top team, while Logan got one with a back of the grid team that was sometimes midfield.

Logan scoring ten points, getting himself to sixteenth in the standings, tied with Bottas in the standings, was very good for a rookie. It was a shame that Williams seemed to think he could’ve and should have done better. At least, Max thinks, the 2025 grid was wide open for possibilities.

“Are him and Oscar still joining us?”

She throws him a look. “Us?”

“You.” He amends, knowing that despite him joining her, he’d get caught up in Redline and different things. He was just happy she didn’t mind that.

“Only for a few days and then they both are off to Australia.”

“Will Logan be joining us for Florida?”

“Yes. My mom has been asking the next time she’s going to see her only grandchild.”

Max laughs at the eye roll. “So, Belgium first, then Monaco,”

“You go to Milton for a day after.”

He nods, “then Greece, Florida, Monaco.”

“Not bad for the first few weeks of winter break.”

“Not bad at all.” He agrees, wrapping his arms around her waist, chest pressed against her back.

It’s quiet between the couple as Max sways them.

“Max.”

“Yes?”

“Your mom, she does know that I’m not in my forties right? Or thirties?” She figured that the woman did, but she also had only briefly gotten to meet her at the one race, and there had been an odd expression on her face when Max introduced her as his girlfriend.

He freezes.

“Max.”

“I knew I forgot something.”

@ohtous @cixrosie @darleneslane @fanboyluvr @teti-menchon0604 @eugene-emt-roe @quackquackhun @rewmuslupin @copper-boom @stopeatread @crashingwavesofeuphoria @jointhehunt67 @namgification @asphalstead @poppyflower-22 @racingheartsposts @gemofthenight @peachiicherries @lpab @hiireadstuff @iloveyou3000morgan @boiohboii @bibliosaurous @skepvids @elliegrey2803

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x reader #I ❤️ MILFS verse #I was on something when I came up with this idea and the name of this fic #sins fics

4K notes · View notes

ovaryacted · 5 months ago

Text

GUILTY AS SIN || I. INTACTUM

─ General Marcus Acacius x fem! virgin! reader || WC: 11.1k

SYNOPSIS: Being the daughter of a Senator of Rome has it's pros and cons, you lived comfortably while constantly being reminded of your insubordinate position in society. However, upon meeting General Acacius, your life changes as you begin to grow fond of him. The question is, will he reciprocate your feelings, or cast you out to suffer your impending doom of unwanted courtship?

CONTENT/WARNINGS: MDNI/18+. NSFW. SMUTTY. Girthy age gap assumed [Acacius is canon age/reader is around very early 20s]. Explicit Language. Formal dialogue. Mentions of patriarchal norms & customs. Comments on prostitution. Food and alcohol consumption. Talks of virginity & sexual experience. Yearning & longing. Mutual pining. Budding relationship. Unintentional/intentional courting. Kissing. Thigh Riding. Praise Kink. Terms of endearment (dove, little dove). Reader has hair & wears dresses & jewlery. Marcus Acacius is a romantic & respects women. Not entirely historically accurate.

➣ Note: Reader's Father’s Name - Julianus Novius Lurio. Handmaiden name - Viria.

A/N: I truly did not mean to make this first part so long but it just happened, and I hope all of the work put into it is worth it cause I love this story lmao. Thank you so much to @pedgito for holding my hand and feeding into my delusions about the General, I am always grateful for your creative genius. Anyways, reblogs, comments, and likes are always greatly appreciated! <3

NAVIGATION | MASTERLIST | SERIES MASTERLIST | AO3

Rome shone as bright as a star in the night sky, her streets bustling with the sounds of trade and the footfalls of soldiers patrolling the great city’s stone roads. The rooftops were tinted with shades of gold, her wealth and opulence evident through every brick and weed of grass that touched the very ground of her sacred body. There is and will only be one Rome, and you were one of the lucky few to live and experience it in all of its glory.

You were blessed by the Gods to experience all of Rome’s treasures, bathing in the luxuries of fresh fruit and the finest silks. The gifts you’ve been given were all thanks to your father Julianus Novius Lurio, a sitting politician on the Roman Senate who has made a living by managing the exchanges of commerce throughout the city. No doubt a man of power, your father had made a name for himself amongst the other senators, growing close ties with several leaders and particularly, the generals of the Roman army. Of course, that included the formidable General Marcus Acacius, whom he requested to discuss what he called “business matters.”

Answering the politician’s call, the General stepped foot into the quaint domus on the Palatine Hill, a bit ways off from the Emperor’s palace, silently admiring the granite floors and chiseled columns. He may not enjoy engaging with men of politics, but he can’t deny the gaudy and expensive taste laid out before him.

“General Acacius! Welcome, I have been expecting you.” The general was met with a man draped in bright blue and white linen cloth, the purple latus clavus accessorized his toga and held it together.

“You called for me, Senator Lurio?”

“Yes. I meant to speak with you regarding the current expansions into the regional provinces. I hear you were successful in the conquest?” Acacius eyed the politician with a straight face, dull in comparison to the excitement of the man before him.

“The residents surrendered their land freely and faced minimal bloodshed. We expect an influx of a few hundred soldiers to the army under my discretion.”

“A shame that you did not partake in bloodshed. I am sure you understand Rome’s hunger for it.” It was as if the man craved the innermost details of what took place on the battlefield, every gruesome mention of the lives lost and the meticulous ways the General pillaged through entire villages. It disgusted him, but he swallowed down the feeling and maintained a neutral expression as he’s trained himself to do.

“I do. I was under the impression we would discuss the wages for the new expansion, per the Emperor’s request, I assume.” It was an attempt to shift to the real reason he came here, not wanting to prolong his stay more than needed.

“Ah, yes, the wages. Come, we shall review in my study.”

General Acacius stepped further into Lurio’s home, past the columned hallways with his additional guards following along. As his broad figure strolled by the atrium, he turned to a clearing in the center of the Domus, eyes capturing the fountain before landing on another figure.

You were situated on the edge of the fountain in the middle of the clearing, tossing pieces of watermelon and blueberries to the koi fish that swam below you. The sun reflected over the water as you were bent on the side, casting a radiant glow over your silhouette. The fabric of your lilac stola draped over your body like an ocean’s tide, small jeweled earrings adorning your ears, and your hair pinned to the side, falling over your shoulder in riveting curls.

Lifting your head to spot the man walking into your home, you held his gaze as he continued to wander past you. Your curious eyes bore holes into his dark brown ones, captivated by the faint sparkle in his irises for a mere second before he focused his attention ahead of him. Your watch remained on the width of the General’s back as he trekked away from you, taking in the last bits of his figure before the doors of your father’s study closed down the hall.

“Something troubles you, my lady?” The voice of your handmaiden snapped you out of your slight daze, shifting to meet her warm and familiar gaze.

“No, Viria, nothing of the sort.” You reassured her, shaking off the buzz you gained from meeting another man’s glances so intensely.

Who was that man?

General Marcus Acacius, you’ve soon come to learn, had become a familiar face within the walls of your home. Once every few days, his chiseled face would grace your halls again, taking the same pathway to your father’s study, and the wooden doors would keep him locked away and out of sight. You would follow his path without fail, and as you expected, his head would turn to meet your waiting eyes, usually sitting by the atrium or walking to one of the other rooms nearby.

At one instance, you could’ve sworn you caught the ends of his lips flexing when he caught you in your usual spot, his glare wavering longer after every visit. Your heart beat faster whenever you saw him nearby, admiring the gray streaks in his curly hair and his aquiline nose. You grew more inquisitive of the General, primarily knowing him by name and nothing else that would suggest a level of acquaintanceship.

Your father refused to say anything about the General or his political affairs beyond what you already knew or could figure out. Politics are no place for a young woman, much less war. You keep your nose out of it and maintain your role in the home. You could practically hear your father’s voice rattling in your mind, forcefully reminding you of your minuscule existence in his life. A man who should be guiding you through the tumultuous times of your youth instead gave his heavy hand where it belonged, keeping you sheltered from anything that doesn’t revolve around being the daughter of a man who craved power and influence.

Unfortunately for you, part of that reminder was based on keeping up appearances whenever your father was called to partake in grand celebrations after a successful campaign overseas. Being born into a wealthy household with a prestigious name has granted you material goods not easily attainable for others, a compromise to the lack of emotional security you were given as an indirect result of losing your mother during childbirth. Your father regarded you with a face of resentment and a mouth full of venom for most of your life, the fluctuating presence of housemaids to care for you were the only individuals who held you with a loving touch. Viria, your personal housemaiden who was a decade older than you, has been a constant part of your life once you reached the age of 10, offering the guidance and support one should receive from a maternal figure. Though as you continue to age into early adulthood, you now see her more as the older sibling you never had.

Of course, your father’s disdain towards you was brushed off when your arm wrapped around his and your hand clutched his bicep as you walked alongside him in the banquet hall. Another successful conquest, more territory was added to the empire, and sufficient blood was shed to satisfy the Emperors enough to throw a feast in celebration. Like many of Rome’s subjects, you had a duty to fulfill, dressing in your finest garments and wearing your best jewelry to emphasize your status.

Walking through the crowds of men who were too similar to your father, you managed to get by with faint smiles and cautious waves. You played your part well, speaking only when spoken to, and letting your father control the conversations he brought you into, a sad opportunity for his colleagues to take their chances at asking for your hand.

“I have a son traveling in Athens who is in need of a wife. Your daughter has surpassed the necessary age and remains unmarried, no?”

“I have been preoccupied with work as of late to think about marriage for my daughter. Though, if there is an offer on the table, I will consider it.” Your father didn’t bother to look at you as he toyed with the idea of how much your virtue was worth.

“You best hurry if you want an offer from a suitor at all, or maybe she would be a better fit for the bathhouses.” Your father booms into a laugh at the recommendation while you bit the inside of your cheek hard enough to taste blood, masking it with a cordial grin.

You endured the distasteful jests from your father’s circle of colleagues, holding your tongue and swallowing the bile that threatened to eject from your mouth. The more stares that were thrown your way blatantly picking you apart, the more you wished you had stayed home, away from the reminders that you were nothing but a placeholder until you met your doomed fate of becoming someone’s concubine or plaything.

Having lost your appetite some time ago, you sneaked away from your father’s grasp once he was pulled by his associates, immersed in the generous cups of wine and the touches of the young “entertainers.” You held your glass close to your body as you walked out searching for a clearing far from the noise, desperate for fresh air.

Thankfully, you found a balcony on the backside of the banquet, relatively empty and quiet. The music drowned out behind you as you inhaled some air, exhaling the rest with your eyes closed before opening them again. Looking at the view in front of you, the neighboring lights gleamed brightly in the night as the common folk turned into their quaint homes beyond the hill. You didn’t know how long you spent staring off into the distance until someone interrupted your moment of peace.

“Not fond of the festivities?”

You turned to the sound of a gruff voice, eyes slightly widening to spot none other than the General himself, not too far from where you currently stood. As expected, he wore his signature white and gold celebratory armor, reserved for special occasions when he returned to Rome victorious. You couldn’t help but notice the golden cuffs wrapped around his thick wrists, glowing in the dark of the night, paired with the ring on his finger that carried his insignia.

“General Acacius. Had I known you were here, I would have brought my father to speak with you.” Ah yes, you were being friendly, as you had to be when you were in a public setting like this, unaccompanied at that.

“I believe I have spoken with him plenty. On the other hand, you always lingered in the background during my visits.” The mention of him noticing you brought the familiar quiver you’d get once your eyes met. Humming in response, you replied with a nod.

“Not one to discuss politics. Father keeps me out of it, says there is no place for women in that realm.” Taking a sip of your wine, you focus again on Acacius, giving him your undivided attention as his position demands. “Do you usually hide away from banquets in celebration of your conquests?”

That comment brought a slight grin to the General’s aged face, the skin beside his eyes creased as the corner of his lips curled. He covered it by taking a sip from his goblet, holding the glass with one large hand, fingers splayed over the edge of it.

“I do not care much for these feasts. This is all for show, so I have come to learn.”

“Yet your name is the one people chant in the streets. Is that all for show as well?”

At that notion, he peeked at your face, met with genuine curiosity rather than what he anticipated to be ungrateful criticism. He took a minute to think of his reply, reading your expression as genuine compared to the obedience he expected from the average commoner.

“No, the people have the right to celebrate however they please. After all, they are safe within these walls, they can be as extravagant as they see fit. To honor and memorialize, it is what we fight for.” He shifts to lean forward on the balcony’s edge, placing his arms on the marble railing and looking off to the outskirts of the hill. “The people are unaware of what lies beyond the gates. If drinking wine and feasting for one night is the result of pillaging across the region, then that is what must be done.”

You observed him as he spoke, watching the flex of his jaw with every word that came from his plush lips. Trailing your eyes upward, you saw the pink scar along the apple of his cheek, beginning to fade and mesh into his sun-kissed skin. You silently wondered how many more marks littered his body, how many more stories he had etched into the limbs that carried him across the region to collect more.

“Do you enjoy it?” Your inquiry caused the General to raise an eyebrow in your direction.

“Enjoy what?”

“Being the General, having power, having the army at your disposal. Do you enjoy it?”

Another considerate question from you. You wouldn’t be able to tell if he admired your ability to hold a conversation or if you were beginning to irk his nerves by being too probing. Acacius had a choice: he could end the conversation and be off on his way to return to the banquet or feed into the novelty of his psyche. He chose the latter, inhaling a breath of air before releasing it in a sigh.

“Truthfully, I am not sure. Being a General and a soldier, this is who I am, this is what I know. It is what was destined for me to become.” He took another second to collect his thoughts, sipping his wine again and shifting his attention towards you. “And do you enjoy being the daughter of a politician?”

Having your question reiterated back to you threw you off. You moved your focus from Acacius to the liquid in your goblet, swirling it around and watching the ripples unfold as you pressed your back to the railing’s edge.

“It is a complex feeling, and I cannot take the blessings bestowed upon me for granted. But this,” you waved your hand around to signal towards the banquet where the festivities continued, “these events, I do not enjoy. It may be my duty to make appearances, and perhaps this role I have been given was also destined for me, but I do not enjoy it any less.”

“So that is why you dwell from a distance?” Glancing at Acacius from the corner of your eye, you were met with equal interest.

“It is what I know, what I am meant to do. Observe and watch from afar as my father finances the empire’s wars.”

You had to choose your words carefully, being this outspoken about your father in front of a man associated with him, the General nonetheless, could bear severe consequences. He could have your tongue cut out for speaking out of turn, strip you of your title, and send you to fend for yourself on the streets. Instead, he offered sympathy and understanding. A man of his ranking had no business showing you kindness, much less consideration, but Acacius awed you.

“Duty. A blessing and a curse in disguise. It gives us something to live for and takes just as much.” You must’ve been quiet for too long when Acacius straightened himself to look at you, standing at full height to hover over you.

“Do not fret, you will keep your tongue. I hold no ill will outside of understanding, and your father will not know what we discuss here.” Blinking a few times, you finally remembered words, shaking off your shock and returning to the present.

“Thank you, General. I am appreciative of your words and consideration.” He tilted his head towards you in acknowledgement before he mimicked your prior action, swirling what remained of his drink.

“I do wonder…if you had a choice, what would duty be for you?”

“I did not strike you as a man of hypotheticals.” He grins again.

“I am not, but we have the capacity to fantasize. Indulge me this once, your answer in exchange for mine.” Pausing to think just as he did at the beginning of this encounter, it embarrassed you to admit the truth, but one look at the man and you couldn’t resist confessing what occupied your imagination.

“If I had the ability to choose, I would be away from here, from Rome. I wonder what life is like beyond this city, what the sea smells like, what you see during your travels, even in the name of war. I do not wish to stay bound to politics and what it brings.” Your explanation secured a satisfied hum from Acacius, as honest as you could be you stood true in your reply.

“And now, what is your answer?” He hesitates a second before he speaks.

“I wish to strip myself of my armor in favor of some land, somewhere far away by the coast, where I could fish and trade for goods. A simple and quiet life, a fulfilling one different from what’s been given to me.” The idea of this man beside you exchanging his sword and honor for the life of the standard fisherman amused you, not being able to visualize it yourself. You knew better than to find it outright ridiculous, rather, it was noble.

“Perhaps in another lifetime, you would be a fisherman, and I a traveler. Our paths can cross momentarily, and we will go on our merry way as strangers.” The thought brought a genuine smile to Acacius’ face, both ends of his lips coiling up followed by a deep chuckle, much to your enjoyment.

“In another lifetime.”

You both drank to that, Acacius finishing his glass while yours remained half full. Enjoying the next few beats in silence, you didn’t mind sharing the space with the man you’ve taken a sudden liking to, knowing deep down this was the last thing you should be doing. All too soon, the moment is broken by Acacius’ voice.

“I must return to the banquet, but you have made this night more interesting than expected.” Inside you felt accomplished at something, proving yourself to be worthy beyond being invisible.

“Likewise, General.”

Much to your surprise, his hand reached for yours, daintily holding it between his fingers. You could feel the texture of his digits, years of sword wielding painted rough indents up the length of his palm. Bringing your hand to his lips, he bestows a soft kiss over your knuckles, his mustache brushing your skin before pulling away. You counted the extra second he held your grasp with an affectionate squeeze to remember you by, capturing the small smile he sported that tugged at your heart.

“Do not linger for long.”

As soon as his words left him, Acacius slipped away and walked back into the hall to meet with others who were waiting to speak with him. You looked towards the entryway much more than you should have, staying outside to enjoy the fresh air a little longer before returning to the suffocating feast in search of your father, inebriated from the drinking and stuffed full of the food that was provided.

The whole way back home, your hand tingled from when the General held it in his, pulse spiking at the thought. It worsened as you found yourself restless in bed, mind reliving the moment Acacius reached for you. You were sure he was simply being kind to you, but for the moment, you would like to dream of the hypotheticals that vexed your mind in the wee hours of the night.

It had been a few weeks since you spotted Acacius nearby, the conversation and time you both shared the night of the banquet was still on your mind. There were moments where you’d anxiously wander about in your home, finding something to do to keep yourself occupied rather than thinking about the next time the General would make an appearance. Thankfully, your father hadn’t taken any notice of your recent fidgeting, too engrossed with the current politics in the Roman Senate to offer any respite to your growing concern.

Thankfully, you were able to step outside and enjoy some time away from the stuffy walls of your bedroom. With your handmaiden Viria in tow, you drew your palla over your head and made your way to a busier area of the city meant to bargain for goods you deemed necessary to have. Despite your father being a rather cruel and controlling man, he allowed you to invest in things in the home when he didn’t have the time to care about it.

At least in that regard, you were fulfilling your duty as the lady in the home.

Viria remained closeby to keep you company, conversing as you made your way on horseback first before walking the rest of the way. You didn’t mind taking the long way, enjoying the scenery of shrubbery and the other homes you rode by until the roads turned to dirt and sand as you reached other communities of people.

The markets had been busy at the start of today, walking down the main road to select a few stalls and speaking to the merchants you recognized. There were several things on your mental checklist to buy, fruits grown and distributed to other households, fresh spices for Viria to give to the servants for the next meal along with cuts of meat that can be cured and stored for later.

Your favorite stand was of an older lady who sold a variety of fabrics, some you loved to use to make a combination of stolas and pallas. Of course, most of your outfits will go to waste from constantly staying at home, but that doesn't mean you can't wear more than one standard dress. Running your fingers through the different colored fabrics, you came across varying types: wool, linen, silk, all of different textures and some with distinct patterns.

A roll of light green silk fabric caught your eye, asking the woman for the price and deciding if it’s something worth bargaining for. Just as you were about to reach into your pouch for some golden denarii, another arm came from behind you, providing the denarius coins and dropping them in the palm of the dealer who marveled at none other than the General.

“You can add on a brooch if you would like, consider it a gift.” Acacius said calmly, the sound of his voice gracing your ears grabbed your attention in an instant.

“General Acacius, strange to find you here of all places. Should you not be elsewhere?” While you questioned him, you didn’t notice the way Viria glanced at the two of you as she wrapped up the green fabric to bring back home.

“I returned from another assignment the previous night. Figured I would do a patrol by the market to see if I had missed anything during my travels.”

“And does covering another citizen’s purchases count as one of your assignments?” Your cheeky response almost broke the facade of the serious and feared General, but instead he held his ground and concealed the smirk that threatened to make an appearance.

“When I have the time, yes. Though most people are not as quick to counter my generosity.” His face may not have shown that he was explicitly joking with you, but you could tell from his tone of voice he was being sarcastic. “Do you mind if I accompany you on your errands?”

You gave him a do-over, as if to test whether or not to take him seriously, met with sincerity. You peeked over to Viria, who practically shooed you towards the General’s direction, encouraging you to say yes. Eyes landing on Acacius again, you nodded, taking a step ahead while he stayed near, keeping his hands to himself as Viria walked behind.

“Do you usually come to this part of the city? I would think the house servants preferred to purchase what is needed for the home.” Marcus commented, wondering what were the conditions that permitted you to venture off this far from home in the first place with just your housemaiden.

“I enjoy coming here, it is a nice change of pace when the other option is staying confined to my home full of boredom.” You stated, heading towards another stand to look at a cluster of grapes, paying for it with one hand and placing it in your basket.

“And yet you are unaccompanied.”

“Viria is enough. I enjoy her company.” You haven’t looked at him since he began walking next to you, holding the basket of goods to your front.

“That is not what I meant. Surely your father must be concerned for your safety.” His face angled towards you to see your eyebrows furrowing at the thought in defiance.

“You would be surprised to know I do not need additional chaperones to roam the city I was born in. I can handle myself.” Your rebuttal didn’t seem to please Acacius, a bubble of concern inhabiting his mind, but he refused to act out on it and pushed the idea to the side.

“I do not doubt you know how to conduct yourself when needed. Though, Rome has become dangerous for those that stick out. Your pretty garments and jewelry are a magnet for thieves.”

Did he think the way you dressed was sensible? Pretty even?

You ignored the small thought, continuing on your walk with the General standing tall. Some of the shoppers in the vicinity kept their nosey eyes on you, some women muttering disengaging gossip under the palms that covered their mouths. The thought that there was possible conversation involving you and the General in any capacity unnerved you, but there was no point in acknowledging something so miniscule.

“I will manage, as I always do.” You stopped by one last stall, an array of fresh flowers catching your eye.

Offering the seller a courteous smile, you looked over the selection before you. Roses, violets, dahlias, lilies, and several others. The General watched from behind you, how intently you touched the stems of each flower as if they were made of porcelain. You picked up a variety in your hand to make a small bouquet for yourself, passing it to the merchant to wrap in ribbon. Exchanging the neat bundle of flowers for some coin, you placed it in your basket, keeping in mind to tell one of your servants to drop them in a vase with fresh water.

“My lady, we must return.” Viria reminded behind you, just as one of Acacius’ soldiers whispered something in his ear, probably informing him that someone else called for him.

“I must go. Perhaps I will see you again when you visit my father, General.” You said, taking two steps from Acacius before he answered.

“Yes, perhaps. But if you would like to discuss other matters more privately…I may have a suggestion.” Turning on your heel, your eyebrow rose in confusion, seeking clarification from him. “There is a clearing not far from here, a garden of sorts. It is quiet, away from prying eyes. I wish to speak to you more and tell you of my travels when I am here.”

The thought of being with Acacius was one thing, even if it was fleeting, but being alone with him for a certain period of time brought a shiver over your back that you tried your best to disregard. You held your composure and was selective with your words despite the way your chest tightened at the offer.

“Then I am not opposed to meeting again when we are both able to.” Your confirmation was the thing that cracked Marcus’ facade, his lips twitching into a smirk only you would be able to see.

“I will look forward to our next meeting.”

The General returned to his stoic persona and sauntered out of the market with his guards, leaving you and Viria behind as you made your way to your horses. Your housemaiden didn’t say anything on the ride back home, and you made sure to erase the small smile on your face before you walked through the front doors.

The next time you get to see the General is at this clearing he mentioned you to go to, somewhere that was familiar to Viria, an isolated garden she used to go to as a child before she was brought into your home by your father. She comes along to bring you to the location, stepping over a cobblestone road and small bumps in the ground before you find yourself at the center of lush greenery.

The landscape had changed over the years you were certain of it, thick vines crawling up the brick walls that provided a sense of privacy, hiding you from the outside world. You were surrounded by overgrown shrubbery, pockets of wildflowers growing rampant through the ground, vibrant in color and varying in shape. On one side, a forgotten fountain now victim to moss and algae dominated a corner, lily pads floating over the surface. A thick tree off to one side overcasted shade on a marble bench, roots gripping the base and embedded into the faded stone.

“I see you have found your way.” Acacius’ voice made you abruptly turn to face him, dressed in his usual armor, the golden gorgon head staring back at you. “Forgive me, I would have preferred to change into something less…formal.”

“No harm done, General. I do not mind.” You twirl your thumb, staring to the ground to avert his gaze. “Viria guided me here, says she used to come here as a child so she knew the route.” He hums.

“That was kind of her. And have you been here before?” You shook your head, looking around your surroundings to take in the view.

“Never managed to venture too far from home, this little area is new to me. But I must say, it is quite beautiful, reminds me of a small sanctuary.”

“Yes, exactly that.” Acacius takes a step forward, now closer to where you stood. “When I was younger, I would come here when I needed time to think or a moment in solitude. I still visit from time to time when I can, but commanding the Roman army can be quite demanding.”

“And here I thought it was the easiest thing for you to do, having strong and brute men at your disposal.” Sarcasm dripped from your tongue as the General chuckled, his usual upright posture more relaxed.

“It might seem easy when you are not the one responsible for 5,000 lives fighting in the name of the empire every day, but I guarantee you it is quite the opposite.” As he spoke, you pondered about his intentions of bringing you here, considering that the other two instances you spoke with him were surface level at best.

“Why did you bring me here, General? I am sure you are needed in other parts of the city, not in this isolated place with the daughter of a senator.”

“Well, to put it simply, I enjoy conversing with you,” he stood in front of you, holding your gaze as he towered over you. “You have an honest way of thinking and you speak without restraint in front of me, something I have yet to encounter with others. It is refreshing.”

“Oh, so this is because I do not bend at the knee in your presence the way most do?” Your quick wit still took Acacius off guard at times, never having met a woman who was able to bite back so quickly, even in a joking manner.

“It could be, or I simply find you interesting enough to speak with outside of my obligations, ours.” Your eyes met as you analyzed each other, peering into the chocolate brown orbs that mirrored you in your study. “What do you say?”

Some light conversation couldn’t hurt, right?

“As long as you keep your word to remain interesting, then I do not see why I would deny you, General Acacius.”

It quickly became a routine to meet Acacius here when you were both in the city at the same time, whether it be him coming from patrols, training his soldiers, or meeting with politicians and the Emperors, he still found a way to meet you at this little place you’ve made your own. Initially, it started with icebreakers and familiarizing how to talk to someone of polarizing status, and later eased into learning more about each other while your father remained oblivious of your actions.

The General was a man of stories, frequently retelling his travels and the things he’s seen during his campaigns. He spares you of the details of violence that haunt him in his sleep, and you refrain from asking, more interested in everything else he has to tell you. He talks about his homeland, the things he remembers living in a smaller village with his mother before he trained to join the army, climbing up the ranks to reach his current position. The meals he likes to eat, his favorite scents and colors of fabric, all things meshed into this budding friendship as you come to learn more about Acacius and less about the renowned General of Rome.

When it came to him learning about you, well there were things you enjoyed talking about and things that you’d prefer to keep secret.

Your face brightened with enthusiasm when you spoke about the things you’ve read in the books found in your father’s study, describing the different regions under Rome’s dominion and the territories the empire wished to control. You had a newfound curiosity with other cultures and languages, mostly asking the man next to you of things he may or may not know, answering with fable tales from his memory and battle songs carried on through generations. Anything about your father or the topic of courting made you uneasy, so Acacius refrained from asking about the tense relationship with your paternal figure. Within the time you’ve spent together he knows enough to understand it’s a sensitive topic, and he would prefer to avoid upsetting you in any way.

On the rare occasion the General wasn’t able to meet you, he’d leave a note behind on the bench for you to find, offering words of reassurance and a promise that he will return when he can, bringing more stories of his findings and keeping you in the back of his mind. The lines between you began to blur when the conversations turned into more unscripted, intimate memories and jokes between you in this bubble you’ve created for yourselves away from the controlling eyes of your father and the rest of Rome.

He’s made you laugh on more than one occasion, slapping away at his chest as he witnessed the way you threw your head back. You realized you enjoyed toying with the General, always ready for a smart comeback to every rebuttal he gave you. He liked the way you had a mind of your own, not easily swayed by the customs that frequently plagued the women of Rome into subordination. At least in the comfort of Acacius, he let you speak your mind freely, without scrutiny or judgement, and you appreciated the fact he granted you that in more ways than can be said.

“When do you leave?” You asked Acacius once, leaning against him as you both sat on the marble bench, basking in the sun that slipped through the tree’s coverage above you.

“In three days. It should be a quick venture, something the Emperors requested of me to do before they make plans of a larger conquest.” He felt you sigh at his words, tilting his head to rest against yours, cradling you with his weight. “You do not need to worry, I will return in one piece.”

“I know, I just hate when you have to go.” You admitted to him, as you have a few times now over the course of building this relationship between you. It was friendly at most, and having him as your confidant is what you valued.

“I do not enjoy leaving any less, believe me. I would much rather stay here a while longer with you, dove.” The sound of the nickname he’s given you brought a smile to your face, something that came when he mentioned how you carried yourself like a dove but had the personality of a hawk with how observant you were. It made you laugh then, not bothering to correct him, and now the name stuck to you like the clothes you wore.

“Will you bring me something from your travels?” You asked, twisting to look at him with a mischievous glint to your eye. “You forgot to do that the last time you left.”

“Yes, I did come empty handed, how inconsiderate of me.” A chuckle came from you at his tease, rolling your eyes at him. “I will find something to bring you if I can.”

“Good, I should be expecting a new trinket to add to the collection.” He grinned, shaking his head in disbelief at how easy it was to just talk to you about anything under the sun. His large hand reached for yours, moving his thumb over your fingers. It was a comfort thing he liked doing, and you never minded when he did it. Frankly, you didn’t want him to stop.

Just as quickly as the moment started, it had to come to an end. Viria came by to interrupt the two of you, signaling that it was time to leave before your father came back from his meetings.

“My lady, it is time.” Your housemaiden declared, pivoting to let you enjoy the last few minutes you had with Acacius. He stood up when you did, following your lead and dropping his hold on your hand, much to your disappointment.

“I wish you safe travels, and will pray to the Gods for your return.” Your fingers touched the metal brooch holding his tunic together, straightening the material out before he had to return to the real world.

“I am always appreciative of your kindness. Until next time, dove.” He brings your hand to his lips, placing a soft kiss over your knuckles and looking at you as he did so, the touch stirring you more than it should. He did the honors of pulling part of your palla over your head, letting you part from him to leave the small garden, making your way back home much to your dismay.

“The General fancies you, my lady.” You heard Viria declare when you were alone, still making your way to the domus.

“No need to be ridiculous, it is merely friendship.” You weren’t in the mood to entertain the idea, and she could only smirk at your attempt to deflect.

“A man like him speaking to you in a secluded area is not friendly, my lady. If he wished, he would do it in the public eye, but I understand that he cannot given his position.” Viria concluded, declining to answer or refute against that. You didn’t think much of what she said anyway, though it kept you wide awake until the next morning.

The next few days, you knew Acacius was gone, but you still went over to the garden for some peace and quiet with Viria following one of your market trips. When you arrived, you were surprised to find another one of Acacius’ notes with a red rose securing the letter to the marble bench. Picking up the flower’s stem, you delicately touched the rose’s petals, sniffing it to take in its scent. The smile on your face was soft as it was expected, chest warm at his thoughtfulness to leave this behind while he was out on assignment.

You thought back to what Viria told you a few days ago, and in the safety of your mind, you’d like to think she was right.

As he promised, Acacius returned to Rome unscathed on his recent trip, visiting your father the day following his arrival. You stood by the hall to congratulate him on his success, courteous as you always were and maintaining the facade of politeness. It was satisfactory for your father, glad that you had enough sense to show General Acacius your gratitude for keeping us safe. He brushed off Senator Lurio’s slick comment, saying his thanks and walking into your father’s study as he’s done so many times before. The next day, you met him at your usual spot, being handed a seashell he brought back while he was away.

Found this on the coast, I snuck it under my armor plate and kept it safe until I could give it to you. The sight was beautiful, it reminded me of you while I was away.

You sat happily with him as he told you everything that happened on his travels, holding the new seashell with one hand and the other in his, letting him clasp his fingers over yours in his lap as you both leaned against the tree in the garden. You listened to every word he had to give, ignoring the rapid beating of your heart and the butterflies in your stomach at the sight of him.

The Gods must have punished you with the growing affection you felt towards the General. Yet, you knew better than anybody that there was no reality where that bond would work beyond what you had. Concealing your inner turmoil and swallowing your pride, you wished Acacius a good day and night of peaceful rest once Viria came to say your time was up, not knowing when you’d see him again so consistently.

Night fell over Rome, an ease blanketing the rest of the city as everyone turned in for the evening. Already bathed with your skin clean and moisturized by your favorite oils, you adorned a long sleeve silk nightgown, the purple material pooling at your feet, wishing the house servants a good night and giving Viria a kiss on her cheek. You enjoyed the silence of the domus without the anxieties of your father being home, having left the city for a few days to meet with other politicians. You walked around the halls barefooted and stopped by the atrium to sit on the edge of the fountain. Dipping your fingers to touch a lily pad, you followed a singular koi fish that swam away from you, mindlessly thrumming along the water. A shadow appeared in front of you, lifting your head to spot Acacius standing across from you, dressed in a black cloak.

“General?” you called out to him in a whisper, standing to meet him face to face. “What are you doing here? How did you manage to enter without being seen?”

“I found an opening from behind and avoided the guards up front. Do you not consider me tactful?” He replied, removing the hood from his head to show his face. Without another word, you took his hand and brought him to your bedroom, closing the doors behind him and silently praying nobody saw him come in.

“There is no need for you to be here, General. It is quite late.” You muttered to him, stepping back to glance at him once again. You noticed he was wearing his casual clothes, a simple white tunic paired with some sandals, the fabric cutting off right at his thick thighs.

“Maybe so, or I simply wanted to see you again before I turned to my bed.”

“And here you come to disturb me as I am about to turn into mine.” There was a lilt to your voice as you spoke to him, a cheekiness that was only reserved to when he inhabited your space. He’s grown to like that about you, how you saw him simply as a man and not just his status alone. It was refreshing in ways he couldn’t explain, and the gravitational pull he felt towards you grew stronger as the days passed.

“You can tell me to leave if that is what you wish. I am merely seeking more of your companionship.” You wished he would clarify what kind of companionship he was looking for. If it were any different, you’d suggest the brothel or the bathhouses, where his needs could be better met with a woman of experience compared to a novice of the real world.

“You have already come all this way, might as well stay for a while.” Shrugging at the suggestion, you walked to your vanity to finish your routine, when really you were trying to find something to do other than gawk at him.

“I see your father has yet to return from his trip.” Marcus stated, moving to sit on the edge of your bed to face your back. “He is still occupied with his affairs?”

“He mentioned something about seeking more council further out from the Republic. For when he arrives, I am not sure.” Speaking casually, you brushed through your hair as it cascaded over the sides of your face, not realizing how Acacius was staring at your reflection.

“Something troubles you, dove.” It was a statement more than a question, acting like the voice of reason and so level headed when you weren’t.

“It is nothing.”

“Tell me anyway. I am here to listen.” Your eyes met on the mirror of your vanity, the chocolate brown irises that captivated you from the beginning holding your gaze. With a sigh, you paused your brushing, messing with the bristles of the hairbrush and looking downward.

“I wonder what it is like to get the things I want and desire. You men can do everything. Can choose where to go, who to see, you dictate when the sun sets and the moon rises. I am nothing like my father, and yet my whole life must be dictated by him and him alone. I resent it, I resent him.”

Acacius remained quiet as he offered a listening ear. He knows plenty of how your reality affects you, how you feel like you’re nothing more than a bird in a cage, growing restless at wanting to be free, to live the life you deserve. Sadly, it wasn’t that easy, you knew it wouldn’t be.

“You have wants and desires, many of them that you should get. Despite the man being your father, he should not be the one to strip you of your ability to find enjoyment in living, to want more.”

“And it is far from simple,” you exasperated, now standing from your vanity and turning to face him, crossing your arms over your chest in an attempt to self soothe. “Does my happiness truly mean so little to my father that he is willing to sell it for the right price?”

In an instant, Acacius stood up and took hold of your hands, his thumb rubbing over your knuckles to provide some comfort from your thoughts. You blinked at the sudden movement, not rejecting it, but not expecting it either.

“Your happiness and comfort should matter to any man you share company with. Those who do not prioritize you are cowards who should not have the privilege of being called men at all.” He couldn’t stop himself as he began to speak, looking right into your eyes as he did.

“I do not believe there are men who desire such company from me.” Another shrug, another deflection. Out of his own volition, one of his hands rose to pull away a singular coil of hair framing your face, curling it behind your ear.

“Any man who does not desire you is blind. I believe they do not deserve the eyes given to them if they act on such idiocy.” You chuckled a bit at that, half believing him and half thinking he was being ridiculous, but you weren’t one to object. The sound brought the smallest of smiles to his face, taking your reaction as a win.

He didn’t mean for his hand to flex open and have your cheek fall into his palm. He didn’t mean to have you press your skin into his when he softly caressed your cheekbone. He didn’t mean to stare at you long enough to grab your attention, his large hand cupping the side of your jaw to keep your face at an angle, heart thumping in his ribcage at the mere suggestion of following through on what he was thinking.

How did you two get this close? When did his eyes begin to wander all over your features, retaining every curve and angle into his memory? When did he start to crave more than just a conversation with you? When did the looks of curiosity you originally gave him shift to desire?

The both of you were acting out of turn, trailing your sight from the scar on the bridge of his nose and down to his plush lips before moving back up as if you were asking a silent question. You didn’t know what was going through his head, how long you two had been standing there a hair away from being chest to chest. You didn’t know when your face tilted upwards the slightest bit, or when Acacius leaned in an inch to reciprocate your action.

A gasp hitched in your throat when his lips finally met yours.

He kissed you with a softness you would’ve never expected from a man capable of so much violence, his lips skimming yours for a few seconds as they meshed into perfect puzzle pieces. Closing your eyes to savor it as much as you could, Marcus drew away from you, hand still holding your cheek as he left your mouth tingling for more.

A beat passed by, trying to catch your breath as your hands creeped up to his chest, petting along the linen of his tunic. Your breaths tangled into one, foreheads close enough to hover as Marcus loomed over you. The pulse you felt the moment your first kiss was gifted to you was nothing like what you expected. Sure, you’ve read about these things, heard the rumors when eavesdropping in some casual conversations when walking through groups of people, but you’d never think such intense feelings existed.

“Acacius…” your breathless voice broke the silence between you as the world stood still. It was the first time you had addressed him by name alone, no longer holding the usual formalities you preserved with him.

“I…that was improper of me. I apologize.” His words confused you, creasing your eyebrows as you remained in place.

“Why are you apologizing? Did you…did you not enjoy it?” Gods. It killed him to make you think he didn’t want to give you any attention when he’s been fighting off the urge to touch you for weeks now.

“I did enjoy it, more than I should have. But, you are still…it was wrong of me to do that when you are not mine to have.” You knew what he meant, you were still considered “pure”, “untouched”, meant to save yourself for the stranger you were intended to be courted with. At this moment, you could care less about a future partner you haven’t met, a man you knew didn’t deserve all of you.

But a man like Acacius, you think he was the exception.

“Do it again.” Your body spoke for you before you gained a lick of sense, clutching at his chest and tempting him closer. “Kiss me again, Acacius.”

How could he deny you when you begged for him so sweetly?

Grabbing hold of your face in his hands, he craned his neck to meet your lips, kissing you more intently now that you allowed him to. Your eyes fluttered closed at the contact, leaning into Acacius completely and holding on to his shoulders to ground yourself. The feel of one thick arm wrapping around your waist sent a shiver down your spine, the silk material of your nightgown adding to the new sensations that flooded your body for the first time. He angled his head to the side, kissing you deeper at a slow pace while one of your hands shifted to rake through the graying curls at the nape of his neck.

The low grumble of a groan slipping from Acacius’ chest shot warmth right to your gut, your knees almost buckling at the feel of his strong body pressed against yours. Pulling from him for air, your mouth was swollen from the kissing with every pass of his lips. You craved more, more of what he was making you feel, of what you didn’t fully understand.

You didn’t give Marcus a second to recuperate when you lunged to kiss him again with more fervor, a bit clumsily until he met you with equal enthusiasm. He refused to hold back now, holding you tighter by the waist and deliberately pressing you to his broad body. A heavy hand went up to cradle the back of your head, thick fingers seizing your scalp and running through the brushed out curls while the other held you by the tailbone. You couldn’t help but release a content sigh when his tongue traced your lower lip, relaxing your jaw to grant him entry, curling the wet muscle around your own.

The hand resting on the width of your spine sneaked lower to curve into your backside, pinching the fabric of your nightgown. Instinctively, you arched into the touch, antsy digits seeking somewhere proper to touch. His hair, his neck, his jaw, the shawl thrown over his shoulders—you didn't know what to do with your hands or where to put them.

You’ve never wanted someone so badly.

The passion intensified between you the more handsy you both got, your breathing labored and your small whines were swallowed by Acacius as he dominated your mouth. You’d lost track of time, the frequent shifting dragged you backwards until you bumped into your vanity. The sound of your beauty products rattling across the wooden surface forced you to draw your head back from Acacius’ generous mouth, breathing through your nose and sinking your teeth into your bottom lip.

When the General looked at your face again, he could feel the warmth radiating from your cheeks, your lungs expanding for air to calm your erratic heart. Your lips were plump with a slight redness, pupils blown from the experience with the slightest inkling that lust began to override your brain.

You were at a loss of words, not knowing what would be the best way to describe what you just felt. The general had stolen your breath, and possibly more, not like you were complaining. Acacius was quiet, stuck in thought as he breathed in and out, his exhales falling over your lips. You tried to lean in again for more of him when he kept your face in place, the tip of his nose nudging yours.

“To the bed, little dove.” He uttered, more of an order than anything else. The intensity of the heat pooling in your gut elevated, something deep within you beginning to ache from the way he added another twist to the term of endearment he’d given you.

Blinking once then twice, your brain regained functioning as you drifted from Acacius’ arms and walked to your bed, sitting down on the edge and waiting for his next command. However, now that the high you felt from kissing the man before you changed into anxiety, your naivety seeped out of you in waves.

“Acacius I…I have never…” you struggled to tell him that despite the promiscuous lies your father projected onto you. You didn’t need to say much for him to understand your inner dilemma.

“It is alright.” His voice calmed you as he kneeled in front of you, taking your hands in his larger ones, giving a gentle squeeze. “How much do you know of coupling?”

“Besides the crude things men ruminate about with who they engage with, the basics. I know what goes in what.” It sounded idiotic coming from your mouth, not being able to state the obvious, to discuss sex in the literal terms as you understood them.

“You have never been touched before?” He asked you, not patronizing in his tone, but seeking to give a solution, receiving a shake of your head in response. “And when you are alone, you never think to do anything?”

“No. I never found a reason to…” You shook your head again and looked down to where he sandwiched your hands between his, a sense of shame tinting at your cheeks.

“Would you like for me to teach you what pleasure feels like?” His proposition caused your eyebrows to raise, a foreign throb between your thighs growing as your imagination played tricks on you. The General wanted to please you, to show you the things so many Roman citizens indulge themselves in doing.

“This is for you to learn, and for you to experience something new. And…if you allowed me to, I could grant you that experience.” He took one of your hands out of his grasp, kissing the inside of your palm and then your wrist, your pulse spiking under his touch. “The choice is yours.”

It wasn’t every day that you saw a respected General of Rome on his knees willing to grant you the first taste of something you were told was forbidden. With the way he looked at you, so candid and reverently, it wasn’t a hard decision for you to make.

“Yes. Show me, please.”

Placing one last kiss on the inside of your wrist, he stood up to his full height and pulled you up as you looked at him in a daze. He switched your positions to where he was the one sitting on the edge of the bed, thighs spreading to make space for you. When he peeked over at you again, he held out his hands to take yours, guiding you towards him.

“Come, sit on my lap, over my thigh.”

The order made you quiver, clumsily maneuvering to hover over one of his thick thighs. You held on to his shoulders to steady yourself while his hands came to yank the length of your nightgown, giving you more room to work with. He held your hips once you were in the right position, bringing you closer until your chests were together.

He suppressed the groan rumbling inside when he realized you were bare underneath your slip. Soft and warm skin met the thick muscle of his leg, your breath shuddered at the change in texture.

“You will grind over my thigh and move your hips to shift back and forth. I want you to do what feels right, what feels good. I am only here to guide you, but this is for you. Do you understand?”

You nodded at him, your anxious hands having a mind of their own and reaching for his neck, stroking along the sides of skin. Your thumb grazed the new scar on the column of his throat, leaning forward to kiss it apologetically. He threw his head back a bit at the feel of it, exhaling comfortingly while his hands flexed at your hips. Repeating the pattern to leave a path of kisses from the side of his neck to the corner of his jaw and then his chin, colliding your lips with his again and arching into his hold as his fingers ran lines down your spine.

Your hips were moving on their own accord, shifting backwards before dragging them forward, building a slow tempo and rhythm as you got used to the new sensations. Focusing on undulating your hips over Acacius’ thigh, he kept you present with every kiss he graciously landed over your lips and face. Something inside you clenched when you hit the right angle, breath hitching on the impact of something sensitive grinding over the firm muscle of the General’s leg underneath you.

“That’s it little dove, you are doing so good for me. Take your pleasure, chase it, let the feeling consume you.” Acacius whispered into your ear, the lower octave of his deep voice making a beeline straight to your core where your body craved more. A weighted palm steadied you on the small of your back, keeping you from falling over.

Encouraged by his praise, you arched your back more, gyrating against him with more force. A whimper poured out of you, heat cresting in your gut at the change of pace, your arousal staining Acacius’ thigh. He mimicked your earlier action, littering soft kisses across your jaw and neck, fighting the possessive urge to leave his mark across your skin. Keeping one hand on your waist, the other moved upwards to your ribs, gently fondling one of your breasts through the silk that veiled you from his hungry eyes.

“Acacius,” your eyebrows furrowed, something building deep inside you, body growing tense as pleasure curled around your belly. You were almost panting, eyes fluttering shut as something unknown threatened to come out, a moan stumbling from your kiss bruised lips.

“Trust your body and keep moving, allow it to wash over you. So close to release, sweet girl, let it happen. I have you.” His broad hand palmed your breast, thumb stroking your nipple that poked through your dress.

Stuck in a haze, pressure built between your legs, a whine punching through you as you swiveled harder over Acacius’ thigh. Clawing at his chest, it took you a few more drives before you moaned out loudly, jerking over his leg as your body trembled. Heat like no other coursed through your limbs, an electric current rushing from the top of your head to the balls of your feet, toes curling from the intensity of it. The General coaxed you through your first climax, ogling your expression with hazy eyes, taking in every light cry you gave him followed by the words of praise he whispered beside your temple.

Good girl. Ride the tide, ride it for me. That’s it.

You slumped against Acacius when your release was finished and you’ve gained some footing, buzzing at the calming touch of his hands caressing your back and shoulders.

“Did you enjoy that, little dove?” He held your face with one palm, an act of fondness you’ve grown to love and crave.

“That was…divine.” You were slightly jittery as you replied, raising your head to look at the General with dilated pupils, amazed that this was what had been deprived of you for so long. “Is it always like this?”

“It can be, depending on what is done, but your enjoyment is what matters most.”

Your cheeks blistered at the realization of wet skin below you, slight embarrassment at marking the General’s leg with your arousal. Out of your own cognizance, your focus moved to find something stiff under Acacius’ tunic, the tips of your ears burning and bashfully looking at him.

Oh.

You’ve heard of the rumors, of the way some men boast about their appendages as if it were the Gods’ greatest blessing, or how some of the street women speak about their personal experiences in the bedroom with more endowed partners. Being able to see or feel something like this up close was unfathomable. Fingers gripped your chin, keeping your face aligned with the aged man that just opened the doors to a new world for you.

“Pay no mind to that, it will go away. I do not wish to overwhelm you so quickly. We will save this for next time.”

Next time.

Goosebumps raked over your arms at the thought of doing this again, or doing more, and by the look the General passed your way, he was more than happy to continue whatever this became. Gently maneuvering you to rest on your bed fully, Acacius walked to the wash basin on the other side of your room and dipped some cloth into the warm water, cleaning his thigh of your remaining slick. You didn’t have the heart to state your disappointment, but he passed you the cloth to cleanse yourself before flinging it back to the bowl, leaving you to head back to bed.

“Will you stay?” You called out to him, eyes pleading for more of his attention, body yearning for more of his touch. “I do not wish for you to leave.”

He knew he should leave, he shouldn’t have snuck into your home at this late hour in the first place, but you had been plaguing him ever since he saw you by the atrium dressed in lilac and opals.

“I will stay for the time being, but only to hold you.” You didn’t protest against that, taking whatever you could get.

Throwing the sheets off to make room, you lugged him into bed with you, claiming the space next to him as a bulky arm hooked around your waist, bringing you closer. You hummed contently against his sternum, nuzzling your face into his body, chasing his warmth and scent.

“Thank you, Acacius.” He didn’t say anything in response, kissing the top of your head in silence.

“Rest now, dove.”

With that, your eyes shut close and you were eased into slumber, the best night of rest you’ve had in a long time. As you traveled through the land of dreams, you imagined several things, strong hands running over your bare body in ways they shouldn’t, tantalizing words whispered in your ear that makes you drip between your thighs, and someone else bringing you to heights so great you would be standing amongst the Gods themselves. In every frame you conjured up, the General’s face was who you saw, marking you with his mouth and claiming you as his. You wanted to stay here for as long as you could, living through your fantasy for all eternity.

By the time the sun rose high in the sky, you found your bed empty, disillusionment evident on your face as you touched the pillow beside you, cool to the touch.

Acacius was gone, and despite the way you could still feel the ghost of his touch, last night had been all but a dream.

©️ ovaryacted 2024. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!

Dividers by @/saradika-graphics.

#marcus acacius x reader #marcus acacius x you #marcus acacius x female reader #marcus acacius smut #marcus acacius #general marcus acacius #marcus acacius x f!reader #gladiator ii #gladiator 2 fic #gladiator 2 fanfiction #gladiator 2 fanfic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #ovaryacted fics #ovaryacted fics: guilty as sin #⋆♱ nic works ♱⋆

1K notes · View notes

frownyalfred · 30 days ago

Text

The thing is, if you identify with and project onto a fictional character, no one on here is gonna judge you. No one! We all do it.

But the second you start treating people poorly because they like/ship/talk about/write a character that canonically or otherwise isn’t nice to your blorbo, you deserve to be called out and told to stop.

“Bruce Wayne is an abusive Father to [Batkid] and I don’t like reading about him” = fine, we all have preferences!

“Bruce Wayne is an abusive Father to [Batkid] so I’m going to send shitty messages to Bruce Wayne-related blogs and make fun of the people who read WFA” = what the actual fuck

Some of us self-insert a little too hard and really need to dial it back. Yes, Tim/Damian/whoever is your person, your beloved blorbo, you with a few extra steps, but that actually does not give you permission to be an asshole to other human beings.

Yes, even if said character was wronged/hurt/messed up via canon. You are mad at a FICTIONAL CHARACTER, not me!

#I will say it time and time again #the sins of canon don’t rest on the shoulders of fanfic writers or blogs or artists #you’re mad at canon #you need to take a breath #and for gods sake be nicer on here #mini rant #batman #bruce wayne #dc #batfamily #fandom #tumblr #self insert #fanfic #fic

683 notes · View notes

youreturnhome · 1 month ago

Text

You know you’d do anything to protect them. Each and every one of them. Terrible things, if you had to. …But you’re a bit late for that, aren’t you? You failed to protect them when it really mattered. You didn’t even know they were hurt until it was too late. You just need to know the extent of it.

some art to go along with my fic higher or lower on ao3 !! read it if you want to see odile and siffrin both having really great mental health. blasting my favs with the "please go to therapy" beam

#in stars and time #isat #siffrin #odile #isat fanfic #sin arts #sin fics #this art doesn't have game spoilers but the fic does. safe for 1hatters though. yay yippee

852 notes · View notes

bunny-jpeg · 2 months ago

Text

sinful sentence (five)

lando norris - "you're so very tempting..."

tags: smut/pwp, friends-with-benefits (with feelings), simp!lando, sanrio plushies, possessive behavior, jealousy & manipulation, safe sex

the sinful sentences catalogue

this was not according to plan. this was supposed to be fun. you should be honoured really, lando never liked tapping the same girl twice. let alone three, four, five, seven times. he had lost count the amount of times he had fucked you into the mattress of his bed. watched you reach climax in the sea of soft pillows, your heavy pants into the light grey pillowcases as your back arched with a primal want.

but what started out as a means to an end. had become something a little more intense. it was like lighting matches in a gas station, the inferno was bound to happen. and it all started over a fucking stuffed animal.

"liam got you this?" he asked as he plucked it off of your bed, "are you fucking him?" he tried to keep the jealousy at bay.

"no!" you said as you crossed your arms and looked at him, "you know people give gifts to each other and not just when they're apologizing for something." you had a vast collection of luxury items from lando because he fucked up. you didn't know why he was getting jealous of liam.

lando looked at the stuffed animal, it was of hello kitty or one of those little sanrio things. the marketable plushie that seemed to invade every female's bedroom like mold. lando hated the thing. he looked at it and said, "you're so very tempting... tempting to throw in the trash." and the toy was taken from his hand and you wrapped your arms around it quickly. the face of the toy was right in the valley of your breasts that were covered by your bra.

"excuse me! don't talk that way to my melody!" that was the name of it, "be nice to her!"

lando made a face, "i would be nice to her, if she wasn't given to you by that fucker." he got into bed with you. he got his hands on either side of you and leaned you further back into the bed, "i don't like him touching what is min."

you frowned, "we're just friends, lando. you didn't want commitment, remember?" lando's biggest failure. it wasn't on the track, but rather not pinning you down. he said he was casual and he had regretted it every day since.

"well, unless you wanna be used by drivers until your worn out like a tire, i suggest you limit your driver fucking to one." to him. and you shoved him before you laid back in bed. the toy discarded to the other side of the bed.

"i didn't think you were capable of being so fucking possessive." you said before you pulled him by the front of his t-shirt. you sealed your lips against his and he started to get his joggers off. his stupid fucking words excited you sexually. and while it was all casual, it was nice to see him get so wound up over you.

you knew he was a sucker for you, and you flirted with that idea. liam didn't get you the stuffed animal, you bought it yourself at the drug store and lied to lando about it. to watch the british driver bite his words because some rookie is trying to get in his territory. it was cute in its patheticness. his clothes came off along with your undergarments.

you watched lando angrily grab one of the condoms out of the box on the nightstand and get it on before his situations himself between your legs. his handsome eyes bore into your heated flesh like he was trying to make holes in your skin. only he got to see you like this, under him and sexually needy.

when he sank into you, he cursed under his breath. you fit like a vice and even with the condom on, he could still feel the heat of your pussy. this was why he didn't want liam lawson to be sniffing around what it is. yeah, it was casual, but that didn't mean lando had to share. call him a selfish prick for that, he didn't care. you were his, and no rookie was going to take that from him.

especially when he leaned forward and started to move against you. he maintained eye contact as he thrusted against you. he held onto the covers under you as used the surface as leverage to work his cock inside of you. the bed creaked under the movements and the slick sounds of fucking filled the air paired with your heated noises.

"shit, that's it. that feels good." lando licked his lips and made eye contact with the stuffed toy near the wall. its plastic eyes watched lando ruin your cunt. stuff it full of him. he knew it was stupid, but he grinned wickedly at the toy as he continued to move against you.

he wished he could take photos of what he was doing to you right at that moment. show liam exactly how to pleasure a woman of your caliber. lando was certain that liam wouldn't even make you cum, that you'd have to fake an orgasm. but you've never faked with lando, he knew it. because he knew your body like he knew his. how to hit at just the right spots to make you see stars.

this casual affair between you two was heated to its roots. lando wanted you more than just sexually. but no amount of luxury he could give you was enough. you weren't easily swayed by material goods. as you once told him, "i'm not a crow, no need to distract me with shiny objects." but lando knew he was going mad every time he saw you with someone else.

you sated every need in his body, why couldn't you simply be his? why did you have to keep so close to the terms of being casual. lando needed you and he didn't need someone else trying to worm their way into your life. he couldn't allow it, he wouldn't allow it.

"look at you, under me. don't need plushies when you got me. you hated gifts, what made lawson so special."

you pushed your luck as you replied, "because he's actually a gentleman. not a panting dog looking to get his dick sucked every hour of every day. he at least knows how to treat a woman." it was all utter bullshit, but you felt lando's pace stagger for a moment from your words.

"bigger than me, princess?" he panted heavily, "does it stretch you out the way i do? leave you a mess? i know you talk big game about wanting a gentleman. so i need to know, is he bigger?"

you reached out and held onto his shoulders tightly, "no." then pulled him in for another kiss. you moaned into the kiss and tightened your thighs around his waist as he fucked you with heavy strokes. the pleasure made your head throb as the he clutched onto the covers tighter.

the pleasure was intense, the movements were rough. the sexual electricity was felt between you two as the kisses got more heated. you liked when lando became a man possessed when it came to his envy. he was a slave to his jealousy when it really gripped him. his breathing were heavy pants as he continued to move against you. the pleasure was a monster inside of him as his movements continued.

when he broke the kiss, he looked down at you with a glint in his eye, "he could never fuck you like this. he could never take you the way i do. he's a pussy." he pressed into you further, his pace was brutal and it made you only hotter.

your orgasm felt close the more he fucked you. the more his heavy thrusts made your mind go blank for a split second. you held onto his shoulders tightly and let him use your pussy to his liking. taking every ounce of pleasure that he could give you. if he was jealous then you were greedy for his cock.

he was right, no one else could ever have you the way he did. no other man could bring you to climax the way he did. he had re-wired your brain sexually that other hook-ups seemed so bland. lando knew exactly how to fuck you. so it was no surprise that after another round of heated kisses, you held onto him tightly and your toes curled.

you came around his cock and he soon came in the condom. you tensed up and lurched forward from the sensation and he kept you pinned down as you both finished. then slowly he came to a stop and grabbed you by the face to kiss you once more.

lando groaned against the kiss and he rubbed his softening cock inside of you to get that extra bit of pleasure before he felt content with what he had done. when he pulled out. he got up to toss the condom and when he got into bed. he grabbed the plush and looked it in its plastic eyes.

before he could make more threats to it. you plucked it from his hands, "either your nice to it or you can make yourself comfortable on my couch tonight."

he made a face and mentally promised himself. is liam lawson thought your affection was for sale, then lando would have to double the offer and make sure that you didn't end up in that rookie's arms. <3

649 notes · View notes

callmeagardengnome · 3 months ago

Text

✗ sugar and sin ✗ | PARK SEONGHWA

pairings ✃ mafia! seonghwa x fem! reader

genre ✃ mafia au, non-idol au, SLOW BURNN

synopsis ✃

seonghwa goes above and beyond to eliminate his targets: going undercover in places they go to most. when you happen to spend your time in a secluded bakery, seonghwa decides to bake your treats with doses of poison - yet somehow, you keep surviving.

in which you thought you made a new friend in your local bakery, when in reality - your ‘baker’ keeps mistaking laxatives for poison.

w.c ✃ 9.1k

c.w ✃ dark themes, some desc of gore, poison, drink-spiking, kiss scene but no smut, very very slight yandere behaviour, cursing, reader + seonghwa are in their 20s (not too relevant to plot), reader wants to be an architect.

author’s note: ngl, this story ended up a little more wholesome than i anticipated but oh well. remember to reblog and comment if you enjoyed, any and all feedback helps!

not proofread!

masterlist

it was official. you were a walking, unkillable creature sent to test seonghwa’s patience.

you had to be at this point. that was the sixth poisoned-cream puff he’d given you this week and you were still talking on the phone about some guy you met at work.

seonghwa’s fingers curled around the register, his knuckles turning white. when was the last time it took him this long to kill someone? five years ago?

time flies by fast - and yet it’s going painfully slow to take. you. out.

“oh my god, no way-“ you laughed suddenly, interrupting his thoughts.

seonghwa sighed, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. he turned around and headed for the kitchen. if you weren’t going to die quickly, the least he could do was distract himself.

“back to baking,” he muttered through clenched teeth.

1 MONTH AGO - SIGHTSEEING

the early morning was cool, damp and filled with the scent of rain. the light drizzle from the grey sky above pattered against the balcony railing as birds chirped louder than the traffic below.

seonghwa sat on the metal chair, placing his steaming cup of tea onto the small table next to him.

the balcony door slid open.

a yawn was heard from behind him. “are you people-watching again?” hongjoong asked, rubbing his eyes.

seonghwa didn’t look back, only nodding in response.

“you’re on food duty now, remember?” hongjoong stepped onto the balcony, sitting on the chair beside his friend. “you don’t need to look for targets..”

seonghwa leaned forward, mumbling, “is it wrong to have hobbies?”

the morning rush was in full swing - people running with umbrellas over their heads, cars splashing through puddles and delivery workers speeding on bikes. it was oddly satisfying to watch, especially when you weren’t a part of any of it.

hongjoong rested his chin on his hand. “i don’t pay you to kill anymore. i hope you know this.”

“yeah, yeah,” seonghwa said absentmindedly, like he’d done many times before - though something caught his attention.

his eyes narrowed, focusing on a girl - must be in her early 20s, hurrying down the sidewalk with a large stack of papers in her arms. her steps were rushed, nearly bumping into the people ahead of her.

and then it happened.

she tripped over her own foot, causing her to stumble forward. the papers flew out of her grasp, scattering onto the crowded pavement. she dropped to her knees, scurrying to gather them.

but before she could, a gust of wind swept most of them down the street.

seonghwa got up from his chair abruptly, his tea long forgotten.

hongjoong raised an eyebrow. “did you see something?”

seonghwa didn’t answer. his attention was fixed on you, your hands moving as fast as possible to salvage the remaining papers. just as you managed to grab a few, a van sped through a nearby puddle, splashing you from head to toe.

you froze, shivering. and to make things worse, the light rain turned into a heavy downpour. “...fuck!”

seonghwa’s eyes lit up in fascination.

he’d never seen someone as unlucky, unfortunate and pathetic as you in all of his years.

you were perfect.

“seonghwa-?”

a slow, almost predatory smirk spread across seonghwa’s lips. he couldn’t take his eyes off of you - the defeated and helpless girl that stood frozen on the pavement, completely drenched.

“i found my target.”

2 WEEKS AGO - IT’S CALLED EMPLOYMENT

the smell of fresh bread and melted butter greeted you as you pushed the bakery door open, the small bell jingling.

“ah ‘____’!” the old baker, mrs earl, said with a smile. “it’s good to see you again.”

you gave her a bright grin. “i brought you the new crossword,” you placed a folded newspaper on the counter.

“oh honey, you’re an angel,” she thanked.

you waved off the praise, already making your way to the display case. you grabbed your free muffin (it wasn’t technically free, but mrs earl adored you enough to turn a blind eye) and took a bite.

as you ate, she wiped her hands with a dishcloth. “you know, a boy came in today. said he wanted a job.”

you raised an eyebrow. “someone applied?”

“mhm,” she nodded, her smile widening. “i was quite shocked, he’s very young- around your age.”

“..huh,” you said, unsure of how to respond. it was hard to imagine someone else your age showing interest in such a bakery.

mrs earl’s eyes twinkled as she giggled, “he was such a gentleman, too. handsome, if i may add.”

you grinned. “mrs earl, are you into him?”

she laughed heartily. “of course not! i still have my boys at the country club..”

“..anyways,” she continued, slightly softer. “with him around, i don’t need to come in anymore.”

“...really?”

she nodded firmly. “why not? i think he’s capable enough to manage things while i go on vacation.”

“..if you say so,” you replied, a little doubtful.

you’ve grown so attached to mrs earl that the idea of someone else stepping in felt.. strange. even then, you quickly pushed those thoughts away. you weren’t going to stop her from having her well-deserved break.

but little did you know - across the street, seonghwa sat on a weathered bench, his eyes following you.

you were an open book, he realised. your patterns were consistent, your routine almost boring in its predictability. lunch breaks at the bakery. post-work visits for a chat and a muffin. your world revolved around this tiny little bakery that it made you so so easy to track.

it was perfect.

and now all he had to do was wait.

1 WEEK AGO - HEY I JUST MET YOU, AND THIS IS CRAZY

holy shit.

mrs earl wasn’t kidding when she said the new hire was handsome.

a man stood behind the counter, arranging pastries with meticulous care. his hair fell perfectly, right out of a shampoo commercial, while his skin looked impossibly flawless and clean.

“...wow,” you breathed out before you could stop yourself.

the man turned, his sharp features softened by a slight tilt of his head.

you blinked rapidly, scrambling to recover. “i mean- hi!” you blurted with a nervous laugh. “i’m ‘____’, i’m a regular here,” you stuck your hand out.

it took a second before he shook your hand, giving you a small, polite smile. “mrs earl told me about you.”

your rubbed the back of your neck. “good things i hope..” you chuckled, earning a nod.

“you’re..” you looked down, squinting to read the name tag pinned neatly to his apron. “seonghwa..?”

“correct.”

as seonghwa moved to the display case, you couldn’t help but watch him. everything about him was so polished, so graceful - it was like he belonged in the movies.

when you saw the row of pastries he was arranging, you raised an eyebrow. that’s different.

he glanced at you. “sorry, i don’t make muffins as good as mrs earl,” he admitted sheepishly. “but i think my cream puffs are up there.”

you stared at the tray of golden, perfectly piped pastries, your mouth watering. “c-can i take one?”

his lips curled into a faint smirk, his eyes darkening slightly. “of course.”

PRESENT - PLOT ARMOUR GOES CRAZYY

outside, the world bustled with its usual chaos, but inside the bakery? everything felt calm - too calm for seonghwa, whose patience was wearing dangerously thin.

from behind the counter, he had an excellent view of you. you chatted animatedly on the phone, the sunlight streaming in making you look annoyingly serene for someone who shouldn’t be here.

“girl- the guy at my office is cutee,” you said as you stirred the remnants of your coffee.

seonghwa’s jaw tightened. the coffee you were sipping had enough poison to kill a sumo wrestler. you should’ve been dead on the floor by now.

so how the hell were you still alive?

blissfully unaware of his glare, you laughed at something your friend said. “are you crazy? why should i make the first move?”

when he first saw you, seonghwa thought you’d be his easiest target yet. he almost pitied you. your sheer unluckiness practically screamed death.

yet here you were, as if life itself decided to mock him.

as you hung up the call, you stood up and strolled to the counter, rummaging through your bag. “how much do i owe you?”

seonghwa shook his head, sighing. “it’s on the house,” he said.

you paused, slipping your phone into your pocket. “seonghwa, you really need to stop giving me free food,” you pulled out a ten-dollar bill.

“but i want to,” he shrugged.

you studied him for a moment, tilting your head. “then can i get another coffee to-go, please?”

his eye twitched.

it was such an harmless request, something seemingly so simple. yet it felt like an insult to his entire career.

still, seonghwa forced a smile, taking the cash. “of course.”

turning to the coffee pot, he poured another cup. when you looked away to check your phone, he sprinkled a little extra poison into the drink - just to be sure.

“thank you so much,” your face lit up as you took the cup from him. “you’re a lifesaver.”

the irony hit him like a truck, but he simply nodded.

as you turned to leave, he stared at the coffee pot, his mind spinning.

how? how?

you were unkillable. immune. an anomaly wrapped in plot armour so thick and absurd it made his chest ache with something he couldn’t name.

obsession, frustration, fascination - it all blurred together into one singular thought:

he needed stronger poison.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

“..helloo?” a hand waved in front of seonghwa, snapping him out of his thoughts.

seonghwa blinked, turning to find wooyoung standing beside him, wooden spoon in hand, his apron splattered in sauces.

“you’re sanding the plate,” wooyoung smirked before turning back to the bubbling pot on the stove.

the sound of running water filled the hideout’s small kitchen, together with the clanging of pots and pans. seonghwa stood over the sink, yellow rubber gloves on his hands as he washed the dishes.

seonghwa looked down - and to his horror, he’d been scrubbing the same spot on the plate for who knows how long. a noticeable mark formed, the glaze nearly wearing off.

wooyoung glanced over his shoulder. “you okay?”

“yeah,” seonghwa replied.

a short silence followed before wooyoung spoke up again. “…you still haven’t killed that girl.”

seonghwa rolled his eyes, nearly breaking the ceramic in his hands. “don’t remind me. she’s invincible.”

“invincible?” wooyoung barked out a laugh, his shoulders shaking. “to you?”

seonghwa’s lips pressed into a thin line, sighing. the memory of the coffee earlier was still fresh in his mind. “my poison doesn’t work on her.”

wooyoung paused. “we have poison?”

“yeah,” seonghwa muttered, rinsing the plate and setting it on the drying rack. “the blue ones in the cupboard.”

wooyoung’s face shifted slowly from confusion, to realisation, to then poorly concealed amusement.

“seonghwa..” he began carefully, facing him. “you know those are laxatives, right..?”

the sponge in seonghwa’s hand nearly slipped into the soapy water. “..what?”

“they’re laxatives,” wooyoung repeated. “i mean, they do look the same, but they’re laxatives.”

seonghwa stared at him. “those are the only ones left- what happened to my poison?”

“we uh-” wooyoung hesitated, shifting on his feet. “we crushed it up and made paint..”

the air in the kitchen turned deathly still.

“you what?”

“i thought no one used it-!”

“i use it-! who makes paint with pills?” seonghwa snapped, his hands gripping the edges of the sink. he exhaled deeply, forcing himself to stay calm. “now i have to get more from that dealer.”

“uhh..” wooyoung cringed.

seonghwa turned to him, narrowing his eyes. “don’t tell me..”

wooyoung gulped, nodding slowly. “...san killed him.”

WEEK 3 - TOUCH GRASS

the sound of your best friend’s voice echoed from your phone as you sat by the window, nibbling on the cream puff seonghwa gave you - again.

“i know this is TMI,” you said quietly. “but i’ve been shitting a lot lately. i don’t know if it's my period or lactose intolerance acting up.”

as you took another bite, the cream puff melted in your mouth, its sweetness making you temporarily forget about your bowel issues.

rejecting it felt stupid - it was free. sure, it was weird that seonghwa kept giving you free food, but mrs earl trusted him, so why shouldn’t you?

still, you couldn’t quite figure him out. the man had a habit of glaring at you from across the bakery. were you that pretty? yes. but his glares didn’t feel like he was admiring you. they leaned more towards… anger.

your friend on the other end of the call burst out laughing - and you joined her for a moment. but before your friend could reply, your phone screen went black.

“ugh, seriously?” you grumbled, tapping the screen repeatedly. with an annoyed sigh, you stuffed the dead phone into your bag.

with nothing else to do, your attention shifted. your eyes eventually landed on seonghwa, who was watching you with a blank face.

it wouldn’t hurt to get to know him, right? after all, you see him everyday - and since your phone died, maybe it’s finally time to get some real human interaction in.

you gave him a wide smile. “hey, seonghwa.”

he blinked, visibly startled. “i uh-”

“-why don’t you sit with me?” you asked. “you’re not busy, are you?”

for a moment, he seemed frozen. but somehow, you managed to convince him to sit across from you.

“so...” you began. “how are you?”

“good.”

you blinked. this wasn’t the riveting conversation you were hoping for.

unfazed, you continued. “how’s work been? stressful?”

he exhaled softly, shaking his head. “it’s fine. how about you? how’s work?”

“it’s alright,” you shrugged. “it’s gotten better since i started coming here. the vending machines at work are always broken.”

he nodded, his fingers drumming lightly on the table. “yeah- it’s even more convenient since it’s walking distance, right?”

you paused.

“...how do you know that?”

seonghwa’s fingers froze mid-tap.

“mrs earl,” he said finally. “she said a lot of her regulars work in the area.”

“oh, that makes sense,” you said, your suspicions fading quickly. you glanced out the window, your face softening. “i miss her..”

seonghwa let out a quiet sigh of relief, nodding as though he agreed with you.

but inside, his mind was screaming. that was way too close.

focus.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

you kicked your shoes and slumped onto the couch, letting out a long sigh. the day had been.. something. your chat with seonghwa was pretty awkward, but more than anything, it made you miss mrs earl.

reaching for your phone, you dialed her number.

“‘____’! my favourite customer,” she greeted cheerfully, the background noise filled with chatter and clinking glasses.

“mrs earl!” you replied. “how are you? are the boys at your country club treating you well?”

“oh, you know how they are,” she giggled. “trying to impress me with golf and fancy dinners. it’s nice to relax for a change.”

you chuckled, sinking deeper into the couch. “that sounds perfect. you deserve it.”

the conversation flowed easily unlike the one earlier. you updated her on the usual - work and office gossip. but eventually, the topic drifted to the bakery.

“i hope the new boy hasn’t burned the place down,” mrs earl began.

“he’s actually a pretty good baker,” you said. “his cream puffs are unreal-”

you paused for a moment before you added. “though i have to say, they make my stomach hurt whenever i eat them.”

the line went quiet.

“...please elaborate,” mrs earl chuckled softly.

“i mean- i don’t know,” you shrugged, even though she couldn’t see it. “after i eat his pastries, my trips to the toilet are… traumatic.” you let out a small laugh. “but they’re so tasty, it’s worth the lactose intolerance.”

another silence followed, longer this time. you frowned slightly, shifting on the couch.

“mrs earl?”

her voice finally came through, slower this time. “that’s.. impossible, my dear.”

“what do you mean?” you asked, sitting a little straighter.

“well,” she began carefully. “the bakery strictly uses oat milk. we don’t use any dairy products in our pastries.”

“...what?”

“the cream, the milk- everything is plant-based,” she continued. “it’s been that way for years. didn’t i tell you that when you first came in?”

you opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out.

mrs earl’s voice broke the silence again. “it could be something else. you’ve been stressed, haven’t you?”

“yeah..” you replied automatically, though your thoughts were far from the conversation.

“take care of yourself, honey,” she said gently. “i have to go, but call me again soon, okay?”

you nodded. “okay.. bye, mrs earl.”

“stay well, ‘____’.”

the call ended, leaving you sitting on the couch, phone in hand. for a long moment, you stared at the screen, her voice echoing in your head.

the bakery strictly uses oat milk.

MONTH 1 - I WAS SPACING OUT

you sat at your regular table by the window, flipping through your notebook while sipping on your coffee.

you tapped your pencil against the table. yes, ‘traumatic’ was probably an exaggeration for your bathroom trips - but if there was no dairy in seonghwa’s cream puffs, then what was messing with your stomach?

you quickly shook your head, a sigh escaping your lips. ‘too weird to think about,’ you thought to yourself. whatever it was, the food was worth it.

you returned back to sketching, taking out your ruler to make straight lines. but as you drew, you couldn’t help but feel a certain someone’s eyes on you.

“you’re staring again,” you said without looking up.

a long pause settled over the bakery before you heard a, “..no, i wasn’t.”

you glanced up, a smile tugging at your lips. “wanna see what i’m working on?”

and that was how seonghwa found himself unusually close to you, sitting beside you as you showed him your sketches - clean lines forming buildings, bridges and intricate floor plans.

“you like drawing?” he asked.

“yeah,” you nodded, flipping to another page. “i wanted to be an architect.”

seonghwa’s brow furrowed slightly. “then why aren’t you doing it?”

you let out a laugh. “because i’m broke,” you said simply. “i’d rather work in an office than take out student loans.”

you flipped through more sketches - some labelled with small notes in the margins while others had more detailed calculations. “it’s just a little hobby of mine.”

seonghwa’s eyes darted between you and the notebook. “this doesn’t look like a hobby,” he muttered.

you raised an eyebrow. “what does it look like then?”

“it looks like something you’re serious about.”

you paused, blinking at him before leaning closer. “i’m serious about a lot of things, seonghwa- but that doesn’t mean i make a career out of them.”

the silence between you stretched as you flipped through the pages. the energy shifted to something you couldn’t quite explain - and as you tilted the notebook to show him a certain sketch, you realised that his eyes weren’t even on the paper anymore, they were on you.

you sighed, closing the notebook. as you slipped it into your bag, you noticed how his eyes were still following you, sharp yet strangely soft with concern.

“don’t worry-” you said, smoothing out your clothes. “i’m perfectly content with where i am now.”

“are you?” he asked.

you met his eyes for a moment longer than usual. “yep,” you finished the last sip of your coffee. “how could i not be? free cream puffs and all, right?”

seonghwa didn’t respond.

“thanks for looking at my sketches,” you smiled, turning away. “hope i didn’t bother you.”

as he watched you walk out the door, he let out a slow sigh he didn’t realise he was holding, running a hand through his hair.

he stared up at the ceiling, leaning back into the chair. and for the first time in a long time, seonghwa felt sympathy.

MONTH 2 - FRIENDSHIP IS MAGIC

over the past few weeks, you developed the habit of waving seonghwa over to join you whenever you stopped by the bakery. what started as polite small talk turned into embarrassing work stories you had.

this afternoon was no different. you sat across from him, coffee in one hand and a half-eaten cookie in the other, complaining about your friends’ latest questionable decision.

“yeah, she doesn’t listen to me,” you took a bite out of the cookie. “like- why fuck him if you hate him, y’know?”

behind his usual composed self, you caught the faintest twitch of seonghwa’s lips, followed by a sound so soft you almost missed it - a low chuckle.

you froze mid-bite. “did you just.. laugh?”

seonghwa raised an eyebrow. “yeah..?”

you leaned forward, eyes wide with excitement. “i’ve never seen you laugh before.”

“i’m sure you have,” he blinked.

“no, i would’ve remembered it,” you shook your head, grinning. “i like it.”

seonghwa choked, caught off guard. before he could even respond or process what you said, his phone buzzed in his apron pocket. he glanced at the screen and frowned.

“excuse me,” he said, heading to the small kitchen in the bakery, leaving you slightly confused.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

seonghwa pressed the phone to his ear. “what?” he asked.

“i got your poison ready,” san’s voice came through.

seonghwa nearly dropped his phone, swallowing the lump in his throat. “...really?”

“yeah- you wanted it extra strong, right?” san continued. “it took some tweaking, but it’s ready to go.”

the baker’s eyes darted to the half-open kitchen door. he could almost picture you sitting on the other side of it. “right… good.”

this was it. no more laxatives, no more delays.

it’s real now.

the thought of finishing the job left a strange knot in his chest - not dread exactly, but something close to it.

he wasn’t supposed to feel this way - no, he’s never felt this way. his work had always been detached. he never tried to make connections outside of the world of crime, didn’t deal with people who weren’t tied to his web of blood.

not until you came along.

you talked to him like he was.. normal. like he was a regular guy in a regular bakery.

he was finally seen as a person, not a killer.

it was refreshing.

“hello?” san’s voice broke him out of his thoughts.

“i uh-“ seonghwa cleared his throat, realising that he was silent for too long. “just leave the poison on my desk. i’ll get it later.

“sure,” san replied before adding, “but don’t overthink it, okay? just get it done.”

seonghwa hung up, staring at his phone for a moment before slipping it back into his pocket.

just get it done.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

from your seat, you only caught bits and pieces of seonghwa’s call. you didn’t mean to listen in, but your ears got carried away.

his voice was low and hard to hear, muffled by the thin walls of the bakery - but one word stood out: poison.

your brows furrowed as you leaned back into your chair, the word echoing in your mind. poison? like food poisoning? did he get it? was that what you had?

you pushed those thoughts out of your mind. after all, what were the odds that your new friend seonghwa said something like ‘poison’ in a bakery of all places? you must’ve misheard.

the door creaked open as seonghwa stepped out, dusting his apron off as he walked back to the table.

“sorry about that,” he said, sitting across from you.

you tilted your head. “everything okay?”

“yeah,” he replied - but you swear you caught a hint of guilt in his eyes. “where were we?”

MONTH 3 - THIS ISN’T FUN ANYMORE

you wandered through the aisles that had shelves lined with tools, appliances and decorations. mrs earl invited you out for a little shopping spree, wanting to pick out a few things for her house.

as she inspected a stack of plates, something caught your attention - a small set of colourful forks, each with cute designs of fruits and animals.

“these are adorable,” you muttered as you picked it up.

mrs earl looked over your shoulder. “i didn’t know you liked these things.”

you shook your head, laughing softly. “oh- i do, but this is for seonghwa.”

“for seonghwa?” she raised an eyebrow.

“yeah,” you nodded. “he’s always giving me free food. i just thought it’d be nice to get him something.”

mrs earl’s lips curved into a knowing smile, though she said nothing. instead, she patted your shoulder and moved to examine another shelf.

over the past few weeks, seonghwa had become quite a good friend of yours. after all, you saw him everyday and you started to look forward to his presence whenever you stopped by.

and honestly? you’ve been wanting to pay him back for ages. all the free pastries, coffees and times he let you ramble on about work without looking annoyed. he needed.. compensation, if that was what it was called.

you sighed. what if he thought you were weird? well, it didn’t really matter - you wanted to do this.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

the bakery was quiet and empty. seonghwa stood at the counter, his fingers gripping a small packet of crushed pills in one hand and the coffee you ordered in the other.

the poison felt heavier that it should, sinking into his palm as a reminder of what he was about to do. his mind spun, his thoughts fuzzy.

was this really happening?

he stared at the packet, his breathing shallow. it took him longer than usual to go near the wretched thing, let alone hold it. now, standing with the poison scarily close to your coffee, the reality set in.

your life was in his hands.

seonghwa’s chest tightened. he could just stop, throw the poison away, pour the coffee down the sink and pretend that none of this happened. after all, no one was forcing him to do this - except himself.

he sighed shakily, his fingers trembling as he began to shove the poison into his pocket.

but then the door swung open. you weren’t supposed to be back yet.

“hey seonghwa-!”

your voice startled him. his eyes snapped to the door as you walked in with paper bags, followed by mrs earl.

“i got you something-“ you said before your smile faltered, your eyes landing on the packet in his hand. “is that.. wait- is that drugs?”

seonghwa coughed, fully shoving it into his pocket quickly. “no- it’s not-”

your eyes narrowed - and before seonghwa could react, you went behind the counter and reached into his pocket, pulling out the packet.

“wait-”

your lips parted as you read the label. “...poison?” you breathed out.

the words hung in the air.

your eyes darted to the coffee cup still clutched in his other hand. it was unmistakably yours, your drink order obvious. and it didn’t take long for the pieces to click.

“are you-“ you gulped. “...are you trying to kill me?” you asked, your voice trembling.

seonghwa stood frozen, unable to respond.

mrs earl, who was trailing behind, looked at the packet in your hand, then at seonghwa.

“what is the meaning of this?” she demanded. she stormed over to him, grabbing a nearby towel and smacking it across his shoulder. “i trusted you with my food! my bakery! and this is what you do?!”

seonghwa flinched but didn’t resist. his eyes, however, weren’t on mrs earl - they were on you.

you were completely still, the poison clutched in your hands.

seonghwa opened his mouth to say something - anything, but the words died before they could form. you couldn’t even look at him, your eyes wide and unfocused.

ignoring how his chest tightened, he turned and dashed - leaving nothing but silence in the bakery.

mrs earl paced angrily, muttering curses under her breath. but you didn’t hear her - you couldn’t. your eyes remained fixed on the packet, your breathing heavy.

you sat down, throwing the poison far away from you. your heart pounded in your chest, each beat louder than the last.

holy shit.

he was going to kill you.

MONTH 4 - ARE WE STILL FRIENDS?

you leaned back in your seat, stretching your arms above your head. you powered down your computer, your office building quiet - working overtime seemed more tiring than usual.

you grabbed your bag, slinging it over your shoulder when your eyes landed on a small box tucked into the corner of your desk.

the fork set.

for weeks, you avoided looking at it. the sight of it was a reminder of the bakery - your now-dead friendship with seonghwa and the moment you realised he tried to kill you.

why did you even keep this?

you didn’t want to bring it home. you didn’t want to keep it at all. maybe it was time to throw it away and be done with it.

you stepped out of your office building, the streets eerily silent. the only source of light you had were the streetlights that shined yellow light onto the pavement.

you clenched the fork set in your hands.

poison.

the word did circles around your mind, sending an uncomfortable feeling throughout your body. was that why your stomach always hurt after eating his pastries? was he actually trying to poison you the whole time?

the idea of it stung. you thought back to all the times you trusted him, to all the times you talked.

was any of it even real?

your thoughts were interrupted by the faint sight of movement you caught from the corner of your eye.

you stopped, glancing to the alley to your left. at first, it was hard to make out what you were seeing, the shadows dark. but then you froze.

a man stood there, holding a gun.

and someone else was infront of him, pinned against the wall.

your breath hitched when you realised who it was.

seonghwa.

his eyes locked onto yours, wide with fear as the gunman barked something you couldn’t hear. his face was bruised, blood smeared along his jaw and soaking his shirt.

you gulped.

this man tried to kill you. you could just.. walk away, pretend this didn’t happen.

you took a step back, everything in your body telling you to leave. but then, seonghwa’s trembling hand reached toward you, his fingers shaking as he silently pleaded.

shit.

you don’t know what compelled you - pity or something else entirely, but your grip tightened on the box in your hand. quickly, you opened it, grabbing the first fork you saw.

without thinking, you chucked it at the gunman.

the fork struck his shoulder with a dull thud, making him whip around in shock, pointing the gun at you.

your heart stopped. this was it.

but seonghwa worked fast.

grabbing the fork, he lunged forward with all the strength he had, driving it into the gunman’s neck.

the man stumbled, choking as he clawed at his throat, slumping to the ground.

seonghwa collapsed to his knees, panting heavily as the fork clattered from his hand to the pavement. blood dripped from his fingertips, pooling around him as he pressed a hand to his side, trying to stop his wound from bleeding.

“...thank you,” he managed to say, his voice hoarse.

you stared at him, your chest heaving. you stepped closer, looking down at his bloodied state. “damn it.”

seonghwa glanced up at you, his eyes filled with… gratitude? sincerity? relief? or was that desperation?

you sighed, shaking your head. “you’re lucky i’m a nice person.”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

“i’m sorry-”

“don’t talk to me,” you cut him off, shoving a cold can of soda into his hand.

you brought seonghwa to your office, the only place you could think of where he wouldn’t be found - or bleed out. he sat in your coworker’s chair, guilt written all over his face.

with a heavy sigh, you sank into your own chair across from him, leaning back as you tried to catch your breath.

for what felt like an eternity, the two of you sat in silence, your eyes locked in an unspoken fight. dark red tissues piled up beside seonghwa as he pressed another one to the cut on his cheek, wincing.

you didn’t want to feel sorry for him. you didn’t want to care. but seeing him like this - injured, his clothes stained with the horrid look of blood, made it impossible to ignore the way your stomach twisted.

“...how did you end up like this?”

your words cracked, betraying the hurt and confusion you tried so so hard to bottle up.

“i-” began before stopping himself, his voice faltering. he pressed his lips into a thin line, looking away from you.

EARLIER THAT DAY

“wha-? you can’t say no, seonghwa,” hongjoong snapped. “this is your job.”

seonghwa slouched deeper into the couch, arms crossed over his chest. his eyes followed his boss as he paced around the room. “i don’t want to go.”

“‘i don’t want to go’,” hongjoong mocked, stopping mid-step to glare at him. “i’m not asking you to go, i’m telling you.”

seonghwa stayed silent.

“come on,” hoongjoong ran a hand through his hair. “we got a tip they’re loitering around these streets. the least you could do is check it out.”

‘they’.

aka the drug cartel that had been bothering hongjoong and the group for months. even then, seonghwa shook his head, refusing his boss’s orders.

hongjoong let out a frustrated sigh. “you’ve been like this ever since you failed to kill that girl. you’re depressed- go outside.”

seonghwa’s head snapped up. “i’m not depressed,” he glared.

“right,” hongjoong chuckled dryly. “because moping and lazing around is normal behavior for you. wake up.”

seonghwa bit back a retort, his nails biting into his palms. he wasn’t depressed. he wasn’t.

was he?

a heavy silence settled over the room. sure, the last few weeks have been.. off. he hadn’t been sleeping well. his appetite was nonexistent. and everytime he thought about you, he felt an ache in his heart that he couldn’t quite shake.

it wasn’t depression. it was just a.. slump.

he was not depressed.

seonghwa sighed, rolling his eyes. “whatever,” he muttered finally. he pushed himself up. “i better be paid good for this.”

PRESENT

seonghwa gulped, staring at the bruises on his arms. finally, he met your eyes, shifting uncomfortably. “...it’s just my job.”

you crossed your arms. “your job?”

he said nothing.

“seonghwa-” you began, leaning forward. “what kind of job leaves you looking like this?”

his shoulders stiffened, and for a moment - you thought he wouldn’t answer. but then he sighed, wiping his bloody hands on his shirt.

“if i tell you,” he said. “you need to promise me something.”

you raised an eyebrow. “promise what?”

“that you won’t tell anyone.”

a dry laugh escaped your lips. “i’m not promising anything. spit it out.”

“...i’m in a gang.”

“wha-” you stared at him, your face blank for a second before you let out a snort and cackle. “you’re joking, right?”

but when he didn’t laugh, you froze.

“wait- you’re not joking?” you asked, your voice quieter.

he shook his head.

his words hit you like a wave. your mind spun, connecting the dots - the poison, his sketchy behaviour, the guilty look in his eyes - it all fell into place.

“...is that why you tried to kill me?” you asked after a long pause. “what did i do?”

“that’s..” seonghwa trailed off, looking away. “unrelated.”

you rolled your eyes. “of course it is.”

his face softened into something almost remorseful. “i don’t really know how to talk about this,” he said. “but i know i’m sorry.”

“you didn’t have to save me, but you did,” he leaned forward. “and i keep wondering why- because if it was the other way around, i don’t think i would’ve done the same.”

you raised your eyebrow.

“i’m sorry, really,” he said, quieter now. “i don’t know what else i can say, but i just.. i don’t want you to think i’m taking any of it lightly.”

you stared at him, surprised by how sincere he was. “seonghwa..”

“i know an apology won’t fix anything,” he said. “but i’ll do whatever it takes to make it right.”

“whatever it takes?” you asked, furrowing your brows.

he nodded quickly.

you scoffed, leaning in closer, your eyes piercing his. “if you really mean that, prove it.”

“i will,’ he said immediately.

“…uhuh,” you looked him up and down before standing, grabbing your bag. “you can start by cleaning the blood off of my coworker’s chair.”

he let out a faint chuckle, though it was more self-deprecating than anything. before you walked away, you paused, turning back to him.

“seonghwa?”

“yeah?”

you stepped closer, grabbing his collar and pulling him towards you. “before you try anything stupid, remember this: i still have that poison of yours.”

MONTH 5 - WALK HIM LIKE A DOG

you had to admit - it was convenient having your own personal assistant, even if the circumstances were… complicated.

it wasn’t like you asked for this arrangement. seonghwa brought it upon himself, showing up whenever you called.

printer jammed? he’d be there in ten minutes. out of pens? he’d have a pack delivered to your desk. of course you didn’t trust him with tasks involving your drinks or food, but even then - he made himself useful with other things.

over time, you got used to calling him for simple errands - and he never complained.

it was most definitely awkward though, especially when he tried to make small talk with you.

“..your hair looks nice,” he said once as he stood by your desk.

“thanks,” you replied, not looking up from your screen.

a moment passed. you glanced over your shoulder, raising an eyebrow when you noticed he was still standing there. “...do you need something?”

he quickly shook his head, turning away as he muttered an apology.

you’d be lying if you said you didn’t find it amusing. as much as you hated to admit it, having him around wasn’t unbearable.

as days turned into weeks, the distrust you held so tightly began to loosen its grip. it wasn’t like you forgot what he did, there were just moments when he seemed normal.

“you’re terrible at this,” you smirked, watching him struggle to assemble the new office chair you ordered.

he looked up at you. “i might be terrible, but at least i can read the instructions.”

you laughed.

but then you’d remember.

you’d remember the poison, the fact that this man tried to kill you for what seemed like no reason.

and everything goes back to square one.

MONTH 5.5 - T.G.I.F BY KATY PERRY

that friday, your coworkers insisted on dragging you out for a night at the club.

“let’s get wasted!” they said. “it’ll be fun!” they said.

that was probably a lie, but you gave in, changing your clothes before heading out.

neon lights shined erratically, painting the crowd in shifting shades of red, blue and green. bass-heavy music filled the club, so loud that it felt like waves went through your body. it was chaotic and packed to the brim with bodies swaying and stumbling.

it’d only been ten minutes and you already lost sight of your coworkers in the sea of people.

“shit,” you muttered under your breath, trying to find the exit.

you pushed through drunk, clumsy dancers, finally spotting the door. but as you approached it, two towering men stepped infront of it, their shoulders forming an impenetrable wall.

“wha-?” you frowned, stopping. “i can’t leave?”

they didn’t respond.

“fine, whatever,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes. if you were going to be stuck here, might as well grab a drink.

you made your way to the bar, squeezing between a group of rowdy patrons to get the bartender’s attention. but just as you opened your mouth to order, you heard a voice behind you.

“hey, angel.”

you paused, glancing behind to see a man standing way too close. he was quite well-dressed, but an unsettling smirk settled on his face.

“excuse me?” you raised an eyebrow.

“can i buy you a drink?” he purred, leaning closer. “i think i’ll regret it if i don’t.”

you blinked. “no, it’s okay-“

“-two shots of tequila,” he called out to the bartender, cutting you off.

you stared at him, barely processing his words before a shot glass was placed infront of you, the clear liquid weirdly fizzing.

“thank you, but i don’t-“

“drink.”

before you could react, his hand was at the back of your head, tilting it back as he pressed the shot glass to your lips. the liquid burned as it slid down your throat - making you cough violently while the heat seared your chest.

“wha- what is happening?” you mumbled. your limbs felt heavy and your head was spinning as your vision blurred.

the man’s smirk deepened, his face inches from yours as he gripped your wrist. “let me ask you something, angel.”

you blinked, your thoughts sluggish and messy.

“what do you know about a man named park seonghwa?”

the name hit you in the face, your breath hitching. “i-”

his grip on your wrist tightened painfully. “answer.”

“he’s just a baker,” you said quickly.

the man chuckled darkly, the sound sending a chill down your spine. “are you sure?”

you nodded, unable to form a response.

he leaned closer, his breath hot against your ear. “then why did he poison my boss a few months ago?”

poison.

that stupid stupid word haunting you again.

the man laughed again, low and ominous. “you had a reaction there- you know something i don’t?”

you shook your head weakly, the motion making your dizziness worse. your knees buckled slightly, making you grip the edge of the sticky counter to steady yourself.

suddenly, the man’s phone buzzed in his pocket. he pulled it out, still holding you firmly in place.

“yeah,” he said after a moment. “i got his girlfriend right here.”

your eyes widened. “i’m not his girlfri-”

before you could finish, his hand clamped over your mouth, muffling your words.

“sleep,” he whispered, your world fading to black.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

seonghwa laid in bed, staring at the ceiling where his fan spun. with a sigh, he shifted under the covers, letting sleep take over him.

but just as he closed his eyes, his phone buzzed on the nightstand. his brows furrowed as he reached for it.

he swiped to answer it, not looking at the screen. “yes?”

“hey seonghwa,” a low, gruff voice was heard on the other end.

instantly, he was wide awake, sitting upright in the bed. his grip on the phone tightened. “...who is this?”

the voice chuckled. “i got your pretty little girlfriend right here- knocked out like a light.”

seonghwa paused. “...girlfriend?”

“yeah,” the man replied. “the chick you’re always hanging around. surprised you weren’t with her, thought i’d have to put up a fight.”

seonghwa’s blood turned cold as the realisation hit.

you.

he didn’t waste another second. he hung up immediately, throwing off the covers as he leapt out of bed, grabbing his jacket.

his footsteps echoed through the hideout as he stormed toward jongho’s room. he barged through the door without knocking, startling jongho who was hunched over his gaming setup.

jongho spun around in his chair. “what the hell-?”

“trace this number. now,” seonghwa shoved the phone into jongho’s hands.

jongho blinked. “i’m in the middle of a game.”

“i don’t care.”

jongho groaned, taking his headset off as he tapped the phone screen. “fine.”

seonghwa paced around the room like a caged animal - his fists clenching and unclenching as he tried to calm himself down. if they’d taken you, it was most definitely his fault.

“got it,” jongho said after a while, typing something into his laptop. “you want me to track the phone too?”

“yes-” seonghwa snapped. “hurry.”

jongho glanced up at him, his brows furrowed. “what’s going on?”

“someone has her,” seonghwa muttered.

jongho’s eyes widened slightly, his fingers flying over the keyboard. “i thought you were over her?”

“wha- no,” seonghwa glared at him. “just find her.”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

you slowly woke up, your head throbbing. your first attempt to open your eyes was met with darkness. no - something pressed against your face. a blindfold.

your body felt stiff, the coarse bite of rope digging into your wrists and ankles. inhaling shakily, you realised something else: your mouth was muffled by a towel, trapping your cries before they could escape.

panic ran around your mind as you tried to make sense of your surroundings. the surface beneath you swayed gently - and you could hear the occasional creak of metal together with muffled voices. a vehicle. you were in a moving vehicle.

but out of nowhere, you heard a shout.

“shit!”

the vehicle swerved violently, the tires screeching against the asphalt with a sound sharp enough to make you wince. your body jerked with the motion, the restraints keeping you in place. tears spilled beneath your blindfold, your breaths shallow and rapid against the towel.

the screeching came to an abrupt stop, followed by the jarring slam of a door.

what came next was a symphony of screams and the sickening, wet sounds of a blade piercing flesh, bodies hitting the ground. you clenched your fists, trembling.

the next door opened.

another scream.

another stab.

then silence.

your chest heaved, your heart pounding so loudly it drowned out everything else. was this it? were you next?

then your blindfold slipped away.

your eyes fluttered open, the tears caught in your lashes making your eyelids feel heavy. when your vision eventually cleared, the first thing you saw was him.

seonghwa. his face splattered with blood, his dark eyes wide as he searched yours. his chest rose and fell as he tried to catch his breath.

“are you okay?” he asked, removing the towel from your mouth.

tears spilled down your cheeks faster now, your emotions overwhelming you in a way you’ve never felt before.

seonghwa’s face softened as he wiped your tears with his thumb, the blood on his hands smearing across your skin.

he moved to the ropes binding your wrists and ankles, his hands working quickly.

“i’m sorry,” he said softly. “i’m so sorry- shit. i should’ve stayed away from you.”

the moment you were free, you threw your arms around him. he stiffened at first, caught off guard, but then his hands moved to your back.

your body shook against his as you cried. over his shoulder, you saw the man at the bar - his lifeless body crumpled on the ground, stab wounds dotting him.

“i’m so sorry,” seonghwa whispered again, his hand rubbing slow circles on your back. “this is all my fault.”

you pulled back slightly, your face still wet with tears. his hands stayed on your shoulders. “did they hurt you?” he asked softly.

you shook your head.

the vehicle fell into a heavy silence, the only sounds being your sniffling.

seonghwa gulped. “i’m sorry-”

“-thank you,” you said at the same time.

both of you froze, your words overlapping.

you chuckled, tears still clinging to your lashes.

“i’m really sorry,” he said once more, his voice cracking.

you studied him for a moment, taking in his disheveled hair, the blood on his skin and the exhaustion in his eyes.

“...were you sleeping?” you asked, noticing the pajama shirt peeking out from under his jacket.

“yeah, i was about to.”

your eyes widened. “you saved me even though you were about to sleep?”

he raised an eyebrow. “was i not supposed to?”

you stared at him, stunned. “...thank you.”

MONTH 6 - JUST DO IT

you’ve been staring at the text for hours, the words glowing on your phone screen.

let’s meet up.

seonghwa sent it to you that morning. no follow-up, no explanation, just those three words. and yet, they felt more heavy than you could even imagine.

what could you even say?

you tried to distract yourself, grabbing your laptop and scrolling through social media, but nothing held your attention for more than a second. your mind kept drifting back to the message.

your phone buzzed, the screen lighting up with another notification. not him. but you couldn’t stop yourself from looking at the text again.

let’s meet up.

‘he saved you-’ you reminded yourself. ‘-but he also tried to kill you.’

it should’ve been simple. black and white. a clear boundary between trust and mistrust. but nothing about seonghwa was simple.

when you thought about him, the first thing that came to mind wasn’t the poison or the lies.

it was his hands, trembling as he untied you.

it was his voice, breaking with regret as he apologised.

it was the way he looked at you, like he didn’t deserve your forgiveness but was desperate for it anyway.

you hated it.

you hated that he saved you. hated how jumbled your feelings were.

and most of all, you hated how much time you spent thinking about him and his stupidly flawless face.

you groaned, tossing your phone onto the couch. “this is ridiculous.”

this wasn’t what you needed right now. you grabbed your bag and went out the door. maybe grocery shopping would clear your head.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

the store was crowded, filled with after-work shoppers. you walked aimlessly, picking up a few essentials here and there, but your mind was still on that text.

you stopped at the fridges, grabbing a drink. but as you turned to place it in your basket, you collided with someone. “watch it-” you began.

your words fell short when you realised you bumped into seonghwa, his phone in one hand and an awkward expression on his face. his eyes widened - and for a moment, neither of you spoke.

“hey,” he said finally.

you blinked, letting out a nervous chuckle. “hey,” you raised your free hand in a small wave.

“...can we talk?”

you nodded slowly. “yeah,” you put your drink into your basket. “what’s up?”

seonghwa glanced around, looking at the other shoppers nearby. “maybe not here.”

you nodded, heading to the checkout line without another word.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

you sat beside seonghwa on a wooden bench, your grocery bag resting at your feet. the both of you settled down in a park, a quieter and less busy place where you could actually breathe.

you reached for your drink, opening it. “thirsty?” you asked, holding it out to him.

he shook his head.

“i didn’t poison it,” you smirked.

seonghwa gave you a look, his ears turning pink. “you know i feel bad about that,” he muttered.

you chuckled softly, taking a sip. “sorry, sorry,” you said, turning to face him fully. “what did you want to talk about?”

he paused, hesitating as he fiddled with the edge of his jacket. “i just wanted to apologise,” he said finally.

you sighed setting the drink aside. “seonghwa- this is the hundredth time you’ve said that.”

“i know but-”

“i forgive you,” you said, your mouth moving faster than your mind.

his head snapped up, his eyes wide with disbelief. “what?”

“i forgive you,” you repeated, more confidently this time.

“...really?” he asked, completely shocked.

“yeah,” you shrugged. “you saved me. and it’s not like i can stay mad at you forever.”

seonghwa blinked. “you definitely can,” he said. “i wouldn’t blame you for it.”

silence fell between you, heavy but not uncomfortable.

his fingers brushed against yours accidentally - and he instantly pulled his hand back, his face turning a shade of red. “oh my god- i’m so sorry-”

“seonghwa,” you interrupted, reaching for his hand and holding it gently - his fingers slightly calloused. “stop apologising.”

“i can’t help it,” he admitted quietly.

everything seemed to come to a standstill.

the distant sounds of birds chirping and leaves rustling faded into the background. your eyes locked, time pausing.

neither of you spoke.

slowly, almost unconsciously, you both leaned closer. the faint warmth of his breath brushed against your lips, uneven and nervous, mirroring your own.

you blinked, your breath caught in your throat when you realised just how close his face was to yours. “woah..” you whispered.

seonghwa immediately leaned back, clearing his throat. “sorry-”

before he could retreat any further, you reached out instinctively, your fingers curling around his jaw - his skin hot under your touch. “stop saying that,” you mumbled, your thumb brushing lightly against his cheek.

he froze, his eyes searching yours for something - permission, reassurance or maybe a blend of both.

you saw how he looked down at your lips for a split second, his adam’s apple bobbing. “...is this okay?” seonghwa breathed out shakily.

you smiled softly, your thumb tracing slow circles on his jaw. “of course.”

the moment his lips pressed against yours, the world disappeared.

his shoulders relaxed as he leaned into you, his hand rising to cup your cheek. his touch was careful, as if he was afraid of hurting you in some way.

your lips moved together in a soft, slow rhythm, the warmth of him spreading through you like a comforting fire.

the sensation was intoxicating - and you found yourselves melting into each other’s touch.

seonghwa’s breath hitched as he tilted his head slightly, deepening the kiss. his heart pounded against yours, a blush creeping up his neck, leaving him lightheaded.

when you finally pulled back, your lips were tingling. and before you could say anything, seonghwa leaned forward again, leaving a trail of kisses along your jawline.

“hey!”

a voice broke the moment like a needle popping a balloon. both of you jumped, your heads snapping toward the sound.

a parent stood not too far away, their hands clamped over their child’s eyes. “please do this at home or something,” they said, glaring at the two of you before walking away quickly.

you and seonghwa exchanged a look, your cheeks flushing as you tried to stifle your laughter.

“yeah,” he said, looking into your eyes, then at your lips. “let’s do this somewhere else.”

series taglist [OPEN] - @hanoishere @scuzmunkie @sinfullygay @arusio @midnightrebel1028 @neemaxx @seungminsrighthand @arilevenatz @ateezswonderland @beabatiny @lemirabitur @sunnyhokyu @frzzenfrxg @cylovesmg @txtsoobean @seonghwasslytherin @sundaybossanova @sweetinsaniiity @cybrnaya @choisanchwego @mrskill2 @devilzliaison @scary-thingz @gaonashi @jonghosbrainrot @mintchocoyum

BONUS SCENE - CUE THE MARIACHI BAND

you stirred awake to the faint aroma of something tasty wafting through the air. groggily, you rubbed your eyes open, only to find seonghwa standing by the bed, a tray in his hands.

“happy anniversary,” he said softly, his lips curving into a smile.

you pushed yourself up on the pillows, your eyes wide with surprise as you took in the tray - a plate of freshly baked bread and scrambled eggs.

“thank you..” you mumbled, half-asleep but touched by the gesture.

seonghwa stepped closer, carefully placing the tray on your lap. he leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead. “eat quickly,” he said with a hint of excitement. “i got you something.”

you raised an eyebrow. “i thought we said no gifts this year.”

he shrugged, smirking. “i lied.”

you rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t stop a smile from forming on your lips. you grabbed a piece of bread and started eating. it was perfect, just like everything he made.

when you were finished, you slid out of bed, wrapping your cardigan tighter around yourself. you walked to where seonghwa was, sitting next to him.

“seonghwa,” you began. “we agreed- no gifts.”

“i know,” he said, reaching for something on the coffee table. “but i changed my mind.”

your eyes landed on the envelope in his hands. you stared at it as he handed it to you, your brows furrowing slightly. “what’s this?” you asked, taking it hesitantly.

“open it.”

sliding your finger under the seal, you pulled out a letter. as your eyes skimmed the words, your jaw dropped.

“...is this-?”

“yeah.”

“you paid for my school?!” you exclaimed in disbelief.

he nodded. “you wanted to be an architect, right?”

“i do but..” you looked at him in shock, the letter trembling in your hands. “isn’t it expensive?”

“so?” he leaned closer to you, pulling you gently towards him.

your lips parted, trying to form words. “but you paid in full-”

“it doesn’t matter,” he cut you off softly, pecking your cheek. “i wanted to do it. for you.”

you searched his eyes, completely stunned. he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a tender kiss.

when you eventually pulled away, he didn’t let you go fully. instead, he smiled, brushing a strand of hair away from your face before pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. “happy anniversary.”

deleted scenes | other fics

798 notes · View notes

shushmal · 9 months ago

Text

The latest Family Video customer is barely through the door before Eddie explodes, "Ugh, Tyler."

Beside him, Steve scoffs in agreement, nose wrinkled with distaste. He's so hot. "Yeah, exactly, uugh."

"That should be his middle name. Ugh," Robin chimes in. Eddie's so glad they're in agreement about the bleach-spiked punk guy that graduated three years ago but is still bumming around Hawkins. "Steve, I can't believe you dated that guy."

Seriously, Tyler is the worst— Wait, what—?

"Wait," Eddie says, gaping at Robin. "What?"

"You could barely call it dating," Steve huffs.

"You were together for a month and a half," Robin says. She's got this evil grin on her face and is pointedly not looking at Eddie who is very desperate for Robin to look at him right now, please. "You drove that bum to Indy every weekend. He broke up with you on Valentine's day."

Eddie's weak "Tyler? Tyler Teaks?" gets completely ignored.

"I—" Steve says with haughty emphasis. "—broke up with him on Valentine's day. Don't get it twisted, Buckley."

Robin snorts and finally glances at Eddie. "Steve only broke up with him because the guy blew him off. On Valentine's Day. Which is basically getting broken up with," she tells him, and ignores it when Eddie whimpers at her.

"Yeah, but I'm the one to ended it!" Steve insits.

Eddie, finally, finds his voice, and says, "Tyler Teaks?! Harrington!"

"Ugh," Steve says, slumping against the counter. "I know." He cuts a glare over at Eddie after a moment. "I blame you for this."

"Me?!" Eddie shrieks, incredulous. He's pretty sure he's stepped into another parallel world. Perpendicular world? A world where Steve apparently dates guys—and guys like Tyler Teaks, no less. Eddie's sure he's gone completely batshit insane. "What the hell did I do?!"

Steve stands, cocking his hip the side, and looks down his handsome nose at Eddie. "You wouldn't be my New Year's kiss at Tina's party," he says. "So I had to settle for Tyler Teaks instead."

"What the fuck?" Eddie says, completely lost. "What—? You—? Tina—? KISS—?!"

Beside them, Robin is grinning, laughing, eyes going back and forth between them, munching on a stolen back of skittles—her own personal dramedy on stage before her.

"Yep," Steve says, popping the P. He looks distinctly bitter. "Pulled my best moves on you, and you turned me down."

"Steve," Eddie breathes. He reaches out, places both hands on Steve's shoulders, intent. The eye contact he forces Steve into is desperate. "I don't even remember getting to Tina's New Year's Party." He takes a deep breath. "I woke up in her mom's pantry the next morning with no shoes and no memory of how I got there."

Finally, Steve cracks, a big smile stretching his face. Robin cackles. "Yeah, I kind of figured as much," Steve sighs, wistful now. "You told me, and I quote, 'Steve Harrington, you are very beautiful and I want to have a summer wedding because you'd look beautiful-er with sunflowers'—"

"Don't forget the 'you look so hot in that sweater' part."

"—'But actually, I am a very straight man. So very super straight.' And then you crouched down on the floor and crawled away." Steve is biting his lip now to keep from laughing. Robin is not so nice. "Like I couldn't see you, and the handkerchief flagging in your pocket."

"Oh my god."

"Don't worry, it was really cute," Steve says, grinning. "But, I still needed a New Year's kiss, and unfortunately for everyone involved, Tyler was my only willing choice."

"Oh my god."

"Totally duped me though, he was super sweet the entire night," Steve sighs. His mouth is twisted into genuine regret now. "Plus, the next week, you acted like you'd never spoken to me before, so—"

"OH MY GOD."

Steve and Robin give him twin grimaces. Robin's is a lot more sympathetic. Steve's is confused. "Listen, man," Steve tries to soothe. "I'm sure that's pretty embarrassing, but it was a cute story! No hard feelings, I promise."

Robin's sympathetic grimace deepens.

"No," Eddie says, standing up straight. "I refuse. There is no way I turned down Steve Harrington for a New Year's kiss. There is no way."

"Wait—"

"Eddie, where—"

Eddie marches for the door, digging his keys out of his pockets. "Good-bye friends, I must go see a supergirl about time travel."

#stranger things #steddie #steddie fic #eddie circa jan. 31 1986 at midnight after seeing steve making out with the actual devil (the punk guy he hates):#“i must forget this immediately” and drinks an entire bottle of vodka #he unfortunately does not get to time travel back and fix his sins (or drown his stupid former self in Tina's hottub)#steve needs to stop going to tina's parties :|#this came to me in the shower #i was possessed by the steddie shower demon #shush mal #my steddies

2K notes · View notes

xoxo-sincerely-me · 11 days ago

Text

𝑫𝒆𝒂𝒓 𝒅𝒊𝒂𝒓𝒚,

𝒕𝒐𝒅𝒂𝒚 𝑰 𝒂𝒎 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒐𝒖𝒄𝒉𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒗𝒆𝒅!𝑽𝒊.

𝑪𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔 𝒑𝒂𝒈𝒆…

𝑩𝒆𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒅𝒂𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒎𝒆𝒂𝒏𝒔 𝑰 𝒉𝒖𝒓𝒕 𝒎𝒚 𝒐𝒘𝒏 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆𝒔, 𝒔𝒐 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒈𝒐 𝒍𝒎𝒂𝒐…

꩜touchstarved!Vi who is borderline touch averse when you start dating

꩜touchstarved!Vi who’s initial idea of casual intimacy is a fist bump

꩜touchstarved!Vi who starts off subtle : interlocking your pinkies wherever you go, legs entangled whilst you sit in a restaurant, tugging/playing with your hair in public spaces

꩜touchstarved!Vi who musters up the courage to ask to be held whilst she sleeps after a particularly hard day

꩜touchstarved!Vi who wakes up and follows you to the bathroom when you get up and go in the middle of the night

꩜touchstarved!Vi who bullies her way into your arms no matter what your doing

꩜touchstarved!Vi who squeezes herself between you and the couch when you’re lying on it

꩜touchstarved!Vi who gets a taste of skin-to-skin when she falls asleep immediately after cumming one night and wakes feeling the most rested she has in her life

꩜touchstarved!Vi who starts to crave skin-to-skin like breathing

꩜touchstarved!Vi who begs you to wear big shirts so she can wear them with you inside them

꩜touchstarved!Vi who noses at your nipples from under your shared shirt

꩜touchstarved!Vi who nuzzles into your chest like she can carve a space between your ribs for her to live

꩜touchstarved!Vi who hangs off you at home, standing right up against you when your cooking with her arms wrapped as far around you as possible, face smooshed into you skin

꩜touchstarved!Vi who sits on the floor between your legs whilst you sit on the couch leaning her head against your legs with her arm wrapped around your calf; trailing kisses and hickeys where she can reach

꩜touchstarved!Vi who pulls your unoccupied hands up to cup her face and nuzzle into them.

꩜touchstarved!Vi who can’t sleep unless your hands are in her hair, scratching her scalp

꩜touchstarved!Vi who never fails to end up sleeping directly on top of you

꩜touchstarved!Vi who learns to accept that she doesn’t have to NEED your touch she can just want it

(｡•́︿•̀｡) 𝑰’𝒗𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒌𝒆𝒚 𝒑𝒖𝒕 𝒐𝒇𝒇 𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒃𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒊𝒕’𝒔 𝒔𝒐 𝒔𝒐𝒇𝒕 𝒃𝒖𝒕…

𝑰’𝒎 𝒕𝒐𝒐 𝒐𝒃𝒔𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒑𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒕

𝑨 𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝒄𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑰’𝒎 𝒖𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝑰 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒊𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒚𝒘𝒂𝒚 (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

𝒙𝒐𝒙𝒐

𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒍𝒚, 𝒎𝒆

473 notes · View notes

navybrat817 · 3 months ago

Note

Is tattoo artist!Bucky doing well?

Is Bucky doing well, nonnie? Yes.

Pairing: Tattoo Artist!Bucky Barnes x Baker!Female Reader

Word Count: Over 500

Warnings: Oral sex (f. receiving, m. referenced), established relationship, slight feels, Bucky Barnes

A/N: Just another manic Moanday.

Banner by the talented @cafekitsune

And why is Bucky doing well?

Because he’s currently on his knees in your kitchen, feasting on you like one of your delicious treats you make so well.

He couldn't help himself since you decided to wear a dress while you baked. You looked so domestic, so welcoming, so delicious, and what kind of boyfriend would he be if he didn’t flip your dress up and have a taste? He had watched you long enough from the doorway, and he didn’t allow you to protest when he hoisted you up onto the counter and silenced you with a deep kiss.

You giggled into his mouth and he happily swallowed down the sound. “Hey. I’m baking for you.”

“You bake every day and I love that,” he smiled, dragging your bottom lip between his teeth. “But I want the dessert between your thighs.”

“You're always hungry,” you teased, allowing him to drop to his knees and peel off your soaked underwear.

“I am. And you're always wet for me,” he smirked, your tattooed god spreading your legs with ease. He barely touched you and the fire within you had already been stoked. “You’re sweet and you act sweet, but you're also a naughty girl, Sugar.”

“I’m not just a naughty girl, Hottie.” You looked down at him as his eyes devoured the sight of your pussy. The same way he’d devour you with his mouth. “I’m your naughty girl.”

He brought that side of you out, the side that craved for him to bury himself between your thighs. Face or cock, whatever he’d give you. Your body would gratefully accept him.

“All mine,” he whispered, flicking your clit with his tongue and spreading fiery shocks through your body before he dipped his tongue down. His groan vibrated against you when you tugged on his hair. “Tastes so fucking good. Could eat you every day and never get enough.”

“What if I want a treat?” you moaned, your thighs trembling as his skillful tongue swirled patterns and letters. He traced the word “mine”, which nearly made you splinter around him. He followed it with a heart, which made your heart melt.

“What kind of treat?” he asked, your pussy throbbing when he slipped a finger in. He buried it up to the knuckle, and the ring around his finger had you throwing your head back.

“I have… leftover frosting. Let me…” you whimpered and took a breath. “Spread it on your cock and you can fuck my throat,” you rushed out.

It was silly, but you felt like a goddess when you took your boyfriend apart. The way he moaned your name, told you how good you were for him. Why wouldn’t you want to please him?

He groaned, pulling back to gently nip your thigh. “You’re too good to me, Sugar, but let me finish getting my sugar before you get yours.” he said, his voice husky. “And maybe I can give your pretty mouth and pussy some cream.”

“You did not just…” He dove back in and turned your words into a passionate cry.

And you got no baking done that afternoon, but you and Bucky were both plenty full by the end.

Nothing to see here, lovelies. Go about your business. ❤️ Love and thanks! ❤️

463 notes · View notes

brooklyn-babylon · 3 months ago

Text

all the sins you didn’t have

by brooklyn_babylon / @twopoppies (E, 100K)

It’s 1880, and premier danseur Harry Styles is running out of time. At twenty-five, he’s fast becoming too old for the lecherous benefactors who frequent The Paris Opera Ballet’s infamous backstage, and the only way to ensure he isn’t left penniless or rotting away in a brothel is to secure a permanent patron.

Enter Lord Louis Tomlinson: wealthy, young, handsome. And, unfortunately, a notorious rake. Harry strikes him and his gigantic ego off the list immediately… At least until they realize they have a common set of enemies and a common goal: revenge.

Though their ruse starts smoothly enough, the decadent freedom of Belle Époque Paris gives way to the rigid social rules of aristocratic Victorian London. Can a relationship that started as a calculated deception withstand the harsh realities of societal expectations and family duty to become a love more honest and profound than either has ever known?

#all the sins you didn't have #my fic #larry fanfiction #larry fic #larry stylinson #atsydh

549 notes · View notes

kamiversee · 3 months ago

Text

𓆩 Crown of Sin 𓆪

Segment I Chapter: One

❀ ~ Synopsis > In which you’re a princess who's given a total of six months to converge & inaugurate a solid plan secure enough to rid you of your fated marriage arrangements to Naoya Zenin.

❀ ~ Content > language, arranged marriage, tension from all over, bickering, mentions of a harem, etc.

❀ ~ Word Count > 5.6k

❀ ~ Pairings > jjk men & women x f!reader.

{ chapters m!list }

——You would rather die a thousand times over than become Naoya Zenin’s wife.

Something unorthodox must’ve plagued the mind of your parents this morning because there is simply no way they’d worked up such an audacity to happily relay this information to you. You were to be wed in six months time and yet, this is your first time hearing of such a proposal.

Hell, you hadn’t even received a literal proposal from this alleged fiancé of yours so, who exactly was orchestrating such a wedding and why had you no say nor awareness in it before now?

“You two are humoring me right now, yes?” Your voice had carried throughout the space of the throne room with such grace that all the attendees of this rather small gathering couldn’t help but have their eyes drawn to you.

The few maids, guards at their posts within the room, your own mother and father who sat oh-so-comfortably upon their thrones, and the few others who were allowed to be in this space as such information was presented to you. Being the one to have ripped the bandage off and relayed said information to you recently, your mother cannot help but find her eyes drifting over to her husband for help.

The two exchange a knowing glance and you watch as they swallow down whatever nerves may have rested center in their throats. Then, your father’s shoulders raise ever so slightly and he averts his eyes over to you.

Voicing your name in that aged gruff tone of his, followed by a slight clearing of his throat, he begins to break the wafted air of silence. “You must understand that this is for the betterment of our nation. We rival none aside from the eastern nation so, naturally, it is only in our best interest to have you wed with the heir to the Zenin family throne.”

You scoff, openly. Eyes widen around the room and looks are exchanged by many but how do people expect you to react to this? Are you meant to be joyous about marrying the most pompous individual across all the lands, a man of which you have only ever encountered maybe two or three times in all your years of living?? Yeah, fuck that.

“So, I am meant to marry this man in six months' time, the engagement will be officially announced at tonight’s ball, and I haven’t a single say in this entire ordeal?” You breathe out carefully, your head tilting and eyes narrowing at the worried eyes of your parents.

Your mother responds with a shaky sigh, “Darling, we hadn’t any choice in this either. Our only options were to marry you off or go to war and we do not have the defenses to—”

“They threatened us?” You interrupt, another act that receives appalled looks from those spectating. “Please tell me you jest, mother. What could the East possibly hope to gain from going to war with us? We’ve been at peace for years and now all of a sudden—”

“Permission to speak,” Chimes another voice. Your eyes flick to your father’s left, landing on the one man he trusts with his life more than anyone else, your nation’s military general; Masamichi Yaga. “Your Highness.” He finishes off, gaze firm on the area of which you stand.

You take a moment to stare, taking in his roughened appearance despite the uniform that fits him so snuggly. Without realizing it, your eyes rake over his form up and down about twice before he clears his throat to break your lingering stare. “Granted,” You eventually allow with a nod of your head.

Yaga straightens up where he stands and exchanges a look of knowing with your father before he speaks loud and clear, “You are the princess of the second largest nation in our continent.” He states with a slightly quirked brow.

Which prompts you only to roll your eyes a bit.

“I believe you out of anyone else should understand the natural target that is placed on your back. Especially considering you are also the only princess in said continent. You’ve been at the age liable for marriage for a few years now and the reality of this has finally set in. The marriage itself is to join the East nation and the West into one. Should you refuse Naoya’s hand, he would simply join the two nations by…” A slight grimace is noticed within his expression, “Force.”

Yet another scoff falls softly from your lips, “You say this to me as if he is incapable of marrying a man. Surely, someone like Prince S—”

“Now is not the time to joke, my lady.” Yaga interrupts as gently as he can, “He could very well go on and marry into one of the other royal families but they do not rule over our nation, now do they? The east is the largest of them all, our sole rival. Do you not see the importance of this marriage taking place? It is either that or war and, as our queen has so clearly told you, we do not have the defenses to—”

“And what of the other nations? The north? The south? Hell, even the smallest out there; Middom? Is it not possible for us to rally our defenses with them and..” Your voice trails to an eventual fall as you notice the look on Yaga’s face. He doesn’t even have to cut you off this time for you to realize this conversation isn’t going anywhere.

You exhale and turn to your royal adviser who’s at your right side. Wide-set eyes and all, Higuruma merely offers you a nod of his head to silently console you. Like everyone else in this damn room, he was pleading for you to simply let this go and follow along with things like some pawn in everyone else’s game.

“You would rather go to war and risk the lives of thousands than marry this man?” Yaga adds on to question.

Your lips quirked and you looked at him again, “Do you want my honest answer to that?”

“No, I would like your noble answer.” He replies dryly.

“Tch.” You huff, your face flattening. “Of course I would do anything to avoid war, I am not cruel. But I do hope all of you realize what joint nations entail for our future—their laws and customs will be indoctrinated into our society overnight. And if you think I will have any influence over that then you clearly know not of the man I am to marry. The words of a woman carry no weight with him.”

Your father is the next to speak up, “We are well aware of what this means for our future. But, it is either that or… death.”

With a crisp, yet obviously faux smile, you nod to that. “Right. Well, if that is all,” You begin to bow your head for respect, “Mother, Father, I shall excuse myself.”

Then you swivel around to make your exit, only to be stopped by the queen’s voice once more. “That is all?” She asks.

You paused in your steps but did not turn back to face her. “I’m unsure of what other argument you expect from me, mother. I either marry him or we go to war, what more could I possibly say to that?”

The sound of her sighing can be heard. It was almost as though she’d truly expected or maybe even anticipated a longer refute from you. “...Just,” Her words come out in a slow fashion and you get the feeling that she may be able to read your thoughts. “None of your schemes tonight, please? If you’re truly on board with this then don’t do anything brash—”

“I wouldn’t dare.” You cut off rather rudely, turning slightly to then cut your eye at her. “Now, if you will excuse me.”

No more words are exchanged as you hastily make your way out of the room, only the sounds of your heels echoing through the large archways and halls heard as you do so.

· · ──────── ·𖥸· ──────── · ·

Moments after you’d made your exit, two people had now taken your sides and followed rather closely behind you. Too nervous to say anything just yet, they both simply follow your hurried steps toward wherever you were off to without a word.

One was your knight, who’d always followed close behind you since your teenage days, willing to throw herself into the face of death at any given moment simply for your sake. Tall, fit, blond, with a set of brown eyes any person could easily find themself lost in, stood Yuki Tsukumo proudly wearing that pristine royal guard uniform as her steps mirrored your own in speed.

Beside her was that pleasant royal advisor of yours, Higuruma Hiromi. Also quite tall (who wasn’t these days), wide, tired eyes, and a voice that typically drives you insane with annoyance given the number of lectures you’d received by it—he was careful to trail after you, given all that’d recently transpired.

It’s a long walk of silence before your beloved knight breaks it. “I assume things went unwell back there?” Yuki hums cautiously as she fully takes your right side, leaving Higuruma slightly behind you.

“Your assumption would be correct,” You huff almost instantly as if you’d been waiting for either of them to say something to you. “I am to be wed in six months.”

Seeing as Yuki wasn’t exactly in the room while things were explained to you, she’d hardly a clue as to what had you pacing down the halls in such a determined fashion as you did currently. “Wed? Six months?? To whom?” She rushed out in alarm, her expression quick to contort into deep concern and alarm.

“The heir to the Zenin throne,” You say with a long sigh following shortly after.

“You can say his name y’know,” Higuruma comments before appropriately taking your left side.

You roll your eyes, “I would rather drop dead.”

At that, his feet come to a sudden halt and you and Yuki follow suit. “My lady, I know you are not fond of your… situation, but, what else can we do by this point? He will officially propose tonight and unless you can find another prince to do so before him in the next few hours then—”

It was like a literal lightbulb had gone off above that tiara-adorned head of yours, sparking Yuki’s eyes to rake over the excitement that washed against your features.

“Oh my, that’s brilliant.” You gasp with a turn to your recently spoken advisor.

“I simply cannot imagine how—pardon?” He choked, “You do know he is the only member of a royal family attending tonight, right? You couldn't possibly hope to… find a better suitor beforehand and even if you did, his highness would not have it.”

Every word of his seems to go through one ear and out the other as you take a step closer to him, flash a smile, and then move your hand to his arm. “My finest of gratitude to you, Sir. Higuruma.”

His eyes seem to widen with pure confusion. “...I do not understand.”

“You play your role as my advisor well, thank you.” You proceed, not caring to elaborate in the slightest. Then you turn away and begin walking again, “I know what I must do.”

His feet stammer to follow you once more, “And what might that be, my lady? You promised your mother–, the queen, that you wouldn’t do anything brash.”

“It willn’t be ‘brash’ at all.” You chirp simply.

“Then what—”

Pausing only one last time, you glance back at your awfully confused advisor and send him a reassuring grin. “Have my lady-in-waiting arrive to my room within the hour, I have a ball to prepare for.”

With that, your walk continues. Higuruma tries to follow you but he’s stopped by a hand meeting his chest. His brows pinch together just as he looks down, finding Yuki’s palm hovering over his chest in a silent motion to get him to stop.

He then looks at her and opens his mouth to protest against everything that’d just happened but with a simple shake of her head before he could even get a word out, his shoulders sink and he ends up turning away with a huff.

· · ──────── ·𖥸· ──────── · ·

An hour does, in fact, fly by before you find yourself in the confines of your bedroom. With your feet meeting the soft cushions of a small stool, your head held high, and your mouth moving at such a rapid pace, you’d been venting to your lovely lady-in-waiting from the moment she’d arrived in your room.

“And the worst part of it all? If I am to marry that man then I will later be expected to carry an hier—fuck,” Your voice is cut short with a low curse as the strings securing the corset part of your dress are only pulled tighter from behind you. Your back straightens up a bit more than before and your voice pitches to a higher and breathier degree, “‘Hime, that’s… hah, too tight-, I can hardly breathe.”

She perks up from behind you and releases the strings from her grasp entirely, “Ah, I am so sorry, my lady!” The maiden gasps softly. Her fingers then trail upward along the fabric weaving through the corset holes and you feel her making steady adjustments. “I was so caught up in that story of yours that I uhm,” She loosens an area or two, allowing you a moment to breathe. “Got carried away… How’s this—better?”

You release a long exhale as your shoulders relax, “It’s much better now, as far as breathability is concerned. But,” Your eyes linger on the nearby propped up mirror and you ogle your figure closely. “Well, now it is too loose.”

In the mirror’s reflection, you notice those violet locks of hair resting atop her head sway to the right as her head tilts to study your figure from her angle better. “Hm. I see.” She utters to herself before taking hold of those strings once more. “I’m going to tighten it again, are you ready for it this time?”

With a nod, you glance back at her and raise your thumb up. “Mhm, pull until I say stop.”

Her hands begin to do just that, slowly pulling the strings to tighten the piece once more. As she gives her softened tugs, her eyes lift to your face and she watches the way a hitched breath leaves your lips. “Too tight?”

“Did I say stop?” You ask lightheartedly.

She shakes her head, “No, but–”

“Utahime,” You breathe her entire name so suddenly that her hands come to a halt immediately. “Keep pulling.”

Probably with some form of nervousness under your direct gaze and commanding tone, her head drops and she focuses her eyes back down to her hands—giving you one firm tug that makes your body jerk backward ever so slightly. You gasp, again, and this time a hand of yours moves back to grab her wrist.

“Right there,” You utter, “That is perfect, thank you.”

Utahime stares at your grasp on her wrist for a moment longer than necessary before clearing her throat and sealing that tightly pulled fabric with an appropriate knot. Then, she removes her hands from your dress entirely and takes a step back. “Well uh-, as you were saying, my lady?”

You’re busy twisting and turning slightly to gather your appearance in the mirror before you respond, oblivious to the nearby eyes also gathering your frame. “Oh, yes, I would be expected to deliver an heir not too long after I am married. Knowing my parents and the Zenin family, both I and the man I am to marry would ascend the throne mere weeks after the wedding. The very next thing that follows that would be…”

“Having his child,” Utahime finishes for you, her voice disappointed—for your sake. “I’m sorry to hear of this, truly. I wish there were something I could do to help.”

You chuckle before stepping off of that small stool you’d been posted upon, striding over to your nearby dresser, and popping open a box of jewelry. “Fret not, ‘Hime,” You console with a dismissive wave of your hand. “I will not marry any Zenin man. Not in this life, nor the next.”

She paces over to you and dips her hand into that recently opened box, “So, what will you do?”

“Good question.” Protrudes Yuki, who’s been leaning against the doorframe of your bedroom listening for quite some time now. “I am really just dying to know what that big plan of yours is.” She scoffs, earning your glance. She nods her chin to you slightly, “I saw the look in your eyes earlier so, tell me, princess… what’re you plannin’?”

The smile that spreads across your face was much too bright for you to fight, “Like everyone else, you two will find out tonight.”

Your knight’s eyes roll as she pushes off the frame and begins to approach you and Utahime. “Awh, don’t do that. The last ‘scheme’ you pulled off—”

“Got you your current position as my knight, if I’m not mistaken, Lady Tsukumo.” You adjourn as Utahime swipes up the corresponding jewelry to your dress and begins to assist in accessorizing you.

Yuki only gets closer before posting herself against the wall nearest to the dresser you stand at. She gives you a firm stare, receiving a matching one from you, before instead focusing her gaze on the necklace currently being fastened around your neck. “Touché. But it was reckless.”

“Harmless,” You correct with a shrug. “I mean, really, God forbid a woman gets what she wants through slightly drastic measures.”

She looks around the room for a moment before tutting. “You put yourself in harm's way just to test my capabilities.”

“I put myself in harm’s way to prove your capabilities to those who doubted,” You correct for a second time, flawlessly. “Plus, that was years ago. I won’t go to any lengths like that this time around, the safety of my nation is on the line. Just know I have an idea I may act on.”

Yuki can’t help the worry etched onto her face as she only questions you further, “And this idea is safe?”

Smiling still, “No ideas are ‘safe’ for women in this day and age.” You remind her.

Silence befalls upon the room and even Utahime’s fingers pause on the clasp of your necklace that she’d been struggling with for the past few minutes. Her eyes soon glide over to Yuki and they exchange a look, their thoughts mutual within the quietude.

After that briefness passes, Yuki’s voice softens and she leans toward you ever so slightly, “So then, perhaps you shouldn’t act on it?”

Your face twists up as if you were offended, “And marry that coxcomb?” To which Utahime snorts. “Over our dead bodies.” You huff.

The air seems to have lightened up and Yuki grins, “‘Our’..?”

“You’ve said you would die for me, yes?”

She hums, “Without hesitation.”

“Then, yes, our.”

Utahime’s accessorizing comes to an end as she finally gets that clasp in order and takes a step back—pulling you to turn around to face her, and then taking in your prepared appearance. “Perfect.” She chirps.

“Gorgeous,” Yuki adds beneath her breath with a faint cock of her head.

You’re left smiling at the hushed compliments from the two before hearing a telling knock on your bedroom door, followed by the voice of someone informing you that guests are beginning to arrive for tonight's event. You hadn’t even realized how much time you’d spent venting to Utahime and getting ready for the dreaded ball and now, the sun was on its journey to set and it was time for said ball to actually take place.

Sometimes, you forget how fast time seems to move when you are in distress. You soon reply to the quick announcement you’d been given and you and your two accompanying ladies begin to make haste toward exiting your bedroom.

Faint worry remains on both Utahime and Yuki’s face as they follow your lead but they make no more vocal arguments about it. Yuki trusts your judgement, to some degree, and Utahime is moreso frightened for what the future holds for you regarding this arrangement.

· · ──────── ·𖥸· ──────── · ·

All doubts and worries entirely aside, by the time you indulge yourself in the festivities of the ball graciously hosted by your parents, your internalized fear for how things may go seems to fade. That timeless ballroom music you’d been surrounded by all your life floats through the air along with the sound of laughter and chatter from the lavish guests who’ve traveled from all over just to be here.

These glorified parties are a repetitive cycle you’ve been forced to grow accustomed to but, you’ve never minded them much until today. The entire time you socialized with the many aristocrats and members of high-class families, you couldn’t help but feel anxious. No one seemed to mention Naoya or his family to you, which led you to wonder if earlier that morning had merely been some lucid nightmare of yours…

Surely if this engagement were to take place tonight and had been planned out long before you were privy to it, someone would have mentioned it or even asked if you were excited for it by now. Unless all those around you were just as aware as you are of how dreadful a family the Zenins were..?

Or hell, maybe people were told not to say anything to you—

It’s then that someone bumps into your back, nearly causing you to choke on the bubbly beverage you’d been sipping on for the past few minutes. And just when you thought you’d scored a moment of peace for yourself…

An overwhelming sum of cologne slithers into your nose and although the smell is quite pleasant, clearly its wearer had sprayed far too much on themself—leading you to cough in an attempt to clear both your nose and your throat. Then, with an arm raised slightly over your face, you turn to whoever just bumped into you.

You don’t know what hits you first, the abrupt sight of him or that grating tone of his. “I swear you people have no sense of awareness. Has your sense of sight failed you, leaving you unable to see that I was clearly—oh,” Naoya grouses, his upper lip lifting faintly in a twinge of disgust. “It’s you.” He diverts, silently revoking his words prior out of what little respect he holds for you.

As unfortunate as it is, you have to drag your gaze upward to meet his. Just then, you mentally curse whoever's responsible for his mere existence because it should truly be a crime to be that painfully attractive, especially considering how all that typically flies out the window the moment he opens his mouth. You think your breath hitches at first sight of him.

Perhaps it was the proximity, considering he’d just bumped into you and made no efforts to back away after but, either way, he is undeniably… quite handsome. You have to blink thrice to register that this is the same rude man you’d last seen years ago, who you definitely do not remember being this… yeah, you won’t be throwing him any more compliments—albeit they’re all mental, as of now.

In the same way you seem to be taken aback by his appearance, he unconsciously weighs his head to the side as he drinks-, more like, gulps in your appearance. His eyes run up and down your face at least four times before he looks further down, in an attempt to glance at the necklace you have on, only to find himself leering at your chest and whatever cleavage you had visible. And, to say the least, if anything is mutual between the two of you, it’s definitely the attraction.

You decide to work up your usual confidence to speak, having reminded yourself who exactly you're looking at right now. “My eyes are up—“

“I know where your eyes are, woman.” Naoya cuts off with such a quickness that your head cocks back in immediate offense. But, before you can say anything else, he clears his throat and you watch him squeeze his eyes shut. “Pardon me,” He grits out, the words sounding as though it pained him to speak them. “I wasn’t expecting you to be so…” His eyes flutter open and he inhales strongly before cutting his intake off with a cough. “Close.” Is the last word he breathes out to you.

Your eyes remain on him and his every facial shift—the way he pulls his head back, takes another deep breath, bats his lashes elsewhere for a moment, brings his fist to his lips to cough again, and then shakes himself out of whatever that all was. You’re left unsure of what his body language translates to but you don’t believe you have it in you to care considering the way he starts talking again.

“Anyway,” Noaya straightens up where he stands and finally looks down at you (literally and mentally), “Let’s make this quick since I’ve finally found you, yeah?”

You raise a brow and move to cross your arms, “Does that imply that you were searching for me?”

His lips twitch, “No.”

“Some fiancé you’ll be…” You grumble out to him, to which he snorts.

“Just lend me your hand so I can propose, we’ve eyes on us.” He tells you rather quickly and quietly. You didn’t even realize how long your attention was on him before you blinked and looked around, finding the eyes of many lingering on you and him.

Oh. So people were aware of his upcoming proposal…

With a heavy sigh, you glance at him once more and he’s got this cunning look plastered all over his face. “I believe a man is to drop down on one knee to propose, no?” You ask almost dryly.

Naoya’s brows twist up, “You expect me to get on my knees for the likes of you?”

You shrug off his rudeness, “How else are you to propose?”

“You give me your hand and I slide this ring on your finger,” He tells you with a steadily lowering voice, dipping a hand into his pocket.

You honestly cannot believe the constant audacity that simply oozes off of this man. It’s as though he expects everything in his life to be served to him on a silver platter. “I will offer out my hand to no man who refuses to at least get down on one knee for me.” You tell him simply, your confidence not wavering in the slightest.

His left eye twitches in pure irritation. “I refuse to do anything ‘for you’.”

“Then I refuse to marry you.” You shrug.

He scoffs right in your face, “You haven’t the liberty.”

You huff back, “How can I be expected to marry a man who’s yet to propose?”

“You—“ Naoya grits his teeth and looks to the high ceilings for a moment before groaning slightly. He eventually returns his eyes to you and you can tell he’s over this entire thing. “Does compliance come this difficult for all women?”

“Does arrogance come this naturally from all men?” It’s from here that the two of you glare each other down while bickering back and forth as if it were second nature.

“Must you have a rebuttal for everything I say?”

“Depends on how long you take to propose to me like a proper gentleman.”

He pauses for a split second before sassily rolling his eyes, “You irritate me.”

“I’ve hardly done anything,” You reply with a lighthearted chuckle.

“Is shutting up something you’re incapable of?”

Dismissing him for the first time, you begin to look elsewhere. “Are you going to propose or not? I don’t have all night.”

Naoya swears he’s seconds away from tossing the ring in his hands into the nearest trashcan and declaring war because surely that would be much simpler than getting you to go along with things, “Don’t rush me.”

“You’re the one who said to make this quick,” You remind the man, noticing the distant gaze of both your parents and his.

The prince in front of you grits his teeth again, “I—“

“So hurry up.” Your hand waves in a dismissive manner as you turn your head back to him, “Get on your knees, Zenin.”

He’s clearly physically incapable of accepting any sort of orders from you without having anything to say so, “Address me by my first name.” Is what leaves his lips shortly after.

“I will not.” You deny.

He flashes a knowing smirk, “You must.”

“Or what?”

“Or I will discard this act of peace and declare w—“

“Fine,” You choke out, almost in fear. “Naoya… if you wish for me to be your wife in six months' time then you will drop to one knee and propose to me, properly.”

He finally begins to lower down to one knee, speaking in a harsh whisper, “The excess was unnecessary.”

“I care little of what you deem unnecessary.” You utter right back.

“I care little about you.”

“Good.”

Whipping the ring out quickly and assuming the perfect position below you, he glares, “Be my wife.”

You wish you had a way to capture how he looks right now. Naoya being on his knees is a sight no one can say they’ve ever had the pleasure of seeing before so, naturally, many of the onlookers begin to gasp and share gossiping whispers to one another.

You keep your voice low but many watch your mouth move, “Is that how you propose? No wonder you’ve yet to find a woman before me…”

Naoya’s fingers pinch the ring held up to you tighter and you notice a vein pop out along his sharp jawline, “This arrangement was not by my personal choice. Now, do me… the honor, and…” He waits a moment before raising his voice so that those nearby can hear, “Marry me.”

You deadpan, “It sounds like you’re demanding me—“

“Jesus-, fuck, woman!” He curses unintentionally with a momentary drop of his head. Before you can let out the laugh his reaction invokes, he flips his gaze right back up to you and looks you dead in the eye as he speaks in a firm tone, “Will you marry me?”

For the first time since he’s ever known you, you smile at him—causing his body to feel… weird. He thinks he hates that stupidly gorgeous spread of lips and flash of teeth that starks across your face. Then, your hand is held out to him and you nod. “I suppose.”

He narrows his eyes at you and doesn’t move.

You roll your own. “Yes, I… accept your proposal.”

Not wasting any more time whatsoever, Naoya practically shoves the ring onto your finger, his touch oddly as smooth as silk against you. “Finally. Now—“

“Under one condition.” You add on with a very slight retraction of your hand.

“Condition??” His brows meet and his eyes frantically travel over to where both your parents stand, “I was not informed that this would come with any—“

“No one knew of any until now,” You say as you lean down a bit.

He groans, “What is it?”

It’s almost as though there was some sort of shift within your tone. As Naoya moves his eyes back to you, he finds your entire presence wildly different in comparison to a few seconds ago. And the darkened look you hold in your eyes, the way that smile of yours had yet to fade—just what could you possibly have planned in that feeble mind of yours??

“I would like to curate a harem for myself during our engagement,” You requested.

Naoya fights internally to hold back the shocked laugh he’d almost let out in your face, “Why am I not surprised the wench wishes for a harem of all things…”

You let out an offended breath, “Excuse me—“

“Sure,” He scoffs, sizing you up and down as he quickly raises to his feet. “You can make your lil’ harem. Run around and tarnish your reputation all you want but, that will not be enough for me to end this engagement.”

Back up to his feet, he finds himself looming toward you and surprised by how unmoving you are, “I don’t plan on it.”

Naoya only inches closer, “Must every last word be yours?” He asks, breath fanning over your skin with a faint scent of… mint?

You respond silently with a thin-lipped smile, mentally discarding how you keep picking up on such small details.

To which a vein in his forehead makes a sudden appearance, “Oh you little—“

“Let us all congratulate the happy couple!” A voice, Higuruma’s, chimes in, “A joyous union this’ll be for our nations!” He announces quickly.

People rush to swarm you and Naoya within seconds, celebratory wishes and congratulations thrown at you from left and right as if this was truly some big surprise. Perhaps it was the fact that Naoya was actually able to propose to you and you were able to accept it without… anything else taking place instead.

So, you suppose you have something to celebrate now. Your request for a harem was approved without any question whatsoever. Perfect. You may not have had the time to get anyone of royal status to propose to you before Naoya did, especially considering it would take an act of love for someone to do so in the first place but, you sure as hell just bought yourself some.

m!list | next chapter |

tags 1/2;

@angellliqua @celestial-lunar @withcheese @itoshi-r @silvarys @everything-red @fishosezo @haesify @sassybananaweaselpsychic @orange-juice-is-ass

@notjustagirlinthisworld @sushiimara @larkson0 @di-in-al @sxnkuna @hanuh @cayla0000 @helloxkittylo @idkmanshrugg @chocolatecheer

@michelintopic @cinaminroll @french3xit @valleydoli @broimherebcsimboredok @sleepisforpuzzies @cuti3patooti8 @sukunadckrider @f0r7una @ventila98

@vixionix @levislug @mauve-gojo @chosomi @semi-lover @bee3l0v3r @noooo-onee @r4sh3li @yenayaps @chososbestgirl

@smutyturtle @simp-plague @pnkblueberry @stargirl-mayaa @kunareads @tojisdollx @gojoslefttoenail @forbiddenblog @glittercherry777 @samm1e13

743 notes · View notes

sinofwriting · 10 months ago

Text

Raised to Love - Max Verstappen (Dark Fic)

Words: 6,992 Summary: Drivers are shocked to find out that pretty much rookie Max Verstappen is married. Note(s)/Warnings: This fic is DARK! Taking place between 2002-2017. There's child abduction, mentions/talks of death, mentions/talks of underage sex, mentions/talks of sex, mentions/talks of periods, dubious consent. Jos is both somehow a better and worse person in this. Sophie and Jos are still married, Victoria and all of Max’s other siblings don’t exist. Inspired by Season 4 Episode 13 of Criminal Minds.

Masterlist | Support Me!

2002

Tears are slipping down her face and she keeps rubbing at her eyes, small whines leaving her, but they won’t stop and her mom isn’t rubbing her back, trying to get her to calm down, her dad isn’t holding her and she cries harder. She wants her mom and dad, she wants them. But they aren’t here. She’s alone and in this room that’s cold and blank and she wants them.

She hiccups, eyes hurting and her hands can’t keep rubbing, tired of doing it. Sniffling, she turns on the small bed, burying her face in the pillow, even though her mom always tells her not to do it before turning her over. The tears fall faster now. She wants her mom. She wants her dad.

And now all she can think about is them sitting in the front of the car, completely still, not responding no matter how much she shouted or kicked at the back of her dads seat. How she was pulled out of the car through the window by a firefighter and how another one was talking about how her parents were dead.

They couldn’t be dead though, because her grandparents were dead, in heaven, her dad had told her. And they had been talking to each other just a minute ago. They were going to get dinner and candy because she had been a good girl. That thought had made her curl up in the firefighter’s arms, lip trembling, because she had been shouting and kicking the seat, she had been naughty.

And then when she got to the hospital, a nice nurse had given her candy despite her being bad and held her hand as another one cleaned her up. She even let her pick out a stuffed animal to have. It was okay, even though she kept asking where her parents were until another lady had come in. She had crouched down in front of and told her that her parents were dead.

She shakes her head at the memory of the lady’s face and her words. She didn’t want to believe that her mom and dad were dead. But they weren’t here, they should be here. They wouldn’t ever leave her by herself, alone, and in this room.

Lifting her head slightly, she sucks in a large breath of air, the pillow soaked in her tears and warm. As she takes another breath, she doesn’t hear the sound of the door opening and shutting.

She wants to bury her face in the pillow again, but her nose hurts from it and it’s gross and wet. Turning over, sits up, her small legs going up to her chest as she presses her back against the wall. It’s then that she notices the man in the room with her.

She stiffens at the sight, eyes going wide, and the blank expression that had been on his face softens.

“Hello.”

“Hi.” She greets, voice quiet as she wraps her arms around her legs.

“You were crying. Is everything okay?”

Her bottom lip trembles and she shakes her head. “My mom and dad,” Her voice breaks. “The lady told me they’re dead.”

“I’m sorry. Are you waiting for your grandparents or an aunt?”

She shakes her head.

He frowns and then he moves, sitting on the bed with her, though he is at the foot.

“What’s your name?”

Her voice is a little louder as she says it.

“My name is Jos.”

“Hi Jos.”

He smiles. “How old are you?”

“Four.”

“I have a son that turned five recently.”

Her arms loosen around her legs. “What’s his name?”

“Max. He’s at home right now, I think, trying to convince my wife to get a puppy.”

Her eyes widen and her arms drop, legs falling away from her chest. “Do you have a puppy? I’ve always wanted one.”

“No.” He laughs and she frowns. “But I want dogs, so does my wife and Max. We just have been waiting.”

“For what?’ She asks, head cocked to the side.

Jos laughs again. “Special occasion, I suppose.”

She frowns as one of the things the lady said to her as they were in the car on the way over pops into her head. “Jos. Do you think whoever I stay with will have dogs?”

“I don’t know.”

Her frown grows. “Do you think they’d let me get a dog?”

He shakes his head, “I don’t think so.”

“Oh.” Her voice is quiet.

“But, I’m sure I could talk to Anna about you coming home with me. That would be a special occasion. You and Max could both get your own dog.”

“Really?”

He nods. “Really.”

She scrambles towards him, throwing her arms around him. “Thank you, Jos!”

“Of course. Now let’s get you to your new home.”

—

“Do you know who’s coming today?”

Max nods, small brows furrowed together, looking so much like his father, she wants to take a picture. “My wife.”

She’s proud of the way his nose doesn’t wrinkle, no disgust clinging to his words. Max thinking girls were gross wouldn’t do.

“Papa never said, but is it the one I choose?”

Sophie smiles, remembering how Jos had shown him a bunch of girls and the way Max had seen the one and just kept looking, had easily chosen her. “Yes. Papa was able to get the one you chose.”

He smiles and she runs a hand through his hair. “Will they be here soon?”

She spares a look at the clock. “Yes. Papa had to drive a bit away, but he should be here soon. Why don’t you come and help me set up her room.”

It was pretty much already set up, but Max could rearrange some of the toys and books, place them how he’d like. She expects him to nod, eager, but he looks confused.

“But mama, if she’s my wife, why isn’t sleeping in my room?”

She coughs to hide a laugh. “You two are much too young for that, Max. And you don’t know each other yet. Maybe in a few years you two can share a room.” In ten years, maybe, she privately thinks.

“But what if I want to share a room now?”

Her eyes narrow. “Max.” His eyes drop to the floor and she sighs. “You two could have sleepovers in your room, not every night, but some nights if you’d like.”

He nods, but still doesn’t look at her. “Can I go help set up her room?”

“Of course.”

She watches fondly as Max clumsily copies things he’s seen her do when making his bed, adjusting the blankets, fluffing the pillows before he moves onto the small amount of toys she bought, not wanting to buy too many without knowing what the girl did and didn’t like.

He frowns at them before he’s darting out of the room, she thinks of calling after him, but she can hear him moving down the hallway and then into what she thinks is his room. Only a minute passes before he’s back, a stuffed animal in his grasp. Walking towards the bed, he carefully places the toy so it’s resting against the pillows and she nearly gasps seeing what it is.

“Max, that’s Leo.”

“I know.”

“Sweetheart, you don’t have to give her Leo. Leo’s yours.”

He shakes his head. “We’ll share. I want her to have it right now.” Her heart melts at the answer.

“Are you sure?” She double-checks.

“I’m sure.”

“Alright.”

2008

Crawling out of bed, she shivers as the cold air of her room hits her skin. Wrapping her arms around herself, she tiptoes away from her bed and to her door. One of her arms leaves her to slowly twist the knob, making sure it slowly opens. As soon as it’s open enough for her body to slip through, she does. Her feet taking an all too familiar path.

Opening the next door, she does the same as she did with hers, slipping through the tiniest gap possible before shutting it behind her. The words of the maid ring in her head now that she stands in the room. How wrong this is, how inappropriate it is, how wanton she is. She doesn’t know what wanton means, but the way she said it had made her flush, bottom lip trembling as she made herself smaller.

The reminder makes her hunch, teeth finding her lip and she wants to go back to her room, she doesn’t want to be wanton. But her room is cold and the nightmare she had is lurking in the back of her mind. And sure this room is cold too, but Max is here. And she knows if she slips under the covers with him that it will be warm and he’ll even at least wrap an arm around her if not his whole body.

A shiver hits her and she darts over to the bed, slipping under the covers.

“Flower?” Max mumbles.

“It’s me.” She says, feeling warm on the inside at the nickname he gave her six years ago when she met him.

He makes a small noise and then his whole body is curling around hers and she can’t help but sink into it, sink into him.

She tries to fall asleep, but the word wanton just rings in her mind.

“Max.” She whispers.

“Hmm.”

She twists in his arms, making them face to face. “What does wanton mean?”

“What?” His voice is full of sleep and his eyes are starting to open.

“What does wanton mean?”

His nose wrinkles, “I don’t know. Why?”

“Mrs. Loeh told me I was wanton.”

“I,” he’s squinting as he looks at her. “I don’t know. I’ll ask my mom at breakfast, okay?”

She nods before pressing closer to him. “Okay. Thank you, Max.”

“Of course, Flower.”

2012

She stares in shock at the blood on the toilet paper. “Sophie!” She calls, voice nearly a shriek. She knew what this was, Sophie had told her about her body changing, getting a period, but this. This couldn’t be normal. There was so much. It was nearly bleeding through the toilet paper before she let it go.

She hears two different voices say her name, one far louder and closer than the other and she starts to see the door knob turn. “Max, no!”

The doorknob stops. “What’s wrong?”

“I need Sophie.”

“Flower, what’s going on?” The knob started to turn again.

“Please, no!” She begs and tears are starting to form in her eyes. “I’ll tell you later, I just need Sophie.”

She watches as the door knob stays paused and then hears a sigh from Max before the doorknob is released.

“Max, go to the living room.”

She breathes a sigh of relief at Sophie’s voice.

“But mama.”

“Go.”

She can hear him stomping away and can imagine the frown on his face as he curses in his mind.

A small knock sounds on the door. “Can I come in, darling?”

“Please.”

Sophie easily slips inside the bathroom, shutting the door behind her quickly. “Oh, darling. What happened?”

She looks down at where her legs are pressed together. “I,” she hiccups. “I started my period.”

“Oh darling.” And Sophie is right beside her, giving her an affection tap of the fingertip to her temple. “It’s alright. I know, it’s a bit scary, huh?”

She nods. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen so much blood.”

“Well, it’s probably that heavy because this is your first cycle. Mine was like that as well, but it lightened up after a few months, and birth control helps as well with that.”

Blood rushes to her cheeks at the mention of birth control. “I’m a late bloomer, aren’t I?”

“A bit.” Sophie allows. “I told you about this two years ago for a reason. I didn’t think you’d be nearly fifteen.”

“Am I okay?”

“Of course. Everyone is a bit different. If you want though, we can talk about it with the doctor. Make sure that everything is okay.”

“Please?” She asks and Sophie smiles.

“I’ll schedule it right after this. Now, let me show you again everything you’re gonna need.”

She watches and listens intently as Sophie shows her everything. It’s overwhelming and she wants to cry, just lay in bed, bury her head in Max’s pillow and cry. She’s thankful when Sophie slips out of the bathroom as she still sits on the toilet. Is ever more thankful when as she begins to stand, pulling up her underwear and shorts and it’s like she can feel it wanting to drip out.

The pad in her underwear is weird, but nothing compared to the new weird sensation of feeling like she’s leaking. It makes her want to sit back on the toilet and never leave. What if she didn’t change her pad in time and bled through? The thought leaves her mortified and as she leaves the bathroom after washing her hands thoroughly, she darts into her bedroom, forgetting her promise to Max.

Laying on her bed, she makes a face, trying to find a comfortable position, everything feeling weird. Maybe she’d buy a pad or a mattress protector, maybe both with how weird this felt. It would help any mess that might happen as well if she leaked.

Rolling onto her side, she smiles at Moos. The ten-year-old dog looks back at her, head resting on her front paws. “Where’s Freckles?”

“The backyard.”

She turns, Max stands at the entrance of her room, a look she doesn’t think she’s ever seen on his face before.

“It’s later.”

Blood rushes to her face at the words, at the reminder that she promised she’d tell him what’s going on, and she has to tell him. She tells Max everything, always has. And he does the same to her. It’s why she found out when she was six that Max and her were going to get married, that he picked her. That and he was confused about her wanting to play house and how he had to play the husband because they were already husband and wife in his six-year-old mind.

She nearly smiles at the reminder that Max picked her. He’s told her a few times over the years about it. The memory is still so strong in his mind, despite it now being a decade ago. The way he had looked at a bunch of girls in an array of photos, but she immediately caught his eye, was drawn to her and the flower behind her ear.

He snaps his fingers and she can feel Moos stand up before she gets off the bed, no longer leaping in her old age. Max moves into the room, leaving the door open as Moos slips out before shutting it behind the dog.

“What happened?” He asks, approaching the bed and she cranes her neck to fully see his face.

Her face feels like it’s burning. It feels embarrassing telling Max this, about this, even though they’ve talked about far weirder and gross things. Maybe, and her eyes drop staring at the hollow of his throat as she thinks, it’s because this means they can finally have sex.

The thought alone makes her swallow, breaths turning a little shallow as she imagines it. Max and her have done a lot of fooling around since his birthday last year. He knows how to speed her heart up with just a brush of his fingers. She knows how much he loves the feeling of her boobs pressed against his chest, bare or covered. Their breaths intertwined with soft pants as they move together, at least one piece of clothing still separating them.

She’s broken away from the thoughts by a hand under her chin, drawing her face up.

“Flower.”

“I,” she pauses, eyes darting around before settling on his face when she feels his thumb and forefinger gently apply a little pressure to her chin. “I started my period.”

His brows are furrowed for a moment then his face smoothes out, mouth dropping into a ‘O’ shape, the fingers and hand under her chin disappearing.

“Are you hurting? Cramps?”

“No.” She shakes her head. “It just,” and her voice is quieter than before. “It feels gross, like leaking.”

His head cocks to the right. “Even with the pad thing? Is it not working?”

“It is. I think it’s just how it can feel.”

“I’m sorry. Can I do anything?”

She glances at the empty space in the bed next to her. “Lay with me?”

He smiles, a laugh shaking his body. “Of course, flower.”

2014

“I have an F1 seat.”

“You have an F1 seat.”

The shock is so clear on his face it makes her giggle and he immediately smiles, but that shock still lingers behind it.

“Max Verstappen,” She begins, watching as his eyebrows draw together, fingers twitching before his hands settle on her hips. “Youngest F1 driver ever, youngest to score points, youngest on the podium, youngest to win a grand prix.” She doesn’t know if the last three will be true, but she hopes they will be, thinks they will be.

“You think so? I mean, it’s just a seat in Toro Russo.”

“It’s not just a seat at Toro Russo.” She laughs, feeling flushed as his hands sneak beneath her top. “It’s an F1 seat, an F1 seat that you will do amazing in. I mean, Max. There’s never been an F1 driver younger than eighteen before.” She smoothes the slight furrow between his brows with her thumb before kissing that spot. “You are going to do amazing and achieve so much.” She pecks his lips. “I’m proud of you.”

His cheeks are pink at her words, her flutters a little at him blushing because of her, like she hasn’t seen it thousands of times before.

Brushing her fingers over the apples of his cheeks, she frowns. “Maxy.”

“Hmm?”

Her fingertips trail down to his jaw. “Let me get you a skin care routine? Please.” She adds, sticking her lip out a little.

“Flower.” He sighs, his left hand moving to span across the small of her back, pressing her closer.

“Please? You know I don’t care about the acne, but you’ll be the youngest on the grid, still in the thick of it. This will help. It won’t be anything complicated, either.”

He sighs, a small smile on his face. “Okay. But promise me nothing complicated. You won’t be there to remind me how to do it.”

“Nothing complicated.” She promises, beaming. “I’ll even write up a little instruction thing for you and you can call me every time you’re doing it, so we can do it together if you like.”

“Yeah? Even when I’m like eight hours behind or ahead and you’re sleeping.”

“Even then.”

“Oh.” She presses up on her toes in excitement and Max’s smile widens seeing it. “I got us new sheets.”

“New ones?”

She nods.

“Can I see them?” Voice going a little low and he’s thankful that his voice doesn’t crack. She never laughed when it did, but it was still embarrassing.

Her teeth find purchase in her bottom lip for a second, before she nods. “You can see my new underwear too.” A giggle leaves her at the way he groans, hands pressing her body closer and against his bulge.

2016

Max stares at the ceiling as his dad talks to someone on the phone. This is what they wanted. They wanted him here in the Red Bull seat. Getting here this early was amazing, proving how good he was in an F1 car. And escaping the nightmare that was Carlos and his father was also a plus, even if both of them had taken to glaring at Max every time they saw him.

Max was pretty sure they were betting on him crashing out this race, costing Red Bull money, and then he’d get booted back down and Carlos would get called up. He shook his head at the thought. That wouldn’t happen. He was good, he’d prove he should be in this seat, should be here this early. Because he did. Max was talented no matter what the other drivers said, or the journalists or the legends who told him he had no business in their sport. His jaw clenches, holding back a scoff. Their sport.

It makes him more grateful to his dad and mom. They had told him, prepared him for not being liked. He was aggressive on track, abrasive off to people he didn’t know well. They knew it would make things harder and they had made sure he knew that too. He’s grateful for his wife as well and he wishes she was here now with him for his first F1 race in the big leagues.

He had wanted her there for his first race at Toro Russo, but that hadn’t been an option. But now? Now that he got promoted up, maybe, he looks at his dad considering asking him before shaking his head. His dad would never go for it. Not because she’d be too much of a distraction but because they didn’t need to deal with more media attention, Max was more than sure of that. He nearly shudders thinking of when he had arrived at the track yesterday and today.

“Max.”

He sits up, spine straight. “Is everything okay?”

His dad smiles and Max’s shoulders loosen. “Yes. I have to go and meet a friend quickly. You will stay by Christian or Helmut if you leave the garage, understood?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good.” He nods. “Look over the data. We don’t need you crashing out in free practice of all things.”

He dives into the data as soon as his dad leaves. A thread of curiosity is in the back of Max’s mind as he looks it over. Talking to all the mechanics and engineers, getting a feel for them, just like he knows they are getting a feel for him.

When Helmut calls him over he wonders if by friend his dad really meant a friend of Helmut’s. His dad didn’t have many friends after all.

“How are you feeling?”

“Good.” Max nods. “I haven’t gotten into the car yet though.”

The older man nods, frowning like he nearly always is on race weekends. “You’ll do fine.”

“I will do my best.”

Helmut nods and Max takes the silent dismissal.

Standing towards the back of the garage, he looks at the track data displayed on one of the bigger screens. Seeing it displayed so large and clearly makes him breathe a little easier as he looks at it all. He doesn’t get to look at it long, however. The sound of his dad asking where he is breaking him away from the data and he steps out from where he had been tucked away.

His mouth opens, ready to greet his dad, but it clicks shut at the sight of her.

She smiles at him, but it’s just a bit wrong, too tight at the corners. It makes his chest ache, makes him want to snap and tell people to stop looking at her, makes him want to whisk her away so he can see his smile. “Hi Max.”

The quiet sound of her voice makes him move, striding towards her. “Flower.” He breathes just a step away from her before he brings her into his arms and she melts into him as he hides her face away from everyone else. “What are you doing here?” He asks, lips pressing to the side of her head.

“Jos got me a flight here. I couldn’t miss this race.”

His eyes flicker to his dad who’s standing behind her, looking at them, easily ignoring all the eyes of the Red Bull garage on them and the whispers that are starting. “Thank you.” He murmurs and his dad nods.

He pulls away just enough to look at her, his hands now framing her waist, hers resting on his chest. He feels breathless looking at her. Dressed in some pants, a shirt that he remembers his mom buying her last year for her birthday, the shoes that match his, she’s gorgeous and he can’t help but quickly kiss her. Their lips connect for just a second, but it’s long enough for her hand to land on his cheek, for him to feel the warm metal of her wedding ring and band.

“I missed you. Missed you so much.” He tells her as soon as they are in his driver’s room, alone.

She smiles at him, hands cupping his face, and he can’t help but lean into the touch, into her. Happy to see her smile, his smile. “I missed you too. How are you feeling?”

“Nervous.” He admits. “But I’m ready. I can do this. I’m ready for this.”

Her smile seems to grow. “You’ve got this.”

“Will you watch from the garage for me?”

“Will Jos be watching from there?”

He nods. “Always does.”

“Then yeah, I’ll watch from there.”

—

Daniel looks at the slip of a girl standing next to Jos, intrigued. She was young, as young as Max if not a bit younger, but more importantly she was hot. Nudging his new teammate, he tilts his head in her direction. “You never said you had a sister.”

The eighteen-year-old just looks at him and Daniel hates the way it’s somewhat unsettling. He was twenty-six, there shouldn’t be any reason for it to unsettle him. But as Daniel looks back over, he supposes most eighteen-year-olds don’t have dickhead near abusive dads that are Jos Verstappen. “I don’t have a sister.”

“Really? Hot cousin then?”

“Not my cousin either.” And before Daniel can say anything else Max is walking away from him over to his trainer.

“Alright then.” Daniel mutters to himself, eyes lingering on the girl before he goes to his own trainer.

—

“Daniel thinks you’re hot.”

Blood rushes to her cheeks and the shirt in her hands falls onto the floor. “What?”

“Daniel, before we got into the car for FP1, he was asking me about you.” His face is burning with anger.

“Thought you were my sister or my hot cousin.” Max scoffs.

“Oh.” Her voice sounds lost and her arms wrap around herself.

The anger softens on his face at the reaction and he wraps his arms around her from behind, exhaling when her arms loosen, hands resting on his arms, fingers stroking his skin. “You’re mine.” He breathes, dipping his head to press his lips against her neck, barely resisting the urge to leave a mark.

Her breathing comes out shaky and in her next breath, his pinky finger starts to dip below the waistband of her sleep shorts. “I’m yours. I’ve always been yours, Max.”

—

Max is shell shocked. He’s celebrating, screaming, throwing himself into the arms of his team, but behind his helmet, he’s shocked. He had hoped for points, dreamed of a podium, but a win? A win? That had never been in his wildest dreams for this weekend.

He’s guided over to the weighing station and then the first spot, a member of the team talking to him. His hands don’t shake as he removes his helmet and gloves. They don’t shake as he removes his balaclava either. Not when he clasps a few drivers’ hands. They shake as soon as he sees his flower.

She’s standing next to his dad, crying, nearly sobbing. He can tell from the pattern of her chest moving up and down. And he knows that he should be going over to get interviewed, but he ignores the team member trying to guide him, darting over to her. The people surrounding her, all wearing Red Bull shirts, cheer, patting him wherever they can reach, but he’s only focused on her. His hands enveloping her face as he kisses her.

She gasps into the kiss, her hands settling on his biceps before moving down to his wrists, fingers wrapping around them as she returns the kiss.

“You won, Max.” She’s breathless when they break apart. “You won.”

He grins at her, enjoying the shine to her eyes, the width of her smile. “I won.” It’s breathless as well, and a laugh follows it. “I won.”

“You won.” She laughs, quickly pressing another kiss to her lips before pushing him away. “Now go.” He nods, but leans in for one more kiss before leaving her to go to the post race interviews.

The questions are a blur to him and so are his answers. Except for the final one.

“Is there anyone you want to thank?”

“The team of course. I mean really without them this wouldn’t have been possible, we hoped for a podium, for points, a seemed out of reach with how the Mercedes have been performing though. My dad and mom as well. And my girl.” As he continues he fails to see the reactions from people with those two words, my girl.

The person interviewing him’s eyes are wide, almost having stumbled back. Nearly everyone from Red Bull has their jaw on the floor. Daniel though already feeling pissed from Max winning and not him has more anger coursing through him. Because seriously? He had been eyeing her up since Friday and she was with Max apparently? Max of all people? He scowls as his eyes land on her, she is far too pretty to be with Max.

Sebastian at the weighing station let out a disbelieving laugh, adrenaline was a hell of a thing and he hoped for Verstappen’s sake that the girl he kissed didn’t take his words to heart of him calling her his girl. He’d cool down later and most likely get embarrassed by the slip. Perhaps even angry, he was the type, after all.

A few of the other drivers share looks, shaking their heads and murmuring to each other that it wasn’t going to end well. It was a hell of a thing to say after getting a win, your first win, but PR was going to be all over him after and they all winced at the thought of what statement he’d have to make and put out in the next few hours or days.

His former teammate scoffs, “bullshit.” he spits. It should have been him in that Red Bull seat if anyone was going to replace Kyvat. He and his father had banked on Max doing something stupid, crashing the car, finishing out of the points, so he could get the seat like he should, but Max just couldn’t do that. Had to have a one-off fluke of a race. And now he was claiming he had a girlfriend. Probably some sort of PR stunt to make him look better, more stable, like an adult and not a kid squeezing his way into where he shouldn’t be.

Kimi lets out a small chuckle, one that Sebastian hears but doesn’t question him on. Of course, the kid would let it slip that he had a girlfriend. He had been hoping that Max would have made it until the end of the season or even next season, but it was fine. Kimi would just have to make sure to not make another bet with Minttu, it was getting a little embarrassing how much he kept losing to her. At least Kimi considers, he didn’t let it slip that they were married.

“Well, she’s pretty, I’ll give him that.” Jenson comments, looking at the girl Max had kissed, the one that must be his girl.

Fernando chuckles. “She is jail bait.”

“And taken.” He eyes her. “I’m a bit surprised he hasn’t mentioned her at all. I didn’t even know he was seeing someone. Did you?”

The Spanish driver shrugs. “We talk about racing not personal. And yes.” He adds. “I am shocked. Mainly because of that.” He nods his head in the direction of Jos, still stern faced, though Fernando had caught a smile on his face earlier.

Jenson lets out a sharp whistle. “Yeah, that is the surprising part. Wonder what Max had to do to get his dad to agree to that.”

He shudders, “I don’t want to know.”

“Yeah, best not to think about it.”

Max lets the podium celebrations wash over him, laughing when Kimi claps him on the shoulder as they leave, murmuring his congrats. Walking back towards the cool down room, out of sight from fans and cameras, Max takes a deep breath, heart still racing inside his chest. This was unbelievable.

He follows the FIA official as they direct them through another room, this one filled with some team personnel and such and his grin widens, feet picking up their pace as he scoops her into a hug, ignoring her squeal of protest.

“Max! You’re dripping in champagne.”

He holds her tight to him, face buried in her neck. “Good. Means you can shower with me.” She doesn’t say anything to that, but he knows that he’s flustered her with his whispered words. It makes him chuckle and he puts her on her feet, keeping her close, though. “I love you.” He murmurs.

“I love you too.”

He makes them keep standing there, his face still in her neck, at least a dozen eyes on them, but he needs this. Needs to hold her, needs to breathe her in, needs to feel her against him, needs her to calm him down. He wants to stay there forever, but before anyone can interrupt them, he pulls away. Pressing a kiss to her forehead before he lets her go.

“Go wait in my driver’s room, while I finish up.”

She nods, flashing him a small smile, before walking over to his trainer, who nods at him before guiding her out of the building and he knows to the Red Bull garage.

—

“Max, during your post race interview, you thanked quite a few people including and to quote you, my girl. Was that the girl you kissed today?”

Max is happy he’s already flushed from winning that they can’t see the way more blood rushes to his cheeks at the question. Red Bull had told him to expect at least one question that was personal during the conference because of the kiss, but he hadn’t been thinking it’d be so early.

“I think we have to remember,” Max’s eyebrows furrow at Sebastian speaking and he glances at the older driver. “That adrenaline is a hell of a thing. And we can’t hold something the kid says in the rush of a moment or does really against him.” Sebastian finishes before giving Max a wink, making his brows furrow more.

Was Sebastian trying to say that he didn’t mean to thank her, didn’t mean to kiss her? He can hear a few reporters mumbling, the scratch of pens against paper.

“To answer your question,” Max starts. “Yes, the girl I kissed was the one I thanked, that I called my girl. We’ve been together a while, she’s seen my whole career in karting now single-seater. She deserved thanks.”

Kimi lets out a small chuckle, leaning forward a bit to look around Max and see the puzzled expression on Sebastian’s face. Served the German right for thinking that Max misspoke and acted while high on his win.

—

“No girlfriend?” Daniel asks Max as they head into debrief.

“What?”

“No girlfriend?” Daniel repeats himself. “I haven’t seen her yet. She not here?”

Max sends him an odd look, “If you mean Y/N, no. She isn’t.”

He scoffs. “Of course, I mean, Y/N. Unless you’ve got more than one girlfriend. And if that’s the case, I call dibs on Y/N.”

The younger stops in his tracks, grabbing a fistful of Daniel’s shirt and yanking, making him stop as well.

“What?” Daniel laughs. “She’s hot, pretty, whatever you want to call it.” His laughter dies when he catches sight of Max’s face.

It was the face that everyone loved to talk about. The first thing that had been brought up when it was announced that Max had gotten an F1 seat. It wasn’t his age, though that was a close second. It was the look he’d get if something didn’t go his way on track, if someone smashed into him, made a risky move. It was the face that had to have been born from all the near fucking abusive shit that Jos was rumored to have done to Max.

It was narrowed eyes, glare sitting heavy and Daniel could feel sweat gathering on the back of his neck at the sight of it. Nostrils flared, lips in a thin line, but somehow Daniel just knew that as soon as Max spoke his mouth would look like it was gathered into a snarl.

Seeing it and seeing it directed at him, reminds Daniel how all of them had joked in 2014 about how Max was going to be so scary, just scare them shitless. It had been jokes because despite the rumors they had heard, the stories they had been told, none of them really believed it. It wasn’t because Max couldn’t have been some hotshot on the track with an aggressive style, refusing to back down and winning because of it. No, it was the fact that people thought anyone of them would be scared of it, would be wary of him, that made them all laugh. And then they’d seen him in an F1 car and suddenly all those rumors and stories came rushing back to them, because fuck they have might merit in them when it came to Formula 1 after all.

Daniel has the urge to reach for his phone and call Jules’ godson, Charles, and ask how the fuck he managed to race against Max for so long and never get terrified of him, on or off track. But before his fingers can even twitch to reach for it, Max is speaking and god, he does look like he’s snarling.

“Daniel, if you mention how my wife,” The Australian driver’s eyes widen and the word fuck starts bouncing around his head. “Looks hot one more time, I will crash into you, and I will take the fine, the penalty points, the promotion down, or the loss of my seat.”

“Okay.” Daniel clears his throat, the word coming out high-pitched. “Got it. I’ll stop talking.”

Max releases his shirt, fingers flexing, jaw shifting before the murderous look he had disappeared. “Good. Now let’s go, we are probably late for debrief.”

Daniel nods, silently following his teammate while the words what the fuck echo in his mind.

—

“So, Max is married.” Daniel says, as he sits with a bunch of drivers, downing a shot. “Yeah, Y/N, not his fucking girlfriend.”

“Daniel,” Jenson looks at the younger, eyebrow raised. “What exactly did you do?”

He winces, throwing another shot back and fuck he should’ve grabbed more than two. “Called her hot in front of him, again.” The last word comes out as a whisper, but the whole table hears it and they all shake their heads.

“Dude.”

“I know! But like the first time I didn’t know, alright? It was Spain, before free practice, I thought she was like his little sister or cousin. This time, I shouldn’t have done it, there happy?”

Kimi shakes his head. “I think the kerbs are going to your brain.”

Daniel scowls at the Finnish driver, but Sebastian thankfully steps in before he can tell him where to stick it.

“What happened this time? When you called her hot? Which to be fair she is.”

At Seb’s agreement, Daniel can’t help but shoot a look around, despite knowing that Max was in his hotel room and probably talking to his wife. The thought makes Daniel frown. “He, uh, he told me he’d crash into me and happily lose his seat if it came to it for crashing into me.”

The other four drivers look at him, Sebastian and Fernando looking with disbelief, while Kimi looks unsurprised, same with Jenson. “Are you sure you just called her hot?” Fernando checks.

He nods. “And pretty. I think it was pretty, hot, whatever you want to call it.”

“I don’t even want to know the context.” Kimi murmurs.

Daniel opens his mouth ready to say but gets a tap to the back of the head, making his mouth shut. “Let’s not do that tonight, alright.”

It’s near instinct to fight the words, because why not tonight, but he slumps in his seat, nodding at Jenson’s words. He didn’t have the energy for it anyway.

2017

“Max, put up a hell of a fight.”

Max’s eyebrows raise, “I didn’t know you knew my name.” He murmurs, the microphone still catching it, however.

Lewis lets out a laugh. “It’s your second win, right? Lots of pretty girls here to celebrate with tonight.”

The slight smile on his face from Daniel trying to poke at his ribs vanishes at Lewis’ words and he can hear Daniel’s sharp intake of breath, the journalists coming to life a bit. “Well, I don’t think my wife would appreciate that.” It’s deadpan, or at least he tries to make it deadpan, he didn’t actually want to make his PR officer’s life hell, but he knew there was a bit too much steel in it.

“Your what?”

Daniel leans forward, peering around Max. “Dude, where were you last year? It was all anyone was talking about at COTA.”

“You got married at COTA?”

“I got married in February 2016.”

“Aren’t you like twenty?”

Daniel peers even more around Max. “Once again, where have you been for the last year, two years?”

“Well,” a voice interrupts. “I think we can call this press conference to an end. Let Max celebrate his win and let Lewis come to terms with things.”

“Come to terms is putting it lightly.”

#max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x reader #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #f1 dark fic #max verstappen dark fic #sins fics

2K notes · View notes

ovaryacted · 2 months ago

Text

GUILTY AS SIN || II. VETITI FRUCTUS

─ General Marcus Acacius x fem! virgin! reader || WC: 11.5k

SYNOPSIS: After General Acacius hangs you out to dry, you're sure he no longer wants anything to do with you. Yet, when he confronts you while your father is away for business matters, he tries to prove you wrong.

CONTENT/WARNINGS: MDNI/18+. NSFW. SMUT. Girthy age gap [Acacius is 50/reader is early 20s]. Explicit Language. Formal dialogue. Virginity loss. Unprotected p in v. Pull-out method. Oral sex (f! receiving). Fingering. Mirror sex. Light handjob. Praise kink. Size kink. Marking kink (if you squint). Dirty talk. Marcus guides you through it. Breast/nipple play. Terms of endearment (dove, little dove, mea columba). Misunderstandings & angst. Jealousy. Confessions. Mentions of misogyny, patriarchal norms, & customs. Mentions of societal beauty standards. Reader has hair & wears dresses & jewelry. Marcus the Munch makes his debut. Not historically accurate.

➣ Note: Reader's Father’s Name - Julianus Novius Lurio. Handmaiden name - Viria.

A/N: This chapter took me such a long time to write and I apologize for that, but I'm glad I was able to finish it. I did this for the 5 mutuals that wanna fawk Marcus Acacius like I do! Big thank you to @gothcsz for the constant encouragement and feeding my love for the General. Thank you to @pedgito for the proofread, I don't know what I'd do without you. Anyways, reblogs, comments, and likes are always greatly appreciated! <3

NAVIGATION | PREV CHAPTER | SERIES MASTERLIST | AO3

You had awoken the following morning to an empty bed and disheveled sheets, not a trace of Acacius left behind, at least to the naked eye. Your fingers searched over the silk that covered your mattress for any possible remnant of the man you had spent all night dreaming about, the buttery material cool to the touch. Curiously, you drew your face closer to the pillow beside your head, digging your nose into the plush cushion, hoping to find something reminiscent of the General.

Faintly embedded in the covers, you caught it: small hints of almond oil and basil smudged under your nostrils; you’d recognize that scent anywhere. All it did was confirm what you needed to know, that what transpired last night wasn’t a dream.

Resting once more on your bed, your eyes closed as you made sense of the things you did last night, what you felt. A part of you knows you’ve stepped into risky territory with the General, tempting him in such a way you gave him your first set of kisses, and in return, he gave you the first taste of forbidden pleasure. If you thought long enough, you could still feel the thick muscle of Acacius’ thigh between your legs, his plush lips trailing kisses over the side of your neck, his voice whispering the praise you sought after. Just thinking about it brought a throb to your core, something new that caused you to exhale a deep breath.

A tentative knock at your door snapped you out of your daydream. Clearing your throat, you sat up straighter on the bed and called out to the inquisitor. The door to your bedroom opened, with Viria appearing on the opposite end, slightly bowing forward at your presence.

“Oh, you are awake, my lady.” She acknowledged warmly, coming to your side of the bed, silently taking in your appearance. She didn’t say much about how the other side of your bed appeared used, but she watched over you with a knowing glance. “Shall I prepare a bath for you? Your father is said to make his return before midday.”

“Yes, that would be helpful. Thank you, Viria.” She nodded, stepping out of your room to order the other servants to set up the bathing chamber.

As you stripped yourself of your sleep gown and slipped into the scented bath water, you cleansed your body of last night’s conduct with the pumice stone, ridding the ghost of Acacius’ touch and replacing it with the scent of jasmine and olive oil. Viria had helped you dress once your skin had dried, layering the flowing material of your stola and fastening it with a golden brooch. As she styled your hair while the other servants took care of preparing for your father’s arrival, you glanced at her apprehensively through the mirror in front of you.

“Viria, did you see anyone leave the domus in the night?” She paused styling your hair momentarily, releasing the curled strands in her hand before placing them on your shoulder.

“If you are asking about the General, yes, I saw him leave before the others awoke at dawn. He left quietly without a word; I am sure he had not been spotted.” Viria’s words did little to provide you any comfort, a slight sense of defeat washing over you as your head filled with unanswered questions.

“Did he spend the night with you?” She asked cautiously, a wary look gracing her features as she tried to understand you. “Was he…was he forceful with you?”

“No, no, nothing of the sort. He was not like that…quite the opposite actually.” You were nervous to speak the truth to the one person you trusted in your home after all of these years, wringing your fingers over your lap. “We kissed.”

“You kissed the General?” Viria commented in hushed shock, receiving a bashful nod of your head. “And you wish to deprive me of such information?” Her lighthearted approach to her probing eased you slightly, chuckling lightly along with her.

“No, I do not plan on doing such a thing. It was bliss what we did, I have never felt anything like it. Yet, we avoided the very thing I hear so much from other people. It’s strange.” While you spoke, Viria resumed styling your hair, isolating each riveting curl to fall down your back. “Though, I am rather confused on how to feel. He confuses me…” You slumped your shoulders and looked off to the side.

“Well, he is a complicated man, I am sure he has his reasons for leaving without notice. But, so long as he treats you with respect and not like a barbarian, that should be sign enough that he is considerate of you.” You hummed at that, feeling another squeeze on your shoulders. “Perhaps you should speak to him afterwards, once you two have a moment alone.”

You left the conversation at that, adding the finishing touches of your look for the day, a simple set of earrings paired with a jeweled necklace, tying it together with some scented oil on the sides of your neck. The rest of the morning was focused on making sure your home was prepared for your father’s return. The servants kept themselves busy by sweeping and scrubbing the floors, placing fresh flowers in the vases by the entryway while others cooked a welcoming feast and fetched the best aged wine in the reserve.

Your father arrived just as the sun reached the halfway point in the sky, the guards at the front door lowered their heads to welcome the man that paid them. Standing beside Viria and some of the other servants to honor him, you all offered him a bow of respect as he walked down the entryway, nodding in approval at the scene before him.

“Stand, child.” He commanded, straightening your back to look at the man before you in the eye. He looked you over once or twice, the end of his lip faintly coiled upwards, patting you on the arm before walking down the line and thanking the other members for their kind welcome. Strolling behind him, lunch was a quiet affair, consisting of light conversation between the bites of food prepared for the day.

“How was your trip, father?” You asked him, sitting across from the man at the dinner table.

“It was fine. Some of the other politicians in the provinces had conflicts they asked my input on, nothing to cause much concern over.” His fork dug into a piece of pork, munching away at the piece of meat and washing it down with the wine in his goblet. “How have things been in the city since my departure?”

“No change since you left. Rome remains the same.” You took tentative bites of your meal, pacing your swallows the way you’ve been trained to. Posture tall and shoulders drawn back, always so careful not to irritate your father.

“And what of your marriage affairs?” The question immediately spoiled your appetite.

“I believe that is intended to be your duty, to find me a husband worthy of partnership.” You chose your words and delivery carefully, taking a sip of wine to manage the nausea you could feel coming.

“When I find a man who offers the right price for your hand, then I will consider it. I refuse to have you bring shame to my name and my legacy by bedding with a commoner. I did not raise you to be a whore after all, unless I am wrong in my judgment?”

The hairs on the back of your neck rose as you met your father’s piercing gaze, eyes widening at his insinuation. It should be no surprise to you, these were the same comments you’ve heard for most of your life since reaching the appropriate age for marriage. The price was never enough, or your father was too busy establishing himself as a man of politics to care for your future outside of being his emotional punching bag. The thought of him figuring out your affections towards the General made your stomach churn, and you knew then that there was no possibility of your union happening with his approval.

“No, father, I understand. I shall wait for you to approve such a union.” He responded with a satisfactory hum, gulping the rest of his wine and snapping at one of the servants for a refill. You did your best to finish the rest of your meal, growing impatient to avoid more of your father’s temperament.

Luckily, he remained busy with his work in the Roman Senate, frequent meetings with the other politicians and leaders kept him out of his home more often than not, leaving you to your own devices as you’ve grown accustomed to. Though leaving you alone to your thoughts granted you time to think about Acacius or where he was as of late. You haven’t heard from him since the night he snuck into your room and offered more than conversation, the night replaying on a loop in your mind and in your dreams.

It was almost one full moon cycle before you saw him again.

The front doors of your domus opened, welcoming the sound of heavy footfalls and the metallic clicks of armor. You’ve trained yourself to recognize when Marcus was present in your home, the staccato of his steps echoing the walls of your entryway, exactly how you remembered. You made your way to the atrium like you always have, ensuring you’d get a good look at him as he stepped through the halls to speak with your father.

The moment you saw the top of his head, you were expecting him to turn and meet your eyes. Desperate for the soft chocolate irises to hold your gaze for that one moment to signify he was okay, that things hadn’t changed between you, that he hadn’t lost interest in you.

Except he never did.

You watch with furrowed eyebrows as Acacius walks beside your father towards his study wearing his black and gold armor, the signature red shawl thrown over his broad shoulders. His face remained hardened, jaw firm and eyes sunken as he kept them forward, body stiff and head stuck in place with no sign of turning.

Look at me. Look at me. Look at me.

The doors of your father’s study closed with no change, the sight of Acacius now kept hidden from you, savoring the last bits of his back and graying curls before you were shunned out in the dark. Standing there full of confusion, your chest stung at the slight dejection you just witnessed.

Has he grown bored of you so soon?

You retreated to your bedroom again, refusing to see Acacius going through the front doors. Keeping to yourself, you disregarded the sound of his voice through the walls, commenting on something the twin Emperors had requested for the next Senate meeting. He parted ways from your father and trekked to the doors, surely on his way to speak to whoever demanded his attention. Unbeknownst to you, he glanced in the direction of the atrium and further to your room for a mere second, walking out of your home without turning back.

The next time you went to the market for some goods, you stopped by the garden you and Acacius claimed for yourselves, searching everywhere for a note or a sign to explain his sudden behavior. The place was just as you left it previously, looking by the fountain and the marble bench to see nothing left behind, peeking around the trunk of the massive tree and the weeds surrounding it to see if you had missed anything.

Not a note. Not a flower. Nothing for you to find.

Had he even thought of you during this time?

Were you so easily forgettable?

You didn’t have the time to continue rummaging before Viria stated it was time to return home. Taking your baskets and stomping out of the garden, you controlled your breathing as much as you could, brushing off the disappointment and the hurt brewing inside you. It was delusional to think you would be anything but someone’s plaything, a naive little girl yearning to be seen as a woman capable of making her own choices.

You were stupid to think the General viewed you as something other than a toy to occupy his time, and nothing would change your reality, no matter how much you wanted things to be different.

Anxiety gnawed at your gut from sunup to sundown, restless nights spent wasting away questioning yourself and your worth to the man you’ve opened up to. You ran through the multitude of possibilities to explain his sudden rejection, finding any loophole to give Acacius the benefit of the doubt put you on the verge of losing your mind from the stressors.

You’ve heard of the recent campaigns initiated by the twin emperors to satisfy their lust for violence, your father spending lengthy periods in his study noting the financing to the army, lingering by the door in case his drunken mumbles revealed any news of the General and his location.

Last you heard, he was along the coast of Alexandria in Egypt, standing at the ready to combat runaway rebels of the army. Resting was a hassle; your clammy skin and hyperactive mind kept you awake throughout the night, with Viria offering teas to soothe your nerves by morning. It was useless; too much of your psyche was tethered to a man who had made it obvious he no longer cared for your existence. Yet you still prayed for his safe return every night, for respite and favor from the twin leaders who were hellbent on jerking their lapdog’s leash.

The news of the army’s successful conquest didn’t surprise you, nor did the extended invitation you and your father received to another one of the emperors’ banquets. However, the thought of being in the same space as the General once more, much like how it had first been when you two initially met, brought bile creeping up your throat. You prayed the wine they served would quell your worries; at this rate, you’ll drown in it one way or another.

Heeding your father’s commands, you dressed in all white and gold, a jeweled armband cuffed around your bicep with opals draping down your open back. Your hair was folded into a neat array of braids, some bordering around a pinned bun and the rest melting into your wavy tresses layered neatly around your neck.

With your hand taking its place around your father’s arm, you held the folds of your stola with your free hand, adopting the facade of sociability with grace. It was the same routine as usual, nodding your head when you were acknowledged, letting the men offer their sons’ hands in marriage or their own while laughing off their propositions and feigning a playful smile.

Amongst the crowd of opulent wealth and overindulgence, the urge to search for the one face you cared to look for was hard to ignore. Subtly turning on your heel and heading for more wine, that was when you spotted him.

General Acacius, draped in his signature white and golden armor, the cape flowed behind him, golden cuffs on his thick wrists. His hair had grown since the last time you saw him, grayer than you remembered, curling down the nape of his thick neck. From afar you could count a new scar on his forearm, a shade of light pink contrasting his tanned skin. He was still relatively the same, the same Acacius, your Acacius.

But he wasn’t alone.

Perched beside him was a woman you’d never seen before, at least not in the streets of the city from where you usually ventured off. Dark raven hair with a singular streak of gray and golden pins ornate her head, almond-shaped eyes as blue as the sea, smudged in dark pink and lashes darkened with ink. The green material of the fabric adorning her slim figure cascaded around her pronounced waist, her chin angled upwards with confidence and a permanent smirk on her oval face.

You didn’t miss how her hands clutched onto Acacius’ bicep, her nails scratching at the muscle, grip steady and consistent, never once parting from him. It was as if she was purposefully taunting you, proving a point that he was only hers to have. Hers to touch. Hers to claim. That he was never yours to begin with.

She was older, refined, established. Everything you weren’t.

The way Acacius’ hand clasped over hers and looked her way with the same charming grin he wooed you with tore your heart in two, the glass in your hand shook from your weak grip as you observed the scene from afar. The room began to spin, and your breath caught in your throat, rib cage rattling around your lungs as the white fabric you wore grew tight, constricting around your frame.

It was too much.

Pushing through people to reach the balcony, you were thankful the space had been empty for some time, everyone’s attention drawn to the boar that was brought out to be served. Tightly gripping the railing, you struggled to take a steady intake of air, knuckles turning white against the marble guarding you from falling over the edge of the hill. The tears lining your eyelids burned, threatening to flow down your cheek and leave their mark.

It was idiotic and embarrassing more than anything. To think you would be the one chosen for once, desired and sought after the way you wanted. Jealousy. An all-new emotion to you, one you did not preferably enjoy. The image of that woman smiling with glee while she relished in the attention she received from Acacius seared into your mind, filling you with disgust, a fiery irritation burning in your chest.

She has what you’ll never come close to. Nothing would be able to change that.

Pivoting on your heel to the sound of hasty footsteps behind you, your teary gaze was met with Acacius’ furrowed eyebrows, concern written all over his war-worn face. Quickly wiping at the corners of your eyes, you made a pathetic attempt at keeping your head high, brushing off the seething rage overpowering the betrayal bubbling inside you. Whether you were mad at Acacius directly or the witch who selfishly caressed him, you weren’t all too sure.

“General. Congratulations on the success of your campaign.” Your voice grew strained as you spoke, face hardened with the reaffirmed formalities.

“I give you my thanks,” Acacius replied, gauging your body language and expression as you played into the dismissive and cold act towards him. You cut him off before he could speak a second time.

“I shall let you enjoy the balcony in peace.” In an effort to excuse yourself, you paced to the banquet entrance. Just as you were about to pass Acacius, his hand came to grip your forearm, stopping you in place in front of him.

“Dove.” He whispered firmly, his voice seeping into your mind, a shaky exhale escaping you from the sheer closeness of him, your body betraying you at his missed touch.

“Do you give all of your playthings nicknames as well?” Tearing your arm away from his grip, you faced him directly with a bit of distance between you, uncovered anger in your emotional eyes. “Or is that only when you have yet to grow bored of them?”

“Playthings?” He squinted at you, stepping closer with a slight puff of his chest at the insinuation.

“The woman on your arm,” just mentioning her burned your tongue and sent your blood boiling, practically smelling her on him, “I was unaware of your…tastes.”

“She is merely a party guest.”

“A guest?” You fought the urge to laugh sourly in his face, taking offense to his sudden aloofness.

“You do not believe me?” Acacius tilted his head, and for a second you would think he sounded confused, even hurt. You didn’t bother having enough faith in him to find out. “Or would it be more convenient to paint me as a liar?”

“It certainly suits the current circumstances between us. One does not attempt to woo a girl and disposes of her for a replacement. But that is how this works, is it not?” Your words were laced with venom, striking a nerve when you noticed Acacius growing stiff, his back straightening more, fingers flexing by his side as realization dawned on him.

“I can explain everything, dove, please.” The authoritative tone he had with you wavered as the conversation progressed, edging to the point of pleading when those brown orbs landed on you.

“No. I do not wish to hear it.” Unyielding in your decision to shut him out, your ears tuned into the level of noise at the banquet, needing to turn back before someone grew suspicious of your whereabouts. “Vale, General Acacius. I will pray for your continuous prosperity on behalf of the empire.”

Hurriedly parting from him, you were quick to leave Acacius alone on the balcony to meddle in his own thoughts. Your body vibrated for the duration of the outing, occupying yourself with whatever wine, meal, and conversation you came close to. For the remainder of the night, you refused to look over in the General’s direction, not caring whether his guest was stroking his broad chest or holding his hand. Yet, you could feel his eyes on you the entire time, stealing glances when he could without making it too obvious, burning holes into the back of your head whenever a man approached you, offering them a petty bat of your lashes.

You were thankful that your father suggested taking his leave not too long after that fiasco of a conversation, not looking back at the attendees much like Acacius had done when he blatantly ignored your presence in your own home. Wishing the man of the house goodnight and storming past Viria towards your bedroom, the dam you constructed collapsed, and the tears you’ve been withholding flowed over the material of your pillow, sobbing long into the night until dawn broke the next morning.

It was never going to be you. That was just how things were, and how they’ll always be.

The days have gone by in a blur, repeating the same endless cycle of the sun rising in the East and setting in the West. You hadn’t stepped foot outside of your home much, foregoing your usual visit to the market and instead handing Viria a list to check off. She tried her best to put you in higher spirits, bringing you fresh flowers and your favorite fruits from her shopping trips, but it was no use. The frown remained permanent on your face, and your appetite had dwindled since the night of the banquet, not being able to keep anything down besides liquids for the most part.

Your father inquired about your change of attitude, and the only excuse you could offer was worry from the hecticness of the empire, the rapid changes around you frequently making your head spin. He didn’t bother probing more than he thought necessary, reminding you to maintain your strength unless you wished to plunge your household into despair due to your insolence. That night, you forced yourself to eat a loaf of bread and a side platter of cheese, leaving the dish clean despite the urge to throw it back up.

Senator Lurio was on his way to another trip for political matters out of the safe confines of the city. You almost had half a mind to ask your father to take you with him, to grant you some space from Rome, another sight that wouldn't bring so much anxiety. He declined, as you expected, waving you off and ordering you to pray for his safe return. At least you no longer had to play pretend when it came to your sadness and heartbreak, Viria grew concerned for your well being regardless of the number of times you brushed her off and sat at the fountain feeding the koi fish, fingers strumming the water for hours.

The night was silent and empty, your mind a contradiction to the serenity your domus should provide. The silk slip you threw on for bed helped keep you cool from the warm air, massaging oil into your damp skin before coursing the wooden brush through your hair in mindless passes. A knock at your door caught your attention, placing your brush down at your vanity and coming towards the entryway of your bedroom, opening the door to find Viria on the other side of the threshold.

“Viria, it is late,” you stated, looking at her in slight confusion with no hostility in your tone. “Should you not be resting?”

“I should be, my lady, but you have a visitor.”

“A visitor? Who would be in their right mind to come at this hour?” You had tried to think of who would come late into the night and request your presence specifically. Perhaps it was a messenger for your father? Or worse, an intruder.

Another pair of footsteps to your left forced your head to turn, eyes widening at the sight of General Acacius removing his black hood from his head, meeting your gaze. You stood frozen as you looked at him, reminded of his presence after busying yourself trying to forget him the past couple of days. Wiping your face of the initial shock, you huffed out a breath; the anger you’d dimmed ignited once more.

“No.” Shaking your head defensively, you positioned yourself to turn inward to your bedroom, threatening to shut the door behind you. “I do not wish to speak to him. Send him away.”

“My lady, if I may,” Viria spoke up, always persistent to show you reason when you’ve lost your way, “the General comes as a guest. He seeks to speak with you and swears he will not bother you again if that is what you request of him. I believe you should pray for an open mind and listen to what he has to say.”

Your nostrils flared out as you glared at Viria and then at Acacius, who stood idly by. He didn’t say anything as he waited for you to come to a decision, his body rigid with his hands to his back. A soldier’s stance, at the ready for your command, as if you were the one to dictate his actions and not the other way around. Admitting defeat, you dropped your shoulders with a sigh and stepped to the side.

“So be it. But he is to leave soon after.” You affirmed, ignoring Viria, who gestured for Acacius to go into the bedroom with you.

He whispered his thanks to her as she closed the door, leaving you alone in the room with him. You instinctively put some distance between you two, standing closer to the middle of your bedroom while he remained by the entryway.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, General?” Sarcasm dripped from your lips; the intention in your opposing behavior didn’t go unnoticed by the man before you.

“I came to apologize and to ask for your forgiveness,” Acacius said calmly, his broad shoulders widened as he spoke.

“And what for?” Your body itches with anxiety, the endless pit in your stomach fluttering along with the beat of his words. “You have done nothing wrong. You simply acted in the way a man of your stature would.”

“I do not understand,” he switched his weight from one foot to the other, hands flexed in antsy fists. “There are very few men who act as I do, or who have the title and honor I carry.”

“I am not speaking regarding your title, General.” You take a breath, fingers toying with the fabric of your slip. “You may have honor, but at the core, you are still a man with urges who seeks to release them somehow. Whether it be on the battlefield or in the brothels, the drive of men is natural and cannot be avoided.”

Acacius took your words personally, becoming slightly defensive as he caught your insinuation. To think he simply goes and sticks himself into whoever he finds convenient when you know nothing of what went through his head or how much you occupied his mind was offensive, to say the least. He thought the time you two spent together and crossing the line of boundaries dividing you would be enough to show how he truly felt. He thought wrong.

“That is something I do not spend my limited time doing,” he voiced, growing frustrated with your refusal to give him the benefit of the doubt. “Do not generalize me with other men in this city because of the social customs they engage with. We are not all alike; you must know that despite your naivety.”

“You speak of honor and virtue, and yet you come here to lie in my presence.” This time you chuckled bitterly at him; the fierce green flare in your eyes burned holes through the General. “You toyed with me for some time and found another that is more willing to provide what you need. Is that not what you men do?”

“If you would allow me to explain—”

“There is nothing left to explain, Acacius!” You threw your hands up exasperatingly as your voice increased in volume. “I understand why things happened the way they did. You sought some enjoyment from me, and once you grew bored, you went to seek companionship elsewhere. No need to elaborate on that when I know this is how things were always meant to be.”

“And that is far from the truth.” He took a step closer to you then, and another while your feet were planted to the ground. “You merely saw one side of things. Is that how you truly see me? A man who seeks to take advantage of you? After the time we spent together?”

“How else do you wish for me to see things, Marcus?!”

At the shout of his first name, his eyes widened, mostly in surprise rather than anger. You took yourself off guard as well, stammering at the usage of his name in such an informal manner, he should have your head for it.

“General, forgive me. I should not have—”

“No.” The word came without pause, and you expected him to retaliate, to strike his hand over your cheek and put you in your place. Instead, he came as close to you as he could without startling you, his hand lifting to hold your chin between his thumb and forefinger. The act of softness shocked you, eyes misty as you struggled to face him.

“I am not angry with you.” He spoke softly to you now, much like he had always done since the start of your relationship with him. “I do not wish for us to argue, to throw around false accusations. Speak to me honestly; let me understand you.”

“I felt hurt. Betrayed.” Your bottom lip wobbled, trying to find the right words to describe your emotions to Acacius, who was as patient as he was considerate. “I saw you with that other woman and…I was convinced your affections towards me had changed.”

He hummed at your words, staying silent for a beat longer, working to find the best way to explain his side of things without having you jump to more conclusions.

“The woman I was with at the banquet is a friend of mine, not a lover. She is not fond of men in particular, but…she favors the female form. We have an arrangement when we need to maintain our roles at these festivities. She is nothing more than a friend whom I respect and aid when needed.”

You felt stupid.

“Oh.” You faltered in your answer, ruminating on the fact that Acacius had left you with no other message to show you otherwise. “Then why did you leave so suddenly? You were here one day, and the next had disappeared into thin air with no regard for me when you returned.” He exhaled then, looking off to the side.

“After that first night together, I was sent on another campaign that very morning. The Emperors refused to give me the proper time to depart, to write a note to you. The campaign itself…it went on longer than it needed to. I lost men, saw more blood lost in the vain ambitions of the empire, and…it drained me. But this is my duty; this is the burden I must carry, you know that better than anyone.”

You hung on to every word he said, silently looking at him to continue with an encouraging nod.

“When I returned to Rome, I was sure that all I would do is put you in danger. Leaving you day and night to wonder whether or not I would make it back safely, to worry you to such an extent…I could not bear doing that to you. I convinced myself that it was easier to push you away, to let your father wed you off to someone else. And yet the thought of you being with another man vexes me.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, pulse spiking as you caught part of his confession. He felt the same way? Maybe there was a chance. Maybe you weren’t crazy for being fond of the General after all.

“Is that true?” With a raised eyebrow, you inquired for more, seeking more of his candor.

“Yes. It is.” His hand now tenderly cupped your cheek, thumb wiping at the tears that streaked down your face. “On my travels, you consume my mind so often it overwhelms me. I see you in my dreams, in my prayers…I look for you in every corner I turn. I desire you, dove. I crave to want you, to kiss and touch you. You are not mine to have, and it pains me that I cannot have you the way I want.”

“Why not, Acacius?” your cheeks were heated from his confession, your hand holding his wrist to ground yourself. “You have the will to do as you please.”

“Your father would disapprove of me. He is a man of politics, and he has his stake in funding the army. They will call it a conspiracy if the General of the army he pays for is engaged with his daughter. I cannot do something that would put you in harm's way, I would never forgive myself.”

“I do not care.” You declared, pressing your body to his and tilting your head upwards. “I refuse to let my father control me and my choices any longer. If you truly desire me, then show me.”

“Dove—,” the General eyed you, placing his hands on your hips to hold you steady. “If word got out of this, you would be damned and punished for your actions.”

“Am I not damned either way? To let a hypothetical husband whom I have never met dictate my existence is suffocating. I cannot keep depriving myself of so much in fear of my father’s judgment when all I care for is being with you.”

Hands creeping up to the brooch holding his black hood, you gripped onto him tighter, gently tugging him towards you in an act of persuasion. His brown eyes swirled with the torment of fulfilling your mutual impulses, to give in to the temptations you both felt towards each other.

“Please, Acacius.” You were so close you could smell him, the familiar scent of almond oil hitting your nose. “Let me control the one thing I have that is mine. I want it to be you; I only want you.”

His breath could be felt on your lips, the anticipation building like a live wire. He kept his eyes on you, watching you closely with his teeth sinking into his bottom lip. The hand on your hips turned into one strong arm around your waist, bringing you flush to Acacius’ strong body, a shiver rolling down your spine. He leaned his head closer, the tip of his nose lightly grazing yours and his free hand holding the side of your jaw.

“Dove…” It was a plea, so hushed one might consider it a prayer. Your fingers dug into the thicker material of his hood, tilting your chin to welcome him.

“Kiss me.” Close to begging now, he focused his attention on your mouth, plump lips parting as the distance closed in. “Please kiss me.”

Acacius’ resolve snapped, meshing his mouth with yours in a passionate kiss, yelping from the force he used. He kissed you fiercely, keeping you pinned to him and cradling the back of your head, his fingers spreading over the expanse of your skull. He didn’t let you part for air, granting him entry into your mouth so his tongue curled around yours, reclaiming his place. You willingly gave up control, running a hand up his thick neck and scratching along his scalp, gripping the curling gray strands you were enamored with.

You panted against him, sharing the same breath as the hand on your back shifted down to cup your rear, pawing at you greedily in a way that sent a moan pouring out of your mouth, one that Acacius happily swallowed. He overpowered you and took you off guard, expertly taking off his black hood and tossing it to the floor, never taking his hands off of you.

His lips parted from you, trailing to leave kisses on your cheek and jaw. Tossing your head back, you gasped at the sensation of his facial hair brushing over your skin; the faint tease of a bite on a spot behind your ear made you whimper.

“Acacius,” a rumble settled in his chest at the sound of your voice, airy and needy. The strap to your slip fell down your shoulder, his lips following the piece of fabric to place another kiss.

“I want to see you,” he proclaimed, grasping at the silk material that covered your body, a silent question hanging in the air. “Will you let me see all of you?”

“Yes,” it was effortless to answer him, craving more of his touch. “Please.”

Stealing one more kiss from you, he held your silk nightgown and pulled it up to your thighs and torso, lifting it above your head and letting it fall to the ground. Standing bare under the warm candlelight of your room, you didn’t take your eyes off him, waiting for his next move. He took a step back to take you in, shamelessly raking his sight over your naked body from head to toe.

Predatory in his perception, Acacius walked around you in a slow circle, taking more of you with every step. You stood in place, anxiously following him as he spun, breasts rising and falling with every nervous breath. He remained silent, catching your gaze once or twice, mischief in his brown eyes with the smallest hint of a grin tugging on the corner of his lips.

He stops to stand behind you, his broad back shadowing your figure. You could feel his presence, hear his breathing, and sense his eyes pinned to the back of your head. The ghost of his touch ran down your spine, a knuckle drifting to the nape of your neck and down your back, teasing your tailbone. Your eyes fluttered closed, slightly arching towards the touch.

“Acacius…” At the call of his name, he beckoned forward, pressing himself against you from behind. The linen fabric of his tunic rubbed over you, his proximity making you gasp. A large hand came to your hip, your head leaning against his shoulder as he kept you close.

“Beautiful,” Marcus whispered, blood rushing to your cheeks at his words. “So beautiful, little dove.”

“Touch me.” He hasn’t done anything, and you were already growing impatient from the teasing, the center of your body tense, seeking release.

“I will, sweet girl,” Acacius nipped at your ear, guiding the both of you closer to the bed.

You expected to have him hovering above you, doing the things you’ve heard from married women in passing, to have pain between your legs as he claimed you for himself. Yet he surprised you, sitting on the edge of your bed with you perched on his lap, your back to his chest and your thighs over his, keeping you spread. Opening your eyes, you were met with your reflection in the full-body mirror positioned ahead of you, Acacius’ head hovering in the crux of your shoulder.

“W-What…what are you doing?” You asked him, voice trembling from anticipation.

“I want you to see what I see,” Acacius rasped in your ear, both hands on your hips as your breath caught in your throat. “I want you to watch yourself when I touch you for the first time, my darling.”

He continued with his generous kisses on the side of your neck, craning your head back to invite him for more. The curve of his nose stroked the column of your throat, threatening to leave a mark for you to find in the morning. One of his hands reached to cup your breast, kneading your skin in a gentle squeeze. He pinched at your nipple, rolling the stiff nub between his pointer finger and his thumb, one of your free hands stretching to the back of his head for another rough kiss.

He took his time touching your chest, familiarizing himself with the weight of your breasts in his sword-worn palms. The texture of his skin against yours felt too good for you to ignore, looking in the mirror to watch how you fit just right in his hands, whether that be him palming your chest or holding the side of your ribs and hips. You were a perfect fit, and in the back of your mind, you thought of how else you would mesh together.

Acacius’ touch was drawn elsewhere, his fingertips trailing down your sternum and towards your stomach, ghosting along the skin under your belly button right above your pelvis. You could feel yourself pulse above him, your body lacking what you didn’t know you needed. Sneakily, your hips shifted upwards, chasing the tingling sensation of his fingers treading closer to where you wanted him most.

“Easy, little dove,” Acacius said beside you, tapping the skin of your mound with his other hand grasping one of your thighs, holding you in place. “Do you wish for me to touch you?”

“Yes, yes, please…I cannot bear it any longer.” He was satisfied with your pleading, a grin on his face as he kissed the back of your neck.

“Watch yourself,” he commanded, black engulfing his brown irises as he observed your reflection. “Look in the mirror as I touch you.”

Finally, he gave you what you wanted. A broad hand reached towards the most sensitive part of you, thick fingertips lining your slit, coated in the wetness of your arousal. The tips of your ears burned from the sensation, watching his hand move between your thighs in the mirror in front of you. He flicked his wrist upwards, the tip of his pointer and middle finger swiping your sensitive clit, rubbing in circular motions as your thighs shook from his touch.

With a whimper, you clasped at his arm, one hand holding his wrist and the other swaddled around his arm. You were entranced by your reflection, mindlessly widening your legs more, angling your hips to chase his calloused fingers circling your clit.

“Look at you,” he murmured beside your cheek, dark eyes sweeping over your figure, diligently rubbing your sensitive nub counterclockwise. “So wet and eager for me. Thought of touching you like this for so long.”

Your empty walls clenched under his touch, nails digging into the muscle of his bicep, and your head lolling to the side. You struggled to focus on your mirror image, the pleasure amounting to a level you didn’t anticipate. It was different than last time, more of a constant slow build versus the previously rushed movements of your hips grinding over his thigh. He had full control over you, pinned to his chest and at his mercy, hearing him purr sweet nothings in your ear as he rapidly brought you to your climax.

“Acacius, please…so close,” you gasped out, the tempo of his motions increasing in pace, heat boiling in your lower gut as the rope of tension wound tighter, ready to snap.

“Come for me, dove. Come for me, and I will make you mine.”

With his words you fell apart, keeping his arm between your legs and threatening to shut your shaking thighs from the impact. A loud wail of his name echoed through the walls of your bedroom, your eyes closing as Marcus held your legs open so he could watch you convulse. He milked your orgasm for as much as you could handle, your release soaking his hand and dripping onto his thigh.

Once the wave of your climax had ended, Acacius drew his hand away from between your legs, leaving affectionate kisses on your shoulder to ease you through the cooldown. There was a small smile on your face when you looked at your reflection again, meeting his gaze from behind you.

“And how was that?” He inquired, not stopping you from standing on quivering legs and straddling over his lap to face him with blown pupils.

“Perfect,” you replied breathlessly, leaning forward to catch his plump lips in a kiss, tugging at the collar of his toga.

You could feel him under you, his muscular legs, and the bump of something else poking at your thigh. Instinctively, you gyrated your hips over him as you littered kisses along the side of his neck, nipping playfully at the thick vein that poked out. The groan that escaped him from deep within his chest graced your ears, pulling back to kiss him more passionately, the heavy weight of his hands sweeping along the curve of your back to guide your movements.

Acacius held your thighs and flipped you both around effortlessly, causing you to lie on the bed with him hovering above you. Your legs were hooked around his waist, hands on his broad shoulders as you looked up at him, heart stirring, wondering what was going on in his mind. Expertly, he grabbed one of your pillows, placed it under your head, and kissed your forehead. He dropped kisses over your nose and cheeks, giving you more on your lips in small pulses, bringing a laugh to your face.

“You are radiant when you laugh,” Acacius noted softly, the heat in your cheeks persistent as he glanced at you with adoration.

“Will you spend the whole night toying with me, General?” You jested, curling a finger around a gray strand by his forehead that fell out of place.

“I will toy with you however I see fit,” a cheeky smirk appeared on his face, chuckling together. “If that is what you still desire from me. We can always continue this another time.”

Ever the considerate man, your chest warmed at his suggestion of doing more another time, not needing to rush the experience if you had changed your mind. But you knew deep down he was what you wanted, and you didn't want to waste another moment longer without having him.

“I want you,” you confessed honestly, thumbing the scar on his cheekbone. “I want you to make me yours…if you will have me.”

He sealed his promise with a kiss, repeating his familiar pattern of caressing your jaw and neck with his lips, pinning you to the mattress, and mouthing at your collarbones before arriving at your chest. Two kisses were left on your skin, one on each breast, a third right where your heart was beating rapidly.

“Then let me worship what is mine.”

Acacius’ lips enveloped one of your nipples, sucking the nub while flicking the other with his fingers. Your back arched at his touch, fingers coursing through his hair to keep him in place, gasping as the sensations ran through you like an electrical current. From one breast to the other, he lavished his attention on the stiff peaks, blowing on your wet skin when he was done with them.

He continued with his passage down your body, holding your waist and mouthing your sternum and stomach, kissing under your belly button and curling his hand around your thigh, bending it over his shoulder. You sat up on your elbows to watch him, lustful eyes meeting his dark ones, gasping when he smooched along the side of your inner thigh, biting into your skin hard enough to make you jolt.

“Acacius,” your fingers dug into the silk sheets of your bed, the suspense growing in your body, not knowing what else to expect.

The man before you kissed the crease where your inner thigh met your hip, then your mound, skimming the soft skin of your lower lips. Spreading your legs to welcome his head, Acacius placed a tentative kiss on your clit, the contact sending you reeling and your hips shaking. He went back for another kiss, licking a broad stripe up your cunt, humming at the taste of you invading his mouth.

“You are perfect, little dove,” he groaned against you, both hands wrapping around your thighs to keep you secured in place. “And you taste divine, the sweetest ambrosia.”

You didn’t hear what else Acacius had to say when he dove in to feast on with ravenous hunger, your back curving over the bed with a whine. Squeezing the pillow under your head, you closed your eyes and focused solely on how Marcus was pleasing you, flicking his tongue over your opening and collecting more of your slick into his wanting mouth. He was a greedy man, lapping at you like he could never get enough, a man thirsty and living in a drought, seeking replenishment from the oasis that was left to be unclaimed between your thighs.

The sweetness of your arousal filled his taste buds, reminding him distantly of fig and honey, a combination he often favored during the summers of his youth. The curve of his nose pressed further into your pussy, seeking more of your desire for him and slipping his tongue inside of your cunt. Your breath hitched in your throat, hands winding in his hair to ground yourself, bucking your hips into his face as he fucked you with his tongue.

“Oh, oh Gods…Acacius,” you stuttered on the call of his name as the General grunted in response, the vibrations shooting up your back.

You were unprepared for this kind of gratification in the bedroom. Sure, you were somewhat familiar with what happened behind closed doors, at least from what Viria had told you in private when your father refused to teach you anything else. There were always rumors of what happened in the brothels, how the workers easily wooed the men they entrapped, pleasing them in ways that were still misunderstood by you. But this, being worshiped in such a gluttonous way by a man so willing to get on his knees for you, was something unheard of.

You would think once again that General Marcus Acacius was an exception to the rule.

In the throes of his audible slurping, the General focused on sucking at your engorged clit in concentrated pulses. Meanwhile, his finger teased your twitching entrance, clutching at his head as he delved it deep inside you with minimal resistance. You keened at the feel of him filling part of you, quickly drawing the thick digit out and thrusting it back inside. He repeated the action a few times, concentrating on watching your face contorting in delight once he inserted a second finger, coaxing you to cry out into the room.

Breathless moans escaped you, the last bits of shyness and shame leaving you as you gripped the back of Acacius’ head, grinding your hips towards him with a receptive growl. He knew you were getting close to having another release, your walls pulsing around his fingers with every nudge he gave you. He curled the two digits inside you, burrowing them down to the knuckle and hitting a spot you didn’t know existed, tears in your eyes at the ferocity of what you felt hurtling towards you.

“Please, please…Marcus!” You didn’t know exactly what you were begging for, whether it be for release or mercy; Acacius understood it well.

Deepening his steady pumping, he sucked at your nub harder and moaned against you, sending you falling headfirst into your second climax. This one was more drawn out than the first, a tingling that started at the tip of your toes and spread from your quaking thighs, rushing to your head. Your nails scratched at his scalp as he coaxed you through your release, prolonging it for as much as he could until your body grew too sensitive for more. With a gentle tug of his head, Acacius drew away from your twitching pussy, leaving one last kiss on your clit. He pulled his fingers out of your hole and slipped them in his mouth, cleaning up what was left of your arousal before straightening his back and standing to peer at you.

You were still catching your breath from your climax, thighs trembling on his hips as he massaged your skin in an attempt to soothe you. Tears ran down your cheeks, not from pain but from being overwhelmed in the best way, your lower body throbbing from how the General treated you. When you focused on Acacius, the tip of his nose, lips, and chin were stained with your arousal, meshing in with the prickly gray of his mustache. His eyes gaped at you voraciously, licking his top lip as he stared down at you.

“Are you alright?” he asked you, nodding as you tried to bring him back down to your level.

You dragged him in for an eager kiss, licking at his bottom lip and hunting the taste of you on his tongue. He sighed against you, pressing himself over your body, letting you feel the length of him poking incessantly on your lower stomach.

“Will you let me see you as you have seen me?” You suggested to him in a low murmur, gazing at him with lust-blown eyes. It only made him want you more.

“Anything you wish,” Acacius said, backing away from you to stand on the edge of the bed, using your arms to sit upwards to watch him.

The black hood he wore was already discarded in your earlier pursuit of kissing him, his big hands grabbing at his linen toga and hauling it above his head, tossing it to the ground. You instantly gawked at the expanse of golden skin now exposed to you, kissed by the sun, and marked by scars from years of training and fighting in wars. He appeared to be even more broad without the bulkiness of his armor constantly weighing down on him, his body as strong as it was soft, a reliable vessel blessed by Mars.

Ogling him closely, Acacius went to remove his loincloth; the last piece of fabric shielding him from your view dropped to the marble floor with the rest of his clothes. Trailing your eyes down his body, your sight landed on his thick length bobbing against his stomach; the graying thatch of hair at the base caught your eye, your cunt flexing in response.

You couldn’t help but let your mouth water at the sight of him.

Acacius shuffled forward to hover over you again on the bed, his knees digging into the mattress as he went. Your hands itched to touch him, to get a real feel of him for the first time, but your nerves were starting to eat away at you. Gently, he reaches for one of your hands gripping the sheets, kissing the inside of your palm, each finger, and your inner wrist before placing your hand on his chest right by his left pectoral.

“You can touch me.” He coaxed, not letting go of your hand as you went on your journey to learn his body. “Feel all of me.”

Your touch continued down his bare chest, grazing along the scars you found on his freckled skin. Some were freshly pink, others were faded with age and mixed into the rest of him. You wondered what were the fables of each of these markings, the moment he experienced that imprinted onto him for the rest of his life. You went along the path he set for you, your fingertips reaching his belly button and the soft hair lined underneath it.

With Acacius’ help, you enclosed your hand around his aching cock, the heavy weight of him warm in your hand. You marveled at the sight of him, his skin smooth, twitching at the feel of you giving him a testing squeeze.

“You are big, General.” You commented with a lilt in your voice, the smallest hint of a smirk on your face.

“And you are a tease, little dove.” He played along with your game, guiding your movements with his larger hand, showing you how to touch him the way he liked. Though he was sure he would give you a more in-depth lesson next time.

He groaned at the touch, tentatively jerking him with a flick of your wrist, doing what felt natural to you. To your surprise, he grabbed hold of your jaw and kissed you fervently, fondling him until he took your hand away and urged you to lie flat on your back.

Swathing your arms around his shoulders and keeping him close, Acacius held your thighs, spreading you open and placing your legs on either side of him. His hard cock rested on your pussy, grinding his length between your lips, coating him in your wetness. The tip of him bumped into your slick pearl with every shift of his hips, clenching around nothing and whimpering as you seek more of him, to finally be his.

“Please, Marcus, take me. I want to feel you,” you pleaded, waiting for his next move. Grabbing hold of the base of him, he notches himself at your entrance, his free hand on your hip to keep you steady.

“I will go slow,” he assures you, leaning forward to press his forehead against yours, breathing with you. “You will hold onto me and tell me if it is too much or I hurt you. Understand?”

“I understand,” you echo with a dry mouth, your eyes beating closed as your nerves wrack through you.

Slowly, he rolls his hips and eases himself inside you with a careful thrust, pushing into you with control. Your breath hitches when he manages to get halfway before meeting resistance, fingers clinging onto his shoulders at the slight tinge of pain from being breached for the first time. He tried to thrust into you again, making you whimper from both pain and something else, moving his hips away to lighten the pressure before attempting to drive another inch into you.

“Too much?” He droned, and you nodded shakily. “Breathe for me, sweet girl. You are doing so well.”

The kisses and words of praise he gave you did little to alleviate the stinging tightness you felt from Acacius sliding into you for the first time. You were grateful he had been so attentive before, the fullness of him enough to make your eyes roll to the back of your head. He coaches you to breathe in through your nose, and out your mouth, and once your body was relaxed enough, he plunges into you in one go.

You yelped at the sudden intrusion, the stretch of him bringing tears to your eyes, huffing out a breath and holding onto him tightly, shielding your face in his neck. He stayed still on your behalf, giving you time to adjust, all while caressing your back in the process.

Acacius drew his head back to look at your face, an expression of worry and concern etched on his features. His thumb wiped at the tears that fell from your eyes, kissing you with affection as you leveled your breathing.

“Marcus,” you mumbled at him, looking at him wantonly. “It’s so much…”

“I know, dove. I know it is.” He felt you fidget your hips just a bit, panting from the change in angle. “Just keep your eyes on me, look only at me.”

Following his command, you did your best to focus on Acacius, shuddering when he pulled his hips back, missing the stretch of him already. He lunged himself back into you, down to the hilt, punching a rough moan out of your mouth as he carved room for himself in your cunt. He maintained his slow and even pace, not doing too much to aggravate your body as you adapted to taking him.

The more he moved, the more you craved him. Every push and pull of his hips felt like a kiss from the inside out, his cock hitting spots you didn’t know were a part of you. The depth of his languid strokes and the angle were done with precision, reciprocating his advances and instinctively meeting his thrusts halfway. You didn’t realize how vocal you had become, senseless keens pouring out of you with your arousal coating Acacius’ cock with every shove into you.

“There she is, my little dove.” You pulsed at the way he said it, possessive in his tone and his handling of your body. “Tell me how it feels. Tell me how you want me.”

“Full, so full…” Your voice grew to a higher pitch as you spoke, his eyes rapacious as he watched you. “Please, give me more. I need more.”

He didn’t keep you waiting any longer; grabbing hold of one of your thighs, he raised it to his shoulder, driving into you even deeper. He upped the tempo of his thrusts, sending your head craning into your pillow. Acacius took advantage of your position, laying his entire weight over your body and biting at the skin of your neck as he fucked into you intently, filling you to the hilt and doing it repeatedly.

“That’s it. Take it all, taking me so well.” He grunted into your ear, a hand coming to grapple the back of your head, grabbing your hair in a tight fistful. You were coerced to face him, lamenting with glassy eyes as he had his way with you. “This is what you wanted? To know what it felt like to be mine?”

“Yes, yes,” it seemed to be the only word in your vocabulary, rendered speechless from how Acacius was fucking into you so intimately. “Only yours. Only yours.”

He couldn't hide the wide grin on his face, locking his mouth over yours in a possessive kiss with a snarl, swallowing all of the sounds that poured out of you. The same tingling sensation from earlier sneaked up on you, your slick walls tightening around Acacius’ cock. He altered his bucks against you, hitting as deep as he could, making sure to leave his claim on your body from the inside out.

“Acacius, please…mercy.”

You could barely breathe being smothered under him, your sharp nails scraping at the nape of his neck and down his shoulders, tearing through his skin and marking him for yourself. He licked at his thumb, bringing his hand down to where your bodies met, and rubbed at your slicked nub, a cry forcing its way out of your throat.

“Come for me one more time, little dove,” he pounded against you so vigorously, that you would think he was purposefully trying to break you, the bed creaking under you. “One more for me, mea columba. Give it to me; let me feel you soak me.”

With a wail, you fell over the edge a third time, stars shooting under your eyelids as you shook violently and soaked Marcus entirely. You couldn’t handle the intensity of your orgasm as it slammed into you, all the blood rushing to your head, leaving the rest of your body numb. It felt like you were floating, swimming even, the warm breeze of a shoreline hitting your skin under the blazing sun.

It was euphoric, a sense of nirvana that you’ve prayed for so many times before, and here it was given to you freely and openly by a man that should be held at arm’s length.

Acacius was getting close to meeting his end; you could tell from the way he thrusted more frantically against you, groaning loudly in the curve of your neck. A few more drives of his hips, and he forced himself out of you, fisting his cock rapidly and spilling his seed over your stomach, tainting your clammy skin. You studied him with half-lidded eyes, how he heaved with sweat cascading down the side of his forehead, thick fingers holding his length in his hand to claim you, some of his release dotting your mound.

The General held himself up with one thick arm, closing the distance between you to kiss you much softer than the previous times, your lips plump and bruised from his prior aggressiveness. You reciprocated his affection happily, bringing him closer with a hand winding the back of his head, sighing contently against him.

“You amaze me, General.” You remarked, a dopey smile and wet streaks on your cheeks from the experience he granted you. You silently hoped the other servants in the domus weren’t disturbed by the loud noises coming from your room, but you had a feeling Viria would be able to cover for you.

“And you amaze me. Did so good for me, my sweet girl. So good.” Acacius praised, standing up to reach the bathing basin on the farthest corner of your bedroom. You eyed his broad back as he stepped away from you, catching the red scratches you left embedded in his skin staring back at you.

He turns and smirks when he catches you looking at him, taking the damp cloth to clean his spend from your skin. You slightly hissed when he wiped between your legs, a muttered apology falling from his mouth as he cleansed himself, tossing the rag back in the bowl and sauntering towards you.

You thought he would put his clothes back on and flee into the night, leaving someone to wake you in the morning. Instead, he came to your bed, slipping under the sheets and pulling them back to signal for you to join him. Without a word, you threw the sheets over yourself, a small inch of space between you and Acacius, staring at him curiously as if he had not just taken what remained of your innocence.

He blanketed an arm around your waist, beckoning you closer to him, and you rested your head on his chest, calmed by the steady beating of his heart. You silently caressed his side while he ran lines up your spine, his touch comforting and welcoming, palming your head and running his fingers through your loose hair. There was a nagging question tearing at your spirit, wondering what would come of this, what you meant to the General whom you just gave your virtue to on a silver platter.

“Do you plan to stay?” You asked him, raising your head to look back at him with your chin to his chest, his brown eyes already on you.

“I will be here until dawn breaks, and we will figure everything else out after.” He confirmed, bringing you close, kissing the crown of your head and again on your lips, petting your cheekbone. “Rest now, little dove. I will be here when you wake. I swear it.”

With your body against his, you breathed in his scent; the serenity your body felt beside him eased you to slumber. As you slept against the General, he stayed awake for a while longer, taking in your sweet face as you dreamed of whatever manifested in your pretty head. A part of him grew anxious about what to expect from your blooming relationship, how best to work around your father’s scrutiny, and protect you from the hardships that came from his demanding position in society.

But he knew what he wanted; he knew that whatever this was between you was something he was willing to fight for. And so he held onto you a little tighter, joining you in the land of dreams and fantasizing about you, as he usually did when he was away. Only now, part of his dream became a reality, and he had you by his side, safe in his arms.

©️ ovaryacted 2024-2025. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!

Dividers by @/saradika-graphics.

Latin Translations: Vale - farewell/goodbye. Mea columba - my dove.

#marcus acacius x reader #marcus acacius smut #marcus acacius x you #marcus acacius fanfiction #marcus acacius x f!reader #marcus acacius #general marcus acacius #gladiator ii #gladiator 2 #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #ovaryacted fics #ovaryacted fics: guilty as sin #⋆♱ nic works ♱⋆

440 notes · View notes

myladybelle · 10 months ago

Text

𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐓𝐘 𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐍? | chapter four

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: art donaldson x female!reader x patrick zweig 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you’ve always been content being second place to your best friend tashi duncan, waiting for the day you can quit tennis. your world is upended when you meet art and patrick, and you’re forced to embrace a life in the sport you’ve been too afraid to claim for yourself. 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4.8k 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠(𝐬): challengers content warnings, reader wears shorts and a t-shirt, use of y/n 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: patrick girlies, this chapter is for you (sorry in advance for the angst) xx 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭

𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐈𝐎𝐑 𝐔𝐒 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐒’ 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋 – 𝐒𝐄𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝟏𝟎, 𝟐𝟎𝟎𝟔. 𝟏𝟐:𝟓𝟓𝐏𝐌.

It was the perfect day for a game of tennis, and you had never seen Tashi so excited to watch a match unfold.

“Okay seriously, you’re starting to freak me out, Sally Sunshine,” you said as you took your seats, eyebrows furrowed as you stared incredulously at your best friend.

Tashi rolled her eyes, sipping from the straw in her blue Gatorade bottle. “I’m just thrilled to see two little white boys battle it out for your phone number,” she retorted with a cheeky grin. “I mean, Patrick’s probably going to win so I guess that’s unfortunate if you like Art best, but one of them is definitely getting your number.” Happily, Tashi set her drink down and leaned back on her arms. “This is going to be a great day!”

“Alright, I think you may be enjoying this a little too much,” you admitted, trying not to laugh.

“Well I think you’re not enjoying this enough,” Tashi retorted. “These two guys are going out there today, not to win the Junior US Open for their careers, but to get you to go out with them. How many girls can say that about themselves?” Your cheeks grew hot at the implication, but you tried to wave off Tashi’s assumption.

“Who says they’ll ask me? What if whoever wins asks you?” you argued.

Tashi stared at you, unimpressed. Her eyes narrowed slightly, a flat and unyielding stare that spoke volumes of her disapproval of your uncertainty. She remained silent, her unconvinced gaze conveying a clear message of criticism more effectively than words ever could. Still, she indulged you.

“That’s fucking insane, Y/I,” Tashi declared. “After everything that happened last night, I don’t know how you could ever think I’m the one they’re interested in.” She smirked. “But don’t take my word for it, let them show you on the court today. I doubt you’ll need any further convincing after that.”

Sitting at the edge of your seat, your fingers tapped restlessly against your thigh, the tension in your body reflected the tension between Art and Patrick as they came out onto the court. You were too nervous and rigid to applaud them, and each heartbeat felt like a drum in your chest as your eyes flickered between the boys. The electric anticipation in the air mingled with your personal stakes, making your breath catch with every second ticking closer to the start of the match.

It was a gorgeous day, just as Tashi had happily declared earlier; clear, blue skies with a blistering sun in the early afternoon. In the heat, you were dressed in a pair of denim shorts, a fitted red Stanford t-shirt, and your favourite white sneakers that Nike sent you for free when you attended the Junior Australian Open. You anxiously picked at the beads of the friendship bracelets on your wrist while you waited for the match to begin.

When it did, it was your turn to be stunned by their performance.

Patrick was playing like a man possessed.

From the first set, the match between him and Art was electric. Every stroke was more powerful and precise than any you had ever seen Patrick play in the past. The thud of the ball against the racket echoed like thunder throughout the court, and his grunts of effort punctuated the relentless rhythm of the game. His volleys snapped with a precision that left the crowd breathless, and even Tashi’s eyes darted to follow the blur of the ball with heightened interest.

Art, drenched in sweat, scrambled helplessly across the court, barely managing to return each powerful shot. You knew he was a pretty conservative player – especially compared to Patrick’s intense, emotional playing style – but this time, he was forced into a desperate defensive stance. Patrick was quick, accurate, and relentless. Across the net, Art nearly fell over as he sprinted from one corner to the next, barely keeping up with the gruelling pace his best friend set.

“Okay, this is kind of hot,” Tashi admitted, grinning widely at you.

“Two good-looking guys playing tennis? Yes, I see the appeal,” you joked, keeping your eyes trained on the match. “Hence the Nadal favouritism.”

Tashi snorted. “Right, but that’s not what I meant.”

“What then?”

“Don’t you get it? The real game of tennis isn’t even happening on the court,” Tashi explained to you. At that moment, Art mishit the ball and sent it soaring high in the air, giving Patrick ample time to deceive his best friend and hit a gentle between-the-legs shot, winning the point as the crowd cheered. “It’s happening right here…” she trailed off, applauding when Patrick turned to bow at you while Art stared at you dejectedly, trying to catch his breath.

Patrick took the match in straight sets.

It was the best game of tennis he had ever played, and it had the spectators begging him for more when he was finished. With the crowd, you applauded his victory, laughing when he instantly turned to find you and sent you a satisfied boyish grin. Even though Patrick had described going pro as a way to avoid having a normal job, it felt like this match meant more than that.

Feeling overwhelmed by the crowd and the growing realisation that you had entered a game of mental tennis with these boys, you told Tashi you were going to the bathroom to excuse yourself. The nervous exhilaration of watching them play mirrored the rush you felt when you played tennis, your heart pounding and your palms sweaty. Burdened by the tension and emotional rally, you needed a moment to catch your breath and gather your thoughts.

“Hey,” Patrick called after you, running into the hallway with flushed cheeks and his racket in hand before you could disappear.

You sucked in a breath, heart hammering nervously. No. He couldn’t be… could he?

Plastering a false smile on your lips, you turned to meet his eyes. Out of breath and drenched in sweat, Patrick’s chest heaved with exhaustion. Despite his tired muscles, his eyes were alight with the fire of victory, radiating pure exhilaration and triumph. Your Stanford t-shirt – which cut off above your shorts to display a sliver of skin – revealed a hint of your bare abdomen. That was enough for Patrick to feel something stirring in his stomach, thinking of how his hands and lips had touched you the previous night.

“Hey,” you echoed, letting him hug you despite how sweaty he was. It felt oddly casual, considering how well you knew the inside of his mouth, but you tried not to dwell on it. “Congratulations on winning the Junior US Open! That was quite a match,” you complimented.

He smiled proudly. “You think so?” Knowing your attention had been on him for the last two hours had made him smug and confident. He was glad he’d played so well while you were in the audience and hoped you were impressed.

“Of course I do. I wouldn’t lie to you,” you dutifully replied. Patrick believed you; you were so earnest and generous last night that he didn’t think you had it in you to placate him. “You were electric, Patrick. It was really a special game to watch. You should be proud of yourself. You were doing far more than avoiding a real job,” you added.

“Well, thanks.” Patrick eyed you, trying to figure out your expression. Your words were genuine and kind, but the thin smile on your face didn’t reflect that. You hated that he could tell you were acting weird. After knowing Patrick for exactly one night, it wasn’t fair that you were an open book to him. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

You tilted your head, eyes widening in a way you hoped was innocent. “What do you mean?” you said in an airy voice.

“You have this look on your face that I can’t figure out,” Patrick explained.

“Oh, that? I’m just channelling my inner Mona Lisa – always keeps people guessing,” you joked, hoping he’d brush it off and move on. It was unfortunate that you slipped into old habits when you were nervous, but Art and Patrick had rattled you the previous night, and now you didn’t know how to behave around them. “Nothing to worry about!”

His face fell. As you watched the joyful glow of victory drain from his eyes, your heart ached for him. “You’re making jokes to deflect me,” Patrick realised. “I thought we got past that last night?”

You simultaneously hated and loved that Patrick knew you were resorting to your go-to method of distracting people from your true feelings.

“We did,” you promised, feeling guilty for trying to deceive him. “I’m sorry. I’m just a little tired, that’s all. What’s up, Pat?” The nickname flew from your lips without a second thought, allowing his mouth to curve into a grin.

“Well, I’m not sure if you remember the terms of our agreement, but it stipulates that I get to have the number of my choosing if I win. Which I did,” Patrick mused joyfully. “So, here I am, hoping to cash in my prize…”

You were hoping he wasn’t going to ask you.

Your stomach twisted into knots, and your hand reached for the friendship bracelets on your other wrist. The weight of having to reject a genuinely great guy settled over you uncomfortably, increasing your anxiety. Your heart raced with dread as you searched for the right words.

Patrick stood there with a hopeful smile, his lake-blue eyes shining with anticipation. Rather unlike the cocky Patrick you met last night, his fingers fidgeted nervously with his racket, utterly unaware of the impending rejection. His earnest expression and boyish excitement replaced his usual suave smirk, and you noticed how attractive he was with his sweaty tousled curls and prominent arm muscles.

“I think you should ask Tashi for her number,” you blurted out. Immediately, your eyes squeezed shut, and you realised how blunt that was. When you opened your eyes, you saw the startled expression on Patrick’s face. “That was awful, I’m so sorry–”

Clearing his throat, Patrick rubbed the back of his head and waved you off. “No, no, it’s okay–”

“No, it’s not,” you denied. “It’s just that I’m sort of going through a break up right now.”

Patrick opened his mouth to respond, closed it, and stared. “I didn’t realise you had a boyfriend.”

You chuckled awkwardly. “I don’t. It’s not that kind of break up,” you amended your earlier statement. “God, this is going to sound so stupid, I’m breaking up with tennis, Patrick.”

“Oh.”

“I know that’s dumb but it’s the only way I can describe it.” You reached out, touching Patrick’s elbow and hoping the gesture comforted him. “This whole thing with giving up tournaments is really messing with me, and I just don’t think I can be with a guy whose whole life is the professional tennis world right now,” you admitted. “It’s going to be hard enough playing at Stanford. I don’t think I can put myself through that. It’s just too painful.”

Patrick nodded. “I get it.”

“I think you’re going to do great things when you go pro, Pat,” you encouraged, grinning at him and dropping your hand. “I truly mean that. But I’m not going to be able to pick up the phone and talk through the match with you. Not when I’m–”

“–Breaking up with tennis, I know what you mean,” Patrick filled the gap for you. He tried not to, but he looked crestfallen. His eyes lost their characteristic heat as he smiled sadly. “It’s okay. I understand.” It was like a shield went up, and his eyes suddenly seemed empty. “Are you sure you can’t give me your number? Just to piss off your mom?”

A surprised laugh escaped you. “What?!”

“Didn’t you say I was on her blacklist for my serve?” Patrick recalled. “I bet she’d hate it if you dated me.”

“As much as I’d love to see the look of absolute horror on her face when I tell her I’m going out with the guy with the disastrous serve, I’m still going to have to say no,” you replied. “I’m sorry.”

“Ah.” He nodded. “That’s a pity.”

“I think I’m just too sweet for you,” you revealed what you had been thinking since last night in the hotel room. “I’m not going to get in the way of whatever you and your kind-of-girlfriend have going on. Besides, you need someone strong by your side to amplify the best parts of you. And there are so many amazing parts. Tashi can be that person for you, I know she can.”

“Okay, yeah,” Patrick agreed reluctantly. He didn’t know what to say to you, especially after you had indeed been so sweet to him in your rejection. You didn’t realise Patrick liked that you were so lovely. He craved your honeyed words of affection and encouragement. But Patrick also wanted to please you, and the last thing he wanted was to be the reason for your discomfort, especially during your ‘break up’ with tennis. “I’ll go find Tashi, then,” Patrick decided.

You nodded, sighing in relief when he didn’t seem too upset. “You won’t regret it,” you maintained, and your smile was so beautiful it hurt him. “I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah, sure,” Patrick agreed. He searched your eyes intently, hoping to discover you changing your mind and giving him your number. A beat of silent contemplation later, he let it go, trying not to let the crushing disappointment hang visibly between you. “I’ll see you, Y/N.”

When Patrick turned around and left you in the hallway, you slumped against the wall, exhaling shakily. You put your hand on your chest, feeling your racing heartbeat beneath your fingertips. You didn’t know if you had done the right thing, but you hadn’t lied to Patrick. Even though you liked him, you didn’t think you could have a professional tennis player boyfriend right now.

Around the corner, Art was pressed against the same wall, frozen in shock at what he just overheard.

𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐙-𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐓𝐎𝐍. 𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐄, 𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐘𝐎𝐑𝐊 – 𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟐𝟗, 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟗. 𝟎𝟖:𝟎𝟎𝐏𝐌.

One of the many things you and Tashi always had in common was your penchant for being on time.

You were always punctual, a habit ingrained from countless times of being let down by your mother, who never showed up for anything but tennis matches. Your awareness of the time and dedication it took to build a tennis career made you value everyone else’s time more, ensuring you never wasted a minute.

It was a shock to the system when you walked into the Ritz-Carlton and saw Tashi waiting for you by the reception desk.

You were awestruck by how much she had changed and yet how much remained the same. With an aching heart, you tried not to list all the major life events you had missed. There was a bittersweet pang of regret for not being there to share in those moments but also a profound relief in knowing you had carved out a life for yourself that you genuinely loved.

As you and Tashi stood face to face, the years melted away, blending past sorrows with the awkward unfamiliarity of your present selves.

She broke the silence like she always did when you were younger. “Thank you for coming,” Tashi acknowledged. Her voice was deep and firmer than you remembered.

You nodded. “You said you needed to see me. I knew it had to be important,” you replied. “I like your hair.” It was shorter and blonder than the last time you saw her, around three years ago at the French Open.

Tashi smiled. “Thank you. You look great, by the way. I always knew we’d get older and you’d just keep getting prettier.”

She brushed her hair behind her ear, and shiny beads caught your eyes. They widened a fraction when you realised Tashi was wearing a homemade friendship bracelet. You couldn’t tell what was spelt out on the white beads from your distance from her, but you couldn’t help the twinge in your stomach at the sight of her wearing something that used to tie you together for so many years.

Seeing your ex-best friend wear a friendship bracelet made by someone else was like noticing the delicate thread that once tied your hearts together had been cut and replaced, leaving you with a hole where your bond used to be.

Eyes sliding down to see what you were staring at, Tashi awkwardly moved her hand behind her back. You blinked, trying to focus.

“Oh, um, my daughter made that for me,” Tashi admitted.

That surprised you. “Really?” you said, wonder clear in your tone. “You were always too impatient to make them when we were younger. I can’t believe you taught your daughter how to make them.”

Biting her cheek, Tashi shook her head, a potently nostalgic glint shining in her eyes. “I didn’t,” she confessed. “She learned from Art.”

“Oh.”

Talking about Art – your first love and her husband – felt surreal to both of you. It was a topic that remained unspoken for so many years, especially after your friendship ended. Now, as Tashi finally broached the subject, it felt like too much time had passed to address it.

“It’s one of their favourite things to do together,” Tashi explained. “It’s one of the few things she does without needing a cartoon or musical playing in the background. She really enjoys it, especially when Art joins her.”

You sighed and rubbed your forehead. “I don’t want to talk about Art, Tashi.” She relented, nodding and averting her eyes. “What’s her name?” you asked.

Tashi lifted her arm, readjusting the bracelet and letting you see the letters printed there: LILY ❤️.

A lump formed in your throat, and your eyes stung as you tried to hold back the tears threatening to spill. Your chest tightened with the effort to maintain composure, exhaling slowly to calm your nerves. Lilies were always one of your invisible strings as friends, a sign from the universe that you were put on this earth to be Tashi Duncan’s best friend. Now, they were a reminder of your broken friendship and Art, the boy who always bought you lilies to brighten your dorm at Stanford.

Even though the thought of a little girl who was half Tashi and half Art warmed your heart, you kept your guard up. You had been stung by your ex-best friend too badly to forgive and forget over one kind gesture.

“Why am I here, Tashi?” you wondered. Even after all these years, it was odd not calling her T, the affectionate nickname you had used since you were fourteen.

“I need your help.”

“Why me?”

“Because you’re the only person who can fix this.”

“What are you talking about? You’re being so cryptic,” you complained. “Just tell me the truth. You owe me that much.”

Tashi inched closer. “Okay, I’m sorry. Look, why don’t we get a drink and then talk?”

“I don’t drink.” The pointed manner in which you said this wasn’t lost on Tashi, who cringed a little.

“I know. We could get tea?” Tashi offered.

You raised an eyebrow and studied her expression. Scrutinising your ex-best friend’s desperate – yet seemingly genuine – eyes, you wondered if there was any hidden motive behind her words. After so many years apart, you were painfully aware that you would never truly know if Tashi was being honest or deceptive. It had been too long since you could tell her every thought and emotion from one glance.

All you could do now was trust your gut and hope you weren’t walking into a trap.

“Tea sounds fine.”

Together, you walked through the lounge and approached the bartender to ask for boiled water and tea bags. As Tashi ordered, your eyes swept the room, and your heart dropped to your stomach when you made contact with a familiar pair of lake-blue eyes.

Patrick.

He was equally stunned to see you, doing a double take as his flirtatious smile gave way to a yearning expression. His eyes widened, and his lips parted like he couldn’t school his face and hide his true feelings.

You hadn’t seen him in a while, a very long, painful while, and you had missed him despite everything.

A wave of panic surged through you, your heart aching with a force you hadn’t anticipated. Your pulse quickened, and your breath caught in your throat, unprepared for the flood of old emotions rushing back with such intensity. It was a confusing mix of fondness and anger, both longing for what once was and resenting the pain Patrick had caused you.

“Is everything okay? What–” Tashi caught sight of Patrick and frowned instantly. She rolled her eyes, infuriated that he had to appear now, the night you finally agreed to speak with her. “Unbelievable,” she muttered angrily. “Do you want to go up to my room?”

“W-What?” you stammered, meeting her eyes. It hurt more than you thought to wrench your gaze away from Patrick; it left you feeling empty.

“We can take our tea up and talk there, away from prying eyes,” Tashi explained, looking at you with meaningful sympathy.

She was giving you an escape.

Well, sort of.

“Will we be alone?” you asked anxiously.

It was like choosing between two evils; being stuck with Patrick or Art. You didn’t know which would be more eventful or painful.

“He’s with my mom and our daughter,” Tashi assured you. “It’ll just be us.”

“Yes,” you agreed, nodding. “Let’s go to your room.“

Once the thermoses filled with boiled water came, you followed Tashi to the elevators. She pressed the button, waiting impatiently for the elevator to arrive so you could avoid Patrick.

Of course, he wasn’t going to let the opportunity to speak to you slip by him. “Y/N–”

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Tashi interrupted Patrick, crossing her arms and glaring at him.

You and Patrick stared at each other. It hurt how good he looked after all this time. You actually liked the beard and shorter, styled hair on him. He looked more mature, and the reminder of all the time that had passed since you last saw him made your heart ache.

Blue-green eyes flickered from you to Tashi. “I’m playing at the Challenger,” Patrick explained, trying to mask his irritation. He didn’t appreciate her interruption, and his image of her changed drastically when he found out why you stopped being friends at Stanford.

“Yeah, I know that. But you’re not staying here, are you?”

Patrick shook his head. “No. Why are you staying here? I assumed you guys would rent a villa or something.”

Tashi sighed. “Lily likes hotels.” Patrick stared at her, not recognising the name. “Our daughter.”

“Oh,” Patrick mumbled, disinterested. He couldn’t keep his eyes off you, hands clenched into fists to stop himself from wrapping his arms around you like he used to. “As lovely as it is to see you again, Tashi, do you think you could give us a minute?” he wondered.

Tashi frowned, looking over Patrick’s shoulder and spotted the brunette at the bar watching him in confusion. “Are you on a fucking date?”

You shut your eyes, frustrated and overstimulated. The two of you hadn’t been together in years, but it was gut-wrenching to hear that Patrick had happily moved on after everything you went through together.

“No. Well, yeah, but it’s not–” Patrick paused to rearrange his thoughts. “I just need a place to sleep,” he confessed dejectedly.

“What? Wow.” Tashi tried not to laugh.

“Can’t all stay at the Ritz,” Patrick retorted.

“Actually, you could if you wanted to,” you snapped, finally having enough of Patrick and Tashi’s verbal acrobatics. “Your meagre financial situation is entirely self-inflicted.”

Hurt painted Patrick’s features, and it was both painful and satisfying that you were the cause of it.

“Okay, well, can you seal the deal and leave?” Tashi complained. “You’re on opposite sides of the draw. You’re not gonna play each other unless you’re both in the final.”

“I don’t think we have to worry about that.”

“No, you typically fall apart in the second round,” Tashi snarked.

You were done listening to their petty fighting. “Hey, Tashi, I’ll be there in a second,” you interjected. Even though you hadn’t seen Patrick in years, it hurt to hear Tashi berating him. He’d meant so much to you for so long, and you couldn’t listen to it any longer.

Tashi eyed you carefully, pursing her lips and nodding. “Do me a favour. Stay the fuck away from us,” she told Patrick before she walked down the hallway to give you some privacy.

You didn’t know what was worse, hearing Tashi yell at Patrick or standing alone with him.

“So, uh, how are you?” Patrick asked nervously.

You couldn’t think of any time he’d been nervous around you, not even the day you broke up. Maybe the day he asked for your number at the Junior US Open, but that felt like a lifetime ago.

“I’m okay,” you replied. “Getting ready for the US Open and, uh, reconnecting with old friends, I guess.”

“Wow. So that’s back on then? You and Tashi?” He didn’t even try to hide his distaste.

“No, not at all. She just texted and I thought I’d see why she reached out,” you explained. “Listen, Patrick, I should let you get back to your date–”

“I know I don’t deserve your time after what I did but I just wanted to tell you that I’m sorry,” Patrick blurted out. You paused, watching him with big eyes and waiting for him to go on. “That night? It’s the biggest regret of my life.”

“You don’t have to–”

He looked at you knowingly. “Yes I do. I shouldn’t have done it, I should never have given you that ultimatum. I was an idiot, Y/N.”

“Patrick–”

“I should never have said that you had to say yes or we had to break up. Letting you go is the biggest mistake I ever made.” Patrick glanced at the shiny floor of the hotel and shook his head in disappointment. “I should never have told you to walk away.”

You smiled sadly, trying not to cry. Your lower lip wobbled, and your hands trembled. “We weren’t ready, Pat,” you whispered.

“I think we were.”

“No, we weren’t,” you insisted. The memories of that heartbreaking day crashed over your mind like relentless waves, devastating you in an unforgiving flood of sorrow. “If the only options are to marry you or break up, then we weren’t ready.”

“I never wanted anything more,” Patrick insisted desperately. You believed him. The anguish shone in his eyes today like it did all those years ago, the longing and devotion. “And I’ve never wanted it with anyone else.”

“I know, Pat. I know you did. But relationships can’t be all or nothing, not for me.”

With red eyes, Patrick stared at you sadly. His bottom lip quivered like he was fighting off tears. You had never seen him like this, not even the night you broke up. “I needed to be your everything, anything less hurt, Y/N,” he confessed. “It still does.”

“And that’s how I know we weren’t ready,” you declared.

Patrick was always a paradox.

He was complex and inspired emotions in you at a heightened level you’d never experienced before loving him. But with that came a blurred line between fantasy and reality; he was inconsistent and contradictory, and the struggle between love and torment was exhilarating and heartbreaking.

“I just wanted to say that I’m sorry,” Patrick said when you were lost for words. He tucked his hands into his jeans pockets and took a few steps back, not wanting to crowd or pressure you. Nodding awkwardly, he bowed his head in farewell and turned to leave the hotel.

“Pat?” you called after him, voice cracking with emotion. He stopped to listen. You had replayed that night so many times over the last eight years, fantasising about how things might have gone if you and Patrick stayed together. “If we had waited and figured things out, really talked through everything and made sure we were ready… I would have said yes if you asked me again,” you revealed.

Patrick didn’t turn around to look at you until he heard your footsteps grow quiet. You joined Tashi and stepped into the elevator with her, so Patrick risked one last look at you. When the doors shut, he reached under his shirt and pulled out the gold chain that hung from his neck, fiddling with the engagement ring he bought you nine years ago.

He hadn’t taken it off since the night he proposed to you in Atlanta, the same night you broke up.

#challengers #art donaldson x reader #patrick zweig x reader #challengers movie #challengers x reader #art donaldson #tashi duncan #patrick zweig #challengers fanfiction #challengers fanfic #art donaldson imagine #art donaldson x you #patrick zweig x you #patrick zweig imagine #fic: guilty as sin?

762 notes · View notes