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sonolynn · 8 months ago

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The Aftermath-Blood and Cheese part two

summary | The after math of blood and cheese.

pairing | Aemond x Wife!Fem!Reader

tags | mentions of death, grief, swearing, infanticide, murder, talks of pregnancy and birth. Not proof read.

w.c | 2.0 k

note(s) | please ignore my lack of political or architecture knowledge in regards tp the rooms in Kings Landing or Driftmark. also! Fuck you Criston Cole.

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“Have any of my letters to my daughter been answered?” Rhaenyra asked calmly. The messenger anxiously shifted from his heels. “No, your grace.” Rhaenyra nodded solemnly. Within the past couple weeks, her daughter had not responded to any letters that she’d had sent. Of course, Rhaenyra felt that something was wrong, “motherly instinct” Daemon had so gracefully commented when she had confided in him one night about her fears.

“Do tell me if anything comes?”

“Of course your grace.” With a bow, the servant moved out of the way so that Rhaenyra could make her way downstairs.

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The looks Rhaenyra got when she entered the meeting room were nothing short of sympathetic. Daemon sat in his chair, his legs crossed and a look of boredom on his face. Jace stared at his mother as she walked, as if words had been stuck on his tongue. Rhaenyra looked between everyone until she couldn’t handle the prolonged stares and discomforting silence for much longer.

“What is this…silence? Has Aegon struck?” Rhaenyra asked, slowly making her way to her seat. When no one answered, she turned and looked towards Rhaenys, who, at eye contact, quickly looked towards Daemon. “Well?”

“It’s troubling news, your grace. The princess’ son, Baelon, was murdered in her arms not but a few weeks ago.” Rhaenyra smiled slightly, disbelief coursing through her mind as she laughed.

“Murdered? He was only six months old! He had no enemies-” Rhaenyra stopped, seeing the solemn looks everyone held. Her face dropped, and she breathed out slowly as the smile faded from her face. “My…grandson is..dead?” Rhaenyra asked, her voice slightly shaky.

“Yes. Murdered, your grace,” Rhaenys stopped, looking up towards her queen. “The greens think that you were behind this heinous crime.”

Rhaenyra paused and a disbelieving glare settled on her face. Her? Her?!

“Me? They think me responsible? I have not but lost my own son! And to think I would inflict such a grievous pain on my daughter-” Her voice cracked, and suddenly she found herself too weak to stand. She slowly sat down, holding a hand over her stomach as the realization set in.

Daemon looked down, his jaw clenched, his own gaze set away from Rhaenyra. He had not meant for this.

____________________________________________

“You did this?!” Rhaenyra yelled, slamming her hands on the table where Daemon sat. The room had cleared, and now, Rhaenyra stood, barding her husband as she held back tears.

“As I have said-”

“I said I wanted Aemond! Not my grand-” She stopped, her voice breaking as she turned away from Daemon. Daemon rolled his head to the side before he spoke, too calmly for Rhaenyra’s liking.

“It was an accident.”

“An accident that cost me yet another loss!” Rhaenyra yelled, her glared piercing into Daemon. Once her eyes locked with Daemon's, a deep seated feeling of dread and anxiety fill her. How could he be so careless, so calm about the matter of her grandson’s death?

“You barely know the child!” Daemon refuted. Rhaenyra stopped, and she breathed slowly to ground herself before she spoke. Though it did not help. Daemon spoke softer, and he looked at her with a hard gaze. “It was an accident.”

“Accident or not you killed an innocent child, Daemon! My sweet girl-” Rhaenyra stopped, placing a hand on her mouth as she felt the tears start to bubble up in her eyes. She turned, holding back a sob as she tried to imagine how her innocent, sweet daughter could have possibly felt and reconciled with the death of the babe she worked so hard to conceive.

“I may not have known the babe personally. I may have only held him perhaps once but it is not the boy that I am sad for! This-This mistake that you made has not only cost me lost support from the great houses, utter humiliation, and grief…but you have cost me my first born daughter!” Rhaenyra took a breath, and when Daemon said nothing she wiped the tears from her eyes and spoke slowly, turning back to face him. “My daughter thinks that I have done this. That I ordered the murder of an infant boy, Daemon!”

“Your daughter knows you better then-”

“My daughter may know me better than the ground that I walk on, Daemon but you underestimate a mother and her grief. You cannot possibly understand the conclusions that will be drawn from her mind when she hears that this happened in my name.” At this Daemon goes quiet. He looked away from Rhaenyra as she continued.

“My daughter is grieving. And in her grief she will blame no one but herself. But the moment that she hears of the hideous rumor that I did this? Her grief will be overcome with anger and she will resent me!” With no more words left to say, Rhaenyra quickly turned and walked away.

In the solace of the castle halls she broke down, sobbing heavily. She leaned against the nearest wall for support as she shook her head. Rhaenyra was unable to wrap her mind around how her precious little girl could be grappling with this grief. ____________________________________________

You were in the nursery, as you always were these days, when Crison Cole passed by. When Rhaenyra had given birth to you all those years ago, he felt a mix of emotions, but the top one was anger. He had let himself go, a moment of weakness in his own words. When Rhaenyra spoke your name, the anger grew even more.

As you grew the relationship between you and Ser Criston grew apart. You held no resentment towards him for a while, trying to be an understanding “daughter”.

Criston stopped, seeing you on the floor next to the crib. He felt sadness, of course he did. But more than that he felt guilt. Perhaps if he had been there, perhaps if he wasn’t occupied he could have saved your innocent son.

And in truth you blamed Criston more than anyone. He was the head of the Kingsguard, but more than that he was your father. Even though he stayed up at night trying to deny you as his own, biologically you were his and no amount of self inflicted drunkenness or denial could change that.

Criston stood at the door, opening his mouth to speak, before you interrupted him.

“Where were you, Ser Criston?” At the sound of your harsh, irritable voice, he stopped. The words he meant to speak suddenly lost in his throat as he cleared throat with a cough. He spoke your name softly, taking a step forward but you picked up a nearby book and threw it at him. “My son would not be dead if you had not been fucking my mother-in-law!”

“Princess-”

“No!” You stood, walking towards him fast as you glared at him. He had never seen you so angry, with such a look of pure hatred in your eyes. “If you had done your fucking job I would not have lost my son!” You went to hit Criston’s chest, but Aemond came quickly, holding his arms around you tightly as he pressed a soft kiss to your head, as if the anger you felt in your chest could be resolved with the feather light weight of a kiss.

“Take your leave Ser Criston.” Aemond spoke harshly, and Criston went to speak, but Aemond looked up at him, glaring with his one good, tear filled and red eye. “I said leave, Ser Criston.”

Criston Cole bowed, and he left quickly. He was willing to blame anyone but himself for his grandson’s death. Anyone but himself.

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Two years. It took you two years to fully grasp your mind around the fact that your baby was truly gone. It took Aemond a matter of months, but he still felt the loss, deep within his heart. He would stand outside of the nursery as you laid by the crib and sobbed. He would stand outside of your chambers and listen as you screamed and cursed your mother, Criston, anyone you could verbally blame.

You couldn’t even be intimate with him without breaking down into sobs. And truly, Aemond did not wish to be intimate. He wished to be there for you, a supporter that you needed and not just some mindless lustful husband. So he waited, and he waited patiently. Holding you while you cried, escorting you out of the Red Keep when the court’s children would run about.

By the third year, long after you had let your husband back into bed, you became pregnant. A gift from the gods, you were sure. And when you finally gave birth to twins, a boy and a girl whom you named Viserys and Visenya.

Aemond loved the twins, with his every breath he loved them. But, he felt some disconnect from you. You seemed more connected to your daughter than your son. When Visneya would cry you would go running, but if Viserys cried, you would hesitate, before ultimately having Aemond go to the boy.

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You were in the nursery, staring down at Viserys as the babe slept. He had such an uncanny resemblance to Baelon that it made you physically sick. You could not hold the babe, much rather opting to hold his sister than him. Holding Viserys felt like holding Baelon, and when you thought of holding Baelon, all you thought about was the night that he was taken from you.

Aemond knew this. How could he not. He himself had a hard time with Viserys. Viserys reminded him of his failure to protect his first son. At first that is. Sooner than later Aemond would grow fond of the babe, promising himself, and both of his children, that he would never fail them. That he would come to them every night and bid them a goodnight.

On the night that you stood in the nursery, staring at your son, Aemond came. He leaned against the frame for a while until he heard the boy start to whimper. He came closer to the crib, and he saw the baby boy reaching out towards you, seeking the neglected embrace of his mother.

“He wants you, my love.” Aemond spoke gently, knowing that if he raised his voice too much, he’d accidentally frighten you. He watched you closely, watching your conflicted face as you shook your head.

“Perhaps you could-”

“My love, please. I cannot take him forever.” You nodded at his words, knowing that it was true. You took in an uncertain breath before you shakily reached down into Viserys crib and picked him up.

You felt like a new mother, holding a babe you barely even knew even though you carried him for eight months. You stared down at the squirming babe, and all you saw was Baelon. Baelon, Baelon, Baelon-

Aemond came behind you, wrapping his arms around you and supporting Viserys under your own arms. Your breath stopped, tears filling your eyes as you felt the embrace.

“You’re okay, my love. I’m here.” Gods you relished in those words. For the past three years Aemond had been your rock, your anchor, taking you back down from your swirling thoughts and telling you that you were okay.

Taking a deep breath, you looked down at your baby boy, and for the first time in three months you saw Viserys. You saw Viserys. The thought almost made you sob; All these months, being detached from the very human you created made you feel like the worst mother in the world. But then, he smiled at you. You felt your whole resolve weaken at the sight of your son’s smile.

You resented Criston Cole, for not being there as a father, for not being there the night Baelon was murdered. However, this innocent little creature didn’t resent you, he simply missed you. He could feel no hate, no resentment for your own trauma. The thought of being so easily forgiven by this little innocent life made your heart swell and your eyes tear up.

Instinctively, you pulled away from Aemond and you started to rock the boy. Viserys smiled, the same, lopsided smile Aemond had. Your heart swelled and you smiled down at the boy as tears filled your gaze. Viserys reached up, holding his tiny hand to your nose as he giggled. You looked at this boy, no longer thinking of the life you had lost, but the ones that you had gained.

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TAGLIST @aleemendoza2425-blog @fallout-girl219 @spacexdrago @callsignwidow @lizziela @roseidol @esposadomd @luvaerina @bigback112 @rinirinse @ananas26t @marihoneywk @4everwoke

Hope it was up to everyone's standards!!

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tsuutarr · 19 days ago

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(Yandere Otome Isekai Harem [commoner MLs] x Reader)

"Thrust into an unfamiliar world, you have to navigate your role as the Heir to the Arrington Estate. Luckily for you, you have allies that are eager to help you. Maybe a little too eager, in fact."

The Arrington Estate [Chapter 1]

When you wake up, the first thing you want to do is throw up. You feel so deathly ill that you’re on the cusp of feeling like you’re not alive at all. But you’re in so much pain that you know you have to be alive – there’s no other way your nerves would be filled with what feels like molten lava.

“Breathe.” A voice, gentle and low, soothes from beside you. A warm hand settles itself on your back and you’re not even sure how you managed to register it, but you do. “Drink.”

You’re not fully conscious of how the liquid pours down your throat, but you soon find your eyes fluttering shut. Your nerves settle down as you’re lulled into a peaceful rest.

Time is foreign to you when you wake up. Your body still feels heavy, but it doesn’t hurt like it did prior. Processing things is difficult, your mind being bogged down with thoughts that have no end. All you can do is stare at the ceiling made of ornate golden patterns. Gorgeous, but…

It isn’t familiar to you.

Panic should be shooting through your spine, but there’s a feeling of… emptiness that seems to sink into your heart, making the situation seem dull rather than frightening.

“Are you awake?”

You didn’t even realize that there is someone beside you – beside the bed you’re in. Slowly, you turn your head to see a man sitting poised and proper on a wooden chair. His long chestnut colored hair is tied in a neat ponytail, a pleasant smile on his face. But what really draws your attention are his eyes – golden, almost.

“It appears that your complexion has returned. That is a relief,” he says, but you can’t really discern the emotion on his face.

“Who are you?” The words come out of your mouth before you’ve even processed them inside your brain.

There’s something eerie about the way his expression shifts – it doesn’t shift too noticeably, but there’s a hint of pensiveness that makes you nervous.

“My, I suppose your illness has rendered your memory quite poor. That is unfortunate,” he murmurs, but you’re not entirely sure if he means it or not. It’s a weird contrast – he speaks so kindly, so gently, that he seems so harmless. But he is a stranger to you. You don’t know him – if you can trust him.

Perhaps he notices the wariness on your face, but he relaxes his body somewhat, offering you a friendlier smile as he introduces himself, “My name is Geoffry Cullen. I am your butler.”

“B… Butler? Mine?” you ask, your brain fog slowly receding. Everything about this situation is so foreign to you, from the ornate ceiling to the luxurious bed you’re on to the man who claims he serves you.

You’re pretty sure this isn’t the life you remember.

“Yes, yours.”

“Who am I, then?” you ask, trying to piece together something – anything that can give you a hint.

“Why, you’re the heir to the Arrington Estate,” he states as if it is the most obvious fact in the world. And perhaps it is the most obvious fact to everyone but you.

You can’t help but doubt the validity of this “fact” that’s been told to you because, while you don’t remember much, you do remember something:

You are, in fact, not the heir to the Arrington Estate.

Perhaps your expression gives away your entire dilemma, because Geoffrey offers you a sympathetic smile. It’s the kindest he’s looked so far.

“You must be hungry. Let me bring you your meal.” He stands up gracefully, adjusting his suit jacket as he does so. “In the meantime, please get some more rest.”

He bows, before exiting the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts. You’re still utterly lost and confused, the uncertainty of your own situation making you nervous.

Despite your legs still feeling wobbly, you force yourself to rise. Stumbling, you make your way to the mirror. It’s probably the fanciest mirror you’ve ever seen – it almost looks like a jewelry box. It’s so fancy that you’re undoubtedly certain that you aren’t home. There’s no way you could ever afford a mirror of this quality.

What’s odd, though, is that you actually see yourself in the reflection. A part of you wondered if you’d possess another body or something of that sort, but… you look identical to how you remember looking. But you shouldn’t look like yourself, right? After all, the butler – Geoffrey – had claimed that you are the heir to the Arrington Estate, which you aren’t.

Now that you’ve been allowed to wake up fully without the pain from prior, things are slowly coming back to you. You recall your home, your friends, your family; and it’s all just so normal compared to the grand room you’ve found yourself in. This room feels too fantastical to be real.

In fact, it reminds you of the stories you had read about reincarnation and transmigration back in your world. Everything, from your confusion to the room to the butler, seems like the hallmarks of one of the transmigration or reincarnation stories you had read back then. Only… you’re not certain what story you’re in. Geoffrey as a character is unfamiliar to you. The Arrington Estate as a place is unfamiliar to you.

Furthermore…

Why do you still look like yourself?

You can’t wrap your head around it. Sure, some people retained their appearance when they got teleported into another world, but they usually had a role that did not already exist. These people are the “hero” that got called to help save the world, so it makes sense that they retained their appearance.

But it doesn’t make sense for you. You’re considered the Heir to the Arrington Estate, meaning that you must’ve taken over the role of someone who already exists. And yet you still look like yourself.

You groan, feeling tired. You feel lost and confused. There are too many things you don’t understand – too many variables.

It’s all too much for you.

Slowly, you trudge back to your bed, settling yourself under the plush covers. You’re pretty sure that the blanket itself is enough to pay your rent for a year. You don’t even want to think about how much the pillows, the bed, the entire room may cost. You’re certain that it’s more money than you would’ve been able to see in ten lifetimes, at least.

But now you’re able to see all this money – it’s yours, technically.

It doesn’t make sense. None of it makes sense. It makes your heart beat loudly inside your brain, making your ears ring as you stare up at the ornate ceiling. Somehow, looking at the ceiling makes the buzz in your brain quiet. Your eyes follow the curves and edges highlighted in gold. Your eyes follow the ceiling’s patterns again and again and again until you lull your tired body into a dreamless slumber.

Geoffrey returns to your room a bit later, only to see you slumbering peacefully. He places your meal down on your bedside table, before taking a seat on the wooden chair by your bedside. Quietly, he watches as your chest rises and falls softly, breathing even in your sleep.

Yes, you must’ve been quite tired, that much is certain. It’s not easy to come back from death, after all. And you should be dead, yet somehow aren’t.

“Curious, isn’t it?” he murmurs, softly, his gaze lingering on your face for any clues.

Yes, it’s quite curious. You should be dead. He was certain that you wouldn’t be able to recover.

Oh, yes, he was quite certain.

After all, he’s the one that killed you.

And yet, here you are.

#yandere oc #male yandere #yandere x reader #tsuuper ocs #yandere x you #tw yandere #male yandere oc x reader #male yandere oc #yandere butler #yandere butler x reader #Geoffrey Cullen Tsuu OC #The Arrington Estate (Tsuuries)#Yandere Otome Isekai #Yandere series

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zephyrchama · 1 month ago

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Do you ever wonder if the Devildom has silly celebrity TV competitions like The Masked Singer?

A bright green peacock costume graced the TV's screen. The costumed celebrity gripped a microphone and swayed as he sang, commanding all attention from the audience.

"This guy's got a great set of pipes." Mammon was on the edge of his seat humming along to the classic tune. "Twenty grimm says he wins the whole season. And another twenty grimm says that it's Chort."

Satan raised an eyebrow. "I don't think that's Chort. Could he even sing? Plus, didn't he disappear because of his massive debts?"

Belphegor nodded. "I heard he's been trying to dig a river for the last six hundred years. The show's hints made this guy seem pretty great. I think it's Vapula.

"You think?" Satan rested his head on his hand and listened. "He's really good."

Hundreds of long feathers splayed out gracefully from the back of the perforner's costume, as if hypnotizing the viewers.

"I'm tellin' ya, it's Chort. He's probably on here to sweep the competition and pay off his debts. Not a bad plan." A scheme began to take shape in Mammon's brain. "If I call these production guys, they'll be beggin' to have someone like me on next season."

Asmodeus laughed, "you? Maybe in a few seasons after me. I know they're waiting to bring me on as a special guest."

"Wait, really?" Leviathan was only watching in case somebody sang an anime or game cover. Most of the time, he was boredly scrolling his phone and making technical remarks about the costumes. "C-can you take song requests?"

"It's not official yet " Asmodeus clarified, "but I know they'll want me on the show in due time. I'm just worried the mask will hide my true beauty."

The singer finished his performance with a dab and a bow. After racous applause began an excessively long commercial break. Interest in the room dwindled. Nobody cared much about curse insurance.

You hugged a cushion to your chest. Being unfamiliar with Devildom celebrities meant you couldn't play along, but listening to everyone's guesses was still enjoyable.

"That guy reminds me of Lucifer."

Belphegor and Satan made faces like they had just swallowed a frog. There was a beat of silence, then everyone in the room collectively went, "Nah."

"Where is he, anyway?" you asked.

"He said something about a favor for Lord Diavolo," Beelzebub replied through a fistful of buttered popcorn. "Won't be back until late."

"Ah."

When commercials ended, the show began to wrap up. The peacock costume reappeared as the judges tried their hardest to guess his identity. Despite its flat plastic eyes, the costume had a majestic air to it. The masked man still drew eyes even when standing still.

"Last chance for betting," Mammon said. He shook his coin purse. Nobody took up his offer.

With plenty of suspense, the emcee began to remove the contestant's mask. There was a solid minute of the camera panning between the stage, the audience, and the judges.

"Hurry up already." Belphegor tossed a piece of popcorn at the TV.

"I can't believe this!" the emcee shouted.

Asmodeus impatiently squeezed his hands together. "Well? Who is it!?"

"It's...!"

Confetti cannons and bright lights obscured the mystery man's face, yet the audience was going wild.

"I can't believe it!" The emcee screamed.

"If they cut to commercials again, I'm leaving," Satan sighed.

Thankfully, there were no more commercials. There were no more pans to the audience or the judges. There was only one person in the camera's focus.

"Your ruler of hell, the Avatar of Pride himself, the great Morning Star! It's... Lucifer!"

There was a sudden chorus of exclamations. "What!?"

Aside from the television, the House of Lamentation became dead silent. Beelzebub stopped, slowly lowering his hand of food while transfixed on the screen. Asmodeus looked like he was about to cry, having his position on the show stolen first by Lucifer. Mammon looked confused and swiveled his head around, stunned, as though his brothers were pranking him. Belphegor narrowed his eyes with displeasure.

You cautiously eyed Satan, ready to command him to stay if things got out of hand. He just stared at the screen coldly.

Leviathan was first to break the silence. "Wait, really? Lucifer's the peacock?"

"I knew it sounded like Lucifer," you bragged. You raised your arms victoriously. Your cushion flopped onto the floor.

Beelzebub was the only one to commend you. "Good job, I had no idea."

"So it wasn't Chort or Vapula." Belphegor began to drag himself off the couch. "Well, that was unexpected. I'm going to bed."

"What's the prize for this show? How much's he winnin'?" Mammon asked.

"Probably nothing. It's a small appearance fee and the rest is just exposure," Asmodeus explained. Him and Mammon both hung their heads.

Satan got up to grab the remote, mashing the power button until it clicked off. "This show sucks. Let's find something else to watch next week."

#instead of a peacock he'd probably be dressed as a sentient whip #a favor for diavolo indeed (guest judge diavolo)#obey me #obey me!#omswd #obey me shall we date #obey me scenarios #obey me swd #obey me fanfic #obey me brothers #obey me fic #obey me writing #obey me drabble #obey me x reader #obey me x mc #obey me fandom #obey me headcanon

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it-was-summer · 2 months ago

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Buy Me Presents, Baby

A/N: Minors; DNI. I DONT CAREEE I WANT HIM!! Anyways, this may or may not be based on true events in my life. If you're reading this also know that I wrote this Christmas Eve and it is now 5am on Christmas Day, the powerhouse of lust. Hope you guys like this because I DID NOT proofread this AT ALL!! I mention the pill (oral contraception), so sorry if this is an issue, I'm just a girl. I KNOW there is a typo in here... i know it. Merry Christmas!! My gift is porn!!- Love you, Em

edit- the typo was fully in the title… go to bed at a reasonable time kids.

Link to the Ao3: Buy Me Presents, Baby Link to the: Yee olde masterlist Tags: Woof uhh okay! newly established relationship, Christmas sex, Spanking, Creampie, PnV sex, Reader gets called girl.. I apologize, Oral contraceptives are mentioned at the end, lingerie, that one bow lingerie... yall know which on I'm talking about?, That ONE!! WITH THE BOW YES!!, I had to use the word pussy.. IM SORRT IM NOT HAPPY ABOUT It, dirty talk, cock this cock that, not proofread, merry christmas.

Genre: Porn, no plot. Some fluff? Pairing: Established relationship!Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Plot: You and Spencer exchange gifts for Christmas, and one of your gifts happens to be a little physical.

Word Count: 3,669

Spencer doesn’t know what’s gotten into you.

Though the longer he thinks about it, he should have seen the signs of your recent… restlessness. Being in the BAU came with its challenges, and one of these challenges was— of course— being away from home. Usually, the two of you would find a special time that worked for both of you to meet up and spend some well-deserved time together.

Lately, it has felt like the world was against you, though. Every time you had free time, he’d plan a date night with you, only for him to be called away on a case. The one time you planned a date, you came down with a cold. The cycle kept repeating in a million different annoying ways.

The cherry on top? It was almost Christmas. It's nearly Christmas, and neither of you has seen each other for a good three weeks— it’s miserable.

So imagine his excitement when his phone doesn’t ring early Saturday morning. When he steps out of his shower, he checks it again— nothing. He’s beaming when he calls you, your sleepy voice answering him before he says, “Dinner tonight?”

There’s a pause, followed by some rustling, “You’re free?”

“Mhm,” He hums with a grin, grabbing his glasses from the case and placing them gracefully on his face.

He can hear the excitement in your voice. " You want to exchange presents?” He remembers the playful tone in your voice when you said it, but at the time, he thought nothing of it. He chuckles softly before agreeing, saying a sweet goodbye, and hanging up the phone.

Dinner begins and ends at your place, decorated in lights and festive trinkets, and presents wrapped neatly under the fake tree in the corner of your living room. The gift exchange went smoothly; you got Spencer some reading essentials, followed by a special edition of one of his favorite books. Spencer, in turn, had bought you a pair of earrings you pointed out back in November and a framed copy of your favorite painting.

It was getting late now, with a warm cup of tea in his hands, you turned and whispered in a playful voice, “I still have one more gift for you.”

His eyebrows raised at that, bending his head to look at you as you sat with your back pressed against his chest, “More? After the special edition Tolstoy?”

“More. I was saving it for the twenty-fifth, but…” You trail off, your eyes leaving his as you glance toward your bedroom. “I could go get it ready now?”

Spencer smiles, thinking about it momentarily before he decides that he might not be home for Christmas. He mutters a soft “Yeah, okay.”

You stand up quickly, an excited look in your eyes when you tell him, “Okay, stay here!” And then you’re gone.

Spencer’s watching your bedroom door close with a faint smile. He stretches as he waits, his tea finished, when he hears you call out for him, “You can come in now!”

He stepped into your room with nothing but good intentions, that is, until he saw you lying on your bed in lingerie. Maroon satin material lays smooth against your skin, and the shape of a tantalizing bow teases him at the center of your chest and your underwear— barely there.

He clears his throat in a vain attempt to appear calm and collected, though he’s sure you can see his blushing cheeks and growing arousal. He opens his mouth to speak, but the words die in the back of his throat when you sit up on your elbows, pushing your breast out toward him a little more with an innocent tilt of your head. “You don’t like it?”

His voice cracks when he says, “No! I mean— that is to say, I do like it! I mean, I’m sure you can see how much I–” He nervously adjusts his sweater, shaky hands pulling at the collar.

You let out a soft hum, relaxing a little. " Are you going to stand by the door the whole time, or?” You tease him with a low laugh.

He quickly walks closer, shaking his head as he gets closer to the edge of the bed. The bed dips as he climbs onto the edge of the bed. He watches as you roll on your side to adjust for him, waiting until he is lying beside you before you whisper, “If you don’t want to, it’s okay–”

“I do! I do. It’s just we’ve only–” He motions between the two of you slowly, replacing the word. “A few times, and I wasn’t expecting,” His eyes trail down to your chest, his fingers twitching– itching to feel the material against his palm.

When he looks back into your eyes, you smile at him with a little sigh, “I know. I just saw it, and I thought of you.”

Spencer feels like his entire body is on fire when you say that. His pants become increasingly uncomfortable as he croaks softly, “That made you think of me?”

You hum a sweet-sounding “Mhm,” you lick your lips, “Cognitive association, right?”

Spencer thinks you’ll break him with the way you’re talking to him; your voice is low and quiet, clearly amused. He holds back a sound when he feels your hand take his and guide it to your barely clothed hip. For some reason, he wants to spew some facts about cognitive association, but in a rare moment, his mind goes blank.

His mind slows, and the only thing he can process is the feeling of satin material against your body. He drags his hand along your side, higher and higher, until his fingers trace the bra’s underwire. His eyes flicker over to yours as he leans in, pressing a slow kiss to your lips.

Kissing Spencer always starts soft, tender, and languid. It then slowly devolves into something passionate, heated, rough– something you adore. And you’re starting to feel the shift in this kiss, his tongue slightly grazing your bottom lip– a silent plea you happily fulfill, parting your lips to let his tongue tentatively enter the kiss.

You’re smiling into the kiss, shifting with him so you’re under him before grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him deeper into the kiss. Spencer lets out a tiny sound of surprise against your lips at the rough movement, and he pulls away slightly, his lips barely touching yours when he says, “So aggressive,” His tone teasing as he captures your lips in another giddy kiss.

With your eyes closed and mouth occupied, your hands get to work. Blindly, you pull the bottom of his sweater, your lips only leaving his to help him pull the piece of clothing off his body. He’s eager to get his lips back on yours, his tongue resuming its work against yours, a kiss that makes your head spin and thoughts go hazy with how intense it feels.

You move your legs up and around his hips, pushing his hips down to yours with ease. Spencer whines into the kiss, his lips moving slowly against yours until he pulls away to kiss your jawline. His hips grind down onto yours, your breath hitching at the feeling.

Feeling his hardness through his pants makes you realize just how badly you need him, and it seems it does the same for him. His lips latch onto the lower side of your neck, sucking and licking softly at the sensitive area as his hips grind against yours harder.

The feeling makes your core squeeze around nothing; the new desire to get something, anything, inside you plants a seed in your lower abdomen. You feel shamefully needy as Spencer continues leaving light red and purple marks on the sensitive skin of your neck, his breathing heavy as he decorates you with marks.

You’re surprised to see that he’s actually moving lower, his markings getting closer to your collarbone when he pulls away, looking up at you with those lust-filled honey eyes, “May I?” The tips of his fingers tug lightly at the satin red bow covering your breasts.

Your legs leave his hips as he pulls the bow apart with a simple flick of his wrist. His eyes stay trained on your breast as he takes one into his hand and gently rubs at your nipple, eliciting a soft, quiet moan from you, “So pretty,” Then he dips his head lower to bring your left nipple into his mouth, licking at the sensitive bud with precision.

A sound— embarrassingly loud— escapes your lips at the feeling, your body squirming against his. You’re sure you can feel him smiling against your breast, his right hand moving to your right nipple, pinching it lightly.

Your fingers latch onto his hair, gently running them through his hair and occasionally pulling when his tongue does something particularly amazing against the bud of your nipple. You can feel electric arousal coursing through you, soft moans and sighs leaving you with every touch.

However, he’s pulling his lips away from your breast soon after, his cheeks red as he mutters a low, “Need to make sure you cum,” And you find yourself nodding in agreement as his hands leave your breast, pulling the lingerie’s satin thong to the side as he swipes two fingers along your entrance.

You let out a little sigh, feeling incredibly needy as his fingers brush against your clit teasingly. “Did dressing up like this make you this wet, or did I?” He asks, his fingers curiously leading back down to your entrance.

Shifting under him, you let out a breathless chuckle, “A bit of both,”

He grins at that, his head now to the side of yours, his thumb pressing against your clit slowly as he slides a finger inside you. You tense for a second with pleasure before relaxing as the feelings, his finger gently curling inside of you as his thumb presses down harder on your swollen bundle of nerves. “You’ve been fantasizing about this for weeks, haven’t you?”

His voice against your ear isn’t something you expect, but you aren’t surprised for long as he slides a second finger into you— your thoughts turning to mush, “Yes,” You whisper, your back arching slightly at his fingers move faster inside you, curling and pleasing you at a medium pace.

Spencer lets out a low hum, his eyes watching you as you get lost in pleasure, his thumb pressing against your clit a little harder as he finds that sweet little spot inside of you. He can feel the way your walls tighten around his fingers, and he’s envious of his own hand, wishing it was his cock instead.

Your moans only add to personal envy, his fingers moving and caressing your G-spot with greater precision. He tries not to groan, watching you arch your back off the bed. A cry followed by a string of heightened gasps from you has him wholly enraptured.

When his fingers start to get rough inside you, you’re already seeing stars, your left hand reaching over to grab onto Spencer’s bicep at the feelings, fingers gently digging into his skin as your body shakes. “Love watching you get close,” Spencer groans softly against your ear.

His lips slowly resume their markings on your neck, and the added stimulation sends you falling over the edge with a loud cry of pleasure. Your body shakes against him, and your high-pitched moans, accompanied by heavy panting, have pride swelling in his chest as his fingers help you ride out your orgasm.

His fingers only stop when your body goes slack, his lips leaving your neck to gently kiss at your lips— a gesture you return lazily. The feeling of his fingers leaving you has you feeling empty, but you’re quickly distracted as Spencer drags his soaked fingers to his lips. Your eyes widen for a second as you watch your boyfriend lick off every bit of you on them, “Let me get a taste,” Your voice is soft as Spencer leans in, kissing you fast and rough. Your tongue drags along his to get a second-hand taste of yourself in his mouth.

You’re quick to pull away, your hands hooking into the belt loop of his pants, gently yanking at the loop. Spencer laughs at the feeling, and he looks into your eyes with a shameful look— lustful and pleading. You know how badly he wants to dive straight in, but his determination to make you cum too many times to count usually gets in the way of his cock.

“Haven’t seen you in three weeks. You can make it up to me later.” You joke softly, your fingers undoing the top button with ease.

Spencer grins as he slides his pants down his legs, kicking them off. He finds himself blushing at how your eyes shamefully stare at the outline of his cock in his boxers, precum already wetting some of the fabric. He finds himself doing the same with you, though, his eyes taking in the undone ribbon of the lingerie at your sides, the way your legs are parted to give him a delicious view of your dripping sensitive folds.

Your fingers slip into the waistband of his boxers, gently tracing his cock with your fingers, a soft, pleasured sigh leaving his lips at the feeling. “So hard,” You mutter, leaning up to kiss a part of Spencer’s jaw.

Spencer lets out a low hum of agreement. Being as busy as he has been, he hasn’t found time for any kind of sexual release as of late. “It’s been a little while since I’ve–”

“That’s okay,” You sigh sensually, your hands wrapping around his dick slowly, “Take off your boxers.”

Spencer’s more than happy to comply, hurriedly discarding his boxers at your request. He watches as you pull your hand off him to take off your underwear, and Spencer squeaks out a nervous, “Leave it on?”

Grinning, you nod, your fingers pushing the thong back to the side of him. He groans at the action, looming over you now, his hands on either side of you. “Flip over,”

A jolt of excitement runs through you at the request, quickly flipping over on your stomach for him. A pleased sound leaves your lips as his hand moves to pull your hips up, forcing your back to arch for him. He slides his thumb and index inside the sting on your thong as he slowly rubs his cock in between your folds– the head of his cock gently kissing your clit.

The worst part about being in an established relationship and having just started having sex with your partner is the anxiety that follows you after you say something risky. Your lips part nonetheless, your hips pushing back against him quickly, “That’s right, get that cock wet with my pussy.”

You were never dull during sex, but Spencer was not expecting something so vulgar to fall from your lips. His hips stutter against yours before he finds himself incredibly turned on by the sudden confidence and vulgarity in your words. His hands yank your hips back roughly, lining himself up to inch himself inside of you slowly.

About halfway inside you, he pulls out till it is just the tip and then repeats the motion— it’s infuriatingly hot. You let out a soft whine at his toying with you and start to move your hips back against him, but that is met with a surprising spank to your ass.

A sharp gasp leaves your lips at the feelings before you blink, lifting your head to peer at him over your shoulder and whisper a little, “Harder,”

Seeing your half-lidded eyes looking over at him, your soft lips begging him to spank you harder, Spencer feels a shiver shoot down his spine. He’s sure he can feel himself grow harder as he pushes deeper into your pussy and delivers a solid smack to your ass with the flat of his palm.

He then follows the motion with a comforting rub of his hand against the swell of your ass. For a second, he’s worried about hurting you or making you uncomfortable– unexplored territory. The feeling of your walls tightening around him for a second, fluttering in a way that has him bottoming out inside you without hesitation, reassures him.

“God,” He huffs as he sets a pace, his hand occasionally delivering a hard spank to your ass whenever he feels your hips moving with his. You feel terrific; the feel of your reddening ass under his hand, the soft skin of your hip in his other, he’s surprised that he isn’t drooling.

You, however, are starting to feel yourself beginning to drool. Moans and groans coming from the two of you has your head spinning, the rough feeling of Spencer’s hips against yours making your legs feel weak.

Spencer pulls all the way out as he feels himself getting close, his soaked cock resting against your ass– the sight is something has him letting out a shaky sigh. He doesn’t need to say anything before you’re flipping over on your back again, legs spread and lips wet as you mutter a needy sounding, “More.”

Spencer can’t find it in himself to deny you or himself, moving closer to you and lining himself up with your entrance again. As he sinks into you, you move your legs up, your hands holding the back of your knee. The new position lets him sink in deeper, and Spencer’s sure you’re an angel.

You’re practically sucking him in, his breathing getting heavier as he moves against you, His eyes dipping between your face and between your legs– intelligent eyes watching the way his cock disappears deep inside of you. “You take it so well.”

His hands reach up slowly, tracing the back of your thighs before replacing your hands at the back of your knee, bending your legs back further. He places a chaste kiss on your forehead, the gentle gesture leaving your head reeling when accompanied by this immense pleasure.

You gasp out at the slight burn of your thighs, toes curling slightly, when Spencer starts to roll his hips in fast, tight circles. The roll of his hips makes his cock hit your G-spot, your eyes rolling back at the feeling as a guttural-sounding groan joins the lewd sounds leaving your lips.

Spencer takes that as his sign to snap his hips into yours, his forehead pressing against yours as he moans and whines. “You feel so fucking good. I’ll never leave again.”

You can feel your lower abdomen tighten quickly at the rough movements. A shaky laugh leaves you at his mention of never leaving, but words fail you as you cry out. The past few times the two of you have had sex, he was never this rough. You aren’t complaining, but his frantic, rapid thrusts are leaving you with the feeling that you’ll beg for a repeat sometime in the future.

A long whine leaves you as you feel yourself getting closer, your hands holding tight on Spencer’s shoulders, your body jolting slightly with his rough thrusts. “So good! You’re fucking me so good. Please, don’t stop.” You beg without shame, “Need to cum, make me cum again.” You beg through moans.

Spencer almost cums inside you upon hearing your begging, but he holds off— a new mission in focus. He slows for a second, moving one of your hands off his shoulder and under your knee before he slides his hand down to your aching clit. His thumb makes quick, tight, hard circles without warning— the scream that leaves your chest has him worried for your neighbors.

“That’s it, tighten around me like that.” He pants out from above you, his eyes locking onto yours as he speaks. He watches the way your eyebrows raise in pleasure, and your mouth starts to let out a mix of silent screams and loud groans. “You look pretty when you cum around my cock, my pretty girl.”

Your legs are shaking with that, the coil in your abdomen snapping with force as you bite your bottom lip to try and silence the sound of your orgasm– a groan that almost sounds inhuman. Spencer’s quick to follow, his hips roughly snapping into yours with his thumb continuing its torment on your sensitive clit.

The feeling of overstimulation has you letting out a weak-sounding whine, almost a sob. You’re gasping hard as he keeps going, frenzied thrusts that have your free hand gripping the sheet tight until he bottoms out in you with a shaking groan. His hips thrust into you a few more times as he empties himself into you, shaking hard.

A moment passes with neither of you moving, your legs moving down to the bed, and the realization sets in. Spencer looks at you with wild eyes, “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking–”

You laughed weakly and held up a hand, “Spencer, it’s okay.” Your voice sounds a little raw as you relax into your bed slightly, with him still hovering over you. “I’m on the pill, remember?”

“Well, when taken correctly, it’s 99% effective, but if you’ve forgotten a day lately, it’s only 93%.” He pouts lightly when a giggle leaves your lips, but he smiles against his better judgment. “I’m serious, what if…”

“I doubt it will, but if it does come to that, we’ll deal with it.” You mutter, slowly reaching a hand up to rake your fingers through his messy brown hair. “Clean me up?”

Spencer notes how your voice sounds: shy and a little desperate. He tilts his head, a playful smile on his face as his eyes trail down to your parted thighs, “Insatiable this evening, I see,” He jokes as he begins to lower himself, soft fingers rubbing against your inner thighs.

You groan in faux annoyance before you feel his breath fanning against your inner thighs, “Merry Christmas,” You tease softly.

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feirceangel · 11 months ago

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Imagine | Mine (Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen)

Imagine Feyd discovering that someone has dared to harm what’s his.

Word Count: 1,574

Warnings: possessive!Feyd, objectification, blood, murder, (Feyd is his own psychotic warning in himself to be honest.)

Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen is not known for his mercy.

Ask anyone in the universe who has heard even a whisper of House Harkonnen, and they will warn to tread carefully when dealing with them. If you value your life, you wouldn't even get near them.

And everyone knows Feyd-Rautha is one of the best examples of Harkonnen rage and violence, second only to his uncle, the Baron.

Renowned for his physical prowess as a fighter, his insatiable lust for blood and death, and his determination to rise in power and favour, he is a force to be reckoned with.

So why would anyone dare go against him?

He finds himself asking this as he looks upon your form, head bowed and turned slightly away from him. Hiding something.

Gracefully and predatory as a panther, he approaches you slowly.

"My darling.." his voice rasps.

Normally you greet him immediately, recognizing his footfalls from down the hall. You would smile at your na-Baron and ask him how his day went if you did not spend it with him.

You are oddly subdued tonight.

His eyes, always searching, follow a drop which falls from your cheek, landing on the cold concrete floor. Instantly, he is before you, grasping your chin in his strong hand. He tilts your head up, none too gently, and examines your tear-stained face.

"What happened?" His already raspy voice is deeper, darker.

Feyd is no stranger to your tears. In fact, he often revels in their presence, trying all sorts of things to make you cry. But he hasn't done anything to illicit that response today.

When you don't offer an answer right away, his grip tightens, squishing your cheeks together.

"Speak."

His voice holds no room for disobedience. You nod your head and he releases you, stepping back slightly.

You shake slightly as you begin, "I am sorry, na-Baron."

Feyd's anger is growing. You only call him that in public or when you are disturbed.

"Do not apologize. Explain," he can't stop himself from hissing.

"I took a walk today," you begin slowly. "Just to the training grounds to see if you were there. But I didn't see you so I walked back. He stopped me and-"

"'He'?" Feyd echoes.

"Richter," you supply the name of one of the Baron's top generals. "He grabbed me and said I was a no-good whore who should've been disposed of long ago."

Anger swirls with Feyd's chest at this news. Of course, many people have said harsh and often cruel things to you. But you always kept your head high and ignored the jabs. You’re always so strong.

This is different, he can tell.

"What else? You are not one to cry over a mere insult," he brings his hand up to swipe a tear from your soft cheek. You lean into his touch, relishing in its familiarity.

You inhale deeply, "He struck me without warning, na-Baron."

In his oft colourless word, all Feyd now sees is red.

"Where?" His voice is so low it's almost impossible to hear.

You shake as you lower the collar of your dress to reveal a swollen area on your shoulder, "Here."

His dark eyes flicker to yours, bidding you to continue.

You move your hand to your face and gently touch your tearstained cheek, "And here."

Feyd's hand clenches into a fist. He bends closer to examine your face, noting the slight swelling and the way you bow your head. He places his hand on the back of your head, angling your face upwards. A featherlight kiss is applied to your skin so softly you can barely feel it.

Your master and lover rises to his full height, "Rest my darling, I shall return shortly."

He turns to leave but you reach out and grab his arm. Feyd stops and turns to stare at you.

"Please, na-Baron. Don't hurt him."

He scowls at your request, "He has hurt you. Death is his reward."

"He has done nothing that you have not," you say. "I have known worse pain from your own hands.”

Feyd shakes his head and grips your arms, dragging you forward to stand with your bodies touching.

"Only I can touch what's mine. Only I can hurt you how I see fit. You take the pain only I give you." He dips his head close to your ear, breath sending shivers down your spine. “Do you understand?”

"Of course, my lord na-Baron," your voice is breathy.

You are intoxicated by his closeness, the dangerous poise with which he caries himself, the possessiveness of his words and the truth of them.

"Say it."

"I'm yours alone, Feyd."

He crashes his lips onto yours, teeth clashing and lips bruising from the force of it. His hand squeezes your neck as he kisses you. When he finally parts, leaving you breathless, he takes a moment to admire you. His thumb brushes against your lips before he turns once more.

"That swine sealed his fate when he laid hands on what's mine," Feyd growls as he stalks out of the room.

He returns mere minutes later, dragging an incredibly nervous Richter behind him. With a violent shove, he pushes the frightened man to stand before you.

"I heard you disrespected my darling," Feyd points to the floor. "Kneel."

Richter obeys without hesitation. He knows how quick Feyd is to anger… and how few survive it.

"Kiss her shoe."

The man's eyes flicker to yours.

"Now," Feyd places his foot on Richter's back, forcing him down.

Shakily, he presses his lips to your shoe with a mumbled apology. It does nothing to sate Feyd-Rautha's wrath.

With practised ease, Feyd lands a harsh kick to the man's ribs. He repeats the action until the man is a sobbing mess splayed before your feet like an offering.

You regard him coldly, remembering the bite of his hand across your face.

“Please! Please forgive me, my lord!” Richter manages to sob coherent words. Spit and blood dribbles from his mouth pathetically.

“You have insulted me,” Feyd states. “Hurt what’s mine, belittled what’s mine.”

The man’s hand reaches towards your foot, as if you could spare him from the savage that is Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen.

Feyd crushes his hand beneath his shoe, grinding down eliciting a whimper of pain, as he steps before you and above his prey.

He is regal in his violence, eyes shining with possessive obsession.

“Dear one,” he places his hand on your arm before handing you one of his blades. “Help me.”

He smirks as you grip the knife tightly. Your eyes meet his.

Feyd knows you’d do anything he asked of you, just as he knows he’d burn the universe to ashes if you asked him too.

“Of course, my lord,” you say, kneeling by the hurt man. “If it pleases you.”

Feyd’s grin reveals blackened teeth, “You please me, dearest. Now, make him suffer for insulting me and mine.”

The first cut is shallow, uncertain as it travels down the man’s bare arm. Feyd tsks his disapproval.

You adjust your grip and slash again, quickly this time, hitting deep and pointedly. The man screams out and thrashes, but Feyd is upon him in a second. He holds Richter still as you unleash your rage upon him.

Feyd watches you draw blood with a pleasure he’s never experienced before. Relishing in your bared teeth and angry snarls, he commits this to his memory.

He halts your hand as the man ceases his thrashing. With a predatory smile, Feyd guides your hand with his, penetrating the blade deep into the man’s throat.

You watch the man loose his life, as you pant with exertion.

“You have done well, my pet,” Feyd praises, removing the knife from your hand and tossing it aside. He places his hand atop your head.

“Thank you, Feyd.”

He moves his hand down your back and presses his face into your blood stained neck, inhaling deeply. Your hands come around to grasp his shoulders, bringing him close to you. He wraps his strong arms around you, holding you like a lover would.

When he sits up, you lunge forward, capturing his lips with yours. Ignoring the blood and the dead body on the floor, you guide Feyd towards the bed, hands leaving bloody marks on his pale skin.

“Please let me repay you,” you beg, tugging at his shirt. “Allow me to repent.”

“You don’t need to repent, love. But you can keep begging.”

He allows you to disrobe him and press him down onto the soft bedding.

In all honesty, Feyd craves this battle of dominance between you. He could overpower you in an instant, yet the hold you have over him has him bending to your will.

You need only beg and he would take a knee and worship at your feet.

And you know it.

You know he craves this, needs it like an addict. He adores the pain you can lavish upon him, adores the meek demeanour you show to everyone else, adores the side of you that matches his own carnal desires tenfold, adores the way you gladly bleed for him.

He adores you.

And you worship each other in a wicked ritual of blood, sweat, and tears each night.

And he’d never let anyone take this away from him- take you away from him.

He’d kill anyone who dared try.

~~~

[A/n- thanks for reading! Please let me know if you liked it :)]

#dune #dune part 2 #feyd x you #feyd rautha #feyd x reader #reader insert #imagine #dune part ii #feyd rautha harkonnen #fanfic #feyd rautha Harkonnen x reader #one shot #possessive feyd rautha #feyd rautha x reader #dune x reader

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sixosix · 1 year ago

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synopsis in which satoru really needed to start reading the gc more often. solves a lot.

tags slight making out scene… satoru is an asshole but what’s new, satoru is also hopelessly infatuated, all the readers i write are emotionally constipated sorry, getting together(?) fluff bit angsty tho

a/n this is a little stupid and unrealistic but bear with me because this is my first time writing in a looong time to get back in the groove of writing ^__^

Shoko wrinkled her nose as Satoru made the show of tossing a crumpled-up vending machine can into the bin on the other side of the street. It landed perfectly in the middle because why wouldn’t it? Emboldened by the impressed glances of passersby, he reached for Suguru’s pocket, where there was a balled-up paper in his bontan pants. Suguru winced when it was your head instead, where you had started crossing.

Your glare cut a thrill down Satoru’s spine. You huffed and bent down to pick up the trash, your knuckles white, like you were imagining it was Satoru’s head instead. Satoru was just appreciating how gracefully you’d bowed, the curve of your back captivating him for a moment until Suguru elbowed him.

“Stop littering,” Suguru said sternly, but his eyes spelled out that it was not about the littering.

Satoru shrugged. “I wouldn’t have missed if it weren’t for Y/N.”

Satoru called out after you as you dropped the paper ball into the bin directly. “Oi!” You ignored him and continued walking, a considerable distance lengthening between you and the three. “Ha, you embarrassed?”

“Anyone would be if they were seen with you,” you spat out almost reflexively, then blinked at your own words. Satoru almost swore you wanted to apologize, but you composed yourself by turning your back on him altogether.

Satoru grinned. “It’s okay,” he said. “Shoko and Suguru don’t need to know I had to save your ass from a low-grade curse.”

You didn’t dignify his taunt with a response, but your shoulders tensed for a moment.

“So moody. How does your boyfriend put up with this?” Satoru snickered as he eyed the back of your head. He relished in the way a vein pops on your temple, breathed in the way you looked over your shoulder just to say—

“Shut up, Satoru. I mean it.”

He wasn’t unfamiliar with envious or hateful gazes; it came with his birth, really. Awe and fear and there are impossibles, but not for Gojo Satoru said with contempt—he didn’t care. Yours were different. He took pride in affecting people in ways where they could never ignore him, but the way you looked at him felt thrilling. He wondered if your boyfriend saw how your eyes would set ablaze for Satoru.

But he didn’t actually care, he would say. He never cared for a lot of things. It showed, at times, others would say.

“Whoa, did someone get their heart broken today?” Satoru whistled, his tone lilting upwards in what seemed to be a way to lighten the mood. No moods were lightened.

Your head whipped around to give him a look that had him frozen on the spot. His eyes widened behind his shades. He felt like that paper ball at the moment, about to be squashed flat against your palm. That look felt familiar, but not in the way that he knew he was familiar with because of you. It was familiar because of everyone else.

Suguru shot him a look that said he would’ve shoved him had it not been for his Infinity on. “Satoru.”

You walked on ahead, brushing past them with hiked-up shoulders. You looked like you were about to break at the slightest touch—it looked wrong. You had always looked so strong in Satoru’s eyes. Not stronger than him, of course, but… seeing your lip tremble like that made him itch the wrong way.

Satoru glanced between Suguru and Shoko, lost. “Am I missing something?”

Suguru said, “You didn’t hear?”

“Oh, so you know, but I don’t? What is this? Leave-out-Satoru club? You have a group chat without me?” Satoru did not mean for that to come out that bitter.

Shoko exhaled, smoke faintly billowing from her lips. She regarded Satoru with a look. “Maybe if you actually read our group chat with you, you wouldn’t be so ignorant.”

And so Satoru scrolled through his phone, wounded. Suguru and Shoko whispered among themselves as his eyebrows arched up so high that he looked elated.

“That’s it?” Satoru scoffed. “Trouble in paradise? Y/N almost got hurt by a curse because of some man?”

“Idiot,” Suguru sighed. “You’re also a man.”

Satoru knew what was going on in Shoko’s head with her expression. She was calling him trash. “They’ve been together for years. Before Y/N even met you.”

Satoru bristled. “So?”

“So don’t think of this as some chance,” Suguru said. Since when was he some love expert? “And stop terrorizing. No one brokenhearted would want to see your stupid face.”

He gaped. “So rude!”

And then he backtracked. “And I wasn’t thinking of this as a chance.” He was. “I don’t even like Y/N like that!” He does terribly. “I’m just glad I don’t have to hear from that asshole non-sorcerer again. Have you heard the way he says baby? Even through the phone, it gives me the creeps.”

Suguru hummed thoughtfully. “He was an asshole.”

Shoko laughed. “That asshole got to date Y/N before you, though.”

Satoru decided to spare Shoko, feeling too delighted to let anyone ruin it.

“Did you read all the messages?” Suguru asked.

“Nah.” Satoru stared at the back of your head. “I got the gist of it seeing Suguru’s reply, ‘he was an asshole anyway.’” He flashed his teeth and quickened his pace. “Come on, before Y/N gets flung around by curses again.”

Suguru and Shoko shared a look that he missed completely.

You eyed the plastic bag Satoru was holding out distrustfully.

It was too dark already, but that was no problem for Gojo Satoru. He came here—your room, your door—with a mission in mind. That mission involved ice cream because he saw in movies that people liked to eat ice cream and cry after breakups. You weren’t crying, which relieved him, though he didn’t know why. He wanted to convince himself it was because he didn’t want to deal with tears, but he couldn’t lie to himself well when it came to you.

“Nice try,” you said, pushing it back to his chest. You startled at the cold.

“What— It’s not poison!” Satoru said. He flicked it open and showed you his gift, one you should appreciate for his efforts and thoughtfulness.

“Ice cream?” you said suspiciously. Then it dawned on you. Your lips turned up in a disbelieving smile. He'd take it much better than the look you gave him that day, even when dregs of weariness dulled your eyes. “Were you worried?”

You looked awful, which was probably the norm for someone going through a breakup from a long relationship. Satoru didn’t like your sad face at all. It pissed him off, like some puzzle piece that didn’t fit. Still, to Satoru, he supposed anything was better than not getting to see your face at all.

“Yeah,” he found himself saying before he could think about it.

Your face fell. “Satoru.”

“Just take it, or else I’ll eat it in front of you.”

Your hand gripped the door tighter.

Satoru cleared his throat. “Okay, or you can just shut the door on me and go back to sleep.” And then, silently: “You can just take it, and I’ll leave.”

You stared at him as if expecting him to take it back.

Satoru felt his face warm. “Are you gonna take it or not?”

“It creeps me out when you act nice.”

He glared. “I’m always nice, but I’m not creepy about it.”

Your shoulders relaxed. You took the bag from him with a smile that felt like a shared secret. “Do you wanna come in?”

His first thought was, holy shit, but what came out was, “Sure, I don’t care.”

He had never been in your room before. Shoko was, a lot of times, most of the time. Suguru managed to, here and there, when you needed some help with heavy lifting. You kicked Satoru every time he used to even think about it. Your room was more ordinary than he expected. No posters, flashy souvenirs, or even clothes strewn over your bed. It looked lonely.

There was a box in the corner beside your closet that looked entirely out of place. Satoru must have been staring at it for a moment too long as you said, “Those are my ex’s clothes. I stole many of it, but I don’t want to wear them anymore.”

Satoru’s curious gaze turned into distaste. “Want me to get rid of it?”

“What?” You laughed. “I’ll just give it back.”

Satoru bounded over to the box and crouched, peeling the cover open. “Why not? There’s a dumpster nearby.”

“Well, they were nice. Not my ex, I mean the clothes. Felt expensive—I’d rather he take it back.” Always the goody two shoes.

“Hmmm…” Satoru lifted his head to stare at you. “Did you like wearing them? You can borrow mine. Much better than these cheap knockoffs.”

Your eyes flashed with interest, and Satoru knew he had said the right words. His clothes were no joke.

You blinked at him, a deer in headlights holding a tub of ice cream. “Are— Are you sure? It’s not like I actually need them—”

Satoru wanted nothing more than to see you drowning in his clothes. Instead, he said, “Yeah, I don’t care.”

He shrugged off his jacket and offered it to you. He felt a gust of cold, which should’ve been wrong to him, but he didn’t pay it any mind when you took it from him and stared at it. Your gaze shifted hesitantly between him and the red fabric. Your bottom lip started trembling before you bit it between your teeth, something Satoru wouldn’t have caught if he wasn’t staring. You whirled around and shoved the tub of ice cream in your mini fridge. What a shame. He was really planning for you to share it with him.

Satoru stood up, kicking at the box. He asked, “What were you doing before I left? Boring stuff? Were you watching sad movies without ice cream? It’s a good thing I came over.”

“You didn’t have to, I’m fine,” you said. You slipped into his jacket, the sight arresting him for a moment.

Satoru frowned. Something was definitely wrong. Maybe you were feeling tired? You must have been—emotions tend to wear out a person faster than any physical means. “Hey, lie down on the bed. You look like you’re about to crash.”

“I’m not,” you muttered but followed anyway because you must have felt it, too. “I’m not.”

You winced as your head collided with your pillow. It was unusual for you to succumb to rest while Satoru lingered in the same space.

“Sorry,” Satoru choked out, suddenly feeling guilty by the strong urge to embrace you. He was already crossing far too many lines today. He didn’t want to taint your memory of heartbreak from your ex with him.

You turned to face him, your hair splayed all over the pillow. “What?”

“For yesterday. I didn’t know. This, I mean.”

“You read the messages?”

He nodded. “I did.”

“That’s it? You’re not—” You yawned, blinking. Satoru was performing the highest level of restraint at the moment. “I mean, you’re not, like…”

The air was charged with something dangerous. Satoru looked away, thinking. He wanted to ask, did you expect me to care that much? But he knew the answer to that—he does.

“Satoru,” you said lowly. He shivered at the quiet of the night and how he can almost feel your voice. “You shouldn’t be so nice to someone heartbroken. Don’t you know how dangerous that is?”

Satoru sat on the edge of your bed, “That doesn’t make any sense.”

You looked up at him. Satoru felt want in his belly. It was dangerous, he realized, for him to be alone with you like this. It was wrong—but he never went doing everything right anyway, if it meant he could watch as your eyes flutter, as you longed for something he could never have from you once the wounds on you have healed.

“Doesn’t it?” you said. “You’re confusing me, too.”

Satoru realized his Infinity had been off already, though he didn’t know when. Was it when he sat on the bed to feel the softness of your sheets? Or was it already back then, the moment you opened the door, he was already longing for you to touch him?

“You’re so cruel, Satoru,” you murmured. “I hate you.”

Weakly, Satoru said, “I know. Get some sleep. I’ll leave soon.”

“Don’t leave.”

Satoru screwed his eyes shut, frustrated.

“Satoru.” He could listen to you say his name forever. You sighed his name in a way that felt like what aches in his heart whenever you even look at him. “You didn’t read the messages, did you?”

“Did I miss something?”

“If you want to kiss me so bad, read it.”

His eyes shot open wide, a bit terrified. “What?” he said, dumbstruck. “Y/N— What?”

Clumsily, with no grace whatsoever, he fumbled with his phone, your words racing in his head. If you want to kiss me, read it. He bluescreened. If you want to kiss me—

you satoru doesnt read the messages here, right?

you i hate him if i never met him maybe i wouldnt have figured that i was not content with the love i had

you how do i even deal with this? i got dumped by my bf and he tells me if i love satoru so much why not just date him instead

you i love him can someone please comfort me

shoko oh no

shoko condolences for liking the most insufferable man on planet earth

suguru im sorry he’s an asshole you deserve better y/n

shoko the trashiest asshole are you sure about this?

you more than anything, unfortunately

Wait.

The asshole they were referring to was Satoru?

Wait.

Satoru jolts up from where he had been hunched over his phone, gaping at you. “Y/N,” he whispered reverently. “Y/N!”

You placed a hand on his chest as he moved towards you, preventing him from crashing into your space. He faltered. “Wait,” you laughed softly, languidly, beautifully, “not now. I’m sleepy.”

“No, fuck that,” he said, helpless. “Y/N!”

“It’s your fault for not reading our group chat.”

‘Kay, well. Satoru’s eyes narrowed like a cat prepared to pounce. “You can’t just make me read that and keep me from you like this. Why were you so mad at me yesterday?”

“Because I love you, and now my life is over,” you said, smiling.

“Say that again,” he demanded.

“My life is over?”

Satoru was seconds away from crying. “Y/N, please,” he said, “say you love me again. Say it now.”

He held the hand on his chest and kissed it. Kissed it again, the back of your palm, your fingertips, repeating the same three words.

“I love you?” you said.

“Well, don’t sound so unsure about it.”

You laughed. “Do you even like me back?”

Satoru stared from the rim of his glasses. Instead of replying, he tugged you closer with your arm and kissed your jaw. He hoped you would get it—that you would understand. He loved you first.

“More than anything,” he echoed. He looked into your eyes, your lips, torn. “Please, let me kiss you. You’re hurting me.”

“Oh, I get a please now?”

Satoru’s eyes sharply dart down to your lips. Your grin faltered at the intensity of his stare. You swallowed, and he tracked every movement.

“You look a bit manic right now,” you said nervously.

“I’ll show you manic.”

You smiled, bumping your ankle against his back. When he glanced at it, you inched closer. His heart leaped to his throat, threatening to come out and get you.

“Are you seriously going to make a move on me now? My heart is broken, Satoru.”

“Is it really?” He grinned. “Or is it just split with me?”

“Okay, smartass,” you said, rolling your eyes. “Just kiss me already.”

Satoru cut the distance between the two of you. He crashed clumsily, making both of you wince, but he tilted his head and suddenly— much better. He held you closer, hoping he could wipe away any other men from your life with all he could offer—him, needy, longing, crazed.

“Satoru—” you tried, but it was swallowed by his mouth, wishing you could breathe his name from your lips to his. This was almost as good as hearing you say you love him anyway.

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo x you #jjk x reader

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pucksandpower · 5 months ago

Text

I’ll Be Waiting

Toto Wolff x Reader

Summary: in which two soulmates are destined to always find each other only to be torn apart lifetime after lifetime after lifetime … until finally, they’re not (aka the reincarnation AU)

Hedeby, 952

The crackling fire casts long shadows across the great hall as Toto sits upon his ornate wooden throne. His piercing brown eyes scan the room, filled with boisterous warriors celebrating their latest successful raid. But his gaze keeps returning to you, his most favored thrall, as you move gracefully among the revelers, refilling their horns with mead.

“You there,” Toto calls out, his deep voice cutting through the din. “Come hither.”

Your heart quickens as you approach, head bowed respectfully. “Yes, my Jarl?”

Toto leans forward, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “Tell me, how fares the celebration? Are our warriors content?”

You risk a glance up, meeting his intense gaze. “They are in high spirits, my Jarl. Your generosity knows no bounds.”

“And what of you?” Toto asks, his voice lowering. “Are you content in my service?”

A flush creeps up your neck. “I am honored to serve you, my Jarl. There is no greater joy.”

Toto nods, satisfied. “Good. I have a task for you. Meet me in my private chambers after the feast.”

As you turn to leave, a hand grabs your arm. It’s Ingrid, Toto’s wife, her eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“What did my husband want with you?” She hisses.

You try to keep your voice steady. “He merely asked about the celebration, my lady.”

Ingrid’s grip tightens. “Do not think I am blind to the way he looks at you. Remember your place, thrall.”

She releases you and you hurry away, your mind racing. As the night wears on, you can feel Toto’s eyes following you, and the weight of Ingrid’s glares.

Finally, the feast winds down. With trepidation, you make your way to Toto’s private chambers. You knock softly.

“Enter,” comes his voice from within.

You step inside, finding Toto standing by the window, silhouetted against the starry night sky.

“Close the door,” he says without turning.

You obey, your pulse quickening. “You wanted to see me, my Jarl?”

Toto turns, his expression unreadable. “I did. Come closer.”

You approach cautiously, stopping a respectful distance away. Toto closes the gap between you, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face.

“Do you know why I summoned you here?” He asks softly.

You swallow hard. “No, my Jarl.”

Toto’s hand cups your cheek. “I think you do. I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I’m not watching. It mirrors the way I look at you.”

Your eyes widen. “My Jarl, I-”

“Shh,” he interrupts gently. “You need not speak. I know your heart, as you know mine.”

He leans in, his lips a breath away from yours. “Tell me to stop and I will. But know that you hold my heart in your hands.”

Unable to resist any longer, you close the distance, your lips meeting in a passionate kiss. For a moment, the world falls away, and there is only Toto and the fire he ignites within you.

Suddenly, the door bursts open. You jump apart to see Ingrid standing there, her face contorted with rage.

“I knew it!” She screams. “You treacherous whore!”

Before either of you can react, Ingrid pulls a dagger from her belt and lunges at you. Pain explodes in your abdomen as the blade finds its mark.

“No!” Toto roars, catching you as you collapse.

He lowers you gently to the floor, pressing his hands against the wound. “Stay with me,” he pleads, his voice breaking. “Don’t leave me.”

You try to speak, but only a gurgle escapes your lips. The world starts to fade around you.

“Guards!” Toto shouts. “Fetch the healer!”

But you know it’s too late. As your vision darkens, the last thing you see is Toto’s anguished face, tears streaming down his cheeks.

“I will find you,” he whispers fiercely. “In this life or the next. I swear it.”

With your last breath, you manage to whisper, “I’ll be waiting.”

As your eyes close for the final time, you feel Toto’s lips press against your forehead, sealing a promise that will echo through lifetimes to come.

Vatican City, 1493

The opulent halls of the Vatican echo with hushed whispers and the rustle of silk as you make your way through the winding corridors. Your heart races, not with the excitement of a bride-to-be, but with the desperate resolve of one about to take a drastic step.

As you round a corner, a strong hand grasps your arm, pulling you into a shadowy alcove. You find yourself face to face with Cardinal Toto, his eyes filled with concern.

“My love,” he whispers urgently, “what are you doing here? The wedding is but hours away.”

You place a trembling hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath the rich fabric of his robes. “I had to see you one last time.”

His brow furrows. “What do you mean? Speak plainly, I beg you.”

Taking a deep breath, you steel yourself. “I cannot go through with this farce of a marriage. My father may sell me to the highest bidder, but he cannot sell my heart.”

Toto’s eyes widen in alarm. “What are you planning? Tell me you haven’t done anything foolish.”

You pull a small vial from the folds of your dress. “It is already done, my love. The poison courses through my veins even as we speak.”

“No!” Toto gasps, gripping your shoulders. “How could you? We would have found another way!”

Tears well in your eyes. “There is no other way. My father’s ambition knows no bounds. This was the only path left to me.”

Toto pulls you close, his voice breaking. “Then I shall follow you into the darkness. I cannot live in a world without you.”

You push him away gently. “You must live, Toto. Live and remember me. Perhaps in another life, we will find each other again.”

He shakes his head vehemently. “I will not let you go. Not again. I’ve only just found you in this life, and I refuse to lose you once more.”

Confusion flickers across your face. “What do you mean, ‘again’?”

Toto cups your face in his hands. “I’ve had dreams, vivid as memories, of us in another time. A great hall, a celebration ... and a tragic end. I swore I would find you, and I have. I will not be parted from you now.”

You sway on your feet, the poison beginning to take effect. “Toto, please. You must let me go. Your life, your position ...”

“Mean nothing without you,” he finishes firmly. “Come, we must get you to a physician. Perhaps there is still time to counteract the poison.”

As he tries to lead you away, you stumble, your legs giving way beneath you. Toto catches you, lowering you gently to the floor.

“Help!” He calls out, his voice echoing through the halls. “Someone, help us!”

You clutch at his robes weakly. “It’s too late, my love. But know that I go to my death with a heart full of love for you.”

Footsteps approach rapidly. A group of guards rounds the corner, led by your father, Pope Alexander VI. His face contorts with rage at the sight before him.

“What is the meaning of this?” He thunders. “Cardinal Wolff, explain yourself!”

Toto looks up, defiance blazing in his eyes. “Your daughter lies dying, Your Holiness. Will you not call for aid?”

Your father’s gaze hardens. “My daughter knows her duty. She will marry as I have decreed.”

“She has taken poison rather than submit to your schemes,” Toto spits out. “Is your ambition worth more than your daughter’s life?”

For a moment, shock flickers across your father’s face. Then his expression hardens once more. “Guards, seize the Cardinal. He has clearly bewitched my daughter’s mind.”

As the guards move to comply, you summon the last of your strength. “Father, please. Let me die in peace, with the man I love.”

Your words give the guards pause. They look to the Pope, uncertainty in their eyes.

Your father’s face twists with conflicting emotions. “You would throw away everything for this ... this upstart Cardinal?”

“I would throw away everything for love,” you whisper. “Something you have long forgotten the meaning of.”

A tense silence falls over the group. Then, to everyone’s surprise, your father waves the guards away. “Leave us,” he commands.

As they retreat, he kneels beside you, his voice softer than you’ve heard it in years. “My child, what have you done?”

You meet his gaze steadily. “I have chosen my own fate, father. For once in my life, I have made my own choice.”

Toto holds you closer, his tears falling freely now. “Is there truly nothing to be done?” He asks, his voice raw with anguish.

Your father shakes his head slowly. “The poison she favors ... it is swift and irreversible. I had thought to use it on our enemies, not ...” He trails off, unable to finish the thought.

As your breath grows more labored, you turn to Toto. “Promise me something, my love.”

“Anything,” he vows without hesitation.

“Live,” you whisper. “Live and do good in this world. And when your time comes, look for me in the next life. I will be waiting.”

Toto presses his forehead to yours. “I swear it. I will find you again, in this life or the next.”

With your last ounce of strength, you pull him into a final kiss. As your lips part, you feel the life leaving your body.

The last thing you hear is Toto’s anguished cry, a sound that seems to echo not just through the halls of the Vatican, but across time itself.

As darkness claims you, a strange sense of remembrance washes over you. You’ve been here before, you realize. And somehow, you know you’ll be here again. For your love is one that transcends death itself, destined to play out across the ages until, at last, you and Toto find your happily ever after.

Virginia, 1863

The makeshift field hospital buzzes with frantic activity as wounded soldiers are brought in from the front lines. The air is thick with the metallic scent of blood and the acrid smell of gunpowder. Amidst the chaos, you move with practiced efficiency, your nurse’s apron already stained with the day’s grim work.

Suddenly, a commotion at the entrance catches your attention. Your heart stops as you recognize the unconscious figure being carried in on a stretcher.

“Toto!” You cry out, rushing to his side.

The soldiers carrying him look grim. “It’s the Commander, ma’am. He took a bullet meant for one of his men.”

You quickly assess the wound, your medical training warring with your rising panic. “Put him here,” you direct, indicating an empty cot.

As they lay Toto down, his eyes flutter open. “Y/N?” He murmurs weakly. “Is that you, my love?”

You grasp his hand tightly. “I’m here, darling. You’re going to be alright.”

Toto manages a pained smile. “You always were a terrible liar, my dear.”

“Don’t talk like that,” you scold, fighting back tears as you begin to clean his wound. “You’re not going anywhere. I won’t allow it.”

He chuckles, then winces. “If only your determination could heal bullet wounds.”

As you work, you keep up a steady stream of conversation, partly to distract Toto from the pain and partly to keep your own rising fear at bay.

“Do you remember when we first met?” You ask, your hands moving swiftly to staunch the bleeding. “At that ridiculous ball in Washington?”

Toto’s eyes soften at the memory. “How could I forget? You were the most beautiful woman in the room, and I was the fool who spilled champagne all over your dress.”

You laugh despite yourself. “And then you insisted on giving me your jacket to cover the stain, even though it was three sizes too big.”

“It was worth the embarrassment,” Toto says softly. “It got you to talk to me.”

A sharp intake of breath from Toto makes you pause in your ministrations. “I’m sorry, love. I know it hurts.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t apologize. You’re doing your best. You always do.”

You blink back tears, focusing on the task at hand. “We have so much left to do, Toto. Remember our plans? The house by the lake, the children we talked about ...”

Toto’s hand finds yours, squeezing weakly. “Tell me about them. Our children.”

You swallow hard, playing along even as your heart breaks. “Well, there’s little Torger, of course. He would have your eyes and your stubborn chin.”

“Poor lad,” Toto quips, his voice growing fainter.

“And our daughter,” you continue, your voice wavering. “She would be as smart as her father and as headstrong as her mother. Heaven help us when she would’ve gotten older.”

Toto’s eyes begin to drift closed. “They sound perfect.”

Panic seizes you. “Toto? Toto, stay with me. Please, darling, you have to fight.”

His eyes open again with visible effort. “I’m trying, my love. But I’m so tired.”

You look around frantically. “Doctor! We need a doctor here!”

But the overwhelmed medical staff are all occupied with other critical patients. You’re on your own.

“Look at me,” you plead, cupping his face in your hands. “Do you remember what you promised me on our wedding day? You said you’d love me in this life and the next. You can’t break that promise now.”

A strange look passes over Toto’s face. “The next life,” he murmurs. “Yes, I remember. I’ve always remembered, somehow.”

Confusion mixes with your fear. “What do you mean?”

Toto’s gaze becomes distant. “I’ve loved you before, Y/N. In other times, other places. I don’t know how I know this, but I do.”

You shake your head, tears flowing freely now. “You’re delirious, my love. Save your strength.”

“No,” Toto insists with surprising force. “Listen to me. This isn’t the end. I will find you again. I swear it.”

His words stir something deep within you, a sense of déjà vu so strong it takes your breath away. “Toto, I-”

But before you can finish, Toto’s body is wracked by a violent coughing fit. Blood trickles from the corner of his mouth.

“No, no, no,” you chant, redoubling your efforts to save him. “Don’t you dare leave me, Toto Wolff. Don’t you dare.”

Toto manages to lift a hand to your cheek, wiping away your tears. “My brave, beautiful Y/N. How I wish we had more time.”

You lean into his touch. “We will. You’ll get better and we’ll have all the time in the world.”

But even as you say the words, you can feel Toto slipping away. His breathing becomes more labored, his skin growing cold beneath your touch.

“Kiss me,” he whispers. “One last time.”

Choking back a sob, you lean down and press your lips to his. You try to pour all your love, all your hope, all your desperation into that kiss.

As you pull back, Toto’s eyes meet yours one final time. “Until we meet again, my love,” he breathes.

And then he’s gone.

For a moment, you’re frozen in disbelief. Then a wail of anguish tears from your throat, echoing through the hospital tent.

As you collapse across Toto’s still form, sobs wracking your body, a strange sensation washes over you. It’s as if you’re remembering something you’ve never experienced — other lives, other deaths, other heartbreaks.

In that moment, you know with absolute certainty that this isn’t the end. Somehow, someway, you and Toto will find each other again.

As the chaos of the field hospital swirls around you, you whisper a promise against Toto’s cold lips. “I’ll be waiting for you, my love. In this life or the next.”

And somewhere, beyond the veil of death, a spark of hope ignites. The wheel of time turns, and two souls begin their journey once more, drawn together by a love that refuses to die.

London, 1894

The London fog hangs heavy in the air as you hurry through the winding streets, your heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and fear. You pull your cloak tighter, glancing over your shoulder to ensure you haven’t been followed. Finally, you reach your destination: a nondescript townhouse in a respectable neighborhood.

You knock quickly, a pre-arranged pattern. The door opens almost immediately, and you’re pulled inside by strong, familiar arms.

“My darling,” Toto Wolff murmurs, his eyes drinking in the sight of you. “I was beginning to worry.”

You melt into his embrace, inhaling his comforting scent. “I’m sorry, love. It was difficult to get away tonight.”

Toto’s brow furrows as he notices your wince when he holds you. “He hurt you again, didn’t he?”

You look away, unable to meet his gaze. “It’s nothing, Toto. Please, let’s not waste our precious time together talking about him.”

But Toto gently cups your face, turning it towards him. “It’s not nothing. You don’t deserve this, Y/N. Let me take you away from all this. We could start a new life together, somewhere far from here.”

You sigh, leaning into his touch. “You know we can’t. The scandal would ruin you. Your business, your reputation ...”

“I don’t care about any of that,” Toto insists. “I care about you. I love you.”

Those three words, so freely given, bring tears to your eyes. “And I love you. More than I ever thought possible. But the world isn’t kind to women who leave their husbands, no matter how cruel those husbands might be.”

Toto’s jaw clenches. “Then let me confront him. I have influence, connections. I could make him disappear.”

You shake your head vehemently. “No, I won’t have you risk everything for me. These stolen moments ... they’re enough. They have to be.”

Toto pulls you close again, more gently this time. “They’ll never be enough. Not when I know you’re suffering. Not when every fiber of my being aches to make you my wife, to give you the life you deserve.”

You look up at him, struck once again by the intensity of his gaze. “Sometimes ... sometimes I feel as though we’ve lived this before. This longing, this impossible love. Does that sound mad?”

A strange expression crosses Toto’s face. “No, my love. It doesn’t sound mad at all. I’ve felt it too. As if we’ve known each other across lifetimes.”

You’re about to respond when a loud banging on the door makes you both jump.

“Open up, Wolff!” A familiar, slurred voice calls out. “I know she’s in there!”

Your blood runs cold. “It’s him. Oh God, Toto, it’s my husband. He must have followed me.”

Toto’s expression hardens. “Stay here,” he commands, moving towards the door.

But you grab his arm. “No, please! He’s drunk, he’s dangerous. Let me handle this.”

Before Toto can protest, you rush to the door and open it slightly. Your husband’s red, enraged face greets you.

“So it’s true,” he snarls. “My own wife, carrying on with this ... this upstart robber baron!”

You try to keep your voice calm. “Richard, please. Let’s go home and talk about this.”

But Richard is beyond reason. He shoves the door open, nearly knocking you over. Toto is there in an instant, steadying you.

“Get your hands off my wife,” Richard growls.

Toto’s voice is ice cold. “I suggest you leave, sir. Before you do something you’ll regret.”

Richard laughs bitterly. “Regret? The only thing I regret is not seeing this sooner. How long has this been going on, eh? How long have you been making a fool of me?”

You step forward, hands raised placatingly. “Richard, please. It’s not what you think.”

“Not what I think?” Richard roars. “Do you take me for an idiot?”

In his rage, he lashes out, his hand connecting with your cheek with a sickening crack. You stumble backwards, crying out in pain.

Toto moves with lightning speed, tackling Richard to the ground. “How dare you lay a hand on her!” He shouts, his fist connecting with Richard’s jaw.

The two men grapple on the floor, trading blows. You watch in horror, frozen in place.

Suddenly, Richard’s hand emerges from his coat, clutching a revolver. Time seems to slow down as he aims it at Toto.

“No!” You scream, throwing yourself between them just as Richard pulls the trigger.

The sound of the gunshot is deafening in the small space. For a moment, everything is still. Then you look down, seeing the rapidly spreading red stain on your dress.

“Y/N!” Toto cries out, catching you as you collapse.

Richard stares in shock, the gun falling from his limp fingers. “I ... I didn’t mean ...”

But Toto isn’t listening. He’s cradling you in his arms, his face a mask of anguish. “Stay with me, my love. Please, stay with me.”

You reach up weakly, touching his cheek. “Toto ... my Toto ...”

“Don’t speak,” he urges. “Save your strength. Help is coming.”

But you both know it’s too late. You can feel your life ebbing away with each labored breath.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I’m so sorry we never got our chance.”

Toto’s tears fall on your face as he leans close. “Don’t be sorry. We’ll have another chance. I swear it. I’ll find you again, in the next life.”

A sense of peace washes over you at his words. “Promise?”

“I promise,” Toto vows fiercely. “This isn’t the end for us. It can’t be.”

With the last of your strength, you pull him down for a final kiss. As your lips meet, memories flood your mind – not just of this life, but of others. Viking halls, Vatican corridors, Civil War battlefields. Through it all, one constant.

Toto.

As darkness closes in, you manage one last whisper. “Until we meet again, my love.”

Your eyes close, your hand going limp in Toto’s grasp. The last thing you hear is his anguished cry, a sound that seems to echo not just through the room, but across time itself.

Indiana, 1932

The dilapidated streets of the once-thriving town are a stark contrast to the sleek black car that rolls through them. A powerful mobster sits in the back, his sharp eyes taking in the changes a decade has wrought on his childhood home.

As the car stops in front of a run-down tenement, a young boy approaches cautiously. Toto steps out, adjusting his expensive suit.

“You Toto?” The boy asks, eyeing him warily.

Toto nods. “I am. And you must be Jimmy. You’ve grown since I last saw you.”

Jimmy’s face darkens. “Yeah, well, a lot’s changed. You here to see her?”

“I am,” Toto confirms, his voice softening. “How is she, Jimmy?”

The boy’s shoulders slump. “Not good, mister. Not good at all. Follow me.”

As they climb the creaking stairs, Jimmy speaks in a low voice. “She’s been sick for months. Tuberculosis, the doc says. But she won’t stop giving her food to us kids. Says we need it more.”

Toto’s jaw clenches. “Why didn’t anyone tell me? I would have-”

“She wouldn’t let us,” Jimmy interrupts. “Said you had your own life now, that she didn’t want to be a burden.”

They reach a door on the third floor. Jimmy hesitates before opening it. “Just ... prepare yourself, okay?”

Toto steels himself as they enter the small, dimly lit room. His heart nearly stops when he sees you lying on the bed, a mere shadow of the vibrant girl he remembers.

Your eyes light up when you see him, even as a coughing fit wracks your frail body. “Toto? Is it really you?”

He’s at your side in an instant, taking your hand in his. “It’s me, my love. I’m here.”

You manage a weak smile. “You shouldn’t have come. It’s not safe for you here.”

Toto shakes his head, fighting back tears. “To hell with safety. Why didn’t you tell me you were ill? I could have helped.”

Another cough shakes you, and this time, blood stains your lips. Toto reaches for a handkerchief, gently wiping it away.

“I didn’t want to be a burden,” you whisper. “You’ve done so well for yourself, Toto. I couldn’t bear to drag you back here.”

Toto’s voice is fierce. “You could never be a burden. Don’t you know that you’re everything to me?”

You look at him sadly. “We were children then. The world’s changed. We’ve changed.”

“Not where it matters,” he insists. “My feelings for you have never changed.”

Jimmy, who’s been hovering by the door, speaks up. “I’ll, uh, give you two some privacy.” He slips out, closing the door behind him.

Alone now, Toto takes in your gaunt face, your hollow cheeks. “Why haven’t you been eating?” He asks softly.

You look away. “Times are hard. The children need it more than I do.”

“And what about what you need?” Toto demands, his voice breaking. “Did you think I wouldn’t want to know? That I wouldn’t move heaven and earth to help you?”

A tear slips down your cheek. “I couldn’t ask that of you. You’ve built a new life. I’m just ... I’m just a relic of the past.”

Toto cups your face gently, turning it towards him. “You’re not a relic. You’re the love of my life. The only thing that’s mattered all these years.”

You search his eyes, seeing the truth there. “Oh, Toto. I’ve missed you so much.”

He leans in, pressing his forehead to yours. “I’m here now. And I’m not going anywhere. We’re going to get you better and then-”

But you shake your head weakly. “It’s too late for that, my love. I can feel it. I don’t have much time left.”

“Don’t say that,” Toto pleads. “You can’t give up. Not now that we’re together again.”

Another coughing fit overtakes you, more violent than before. When it subsides, you look at Toto with a strange mix of sadness and wonder.

“You know,” you murmur, “I’ve had the strangest dreams lately. Of us, together, but in different times, different places. Is that mad?”

Toto’s breath catches. “No, it’s not mad at all. I’ve had them too. Like ... like we’ve lived this love before.”

You manage a small smile. “Perhaps we have. Perhaps we always will.”

Toto brings your hand to his lips, kissing it softly. “Then let this not be the end. Fight, my love. Fight to stay with me.”

“I’m trying,” you whisper. “But I’m so tired, Toto. So very tired.”

He climbs onto the bed, gathering you carefully in his arms. “Then rest. I’ve got you now. I’m not letting go.”

You nestle against his chest, feeling safe for the first time in years. “Toto?”

“Yes, my love?”

“Will you tell me about your life? What you’ve been doing all these years?”

Toto hesitates, not wanting to speak of his less-than-legal activities. But he sees the genuine interest in your eyes and begins to talk, telling you sanitized versions of his rise to power.

As he speaks, he feels you relaxing in his arms, your breathing becoming more even. For a moment, he allows himself to hope.

But then you look up at him, your eyes filled with a mix of love and regret. “I wish we had more time,” you breathe.

Toto’s heart clenches. “We will. You’re going to get better, and we’ll have all the time in the world.”

You shake your head slightly. “Promise me something.”

“Anything,” he vows without hesitation.

“Look after them. Jimmy and the others. They’ll need someone now.”

Toto nods, tears flowing freely now. “I promise. But you’ll be here too. You have to be.”

You reach up weakly, touching his cheek. “Kiss me? One last time?”

Choking back a sob, Toto leans down, pressing his lips to yours in a gentle, desperate kiss.

As you part, you look into his eyes one final time. “Until we meet again, my love,” you whisper.

And then you’re gone, your body going limp in Toto’s arms.

For a moment, the world stands still. Then Toto’s anguished cry echoes through the small room, a sound of grief so profound it seems to transcend time itself.

As he holds your lifeless body, Toto makes a silent vow. He will find you again, in this life or the next. For a love like yours cannot be bound by the limits of a single lifetime.

Monaco, 2024

The bustling energy of the paddock swirls around you as you make your way through the crowd, one hand resting protectively on your slightly swollen belly. Despite the chaos, you move with confidence, knowing that at any moment ...

“There you are, mein Schatz,” a familiar voice calls out. Toto appears at your side as if by magic. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Are you feeling alright? Do you need to sit down?”

You can’t help but smile at his concern. “I’m fine, Toto. Just taking a little walk. The baby’s been restless today.”

Toto’s hand immediately joins yours on your belly, his face lighting up with wonder. “Is that so? Well then, little one, let’s find a more comfortable spot for your mother, shall we?”

Before you can protest, Toto is guiding you towards the Mercedes hospitality area, his arm protectively around your waist. As you walk, heads turn and whispers follow. It’s still a novelty for many to see the usually intense and focused Toto Wolff so openly affectionate.

“Toto, really, I’m okay,” you insist, even as you allow him to lead you. “You don’t need to fuss so much.”

He gives you a look that’s equal parts love and stubbornness. “Nonsense. It’s my job to fuss over you. Both of you.”

As you enter the cool, quiet Mercedes suite, Toto immediately starts arranging pillows on a plush sofa. “Here, sit down. Can I get you anything? Water? A snack? Perhaps a foot massage?”

You laugh, settling onto the sofa. “A water would be lovely, thank you. But then you need to relax. Don’t you have a race to prepare for?”

Toto waves a hand dismissively as he fetches your water. “The team can manage without me for a few minutes. You and our child are my priority.”

As he hands you the water and sits beside you, you can’t help but marvel at the man before you. Toto Wolff, the billionaire, the racing mogul, the man whose mere presence commands respect throughout the paddock — and here he is, fussing over you like a mother hen.

“What are you thinking about?” Toto asks, noticing your contemplative expression.

You take his hand, intertwining your fingers with his. “Just ... how different things are now. How perfect. Sometimes I feel like we’ve been waiting lifetimes for this happiness.”

A strange look passes over Toto’s face, a mix of recognition and wonder. “You know, I’ve had that same feeling. Like we knew each other before.”

You nod, a shiver running down your spine. “It’s odd, isn’t it? But it feels ... right, somehow.”

Toto pulls you closer, his hand resting on your belly once more. “Perhaps we have known each other across lifetimes. And perhaps this is the one where we finally got it right.”

Just then, you feel a strong kick from the baby. Toto’s eyes widen in delight.

“Did you feel that?” He exclaims, his usual composure completely forgotten.

You laugh, wincing slightly. “Trust me, I felt it. I think someone’s eager to join the conversation.”

Toto leans down, speaking directly to your belly. “Hello there, little racer. Are you practicing your podium celebrations already?”

As if in response, there’s another kick. Toto looks up at you, his eyes shining with unshed tears of joy.

“I never knew I could be this happy,” he murmurs. “You’ve given me everything. A love I never thought possible, a family of my own ...”

You cup his cheek, touched by his openness. “Oh, Toto. You’ve given me just as much. More, even. You’ve given me a home, a sense of belonging I’ve never had before.”

Toto turns his head to kiss your palm. “And I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure you always feel that way. Both of you.”

Just then, there’s a knock at the door. Toto sighs, reluctantly pulling away.

“Come in,” he calls out, his ‘team principal’ voice back in place.

A nervous-looking intern pokes his head in. “I’m sorry to interrupt, sir, but the strategy meeting is about to start. They’re asking for you.”

Toto nods. “Thank you. I’ll be there in a moment.”

As the intern leaves, Toto turns back to you with an apologetic smile. “Duty calls, I’m afraid. Will you be alright here?”

You roll your eyes good-naturedly. “I’ll be fine. Go, lead your team to victory. We’ll be right here cheering you on.”

Toto stands, but hesitates. “Are you sure you don’t need anything? I could have someone bring you some snacks or maybe a blanket if you’re cold ...”

“Toto,” you say firmly, but with affection. “Go. We’re fine. I promise I’ll call if I need anything.”

He leans down to kiss you softly. “Alright, alright. I’m going. I love you both so much.”

“We love you too,” you reply, giving him a gentle push. “Now go be the brilliant team principal I married.”

As Toto finally leaves, you settle back into the couch, your hands resting on your belly. You feel another kick and smile.

“Your father’s quite something, isn’t he?” You murmur to your unborn child. “But don’t worry. No matter how busy he gets, no matter how many races he wins, you and I will always be his greatest victory.”

As you sit there, surrounded by the muffled sounds of the paddock, you’re filled with a sense of contentment so profound it almost overwhelms you. After so many lifetimes of heartache and separation, you and Toto have finally found your happily ever after.

And as your baby kicks again, you smile, knowing that this is just the beginning of your greatest adventure yet.

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suntoru · 1 year ago

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─ ✰ WHIPPED 4 U!

─ SYNOPSIS: gojo satoru's a whiny baby when it comes to you.

─ WARNINGS: pure fluff, kissing, whiny gojo, suggestive at the end but not smut, cat being gojo's biggest hater

─ AUTHOR’S NOTE: this is canon GIGGLES I HOPE U LIKE IT!! cool people reblog n comment if u did <3

you're wholeheartedly convinced that gojo satoru, without a doubt, is the embodiment of a five-year-old child trapped in the towering physique of a grown man. "babeeeeeee..." he melodically whines, storming into the room with a cascade of faux tears threatening to spill from his mesmerizing teal orbs, each blink carrying the weight of dramatic distress. in a display of sheer drama, he clutches his finger as if it's a dire injury, letting out exaggerated sighs that could rival the most skilled actors.

his 6'3 frame drapes itself dramatically into your arms, and if you didn't know any better, you'd swear he's reenacting a tragic scene where his body had been sliced in two. (haha get it i'm sorry please don't come for me) theatrical whimpers escape him, each one carefully crafted to tug at your heartstrings, and he lifts his pointer finger, presenting it to you with the utmost flair. it's a spectacle that could put any tantrum-throwing toddler to shame, yet in the midst of it all, there's an undeniable charm to the childish antics of gojo satoru.

"milkis scratched me," he huffs, his gaze a glaring accusation directed at the unbothered pearly white cat adorned with a delicate satin pink bow. the feline culprit merely licks its paw, an image of serene innocence, blinking up at you with adoration as it meows and gracefully rubs against your leg. "see? a demon." he declares, shoving his wounded digit in front of your face, revealing a tiny cut barely grazing his skin.

you respond with a nonchalant sigh, seemingly unimpressed by the ordeal. gojo, however, wears a visible frown, his hands finding their way to your face as he squishes your cheeks with playful exasperation.

"so ya don't love me anymore." he pouts, his lips forming an exaggerated puppy dog expression, his wide, pleading eyes boring into yours. "you're choosing him over me??" a soft giggle escapes you, a teasing melody that only deepens the lines of his pout. in retaliation, you playfully flick his forehead, and he lets out a broken whine, nuzzling his face into the comforting crook of your neck.

"meanie." he murmurs against your skin, his voice muffled by the closeness. you playfully ruffle his hair, a mischievous smile dancing on your lips. deciding to indulge him in this lighthearted moment, you gently grip his chin, lifting it to meet your gaze. cooing as if he were a child, a teasing glint sparkling in your eyes as you play along.

"aww... my precious baby... whatever shall we do?" he willingly sinks into the warmth of your palm, lifting his injured finger for emphasis.

"kiss." he pleads, his bottom lip jutting out in a display of drama. obliging, you lean in, planting a sweet peck on his finger, accompanied by a playful 'mwah!' his initial pout falters slightly, basking in the attention you're graciously bestowing upon him. "better?" you ask, tilting your head, a playful smile lingering on your lips. but gojo has more demands, pointing to his forehead with a childlike innocence. without hesitation, you plant your plush lips right where he's pointing, barely holding back a giggle at the adorable display.

"you forgot here." he points to his cheek, and you humor him once again, planting a smooch on the designated spot. "my nose needs loving too." he whines, and with an eye roll, you indulge him, giving his nose the attention it apparently craves. "i think i need one more to be all better." he declares, this time pointing to his lips. his eyes close, anticipation written across his face as he puckers up, awaiting the sensation of your mouth against his.

"you're so greedy, 'toru." you complain, yet you succumb to his wishes, wrapping your arms around his neck. standing on your tippy toes, you feel his hands snake around your waist lovingly as you deliver the requested kiss on his lips.

his are buttery soft, radiating pure unadulterated warmth as gojo smiles against your own. the kiss is a gentle exchange, soft, sweet, and wrapped in an aura of innocence that makes you reluctant to pull away. after what feels like an eternity of shared breaths and lingering closeness, he eventually releases you, both of you left breathless and slightly dazed.

"s-satisfied?" you huff, your cheeks now tinted a rosy pink. with that signature mischievous glint in his eyes, he grins, and you can feel something twitch in his grey sweatpants. "if you're handin' out free kisses, i can think of something that needs a little lovin'."

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undreaming-fanfiction · 11 months ago

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Established Steddie, they have been living together for over a decade, did their best to heal their wounds from the Upside Down and learn to enjoy life again. It's not easy but they do it.

When the Lord of the Rings movies come out, it's actually Steve who suggests watching them to Eddie. He really tries engaging with Eddie's passions, but his focus is not the greatest when it comes to books. That doesn't mean he doesn't listen to Eddie ramble about them though - he knows all about hobbits, second breakfasts, the culture of smoking in the Shire...Eddie admires a lot of characters from the books, but ever since experiencing the Upside Down fuckery, he actually admits that the hobbits had a point. Good food, even better company and good tobacco? What else does one need? It also inspires Steve a few years later to prepare a full day of hobbit-inspired meals for their trilogy marathon when the extended editions come out. But this is about their first time watching the movies.

They both go to the movie theater excited. Steve is familiar with most of the characters, including Eddie's self-admitted crush on Aragorn. And Steve can see why, he can see so much good in all the members of the fellowship. After the first movie, he's wiping his eyes because Boromir deserved better. Eddie has a lot to say about what was lost in adaptation, but Steve knows Eddie loves those movies and would cut off his only remaining nipple before missing the next ones.

The Two Towers have Steve rooting for the ents and he feels strangely touched about how everyone underestimates Pippin, yet it's him who gets the ents to march. He really can't pick a favorite character. He can't wait for the third movie.

They go to the premiere of the Return of the King with Eddie. They secretly hold hands in the last row, and Steve watches the ride of the Rohirrim with bated breath. He clenches his hand in Eddie's when Theoden gets gravely injured, but then Éowyn is there and...oh.

He is staring slack-jawed at the scene. Éowyn's large, terrified eyes, the towering frame of the Witch King. Her posture was fearful, crouched, but still she faced him. And something surfaces in his head, something he's long forgotten.

He's unusually queit when they come back home, he still loves the rest of the movie, almost cries at "my friends, you bow to no one,", then definitely cries at Frodo leaving the Middle Earth. But there is still that something and Eddie can sense it. When they're falling asleep together, Eddie finally asks him. And Steve's had enough time to process what he felt.

"When Éowyn faced the Witch King...it reminded me of what it felt like. I mean, for the first time. I know it's stupid because saw so much unnatural shit, but...it's the first time that I have hard time forgetting," he admits quietly. "She reminded me of me in 1983 so much. I had no clue what I was getting myself into. I thought I'd do the right thing, but then I had a gun pointed at me, they both had blood on their hands...and then it appeared."

Eddie doesn't speak, he only holds Steve closer.

"It was so tall. I remember that petal-like mouth, those teeth, but mostly...I remember the crippling fear. I felt absolutely terrified. I couldn't move. There was even a moment when I thought of running away, but...I couldn't leave them there. Seeing someone go through something similar and being praised for being a hero...it makes me think. I used to be so ashamed for freezing in that moment. For even considering running away. But Éowyn...she was like me." There's awe in his voice and warmth, relief. "She had no idea what she was getting into. She froze. She didn't do everything perfectly and gracefully like Legolas or something, but when it mattered...she did what she had to."

He holds Eddie tighter and asks, almost shyly: "Will it offend you that I think she's my favorite character? Not Aragorn or Sam?"

Eddie just shakes his head and drops a kiss to Steve's hair. "Nah. She suits you well. And you're both amazing."

And if it becomes a silly endearment in their household, that Steve is sometimes called the Shieldmaiden of Hawkins? ("I'm not a maiden, Eddie!" "I'm not calling you a shieldboy or shieldbachelor, Steve!") Then Steve feels a hint of something that he thought he'd renounced, but now, for the first time he feels it's deserved - pride.

#steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddie #steddie drabble #lord of the rings steddie #not proofread I'm sleep deprived af

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seneon · 26 days ago

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APOCALYPSE ──── teenage¡touya × teenage¡reader.

about. winters are always spent with the todoroki family. except, this winter is a more bit special. set in a no quirk! au. romance. touya is written as touya, before dabi existed. reader is a poet/writer. listen to apocalypse. wc of 1900+

notes. happiest birthday to one of the most complexed character i ever loved. it's also shidmerica ( my babies ) 1 year anniversary!! so it's written specially for them. my heart belongs to you, @w1nterelle and @hyoismbbg 🖤

THE FLURRIES OF SNOW DANCED OUTSIDE WITH UTMOST GRACE. you stood by the window, the chill from the glass seeped into your skin, but it didn’t dampen your spirit.

winter break had already begun, and the promise of endless fun stretched out before you like a freshly fallen blanket of white. it itches all the cells in your skin and calls out to you for a walk in this season of winter which you haven’t seen in a while.

so you grabbed your coat from the worn out hook by the todoroki’s door, fabric whispering against the wooden paneling.

the snow crunched underfoot, a rhythmic soundtrack to the stillness that had descended upon the neighborhood. the world was muffled, as if the flakes were little sound absorbers, leaving only the occasional distant laugh or the jingle of a collar to pierce the quiet.

your eyes looked around, feeling a sense of familiar comfort wash over you. when have you last seen this familiar neighbourhood covered in a veil of pearly white snow?

the towering pines were laden with snow, their branches bowing gracefully under the weight of 'winter's kiss', just as touya’s mother likes to say.

and after you came to the said boy. touya looked like the living embodiment of the season itself, his cheeks flushed from the cold, turquoise eyes sparkling with the same brightness as the icicles that hung from the eaves of the neighbouring houses. his hair the perfect compliment of the snow.

this is how you knew the eldest todoroki— pale and beautiful, every christmas or new years your family spent with the todorokis had painted that image of him ever since childhood.

touya’s breath hung in the air, little puffs of condensation that seemed to carry his unseen excitement. his smile was tiny, and though it didn’t reach his eyes, it was very much visible enough to you.

you waved, and he waved back. the snowflakes caught in his snow-white lashes like a sprinkle of glitter. touya bounded over, his boots leaving tracks in the untouched snow, and handed you a pair of gloves.

“you... are begging for a cold, missy.”

to have touya hand out a pair of his gloves is satisfying to you, because he knows you’ve forgotten the ones he got you for christmas two years ago. it’s left at home to practically rot like your old piano left in the dark to collect dust.

you took the gloves. “thank you, touya,” you gave him a tiny smile with a surfacing blush as he watched you put it on. his hands are larger than yours, that’s for sure. so the gloves looked a tad bit funny on you. but it didn’t matter now.

“so what do you want to do first? i heard the park has a new toboggan slide this year,” said touya as you shook your head. “i want to walk around the neighbourhood. i haven’t been here in a while.”

“alright, sure,” touya replied and adjusted the collar of his coat, the wind causing the fabric to snap gently. “but don’t say i didn’t warn you if you get frostbite on your cheeks,” he added, causing a soft chuckle to emit from the depths of your throat.

he started off towards the sidewalk, each step leaving a trail of footprints in the fresh snow. you followed suit, your boots sinking into the white carpet that covered the ground.

the air was crisp and biting, carrying the faint scent of pine and wood smoke from distant chimneys. the houses lining the street were adorned with wreaths and lights, their windows glowing.

the silence settled over you both like a blanket, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. touya seemed content to just walk side by side, his gaze flickering from the snow-laden trees to the sky, a soft smile on his face.

if anything else, he looked at peace, wrapped in the quiet simplicity of the winter morning. there was something oddly charming about him at this moment, something so soft. the wind caught a few snowflakes, whirling them around his head like a silvery crown.

curiousity strikes out of nowhere, and you glance at the todoroki. it was only for a moment, but you noticed so many subtle details on his face in that short moment.

despite the cold, a light flush dusted across his pale cheeks. touya’s eyelashes, unusually thick for a boy, were dusted with flecks of white, catching the sunlight. his precious white hair, windswept and messy, clung to his forehead, giving him a boyish, almost vulnerable appearance.

his hands were shoved deep into his pockets, and every so often, he would huff out a breath, creating a tiny cloud in front of his mouth. each exhale was accompanied by a small, barely perceptible shiver.

“you’re really pretty for a boy, y’know?”

touya’s cheeks blossomed a field of red roses in this cold winter, and he looked at you with a mixture of surprise and embarrassment.

“pretty?” he mumbled, eyes flickering anywhere but your face. “guys aren’t supposed to be pretty.”

despite his awkward and flustered expression, there was a hint of bashful pleasure in his eyes. it was clear that he wasn’t used to compliments, especially of this nature.

your fingers dived into the pockets of your winter coat, the tips brushing against a small leather notebook as you looked down at the snow beneath. “i know, touya. but you grow even more beautiful every winter.”

the boy’s cheeks reddened further, turning an almost cherry red. he was clearly unused to such blatant praise, and it seemed to leave him flustered and at a loss for words.

“i— well…” he stuttered, his usual reserve crumbling in the face of your compliment. his ears had taken on a similar hue as his cheeks, and he seemed unable to look directly at you, his gaze darting to the snow-covered road instead.

“thank you, i guess,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, and it made the corner of your lips curved upwards just a little.

silence engulfed the air for a moment as you both walked along the snowy roads. not long before, you decided to break the silence again.

“do you like poetry?”

he shakes his head in denial. “no, but they’re sometimes nice to read though,” touya looks over at you. “don’t you write poetry? have you written a piece for anyone?”

you bit your lip, clearly contemplating touya's question. your face was a mix of hesitance and curiosity, as if you were warring with yourself over whether to share something deeply personal.

“i’ve written a few,” you admitted, voice almost inaudible over the sound of the wind. “mostly just.. thoughts and observations. nothing really significant, i guess. they’re also messy metaphors that make almost no sense.”

you paused, fingers still tracing the worn leather of your little notebook in your pocket. “but to answer your question... yes. i have. for one person, specifically.”

“oh? who’s the lucky person?” touya raises a brow, and you flushed a shade of wine red. suddenly, the snow beneath your feet looks interesting. your gaze flickered to touya’s for a moment, a mix of vulnerability and shyness in your pretty eyes.

you swallowed hard, hand clenching and unclenching nervously at your side. it was clear that admitting this was difficult for you, but you seemed resigned to doing so.

“it’s you,” you said softly, the word barely above a whisper, as if you were afraid someone else might hear.

the boy blinked twice, or it was many. either way he couldn’t tell. he was quite baffled that he is your subject of muse for your poetry.

“me?” he questioned as a chuckle emitted from him.

your cheeks were a vibrant scarlet now, gaze firmly planted on the ground. you nodded almost imperceptibly. “yeah, you,” you scratched your cheeks with a finger. “it’s silly, i know. i just... there's something about you that makes me write, y’know?”

touya kicked a pile of snow as you both continued to walk along the streets. he then looked over at you, noticing your undeniably adorable flushed cheeks.

“can i read your poem? that is, if you’re okay with it.”

“uh—” you trailed off, swallowing some gathering saliva in your mouth. the idea of someone reading your most private thoughts was terrifying, but there was also a small flicker of hope in his eyes, a glimmer of the prospect of being understood through the beauty of your words.

you nodded slowly, voice still soft and tentative as you looked up at him. “okay. you can read it,” you replied in a whisper. “but touya... promise me you won’t laugh, alright?”

touya would never laugh at you, gosh, he never will. not when his heart swells at the idea of you writing about him and he gets to read it.

with a deep breath, you braced yourself and fumbled with the zipper of your jacket. then, a worn leather notebook from your pocket was extracted. the cover was slightly frayed at the edges, evidence of many hours spent flipping through the pages.

you held it out for touya, hand trembling the slightest bit. “here.”

he took it and gestured to a bookmarked page. seeing you nod confirmed that the page was the poem about him. as touya’s turquoise eyes scanned the words scribbled in your handwriting, he could feel his heart fluttering.

your emotions were laid bare on the page— the joy, the trepidation, the deep admiration and more. it was a raw, unfiltered confession, each line a direct window into your thoughts and feelings. you watched him with a mix of anticipation and fear, waiting for him to judge you in any way. pessimism seems to storm your mind at this moment.

once the written poem has been finished reading, the first thing touya did was look at you, a brow raised.

“what?” you immediately asked, the fear growing more prominent. all he did was simply chuckled as he said, “you’re a romantic, aren’t you? ‘your lips, my lips, apocalypse’, hmm? is this one of those messy metaphors of yours that doesn’t make any sense?”

he teased, and if not for your prominent blush, it could have your skin grow even warmer than it already has. you’re so flustered and to the angels of heaven above does touya adore the sight of you that stands out from the winter snows.

before you could utter a reply or anything that might spill out from your lips, he looked at the small notebook, a smile slowly carving its way at the corner of his lips.

“i love it. the way you write, the way you describe me. every word, every messy metaphors… it’s perfect.”

to hear his words sent a wave of relief and emotions throughout every inch of your soul. it seemed to warm you up in this cold winter wonderland, providing you with comfort.

“i’m glad you think so,” you chuckled. “i was worried it was too cliché or sentimental.”

“oh believe me when i say this, it is cliché, not sentimental. but it’s those stupid romantic clichés,” touya shut the notebook and handed it to you, watching as you kept it in your pocket, down into the coat it goes.

“stupid romantic clichés…” you repeated, allowing your mind to wander and ponder upon his words. as your conscious mind pays a visit to wonderland, he paused in his tracks, leans down, and collides his lips with yours.

your footsteps came to a halt, eyes widening ever so slightly as his warm hands moved to hold your chin. his lips kissed your top lip, then your bottom lip. at last, a final peck, and another one on your nose.

“there. your lips, my lips...”

“apocalypse,” you smiled.

TAGGING ★ @solvisun @seumyo @angeliicheartt @heartkaji @syverse @rueclfer @suksatoru @poetlus @elssero @redvdress @poemeater @dem1verse @haunted4kent @luvlyycy @skiiyoomin @leahrintarou @bbluefllame @ryescapades @bysarahada @sepptember @sahrii @reocidal | read teenage winter tenko here !

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juletheghoul · 7 months ago

Text

unclean

a/n: Honestly, you can blame my period for this one. I took a huge liberty because usually women on their periods in this time weren't treated the way they should have been, also took an educated guess at forms of relief. This is un beta-ed, any mistakes are my own. Shout out to @foli-vora for losing her mind with me, thanks my love! 🩷Hopefully you enjoy!

Warnings; 18+ no minors, vague but big-legal age gap, piv sex, dirty talk, Marcus not being a little bitch about periods, creampie, blood & mess lets be real, boob worship, master / slave dynamic (power imbalance), Marcus calls reader Girl, reader calls Marcus Dominus, let me know if I missed any!

Pairing: Marcus Acaciusx F!Reader

word count: 2.4k

reblogs are appreciated

Prev chapter Masterlist series masterlist

The wince came without your permission, your face twisting in discomfort as you poured his wine, pausing for a moment to steady yourself; thankfully without spilling a drop.

“Are you hurt, girl?” You unclench your eyes and find him staring at you with a frown, no doubt confused by your expression.

“Apologies Dominus, it is nothing.” You bow your head but hiss nonetheless and he puts down the bread.

“Answer me truthfully girl, what pains you?” His eyes are intent and for a moment you cannot tell if it is annoyance or worry that twists his features. Heat rushes to your face, men usually don’t take the news well when they are reminded of the troubles of the opposite sex. You fidget, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth while you gather your wits.

“It is just, my blood will flow soon Dominus. Sometimes the pain precedes it.” You bow your head and stare at the floor by his feet, gearing up for the usual responses you’d get from the men you’ve served, anger, or disgust. He says nothing, but when you look up he nods once. “I will retreat to my chambers soon. I will send someone else to tend to you if it pleases you, Dominus.”

“I require nothing further, you may tend to your needs.” He dismisses you gracefully, much more so than any other you’ve served and it’s as though a heavy weight has been lifted from your shoulders.

The blood does not dull the pain.

Hours after confessing to your Dominus, you can do nothing more than curl up in your bed, and suffer in silence. One of the older women had boiled some water for you to dip a flat stone, place it on your belly for relief and it had worked wonders for a time but both the water and the stone had gone cold ages ago. All that was left to do was grit your teeth and bear it.

You cannot help but crave him even more, with the blood flowing, your lower back and breasts aching, and your insides twisting, the pleasure of his cock seemed like the miracle that could cure you. Men didn’t do that though, women all knew it was nothing more than what the female body did, but men–society deemed it unclean. And so you had to endure, without the relief of his body or his gift. Still, you couldn’t help but be grateful for him, he did not protest to the women in his service sequestering themselves until it passed. He did not ask questions, he did not balk at the talk of pain.

The first day passed, and the second found you in more agony. The second was the worst for you, when the blood was the heaviest, and the discomfort grew nearly unbearable.

The women brought you hot soups and wine warmed with spices, boiled water for the stone and clean rags for the mess. You thanked them, with tears in your eyes and they nodded and left you to your misery. You slept when you could, but when the night came, sleep had become a stranger, and all you could do was pray to all of the Gods to either take the pain, or take your life.

Your door opened late into the night and you thought one of the women had brought more hot water but it was him, your Dominus, standing at the threshold to your modest chamber bathed in soft candlelight and shadow.

“Dominus-” You struggled, moving to stand too quickly and falling back to sit on your bed. “Apologies Dominus, what-” He held up his hands to forestall your speech.

“Peace, girl, I am not here to ask anything of you.” He came in and closed the door, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it. “I heard one of the women speaking about you, she said you were suffering a great deal.”

“I am well, Dominus.” You could barely keep the grimace off your face.

“Do not lie to me, girl, I can see the agony.” He approached slowly, he’d already prepared for bed and wore a simple tunic. “I have heard it said that pleasure often eases the pain, but I will not force the issue if you do not desire it.” You stared up at him, confusion creeping into your pain-addled mind. He stood, staring at you, for all intents and purposes a gift from the Gods in himself. “Would you like me to help you?”

“I– but you are not… the blood does not bother you, Dominus? I am unclean–” He raised his arms once more, a frown arranged on his features.

“Blood has never bothered me, girl.” You droop with relief, tears springing to your eyes and an altogether different ache building between your legs. “You need it don’t you, you need me to take the pain away, hm?” He speaks softly again and all you can do is nod, pitifully. He stands before you, taking in the unruly state of you and for a moment you think you can almost see a soft affection on his face. His thumb swipes against the plump of your lower lip softly, “How do you desire it? Soft? With kisses and gentle touches?” he holds your chin between his pinched fingers, tilting your face up to gaze into his dark eyes, “Or do you desire it more forceful? How do you need me to fuck you?”

Tears well, and you’re not sure if it’s the softness in his voice or the relief so clearly visible on the horizon, but you swallow around the lump of gratitude in your throat. “I want it all, Dominus,” you hold onto his forearm, afraid that if you don’t make contact with him, he might evaporate like dew in the morning. “I want kisses, and gentle touches but I want force as well, I need your gift to ease the pain.”

“And you shall have it, my brave girl.” He reaches down, carefully pulling your tunic up and off and your nipples harden almost painfully. He slips his hand down, palming your breast softly, “Do they hurt too much for my attention?” soft as a breeze, his thumb strums at the sensitive tip of your breast and you bite your lip.

“They ache, but I do not wish for you to stop.” You bring his other hand to your other breast, sighing at the tenderness in his touch.

“I will be mindful.” He pulls away for a moment to undress and the sight of his cock standing at full mast is enough to make you whimper. “Patience, girl. You will have it soon enough, as deep as I can get.” You nod, but all at once you realize where you are.

“You wish to have me here? My bed is not as lush as yours-” He sees slight embarrassment on your face and he waves it away.

“This is my house, girl, I will have you where I please.”

You move back with a wince and he follows, discarding the soiled rag tucked between your legs without so much as a flinch and whatever feelings of devotion, of loyalty or possibly obsession you have for him grow to greater and greater strength. He settles between your spread thighs and just the warm heft of him is soothing, the heat of his skin on your belly, the heavy press of his cock on your sex like a balm.

Wordlessly he presses his lips to yours, soft, and then not so soft and his tongue explores your mouth, he tastes of wine and dark ripe fruit and you cannot help but wrap your arms around his neck, thread your fingers through his thick waves and whimper. His lips travel, mapping out their course across your skin, down the column of your neck, the base of your throat until he takes your breast in gentle hand and licks at the peak and the moan escapes your lips without your leave. He moves to the other and showers it with the same affection, both breasts shiny with his spit and your cunt melts for him like frost in the face of the sun. You can feel the way he coats himself in your want, his cock slipping between the lips of your sex. He continues to worship your breasts, licking soft like a kitten, and then sucking the tip into his mouth until you cannot take it anymore.

“Please Dominus,” Your voice breaks when he lets go of your nipple with a pop, enjoying the way you writhe underneath him. “I need it, I need your cock.” He kisses at your breast again before slipping his hand down, and finally slipping into the wet clutch of your cunt. “Gods above, yes, yes yes, please Dominus-” You’re breathless, the feel of him is good enough to make your eyes roll back into your skull.

“Yes, I know girl, I’m right here.” He punctuates his words with a sharp thrust and the moan you let out is obscene. “This little cunt is going to behave for me, isn’t it?” His lips barely touch yours, speaking the words into your mouth; his words, his rhythm making you drip onto the fabric below. The sounds between your legs are vulgar, wet and far more appealing than any music in the world, but it is not enough. You let out a whine, pitiful and painful and he frowns. “Is it not enough?” There is no anger, only the quest for truth in his tone and you shake your head, heartbroken and shaking with need. He pulls away, and you let out a cry of anguish and clutch to him, if he left you like this you don’t think you’d survive. “Peace, girl. We will change our positioning so I can give it to you how you need it.”

When he pulls away, your eyes widen in shock and horror. Your blood has smeared all over him, his cock, his groin, spreading up almost to his belly, it collects at the mouth of your cunt and when you look down it is all over your inner thighs, the scene looking more like a battle than a bedding. He shakes his head, raising a hand to stop the apology before it is given.

“This does not frighten me, girl. This is not the first time I have been covered in the blood of another, and it will not be the last. Turn around, I would have you on your hands and knees.” You nod, and with a wince you rush to comply, presenting your backside to him and within a moment he has pulled your hips back to meet his, his cock entering you with no resistance and from this angle he knocks the wind out of you. “There it is, this is the answer, yes?” He thrusts again forcefully and a sound you’ve never heard comes out of your mouth, a dark, wanton noise and it only proves him right.

“Yes Dominus, please, like this–” you don’t finish your sentence because he pulls back and punches forward again with enough force to rock your bed. Your head drops, your back arching and he sets a brutal pace. Tears slip out from the corners of your eyes, trapped between where your face presses against the back of your forearms and you think for a moment that nothing has ever felt better.

He grunts, and for a handful of minutes the only sounds are your combined heavy breathing, the wet squelch between your legs, and the rhythmic rocking of your bed. His fingers dig into the meat of your hips hard enough to bruise but it matters not, the pleasure is too great, the relief of his cock is a sign that the Gods are real and that they have sent him to you.

You reach underneath, gasping at the feel of your cunt spread wide to take him and at just how wet you are. The engorged little pearl of your pleasure begs for attention, and you cannot deny it. With a handful of swirls you seize up, screaming through your climax and he groans as the fist of your cunt squeezes him tight, making him slow slightly but he doesn’t stop. Your knees give out for a moment but he doesn’t let you falter.

“I am not finished with you yet, this little cunt will take what I give her.” His grip tightens and he lifts you back up into position. Fucking you through your flutters, “You will give me another, girl, you will squeeze my cock again, only then will I give you my gift.” He’s breathless, maneuvering his hand around to reach between your legs while he drapes himself against your back. His fingers manipulate you rougher than you did, forcing another climax out of you while his hips drive his cock deep enough to kiss your womb.

The second climax is more intense and lasts longer and the force of it milks him dry. You feel him empty himself with a punched-out groan, collapsing onto you once his cock twitches for the last time.

Everything is silent, and for a moment, you think you might have gone onto the afterlife but then he shifts and you take a deep, steadying breath. The relaxation is so great you are afraid to move, afraid that any engagement of your muscles might result in the pain returning and so you stay still as he pulls out. You will clean once he is gone but he shocks you again when you feel a cool cloth on the skin of your backside.

“Dominus, I can–” You turn your head to him slowly but he shakes his head. The tenderness in his hands not reaching his face.

“Silence, girl.” He says nothing else, but dips the cloth into the basin of water again and rings it out, cleansing the mess between your legs silently. “I expect you to let me know the next time you are in pain.” Once he is satisfied with his task, he dips the cloth again, and uses it on himself and there is something about seeing him do this that is unnatural, you cannot help but stare. He is quick; utilitarian.

He drops the used cloth back into the basin, grabs his tunic and slips out of your room without so much as a glance but it matters not, you are asleep before he shuts the door.

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#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #marcus acacius #the general #general marcus acacius #gladiator 2 fanfiction #marcus acacius fanfiction #marcus acacius x reader #general acacius #marcus acacius x female reader #marcus acacius x you

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acehazbin1 · 2 months ago

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‘Court me.’

Note: Thank you for all your support on Chapter one, Tumblr and A03 have been very supportive!

Tw: no use of Y/n, hand in marriage, Caracalla being in love.

Chapter one chapter three

………………

She was tricky to find, he walked the same route every night at the same time yet it was like she had hid away from him. He didn’t know that she had taken a shift for a sick maid and now was back to her normal routine.

He spoke to his brother about a lady had enchanted him leaving out the fact that she was a maid. His brother was intrigued about this woman demanded that she must me found and rewarded. Caracalla agreed to a gesture of gratitude for her but he couldn’t decide which, flowers? No too simple. A game in her honour? Maybe a woman such as her wouldn’t take a liking towards violence. A ring? Yes, his ring, right off his finger.

He found himself wondering how to gift it to her, in a box explaining it was his or maybe pull it off his finger and hand it to her? But which one of his fingers, maybe she would like a sliver one instead? He wandered around the royal garden not noticing the maid tending to the roses.

She noticed him straight away, her eyes followed as he stared at the rings on his fingers. She was about to speak but felt a knot in her throat. He was drunk that night, surely he talk to countless of other servants about his woes. She was nothing special. Plus her uniform was covered in grass stains, no way to approach an Emperor.

“You there.” A voice called out, the maid turned around to see an unfamiliar guard. “Have you seen a maid who last week on the day of mars was working that very night?” The knight coughed up. She was confused, on the day of mars… wait she was working that night. Did she do something wrong? Was her friend in trouble for not being there.

“I’m sorry that was my doing, I was covering for the normal maid’s shift. If I did anything wrong, I accept the punishment.” She gracefully spoke but the guards looked more astonished that the word hasn’t gotten to her that Emperor Caracalla was looking for that woman. Well her. “You are mistaken, Emperor Caracalla has been wishing for your presence.”

Her eyes widened as the roses fell out her hand, the ones she was dethroning. Her mind was spinning, he requested for her? Did he want to make sure she didn’t tell anyone his secrets? Or worse did he want to get rid of her since she knew?

“Please come this way.” The knight spoke up as he gently took her wrist pulling her in the direction of where Caracalla walked. She almost felt his presence getting closer which each step, she followed the knight blindly just trying to take in that fact Caracalla wanted to see her. “My Emperor.” The knight bowed as he addressed him pulling the maid down with him. Caracalla turned around looking frustrated that the guard interrupted his line of thinking.

“What d-“ Caracalla harsh tone stopped suddenly, his eyes locked with the maid’s. It was the same once’s that persuaded his heart to open up with how calming they were. He nearly chocked on his breath, the knight let go of the maid’s wrist but the maid locked onto his hand. She was scared but after a reassuring tap, she let go.

“I’ve been looking for you ever night since we last spoken.” Caracalla’s voice was breathless. She didn’t dare walk closer to him keeping the distance as his eyes remained fixated on her. “Apologies, your highness-“ “Caracalla please,” The emperor interrupted. He wanted her to call her by his first name. Was this a joke? Did he want her to catch her off guard?

Her eyes scanned his face for anything other than the look of pure desperation for her approval, something she took note of. “Caracalla,” she stopped as the name sounded unfamiliar to her. “I wanted to apologise for my inappropriate behaviour, I was too intrusive on your personal matters.”

His heart nearly melted when she said his name for the first time, it felt so right on her lips. Normally he would hate when anyone would address him other than Emperor but this was different. He wanted her to find little nicknames out of his name, he wanted her to giggle it, to whisper it, to cry it and to scream it. His brain finally clicked what she said into effect after a long second so silence.

“Nonsense, I quite enjoy having your opinions on the matter. In fact I wanted to…” Caracalla looked at his hands, then her noticing there was no jewellery so he could not tell if she was a gold or sliver woman. He pulled off a sliver ring with a blue sapphire in the middle, it wasn’t really his taste but it complimented her. “I wanted to show you my gratitude for that night, you stayed with me. No many have.” He looked away for a second but came closer to put the ring on her finger.

“I-I don’t know what to say.” She whispered shocked, she looked at the ring and back up at him. “Don’t say anything but yes to my question.” Caracalla stared at her, how her hair fell out from her face shaping her pretty face. How her cheeks were tinted pink by his boldness to give a lady such as her stature, a ring that would cost her life wages maybe more.

Her heart nearly stopped when she heard a crunch from beneath her, she looked down to see the emperor kneeling. She had the most powerful man in Rome at her feet as he spoke his heart out to her. “Ever since that night of Mars, I haven’t be able to get the illusion of you out of my mind. You have plague my thoughts of your beauty and your words, teasing me with your smiles. I must have your hand.”

He… He was asking to marry her?

She gasped, no she must be dreaming this couldn’t be right. She couldn’t marry him, well more importantly he couldn’t marry her. He was the Emperor of Rome, she was a mere maid of the imperial palace, this would be nothing but a phase until he found a wife. “I’m afraid I must reject.”

Caracalla heart sank, she was rejecting him? No, no, she couldn’t. She heard his frustration of trying to find a wife, she was the one to whisper soft comfort to him, to hold him. Now she was taking that from him? Did she forget the night they shared together under the pale moonlight?

“I’m afraid you don’t even know my name, I am but a maid to you and the senate. All of Rome would reject our marriage.” The maid spoke in a whisper, outlining the issues. Caracalla’s eyes darkened, “I don’t care what they think, you will be my wife, I want you no one else to grow old with, to rule with, to be with. I know we shared one night but I want many others with you.” His voice was upset as it dragged out certain words.

“I want to learn your name.” Caracalla breathed out finally. “I want to learn everything about you…” His hand reached up to hers with the ring. “Just please.”

The maid felt a pain in her heart, she suddenly was plagued with visions of her in a white wedding dress, talking to Caracalla in court about Roman issues, getting flowers thrown at her by the people and raising Caracalla’s heir. She pulled herself out the delusions, they were so tempting and so close almost as if she could touch them.

“Court me.” Her voice spoke up. It wouldn’t ruin his reputation, it would give her some time to ease through ranks so she could be a respectable bride and give him time to learn her name. His eyes blinked a couple of times before nodding hurriedly.

#comfort #caracalla x you #caracalla x reader #emperor caracalla #emperor geta #gladiator ii #gladiator 2

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