#or maybe they are and I missed the announcement

[wileys-russo]

Not sure if you’re taking requests but I’m a sad and anxious American who could use a bit of happiness rn. Thank you in advance but also no worries if this doesn’t spark anything.

Just a little fluffy something with Leah or Alessia at home, “there’s no way these are vegan” after surprising them with homemade brownies

special brownies II l.williamson, a.russo

"less you can't eat brownies, we have a match tomorrow." leah reminded sternly as you carded your fingers through the moody strikers hair, her head resting in your lap as she groaned loudly at your other girlfriends words.

"yeah leah a match i have to play on my period! at least let me eat some sort of warm chocolate if i can't curl into a ball and die." alessia mumbled miserably, rolling over and pushing her face into your hoodie covered stomach.

"don't!" you mouthed at the older girl who scoffed and was clearly ready to say something that absolutely would not help the situation. "i'll make you brownies for after the game tomorrow baby, i promise." you assured alessia, rubbing her back gently as she huffed, clearly not happy but somewhat accepting of the offer.

"with ice cream?" "with ice cream." "that vanilla bean ice cream in the blue container?" "yes lessi, i will make sure to buy that exact ice cream just for you."

"you're going to bake brownies from scratch?" leah snickered, lifting your shared girlfriends legs and settling herself onto the sofa, alessia digging her heels into leahs thigh mumbling about a foot massage, making the defender roll her eyes but oblige none the less.

"yes i am. are you going to try and tell me i can't? little miss 'childrens menu'." you narrowed your eyes skeptically, feeling alessia chuckle lightly before leah squeezed her foot too hard and her head popped up to shoot her a glare.

"well babe i think we all remember the last time you tried to bake. i, at least, can admit that i am not a good cook. which is why i'm dating one and a half of them!" leah grinned, quickly assuring the grumpy striker that she was the one and you were the half.

"half!" you protested, a little pinch to your thigh meaning you resumed scratching alessia's back where you'd paused momentarily, glaring daggers at the other girl a few cushions down.

"you do your best baby, and your best is good. but maybe you could just buy some brownies? that little cafe leah loves does them with the chocolate chips, we can grab a coffee and then heat them up later after the game." alessia mumbled into your chest, patting your thigh in an attempt to show support.

"do you both really think i'm that incapable of making brownies?" you asked in disbelief, the silence in response practically deafening. "wow! well the truth comes out." you scoffed in offense, both blondes heads snapping toward you as you attempted to wiggle out from alessias grip.

"no come on love don't be like that! baking just isn't for everyone. same as football isn't for everyone or maths isn't for everyone, its fine!" alessia held on tightly, tugging you back down and shuffling her body to lay on you more as you crossed your arms.

"everyone has their own special skill set baby girl, yours just doesn't include baking. more like...burning? hey i bet if we were ever stranded on a desert island you'd be able to get a fire going!" leah was clearly trying to be on the same supportive track as your other girlfriend but failing miserably as even alessia cringed at the attempt.

"no baby she didn't mean that don't-" but this time you managed to pull yourself free and roll out from beneath alessia, shooting up to your feet and taking turns glaring at the two blondes still laid up on the sofa.

"tomorrow i will not be coming to your game. i am going to spend the afternoon here baking and you will both come home to the best fucking brownies you've ever tasted-no actually the best vegan brownies you've ever tasted because i am that confident that i can do it. even without dairy!" you announced, stomping off to go sulk by yourself and look up some recipes.

"wait but babe you're still going to get regular ice cream right? not vegan ice cream? right? babe!"

~

you'd been so confident, you really had, which had made the fall from grace and back into reality a difficult one.

the reality that your girlfriends doubts weren't so far fetched and you might not actually be capable of baking, all the more prickly an acceptance to swallow.

which is what had lead to this disgustingly sneaky switch, the evidence of your previous three attempts scattered strategically around the kitchen for your lovers to see, and the evidence of the store bought brownies you'd rushed out to buy instead well hidden at the very bottom of the trash bins.

you'd just taken them out of the microwave to warm them up, very carefully stacking them up on a plate when you heard alessia's car in the driveway, leah playing passenger princess today.

they'd done their best this morning to grovel and sweet talk and try their very hardest to change your mind about coming to the game but you were stubborn by nature and once it was made up there wasn't much to be done to change it.

so they'd trudged off to the match like kicked puppies and you'd spent your afternoon burning chocolate and yelling at the oven trying to shift the blame before inevitably accepting your fate.

however you'd made such a fuss and a point both last night and this morning about your abilities that you may have accepted your fate, but you had no intent on letting your girlfriends do the same, the art of deception hopefully saving you the further embarrassment of eating your words with an audience.

"you did it!" alessias eyes lit up as she entered the kitchen first, hair damp and scraped up into a bun. "congratulations on the hat trick baby." you smiled, pecking her lips a few times before her loving gaze dropped down to the sweet treats on the counter.

"i think she plays better on her period." leah mused as she wandered in, the younger blonde shooting her a dirty look in response as leah kissed her cheek apologetically and wrapped you in a hug.

"you're so much prettier when you don't talk." you teased, squeezing her face in your hand with a wink as leah pulled a face and blew a raspberry on your cheek.

"less!" you laughed, turning around a few seconds later and already finding the striker with a mouthful of brownie, crumbs down the front of her hoodie and a blissed out look on her face.

"what? i was promised these!" she defended still with a mouthful of food making you wince and push her lightly. "yes you were babe and you more than earned them." you chuckled, leah reaching around you to take one for herself.

"babe there's no way these are vegan!" the milton keynes local scoffed after a mere sniff causing your eyes to roll as she took a cautious bite. "are too." you gestured your arms around to the plethora of substitutes piled around the kitchen as leah hummed skeptically.

"just tell her she did a good job, shut up, and stuff your face with chocolate leah." alessia defended, hugging you from behind as you smiled gratefully and kissed her jaw, pushing away from her as she shoved the other half of the baked good into her mouth and sent crumbs showering down on you.

"well i need a quick shower but ice creams in the freezer-" you kissed alessia's cheek since her lips were preoccupied making out with a brownie.

"-whipped creams in the fridge." you pecked leahs lips knowingly. "oi!" the defender grabbed at you as your hand collected with her ass with a wink, escaping to the bathroom for a shower and leaving them to their brownies.

which may have been a mistake.

when you returned it was to a welcomingly quiet living room, both of your blondes laid on the lounge watching a film, which judging by the bored look on leahs face and the concentrated one on alessia's, the film had been the strikers choice.

offering them both a cup of tea which was met with a resoundingly quick yes from each you disapeared to the kitchen, not hearing leah get up to follow you much to alessia's grumpy protests at being left alone.

"you know babe i noticed something very interesting about your brownies." leah hummed causing you to jump a little not having thought anyone was with you, flicking the kettle on to boil and raising an eyebrow at her questioningly.

"well you know i love a good jigsaw, yeah?" leah questioned, grabbing the plate of brownies which was remarkably untouched given alessia's desire to inhale the lot of them just moments before you ducked off for a shower.

"but with a jigsaw, all the pieces...have to match up." leah nodded down as your eyes dropped, leah having lined up the brownies which sure enough weren't even close to matching up together the way they would if you'd baked them in the tray you'd claimed to.

"well thats because-" "oh no no my girl, i wasn't asking." leah interrupted with a shake of her head and a finger pressed to your lips. "i know you didn't bake those, and they sure as shit aren't vegan." leah smirked knowingly, pulling your body closer into hers as she leaned down, lips ghosting your own as right as you tried to kiss her she pulled away, smirk growing wider as her hands slipped up your hoodie.

"the only question i want the answer to is, how are you going to make it up to us for lying baby?"

[cosmicalily]

"taking what's not yours" a minho oneshot by @cosmicalily

"you know where to find me, and i know where to look." - 'taking what's not yours' by tv girl

author's note: oh can you tell im falling in love with the exes to lovers trope more and more by the day?

“Lee Minho, what the fuck are you doing in my house?”

Minho looked up innocently from where he was sorting through the pile of vinyl on the floor; eyes bright, expression blank. His hair was longer, darker, and the tip of a tattoo peeked out of the neckline of his black hoodie. And fuck, if he wasn’t just as, if not even more beautiful than he’d been when you’d last seen him. Those soft lips, the ones you’d leave bruised and bleeding after frenzied makeout sessions backstage during their first tour. The ones that stretched into a smirk as he noticed you staring.

“Was ‘Who Really Cares’ your vinyl, or mine?” He asked casually, still filing through a stack of records.

“Mine. And you didn’t answer my question, Minho.”

“What happened to ‘baby’?” Minho pouted playfully, patting the spot on the rug beside him. You sighed and shuffled over, looking at the small pile he’d gathered on the floor in front of him.

“‘Baby’ was replaced when you had to move onto the next city for your tour,” you replied, rolling your eyes. “What are you doing back here?”

“Didn’t you miss me?” Minho persisted, taking his eyes off the vinyl and turning his body to face yours. “Leo did, that’s for sure. All over me the second I stepped inside. He missed his Dad.”

You took notice of the cat fur that littered the black fabric of his hoodie, resisting the urge to smile. “Leo likes everybody. He’s a friendly guy.”

“He likes me the most. And you. You’re his mama, after all,” Minho tapped the wooden floorboards with his fingers, causing Leo to look up from his food and wander back over to him. The tabby cat purred, rubbing himself on Minho’s sleeves affectionately.

Fucking hell, that smirk.

“So you’re just here to take back your records?”

“And you too, if I can manage it,” he added, smiling at you. It wasn’t the same shit-eating grin he used to give you when you’d whine desperately during a kiss, but genuine. Soft. He leaned in close, leaving Leo wandering off at the loss of attention. “I missed you, sweet girl. Surely you missed me, just a bit?”

“Maybe,” you whispered, taken aback by his sudden change in proximity.

“Yeah, well, I’m home now, baby,” Minho smiled again, moving one hand to gently caress your cheek, the other to your exposed waist in your cropped black tank top.

There were so many questions to ask him. It had been a year since Lee Minho had left your town to go on tour; something that both excited and pained you at the time. Along with Hyunjin, Chris and Changbin, he’d formed a rock band, and they’d worked their asses off to take off enough to leave town. When, after years of playing at shitty venues, their first legitimate tour was finally announced, everyone had naturally been ecstatic. Minho had spent hours with you that night, nibbling hickeys into your neck until the early hours of the morning, loving you rawly and unabashedly. You had to be pulled out of the passenger seat by Chris, where you’d been sitting on Minho’s lap, making out with him desperately, his hands moving all over your body.

“You guys are disgusting,” Hyunjin had whined.

“And you’re gonna make us late. Give her a hug, Minho.” Chris had added, gently tugging your body off Minho’s. His hands had clung to your waist for as long as possible, and now, as you sat beside him, a full twelve months later, you still felt the ghost of his touch.

“Chris met a girl. Moved back to Australia,” Minho said, as if reading your mind. “Without him, everything just kind of crumbled. But Jisung’s mum offered me a job working as a guitar teacher at the nearby school, and the kids are so cute.”

“So you’re home now?”

“As long as I’m with you, baby,” Minho smiled.

taglist: @hyunjiiza @velvetmoonlght @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @btch8008s @yaniluvs @ellemir2404 @bellarellasstuff @starsinagreenskyxx @ashtxrie - comment, dm or send an ask to be added

[fandomscombine]

Sorry, Bossman

Aaron Hotchner x BAU!Reader

BG: When a Sunday morning in with your secret boyfriend turned into a sudden work meeting. Will the early morning grogginess cause a slip up? Especially since the except profilers have noticed your recent lateness?

A/N: Wanted to be secretive on who the reader’s pairing would be but I has to properly tag the fic - so just pretend you didn’t know the reader’s S.O. is Aaron Hotchner in the first few paragraphs okay? Lol

Anyway, it’s my second ever Aaron Hotchner fic. Still coming around to perfection his tone and essence.I hope you enjoy this sweet fluffy fic!

WC: 1034

>>>GENERAL MASTERLIST<<<

>>>CRIMINAL MINDS MASTERLIST<<<

It’s Sunday morning and you can feel the rays of sunshine seeping through your bedroom curtain. The team has just gotten back from a week-long grueling case Friday night and you’ve missed the feeling of being in your own bed. Saturday was spent lounging around being a homebody as your mind and body recharges - your plans for today? To linger in this bliss and let the real world slip away.

You roll over, back now towards your window. With eyes still closed, you lazily extend your arm until you find a warm presence. A soft chuckle fills the room as you snuggle closer to your partner. “Hmm morning, sweetheart.”

“Morning, my love” You reply. Voice muffled as you place a kiss on his chest. Your head finds solace as a steady heartbeat enters your ear. Wanting nothing more, than to stay in this moment longer. 

But in true universe fashion, it decides that a one day break is more than enough. 

The bed dips and you feel a cold breeze brush through your body as the blanket is moved. You keep your eyes closed, silently pleading this is just a part of a dream and that when you wake up you get to have Sunday home.

“Yes, I’ll have my team notified and in the office within the hour.” 

The words flow muffled into your ears - the pillow doing little to discard the reality of it all. 

A hand comes up your arm, he knows you’re not a morning person but work can’t wait. “Come on sweetheart, we’ve got a case”

You groan, there’s no way you can say no to him - especially when you’re in the receiving end of his soft eyes.  But that doesn’t mean you can tease him to get a few more moments in bed. “Sorry, bossman hasn’t called me yet.” 

He gives you his signature pointed stare and gives into your play. Your ringtone fills the room, the caller ID “Agent Hotchner” illuminates the screen officially calling you in for the case.

“Alright, alright.” Accepting surrender as you mute your phone. 

“Thanks.” Aaron reaches out his hand to help you off the bed. “What do you want for breakfast?”

“Something quick, a sandwich maybe? I still have to get home and repack my go bag.”

Aaron stares a bit confused.

“Cause we went straight here after the case? And I’ve been wearing your clothes” Gesturing to what you currently have on - Aaron’s beloved brown half zip sweater and his boxers. “Not that I’m complaining or anything.” There’s just something completely domestic about wearing Aaron’s clothes. Not worrying about looking perfect and being wrapped in Aaron’s home life. You can’t help but smile at the normality of it all.

“Right, it got me thinking” Aaron steps closer, grabbing your waist. “Maybe we should get you a drawer, you know since you practically live here half the time.”

He is about a head taller than you, so you wrap your arms around his neck as stability. Biting your lips to stop your heart from racing and the premature grin that’s threatening to take over, you ask. “Aaron Hotchner, are you saying that you wanna take this to the next level?” You ask, 

“Yes I do.” He says with all gentle seriousness. This close, you can clearly see his dilated pupils under the dim lights.

“Then that sounds like a plan.” Pulling him closer, relaying all the joy and love that’s oozing out of your heart into a searing kiss.

~

“Sorry I’m late.” You announce to the room. It’s current 8:23am and the team is already 3 pages into the case debrief. 

“Take your seat agent.” Hotch replies, not looking at you as he focuses on turning the next slide. To most, Hotch’s reaction is normal that of a boss’ slight annoyance at his employee’s tardiness. 

But you ofcourse know his tell, an involuntary, subconscious sign that indidicates their hiding something. Which in this case, if Aaron scratching the back of his neck - an act you’ve became familiar with ever since you started dating. It was Aaron’s way of hiding his blush, though you have assured him that he looks absolutely adorable when he reddens. 

There’s just this power of his dimples that takes a hold on you and leaves you mesmorised. 

“Yes, sir.”  You settle as quickly as you can right next to Morgan. He hands you a spare set of case files when something catches his eye.

“Who’s the lucky guy?” Morgan asks, the shift in tone notable.

“Lucky guy?” Furrowing your brow. Derek Morgan is known to be a tease and you often join in on the fun - although you’re not liking it when the spotlight is on you.

“Yea..” Joins in Emily - this is the type of tea that would get her energy up this early in the morning. “You aren’t normally late but these past couple of cases you are~” 

“What?” With the team slowing teaming up against you couple with the morning brain fog - your defensiveness is apparent.

“Reid, back me up!”

“Just from this past month alone, y/n has been late 3 times.” Chimed in the young doctor. “Most notably after our long cases or on Mondays.”  

The audacity of Reid smiling after stating the fact nonchalantly. You picture your glare burning holes through the smart brain of his. However, before you can succeed in doing so, Derek drops the fatal shots.

“And next time don’t forget the badly covered hickeys at the under your ear.”

You’re dumbfounded, instantly grabbing your phone and checking your ear with the selfie camera. Lo and behold the unmistakable purple mark just below your ear lobe. Wincing slightly as your finger touches the tender spot.

Eyeing the team before landing on Aaron. Arching a brow as if to say ‘Why did you have to bite so hard?’

“Wait, Hotch? No way!” Morgan exclaimed, head moving left and right as he connects the dots. 

The silence that follows is death-defying, never have you seen a room full of expert profilers stuned and frozen in place.

You’re caught. Sorry, Bossman

It’s Aaron who breaks the spell. “Looks like the secret is out, sweetheart.” He says, sporting an uncharacteristic smirk.

[leadyoutothelight]

Ubi tu Gaius, ego Gaia

This wasn’t supposed to be your place in life, you were the second daughter, a spare given to the temple of Minerva to serve as one of the many temple maidens. But when your father comes to you, telling you of your sister’s sudden passing, suddenly you’re thrust into a new role. Expected to fill her place in a political marriage to the famed General Marcus Acacius Rome’s beloved war dog.

Rating: Explicit +18 MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Warnings: Dubious Consent/Coerced Consent, Age Gap (no specified ages), Virginity Loss *discomfort mentioned, no blood* , Implied physical abuse from a parent, Patriarchal world and expectations of women, Grinding, Unprotected p in v sex, reader is a virgin, first time sex *please let me know if I miss anything*

Word Count: 8k

Author Note: Hello, first time writing for a Pedro Pascal character, but finally saw Gladiator II and I couldn't resist writing this! Please note, there is very little research into Rome actually done, I'm not writing this based on historical accuracy, just had an idea and wanted to write it. The title is based off a common Roman wedding vow meaning, Where you are Gaius, I am Gaia.

Please let me know what you think!

-

Your sister is dead, you shall be the one to marry General Acacius. 

It had been the most your father had ever spoken to you in your entire life, the most he’d even looked at you. 

Being born the second daughter of a noble family is about as important as a new pair of sandals. Especially when you were the last born of five, and three of the five being boys. Your father was more than happy to direct his attention to his sons and his wars. Your sister and yourself were content to live in the house learning from your mother, waiting for the day your father drafted a marriage contract and sent you to a new household. 

Until it was decided that in a bid to gain the gods favor you were given to the temple of Minerva as a temple maiden, at ten you were bundled up with your few worldly items and left to the Priestess' devices. 

It was a sudden and chaotic change. But after the first year you found, you didn’t mind this new living arrangement. Yes, you had chores now, and you needed to share things. But you grew to like your new home with other women and girls working in the temple. Learning the day-to-day needs, and expectations of your new home. You flourished, and your mother and sister visiting every now and again helped you settle as well. 

The last time you’d seen your sister she’d been an excited mess talking the whole time of her engagement to General Acacius, that they’d be wed as soon as he’d returned home from another conquest.

“Just think sissy, me, a famed general’s wife!”  

Her eyes glowed in the lamplight as she’d clutched your hands in hers. You’d given her a smile and a nod, as she went on and on. Whilst you’d thought to yourself that you’d be stuck cleaning the temple floors for the next week due to staying out longer than allowed.

“You’ll be there right?” 

Her question pulls you out of your glum thoughts, and you give her a wide eye-scrunching smile. You don’t have the heart to disappoint, maybe with your father’s status you can ask for the time…

A pain twinges through you at the thought, the high priestess had been kind, giving you the time in exchange for you doing more chores when you returned. 

But today, a day you expected your sister to visit, with her finished bridal veil in tow. You expected to ‘oh’ and ‘aw’ over her hard work, compliment her delicate needlework, ask her jokingly which parts your mother had helped with. To comfort her, she’d mentioned fainting spells had started since the date had been announced. 

Maybe you’d even offer to bring her into the inner sanctum to ask the goddess to protect her, and her future husband. To give her calm in the coming ‘battle’ of marriage. 

But now you sit across from your father. A beast of a man, skin tanned and leathered from the sun. Scars criss-cross along his arms, you resist the urge to glance at his left pinky. Where only a ghastly stump sits. 

His voice brokers no argument, yet, you can’t stop yourself.

“What do you mean?” 

He blinks, those dark eyes boring into you, and you see a flash of anger, mixed with surprise. Again, your existence has been a fleeting one in your father’s opinion. He was the one who sent you here…he was the one who gave you to the gods. He can’t just–take you back. 

“I wasn’t aware you were an imbecile–” 

“I’m not, but you cannot take me from the temple–from Minerva herself–” 

“I have made the appropriate tithes and the priestess herself has granted your hand–”

“I am to serve the goddess, that is what you–”

“And now you shall serve the family!” It’s the way he stands, the clatter of the chair he once occupied. The roar of his voice, the one you know he uses to order his troops into battle with. You cower, well aware that this rage is one you don’t survive. 

Tears brim over your lashes, and you bite your cheek to stop yourself from arguing further, here in the temple, you are free to share your opinions. Voice concerns, even vent frustrations, rare luxuries in this male dominated society. You’ve found you enjoy the thrill of conversing, and theology the other maidens and priestesses provide. 

But now, that’s all being taken, when you’re so close to the priesthood. To take the sacred robes of Minerva, learn the sacred rights. Bless soldiers, generals, and emperors in their great conquests for the Roman Empire. 

That was your purpose, your place in this world. Being born a woman was a curse in this empire, but here you were safe, here you could make a life. 

“You shall be collected in the morning, the wedding will take place in a week's time.” 

That tone again. One brokering no peace, no argument. The voice he commands thousands with, and you are one of them. 

The next morning passes in a blur, your few things taken by slaves. You’re barely given enough time to hug the girls, and women you’ve come to see as your new family. Careful to hide your tears as the High Priestess stops you outside the temple doors. 

“Go with Minerva’s blessing,” her voice is soft, though there is an edge to it. You don’t respond, for fear that you’ll fall to your knees and beg her to stop this. Claim Minerva’s hold over you, refuse your father’s demands. 

But she won’t, your father is a powerful man, marrying you to another powerful man, and not even the goddess of war can prevent it. 

You’re whisked away on a chariot handled by one of your father’s trusted soldiers. A clear warning to behave, the city passes by. A few of the bustling crowds pause to watch you entourage, but it’s fleeting, they return to their day-to-day lives as it's nothing new to see a noble pass in their gilded transports. 

A blink and you’re home. The home you hadn’t seen in years, still a marbled behemoth, a villa of luxury befitting one of Rome’s finest generals. The sandstone pillars glow in the mid-afternoon sun. Banners the color of blood mark the door, along with coal black braziers that will be lit when the sun disappears behind the mountains. 

Awaiting you is a group of slaves, heads bowed, they drop to kneel as you are escorted from the chariot and into the house. 

It’s barely changed, since you last ran about the halls, as a wild precocious child. Tripping over your feet to follow your older brothers. The large atrium, with a lapis lazuli lined pool. Filled with various plants your father brought home to your mother. More braziers and torches line the halls. 

Gold, and weapons decorate the walls, all of them spoils of war taken by your father. Silk curtains billow in the afternoon wind, and distantly you smell the incense your mother uses throughout the villa. 

Your sister used to smell of it, well, the incense and rose water. A pang ricochets through your chest.  Her voice doesn’t greet you, and you’ll never hear it again. Instead it’s the rush of silks, and the patter of feet, and your mother enters the atrium, in the warm glow of the sun she shines. 

Dark hair in tight ringlets cascading down her back, her eyes shine with unshed tears. She stops seeing you in the entrance, then her arms spread wide, and like a child you rush into them. 

She smells of her personal fragrance of jasmine, and cinnamon. The mixture your father had gifted her after a long campaign many years ago. She buries her nose into your hair, fingers threading through the tresses. She presses a quick kiss to the crown of your head. 

“Mama,” you whimper into her bosom, and she shushes you. Pulling back, her hands cup your face, thumbs brushing against the apples of your cheeks. 

“Well, not the way I expected my beloved child to return to me but,” another kiss is pressed to your forehead. Her lips are soft and warm, tears well and threaten to spill a lump gathers in the back of your throat. “I am grateful to have some time with you again.” 

 For a moment, you’re grateful for the reprieve as well. But it’s short lived. She ushers you into the house, into her personal chambers. Where she sits you on the lounge, it’s darker here. Not as many windows, and most of them blocked by curtains. 

The incense is thicker here, and you stifle a cough as you settle into the dimness with her. 

“Oh my dear one, how I’ve missed you.” She smiles, and again her eyes take you in. Just as you do her, she’s aged in the years you’ve been gone. Where once was smooth skin, you see wrinkles in the corners of her eyes. The creases of her lips, a few grey hairs decorate her dark curls. 

“I’m sorry it wasn’t under…better circumstances.” You mutter, fingers toying with the robes you had left in. They’re still the temple robes, a simple woven woolen tunic. Good for completing chores, and easy to move in. 

Not like her opulent robes, her pure white muslin, with a deep blue dyed sash. A golden belt cinching in her waist. Her smile falters, a look of pain crosses her expression. 

“Y–your sister fought hard against the sweating sickness,” her voice wavers, and tears spill over her lashes, smudging the kohl lining her eyes. “But, she has been given her last rights, and she rests now in Elysium.” 

You nod, your chin quivers, as your own tears rain down from your eyes. Your mother tuts, and leans forward her hands warm and soft, unlike your now calloused fingers and palms.

“She would not want us to mourn–” 

“But Mama, she wanted this,” you gesture to the room of grandeur around you. Feeling your mother’s gaze watching you as you struggle with your next words, “I was promised to Minerva–to the gods!” 

You stand beginning to pace as you consider everything, and are finally able to do so.

“She should be here, I should be at the temple, learning the rites, blessing soldiers–”

“My darling you’re here now,” your mother’s voice is firm, a tone you recognize as her warning, and just like your father you know she’s not going to entertain you abandoning this marriage. “Come.” 

She offers you a bedecked hand, rings, and bangles gleaming against her skin. All the finery a woman could want. Sullenly you take her hand as she pulls you beside her, her hands take yours in a solid grip. 

“Your sister’s passing was a tragedy, but the gods have smiled upon us, in that Acacius is willing to continue the betrothal with you,” her voice is soft, you stare at your clasped hands. She’d done this before, when you’d first been promised to the Temple of Minerva. 

How strange to be here again, a child begging her mother to see reason and send you back. She pulls your hands up to her lips, pressing a warm kiss to them, as more tears spill from your eyes. Rolling warm, and wet down your cheeks. 

“I don’t want to marry him Mama,” a soft sob leaves you, and you bury your face into her shoulder, losing yourself in her smell once more, you forget how much you’ve missed her. Missed this, just being with her, but there’s a hollow feeling inside of you, your sister should be here, and that makes more tears form. Another tut and her arms wrap around you, a hand goes to your cheek, another to your back. “I was happy at the Temple.” 

She hums low in her throat, the hand on your back rubbing soothing circles against your spine. She is warm, and solid, a soothing presence and she lets you weep. You don’t know how long you cry for but finally the hiccuping sobs ebb and you calm. 

She pulls back her hands returning to your cheeks as she takes in your red eyes, and tear-streaked face. 

“My love, I will say this to you, I understand more than you know,” she brushes a stray strand of hair out of your eyes, curling the wayward pieces behind your ear. “I know the fear of marrying a man, much less a military man.” 

You sniffle as she gives you a weak smile. “I swore to the gods, I would never commit the sin of marrying one of my girls to someone like their father.” 

She pulls back, her hands resting on her lap, your tears have dried and you sigh, nodding, face downcast as you consider her words. 

“I swear my love, I know your sister dreamed of love, and of a grand marriage, I assure you that General Acacius is a good man,” her fingers lift your chin and your eyes meet, she gives you a final wistful smile, “it may not be a marriage of love, but…maybe it can be a marriage of equals.” 

-

The next week passes in a blur, and suddenly it’s the hour before your wedding. The final adjustments to your sister's dress are being made. You stand alone, a slave placing pins in the areas the garment might drag. 

Silently staring at the reflection in the copper before you. You don’t recognize the girl in the reflection. Your hair has been styled in the traditional bridal braids. A golden hairnet pinned against your scalp, a few strands have managed to escape. Make up paints your skin, mica shimmers on your eyelids, kohl darkening your waterline. 

The slave pauses in her adjustments, she glances up with a fearful look. 

“M–my lady, I’ve run out of pins–” 

A spark of your father’s rage courses through you, of course it doesn’t fit you it was meant for your sister. 

“Go fetch some then!” 

You don’t mean to snap but your nerves are shot as it is. She jumps and with a fearful bow leaves the room. Alone you slump, staring at yourself, unwilling to keep staring at the stranger before you. Your sister truly spared no detail, the embroidery along the edges is her finest work. With golden thread painstakingly sewn into the edges, when it catches the light it almost seems to glow like fire. The main shawl dyed a deep burgundy, is decorated with words of protection, along with her favorite flowers, pale lilies blooming along the skirt. 

I want him to think me a goddess made flesh. 

You hear her in the back of your mind, and wonder…if you should have admonished her. Maybe her vanity was her downfall, and the gods sought to correct her error. Tears spring to your eyes at the thought, no, they couldn’t have. 

She was good, and kind; her only wish was to marry and give her husband strong sons. Now she lays alone, and cold in the family crypts. 

Your thoughts are interrupted by a loud chorus of calls from the atrium.

You hear it somewhere below, the revels have begun. The boisterous voice of your father as he jokes and cajoles with his old war fellows. The wine is flowing freely tonight, he has much to celebrate. 

“-it’s a good thing you had another one!” 

A laugh from your father as he claps someone on the back. 

“Ha! The only thing a second daughter is good for!” 

The rage sparks again, and before you can stop to think, you’re grabbing a jar of perfumed oil. Throwing it with a shriek, it lands with a satisfying shatter against the copper mirror. The thick liquid drips to the floor in a dark puddle on the sandstone. 

Your outburst has called attention to the crowd, a few moments of silence and your mother appears with the slave who left you. She gives a withering glare to the woman, who cowers, before turning her gaze to you. You clench your fist ready to fight, the rage in you growing, daring your mother to say something, anything.

“My love–” there is no time to admonish you, as a great rushing of horses and the wheels of a chariot sound, along with calls from the atrium. 

He's here. 

Before you can think your mother and the slave rush to finish the last minute adjustments, and finally the fine veil is placed over your head. You're dragged through the halls, almost tripping on the skirt, that’s still too long for your legs. 

Your sister’s belt is cinched so tight it cuts into the soft fat of your stomach, at least an old pair of your sandals fits, one of the only things of yours on you tonight. Your mother stops you just outside the atrium. The crowd is rowdy, the sweet smell of wine, the smokey herbs of the many roasted beasts, and finally the mixture of the florals from the many bundles of your sister’s favorite flowers fills your nose.

It’s beautiful, and your sister would have been beaming. You feel your stomach churn, your mother’s fingers rub soothingly along your arm, but it doesn’t quell the fear to run, the deer forced into the hunter’s trap. 

You don’t want to, but your eyes search the crowd, none of your brothers are in attendance. Your mother mentioned that all had been called away to far reaches of the Empire, one a rising commander in his own right. Another a promising scholar in Alexandria, and the last is a Senator, most likely schmoozing with the twin emperors to gain more political favor. 

Of course none of them felt it dire to come to their younger sister’s funeral, and the other’s marriage. You’re not surprised…though maybe a bit hurt, after all…they should have at least come home to give your sister her last rights. But even that is too pitiful a request compared to their great lives.

There are others here, all your father’s friends, and their wives, entertaining themselves with food and drink. Dressed in the finery expected for nobility, none of them take your attention for too long. 

You see your father speaking animatedly with someone you don’t recognize. He wears the traditional Generals uniform, the armor a pitch black, with the extravagant golden embellishments. A long red cape, fastened at his shoulder, you almost wonder if the man came straight from campaign. 

Then again…the twin emperors have been insistent that their empire grow, and the General has been the ever faithful war dog. You’d never met him in person, only the high Priestess of Minerva could bless the generals before a campaign.

You are loath to admit it, but he's handsome. In a rugged way, a strong jaw, full lips, a proud nose, with tanned skin. His beard is shorter but well kept, and his hair, was probably once a deep brown, has greyed and silvered with age, is kept in neat curls. 

His eyes remain on your father, but as if the gods enjoy your torment, seem to feel your gaze upon him. He turns, and those eyes the color of polished mahogany lance through you. 

For a moment you forget to breathe, forget to think. Those eyes take you in, just as you had done moments ago. But it’s short lived as your father spots you, and your mother. 

“Ah! Acacius, your bride arrives!” He leaves the General to come usher you over, you’re grateful for the veil, the fabric is thick enough it hides your face, so he can’t see your face very well, can’t see the panicked look in your eyes, as your father yanks you from your mother’s protective grasp. 

You want to reach out to her, to claw your way back, scream, dig your fingers into his eyes till he releases you, but resist. As he pushes you to the General, up close he’s nothing like you thought. He bows his head to you with a soft, “my Lady.” 

You respond in kind with a low bow and a muttered, “my Lord.” 

And with that the ceremony begins, with Acacius taking his place besides the officiant. One of your father’s many senatorial friends. 

Your father’s grip is a painful shackle around your wrist, the stump of his left pinky digs into your arm. 

“You will do well to make him happy girl,” he snarls beneath the music, his gaze burning a hole into the side of your skull. “It’s because of me, he accepted you, remember that.” 

You bite your cheek, the taste of copper filling your mouth as you ignore the remark, in favor of staring at the man who will take his place. 

The ceremony is short, the officiant stumbles over your name, as he clearly practiced for your sister’s name. It makes the ache in your chest grow, through the ceremony you feel the General’s gaze upon you as the final call for the gods to bless your union is made. 

“General, you may now reveal your bride, and take her to your home as is commanded by the gods.” 

Your heart has leapt from your chest to your throat as his hands take the veil and lift, revealing your face to him. 

Your eyes meet his, and he stares silently at you, those dark eyes taking you in, he leans forward and presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth. His lips are soft, the rasp of his beard against your skin sending a chill down your spine. The kiss is quick, emotionless, before pulling away, he glances to the side, you follow his gaze. Your mother stands beside your father, tears stream down her face, and your heart breaks seeing her in such despair. 

“Take a moment with your family, I will collect you in a moment.” 

You don’t waste a second rushing away from him to your mother’s arms, she collects you with a soft sob. You can’t help the tears that spring forth. 

“My love, my dear,” she weeps into your hair, and you cling to her, a little girl once more. Afraid of your father’s anger had you broken something, or worse he had come home from a failed campaign, and no one would be spared from his rage. 

She would be alone after this, alone with only your father for company, and he barely stayed home long enough to acknowledge her. She presses a kiss to your forehead. 

“Please…Mama, please,” a whimpered plea into her bosom, where your tears stain the silk, you look up to her eyes wide and terrified. “Don’t let him take me.” 

Her lower lip quivers, and more tears spill from her beautiful eyes, she shakes her head, her answer, and it cleaves your heart into two. She can’t stop this, no matter how much you beg, plead, all she could do was make sure he was a good man. You feel it then, Acacius’ arms wrap around your middle, the shriek that leaves you is animalistic, your fingers claw into your mother’s dress. 

“No! Mama! No!” It only takes one pull from Acacius for your mother to release you, your fingers pulled from her dress by your father. So you go to the next best thing, his arms, nails dig into skin. He grunts, the only sign of his pain, as he hauls you away from your mother who wails in chorus with your panicked shrieks. 

Your mother collapses, her palms slapping against the marbled floors in grief, your father just stands there, no better than a statue. No one will comfort your mother tonight…though you hope, somehow your sister will. That her spirit will curl about your mother’s form and give her rest. 

Or maybe she’ll spare you the horrors of the wedding night, but as you struggle uselessly against Acacius you know neither of those things will happen. As he drags you from the atrium to his chariot. You struggle, scream, and cry a final plea to Minerva to intervene. 

But alas she does not answer, and you're dragged from the safety of your mother’s arms and to Acacius’ villa where your wedding night awaits. 

-

It’s quiet in the spacious bedchamber, as you consider the marble flooring beneath your feet. Acacius hasn’t appeared since he placed you here. You don’t know how long it’s been, but you’ve ripped the veil and golden hairnet off. Your hair remains in its painful tangle of braids, you’re unsure of how to get them out without help. 

You take in the room around you, and from what you could see of Acacius’ villa like you thought it’s a luxurious home, maybe even greater than your father’s. 

You take in the fineries here, golden chairs and marble-topped tables. The fires of the braziers warm the room comfortably, and a soft breeze from the outside keeps the air fresh. The light of the fires gleam off the cups, and decanters of wine placed about the room, even the bed silks are a fine fabric you’ve never felt before. You absentmindedly run your hand over the softness, considering your options. The bed is pushed to the farthest wall, a behemoth of dark wood, and fine muslin curtains. 

Large windows line the eastern wall, to let in the light of the morning, and doors lead to what you can only assume is a terrace. Your legs twitch as you consider rushing to the doors, seeing how far the drop is, escaping into the night, the General none-the-wiser. 

But the idea is foolish, he’s a General with thousands at his beck and call, you are a noble girl, raised in the halls of a temple…You’d get no further than the city gates if you’re lucky. 

Your thoughts are interrupted as the sounds of footsteps echo into your silence. Your head snaps to the noise, a deer suddenly aware of the danger lurking somewhere in the trees.

He stands in the doorway, orange light of the fires play over his face, his eyes black pits, face unreadable. Your heart stutters in your chest, as you both consider each other. 

He’s removed his armor, though it does nothing to soothe you, he still stands with the rigidity of a military man. Prepared for battle should he need to be. You consider fighting him, but it’s a laughable idea. 

He could kill you with a flick of his wrist if he so dared, but he hasn’t moved closer. So you both remain silent, observing. 

It is a tense standoff, both of you sizing the other up, Acacius makes the first move. Taking a chair and settling into it with an exhausted huff. 

You tense, watching him as he takes a cup and decanter, pouring a healthy swig of wine, before drinking deeply. He leans forward, elbows resting against his knees, his fingertips trace the rim of his cup. 

“I am pleased to see you haven’t run yet,” he gives a humorless chuckle, and takes another drink. “I will say, this is not how I expected my wedding night to go.” 

You remain silent, waiting for his next move, he doesn’t say anything for a moment staring into the cup with a pensive look. 

“Those braids look uncomfortable,” those umber eyes meet your gaze. You can’t find your voice, so you nod. He sets the cup aside and stands, you can’t help your gaze falling to his exposed legs. The bunching of his muscles beneath his skin, the subtle strength there as he approaches you, a subtle grace to his movements that years of swordplay, and war-making has refined. The glow of his skin in the firelight, paints golden highlights along his flesh. 

A clearing of his throat stops your exploration, your gaze snaps up to Acacius, he gives you a small gesture to turn around. Tense you follow his directions, a moment of indecision, before the softest touch against your scalp. 

You can’t stop the yelp that leaves you, and the jolt of your body. The touch leaves, and there is a sigh through his nose. You wince, awaiting the strike that’s sure to come. 

Acacius surprises you again, a hand cups your chin and turns you to face him. You’re shivering, and fearfully you look up at the General. 

“I–I’m sorry–” 

“I promise, I will not strike you my Lady, I just want to unbraid your hair.” His hand is warm, his fingers large, and his palm is rough with calluses from holding a sword. You try not to notice how his hand easily encompasses your lower jaw. You nod, and again turn away. 

This time when his touch returns you steady yourself. For such large fingers, you’re surprised at their delicate caresses. As he finds the pins, and ties that keep your bridal braids in place. Slowly the pain of the too tight braids are relieved. 

His touch is gentle, the final braid is undone and he takes a moment to card his fingers through your tresses. A ripple of something courses through you, goosebumps alight along your skin. He chuckles, you finally find your voice. 

“Thank you, my Lord.” 

He doesn’t answer, instead you feel the brush of his knuckles against your cheek, again you jolt away. 

You know what must be done tonight, but you had hoped, and prayed, that he’d busy himself with his something, anything else. That you’d be forgotten and left to your own devices for the night. Acacius sighs through his nose, disappointment clear in his tone. 

“It is our wedding night—”

“I know my Lord–”

“I do not wish to force you.” 

The statement silences you, your heart pounding in its cage as you clench your fists in your lap. 

“My Lord Acacius please–” 

“My Lady,” he kneels beside you, one of his hands easily encasing both of yours. You resist every urge in your body to pull away from him, to scream, shout that you won’t allow him near you. “Your father told me, he would visit in the morning, to assure his daughter had done her duty.” 

You will give him this, he looks disgusted at the prospect, those full lips pulled into a grimace as he considers you. You glance down at his hand over yours, before meeting his gaze again. 

“Lord Acacius please, I was given as a child to the Temple of Minerva, I have no…no sense of the things required of a wife.” 

You press forward, one of your hands leaving the captivity of his to cover it. He seems surprised at the touch, glancing down at your hand before meeting your gaze again. His eyes are beautiful, and considering him for a moment, you recall your sister’s voice. 

He’s handsome sissy, you would agree. 

You can’t help the tears that spring to your eyes, you do agree, he’s handsome. A part of you was jealous that she remained at home, with your mother. But after settling in the temple you knew this life would never be yours, and some small part of you…knows that hint of jealousy still lingers, somewhere deep in your mind. It would have grown a bit more seeing who she married today. 

“You can learn–”

“I was given to Minerva,” you snap, a spike of your father’s rage, Acacius’ brows lift, a flash of surprise crosses his face. The hand beneath yours tensing. 

“What’s done is done, and your father would sooner kill you then return you to the temple.” 

His eyes darken and your shoulders slump, he’s well aware of your father’s reputation then. Well aware of the violence he so easily wielded even when not in battle. 

“But you could return me–” 

“I do not intend to.” 

That statement leaves you bewildered, and scrambling to come up with something, anything for him to change his mind. He leans forward, in the glow of the braziers he looks otherworldly, and you can’t find your voice. 

“I swear to you, I shall be a devoted husband, and I am willing to give you liberties in this union,” you consider silently, gaze going from his eyes and to his lips, “I cannot give you all the freedoms priesthood promises, but you will want for nothing.” 

You bite your cheek, searching his umber eyes for any hint of a lie. His other hand comes up once more to cup your cheek. This time you do not flinch from his touch. 

“I can make it pleasurable for you,” heat rises to your face as his thumb brushes over the apple of your cheek, “but this union must be consummated tonight, as the gods demand.” 

The silence between both of you is thick, he’s right, you know he is. There is no way you will be able to return to the temple, it is either death or Acacius. 

I swore to the gods, I would never commit the sin of marrying one of my girls to someone like their father.

Your mother’s words ring out in your mind, you close your eyes to stop the tears forming there, and nod. 

“I need to hear you,” he whispers, he’s moved closer to your face, the warmth of his breath ghosts over your lips. “Please, my Lady.” 

“I–I accept Lord Acacius, but–” you don’t know why it tumbles from your lips so freely, “but please, I don’t want it to hurt.” 

His lips press to yours suddenly, your eyes snapping open at the touch. The kiss is quick, he moves on from your lips to your cheek, then jaw, ending at your neck. 

You gasp as his tongue slips from between his lips, wetting the skin above your pulse. A heat rushes through you as his lips suck on the skin there, teeth nipping. 

Your fingers turn to claws as they grasp at his tunic, his hands shift easily, one going to cup your head. The other around your waist pulling you against him. His lips continue their exploration of your neck, finding new bits of flesh that he attends to. 

Pulling noises from you that surprise you, as a feeling courses through you, like you're hot and cold at the same time. You can feel your pulse between your legs, his mouth shifts further up your neck, Acacius pauses at your ear. 

“As we are going to be husband and wife,” he whispers into the shell of your ear, his lips sending electric zaps along the cartilage. You shiver as his voice drops to a rasp, “please call me Marcus, can you do that?” 

He nuzzles into the corner of your jaw, giving the skin another nip, a soft keen leaves you, as the nip sparks with a soft pain before dulling to a throb. As your fingers flex again in his tunic, unsure if you want to pull him closer or push you both apart. 

He has to be doing something, must have given you something, for this–feeling, this sensation to be burning through you. 

The hand at your waist is quick, fingers plucking at your sister’s belt, and it releases with a soft clink. The soft leather falls away, leaving your dress to sag, heat rises again to your cheeks and you squirm a moment. 

Acacius’ hand in your hair tightens, and for a moment you fear you’ve angered him. But all he does is move lower, the tip of his nose trailing down your neck, along the path he created with his lips. 

Marks of varying colors have bloomed across your skin, before stopping just above the cut of your bodice. Those deep brown eyes meet yours in silent question, you give a nod. The pulse between your thighs is growing. 

He works quickly finding the folds of your dress that keep it around your shoulders and covering your breasts. The silk falls away, you move to cover yourself, only the other temple maidens, and the priestess’ had ever seen you naked. 

Embarrassment fills you, should he see you, but Acacius is quick, his hands find your wrists. The short tussle sends you back onto the bed, Acacius hovering above you. He positions your hands beside your head. For a moment you consider fighting once more, thinking he intends you harm, but freeze as you see his eyes explore your newly exposed flesh. You can feel every touch of his gaze as he takes in the swell of them, your nipples pebbling in the sudden chill. 

“M–Marcus–ah!” 

Saying his name spurs him into his next move, his face descends and he presses a kiss to your sternum, then shifting to your right breast. The scrape of his beard on your skin sends flutters of pleasure through you. 

A surprised moan leaves you as his lips find your nipple, pulling the hardening bud between them, sucking lightly your body convulses. Your eyes roll, the muscles of your abdomen clench, fingers twitch digging into his knuckles as he keeps them pinned. You gasp, back arching, pressing harder into his mouth. As if your body begs for more of the sensation. 

“M–Marcus,” you whimper his name as his tongue swirls around the bud, and gives it another suck, toying with it gently between his teeth. “Marcus please!” 

Your mind is becoming a fog, unsure of what you’ve begun to beg for, but the pulsing between your thighs has grown almost painful, and even as Acacius switches to your other breast giving the neglected bud the same attention. 

You squirm, thighs pressing together, another soft moan leaves you as the pressure gives some relief. Acacius pauses in his attention to your breast, his eyes are changed, that umber brown swallowed by the dark of his pupil. He presses kisses to the swell of your breasts, before asking, “What do you need of me my Lady?” 

You whine struggling to understand his question, as your thighs writhe, you bite your lip whimpering. 

“You said it wouldn’t hurt–” 

“Where does it hurt?” His reaction is quick, he returns to your face pressing a kiss to the underside of your chin. “Tell me.” His breath is warm, and smells of the sweet wine he indulged in before all this. 

“B–Between–” it feels foolish to say it, to mention the heat between your legs, the strange throb that’s continued to grow since he began to touch you. 

“Where?” he asks again, another soft kiss to your jaw. 

“Between my legs,” you whine, the writhing of your thighs no longer offering the necessary relief. You feel feverish, unwell, your stomach tightening uncomfortably. Acacius huffs a laugh against your neck, he releases your hands trailing his fingers down your arms. Over your breasts, where he pauses a moment to toy with your nipples once more. 

Your body reacts back bowing, pressing yourself into his palms, Acaius hums appreciatively, before his hands delve lower. Pushing down the rest of your sister’s wedding gown, you’re left bare to him. 

Again the embarrassment of it floods you, but Acaius is quick to stop you, laying on his side, he pulls you against him, one hand cupping your hip, cradling it  between his legs where something rubs against you, your other hand nestled between your bodies, the other splayed to the side finding purchase in the sheets. 

Acacius pauses taking his bottom lip between his teeth whilst considering you. 

“I promise this will make the pain go away,” he whispers against your cheek, and you nod, half mad with the overwhelming sensations devouring every coherent thought. 

“Please.” You whine, and his hand slides between your legs, a noise leaves you that’s closer to a howl than anything. The rough pads of his fingers find your clit, two circle the bud slowly, teasingly. Before pinching it between them, your hips buck into his palm. He groans softly into your hair. Your fingers grasp at the sheets, the sudden onslaught of pleasure leaving you reeling in its wake. 

Only a few garbled pleas, and his name can leave your lips, it’s all your mind can remember to say. As his fingers release your clit, and return to swirling in indiscernible patterns around the sensitive bundle.

It feels like too much, the rough stroke of his finger pad against your clit, your fingers close around his wrist. 

“W–Wait–” your tongue can barely form the words, it’s too much, and if he keeps touching you like this, you fear you’re going to break. A sensation you can’t name growing in your belly, the throb between your legs. The wetness there drips down your thighs, staining the sheets beneath you. 

“T–too much, it’s too much.” Acacius hushes you, the muscles of his wrist flexing against your palm, as he continues his pattern. Every touch sends bolts of lightning up your spine, clouding your thoughts. 

“It’s alright, let it come,” he whispers against your throat, the rasp of his beard adding another feeling that makes your body ache. Muscles bunching, toes curling, your mouth opens in a silent scream as something washes over you. Overwhelms you, your nails dig into his shoulder. He muffles a noise into your collarbone. 

This must be the gods, or death, or–or something. Your body convulses, the throbbing between your legs pulses with every beat of your heart. Eyes rolling in your skull, Acacius groans as you settle. Something hard presses against your hip, but you're still caught in the undertow of whatever spell he’s placed you in. 

“M–Marcus,” you whine, as his finger toys with your clit again, the feeling borders on painful, as the touch causes another throb to race through you. “Wh–what did–” 

“To help with the next part,” he hums, his fingers leave between your legs. He pulls away from you. Body shivering at the loss of his warmth, the solid form of his body against yours, and you feel more exposed than ever before. A deer caught in the line of Diana’s arrow. As those soft umber eyes look over your exposed flesh, pausing at the swell of your breasts heaving with every breath. He pulls instantly at his wedding tunic, shucking the last article of clothing off. 

His skin is a sun kissed tan, and scars lace across the expanse of his flesh. Swords, spears, knives. All manner of brutality has marked him, as your gaze travels lower you stop. The hardness you felt against your hip, long, with a mushroom-like head, a pearl of fluid leaking from the tip. It bobs with his breathing, veins pulse along the shaft, it looks painful. You pull your hazy gaze to meet his, and your breath hitches. 

His eyes gleam in the firelight, he reminds you of the towering Jupiter, or Mars. A god made flesh, and your heart stutters as he kneels on the bed between your legs. That fear returning full force. You stumble, and scramble in the sheets. They stick to your sweat-coated skin, and you can’t escape as he settles over you. 

Caging you beneath his form, you struggle, Acacius traps your chin between his thumb and forefinger. 

“I will go slow,” he whispers, as again, tears brim along your lashes. His thumb rubs the hollow of your cheek, in an attempt to soothe. It doesn’t, as your heartbeat spikes, and your hands go to his chest weakly. His skin is rough, the scars knotted and strange against your fingers. He makes a noise low in his throat as your hands splay over his flesh. 

“But–I thought–” he settles between your thighs, you look into his eyes, pleadingly, a gasp leaves you as his length brushes against your core. He grunts, and his length twitches, you feel it, sudden and foreign. You squirm, and a hand lashes out grabbing your hip to still you. 

“Be still,” he whispers through clenched teeth. It’s a command and you listen, forcing your eyes closed, his hand leaves your hip to trail between your bodies. For a moment you think he only means to pleasure himself, but you tense as the head of his cock brushes against your cunt. 

“Acacius what��” you're silenced by the pain, though his previous ministrations helped, he’s large. The stretch of him entering you burns, your fingernails dig into his flesh, as if that will quell the pain of him entering you. 

You can’t breathe, can’t think, as all your mind can focus on is the stretch of his cock filling you. The way his length spears you, opening you, a soft whine of pain leaves you. Acacius huffs above you, the fingers beside your head curl into the sheets. He leans down forehead against your shoulder. 

“So tight,” he rasps, he almost sounds to be in pain as well. You think for a moment, maybe he’ll stop, that it’s too much for him as well. But he presses on, inch by painful inch he opens your cunt. “I’m sorry.” It’s whispered to the flesh above your heart, his lips brush the skin, sending a jolt of something through you once more. Just when you think you can’t take anymore, he settles. You whimper feeling the press of his hips between your own. 

“Acacius, please…” You don’t know what you’re begging for, as the uncomfortable fullness settles. You swear you can feel every part of him, the throb of his cock as it rests heavy and thick in your cunt a warm sort of pain that lingers behind your navel. His cock twitches and you jolt, Acacuis grunts above you, again that hand returns to your hips. 

“Y–You must be still,” he gasps, your fingers flex, you glance down, seeing the red half moons  where your nails dug into his flesh. You silently hope he felt a bit of the pain he put you through. “Tell me when it stops hurting.” 

You glance up, those eyes giving you pause, he’s watching you. Taking in every wince, every hiss of breath as he remains still inside you. For a moment you consider lying, telling him it’s too much, but as you both remain there you feel it. The burn subsides, though the fullness remains. 

You take your lip between your teeth considering him, the greatest General of Rome, waiting for your lead. You shift, and Acacius gasps, your cunt flutters around him. He shudders above you and his length throbs again inside you. 

“D–Don’t–move,” he pants his fist clenching again on your hip, his head lowering to press his forehead to your shoulder again. A stutter of breath against your skin. “Does it still hurt?” 

A whispered plea into your breast, you hesitate to answer him, fearing another onslaught of pain. His voice is soft, as his hips give a subtle thrust, “I swear my lady, I will make sure we both find our pleasures.” 

A choked noise leaves you, as his pelvis grinds against your clit, your cunt walls quiver around him. Acacius gasps, his arm shakes, and you whine. 

“Please–” he grunts, “tell me I can move.” His dark eyes meet yours and your lungs refuse to breathe, your heart stops beating for a moment, and the world slows. His skin shins with a layer of sweat, he’s trapped his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Move,” a whispered acceptance, Acacius takes it with fervor, pulling his hips back, your head falling back into the softness of the sheets. You feel every inch of him, every pulse of his veins as he pulls from your soaked core. 

Acacius curses under his breath as he begins a steady, hard rhythm. Every thrust of his hips sends new shock waves of bliss up your spine. Your cunt flutters around his shaft, with every thrust he seems to plunge deeper. 

Your legs shift, thighs settling on the solid form of his hips, the movement making you tighten. Acacius gasps, you feel it, another pulse of his cock. He grunts a hand moving from beside your head to between your bodies. Fingers finding your clit again, you keen, toes curling as another wave threatens to overwhelm you. 

“Are you close?” He huffs, his hips continue in their thrusting, his fingers dance along your clit. Your eyes can hardly focus on the man straining above you, all you can offer is another high pitched moan, your hips beginning to rise to meet his thrusts. 

Acacius groans again, his arm shaking as he pistons into you with a gratuitous fervor, the sounds of your coupling fill the room. Your skin shines with sweat, as does his, those eyes meet yours as he grits his teeth. 

His fingers press against your clit, and his cock thrusts so deep inside of you that for a moment you see stars. Your body stills, you forget to breathe for a moment, you think a scream of his name leaves you, as your back arches pressing into Acacius who shouts. 

Your cunt quivers around his length, you feel a warmth as his cock throbs inside of you. Both of you remain still, breath returning in soft pants as your vision returns to you. Acaius huffs above you, his hair, once well styled is mussed about his face. But you think distantly that it suits him, he leans down pressing his forehead to your chest. 

For a moment you wonder if you will have to remain like this, until with a slow movement Acacius pulls from you. A whine leaves you, as he pulls from your cunt. 

You lay on the bed, eyes closed, sweat cooling uncomfortably on your skin. None of your muscles wish to work, and you don’t sense Acacius still in the room. 

You’re shocked to feel…disappointment worming its way into your mind, after everything you should be grateful that he’s left you be. 

But you’re surprised again as his footfalls sound, with a tired blink you open your eyes and glance up. Acacius has put on a robe, and he kneels beside the bed with a rag, he takes his time cleaning you. 

It reminds you, for a moment, of the baths in the Temple where you would clean, and help clean other initiates. His hands are careful as he reaches between your thighs, noticing you tense he’s gentle. Careful of your still sensitive core the roughness of the rag makes you whine, hips bucking away from it. His hand steady's you as he works.

The rag cleans away the wetness that drenches your thighs, and butt. He finishes his cleaning, and then moves to lift you from the edge of the bed to the middle, carefully tucking you into the soft sheets. Your body doesn’t respond to anything, not even the want to help him does it respond, until he turns to leave. 

“Marcus,” your voice is soft, unsure, but he stops and turns looking at you, “aren’t you…going to stay?” 

His eyes seem to lighten at the question, he bows his head, “Would you like me to?” 

You nod, and he relaxes moving back to the bed he settles in beside you, careful not to move you too much. You don’t mind it though, you notice that his sheets smell of jasmine. You huddle into the sheets, staring at the general silently. 

And you consider…this marriage my not be one of love…but maybe…of equals.

[suudbe]

hi! i hope you don’t mind me asking but what happened with Akatsuki? im very out of the enstars loop so i feel a bit lost in understanding what all is going on 😅 feel free to ignore me if you don’t want to explain!

No problem at all! I'll explain to the best of my ability.

Recently, Enstars added 5 new idols. One of the new idols is Taki Ibuki and he is from Okinawa and is Ryukyuan. When Japan colonized the Ryukyu Kingdom, they forced the people to assimilate into Japanese culture. This process is called Japanization.

So, when rumors came out about the Ryukyuan character Ibuki possibly joining Akatsuki, a unit focused on Traditional Japanese aesthetics, people who know that history immediately called out the implications of writing such a thing. The head writer is known to write indigenous characters disrespectfully, but surely he wouldn't go this far?

It's been stated in several Akatsuki stories that Keito, Kuro, and Souma want it to only be them. There is a heavy emphasis on them having a bond stronger than blood. This is gonna be a one-off collab that leads to something bigger maybe Ibuki will go solo! Literally anything else BUT this please.

What followed was a story that mischaracterized every Akatsuki member. It was like all character development was reversed, for Keito, it seemed like he was a completely different dude.

The Enstars official twitter released a message to "Please not spoil the last few chapters for at least 4 days 🥺" they've never done this to my knowledge. It was blatant damage control for the shitstorm they had created themselves. Ibuki was brought into Akatsuki. What followed the next few hours were QRTs in all different languages absolutely GOING IN on Happyele, as they should. I saw so many people mourning the future of the franchise, many more leaving altogether, so much sadness and anger.

People connected the dots of releasing a Rei along with the event, since he's very very popular, and also announcing the PJSK collab. These would build up hype so maybe people would overlook it or it would draw them back in or some shit.

If I'm to sum it up in one sentence I'd say that Akatsuki was blatantly mischaracterized so they could fit their racist narrative of Indigenous people being "primitive" or "fixable" and needing to assimilate into Japanese culture.

Hopefully I explained the gist of it, I have a hard time phrasing and I've been told I explain things a bit unorganized. Here's a link to a twitter thread that most certainly explains way better than I could and two Wikipedia links that helped me learn.

A thread by @/gitsunegal on twitter written Oct. 10th when the rumors started. The last tweet in the thread is after the announcement, Jan 3rd.

A Wikipedia article on Japanization, contains summaries of not only Okinawa but also other areas that experienced Japan's colonization.

A Wikipedia article on the History of the Ryukyu Islands, I'd like to specifically point out the section Okinawa Prefecture, 1879–1937. Starting at the section Battle of Okinawa, the article discusses heavy topics such as rape, violence, and death.

If I missed anything or if any information is inaccurate please feel free to correct me or add on.

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

Cuffed To The Grind

Pairing: Detective Tim Rockford x Female Reader Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Summary: You're working late 'cause you're a detective. Oh Tim looks so good handcuffed to a chair. Warnings: smut, unprotected p in v, riding, handcuffs, domming the detective, vag badge, commingled cum, fucking your boss, panty gag, holding on to holsters, whiskey, cop stuff Words: 2,800

A/N: Written for the wonderful @wannab-urs's Dom That Middle Aged Man Campaign.

Masterlist

---

You hate your new boss. Tim Rockford, the hot-shot fellow detective who all the girls in the precinct fawn over. Yeah, yeah. Tall, broad, beautiful, deep brown eyes, strong jaw, perfect hair, blah, blah.

Arrogant, kind of a jerk, struts around the station like he owns the place, always gets his way because he figured out the great pie mystery last year.

He holds you to impossible standards. Every case has to be wrapped up in record time, every lead followed to exhaustion, every 'i' dotted and 't' crossed to his exacting specifications.

Yesterday, he kept you late yet again because he wasn't satisfied with the progress on the Wilmington robbery. Never mind that you'd already been pulling 12-hour shifts with him for a week straight. No, Tim Rockford needed results, and he seemed to always need them from you.

—

It’s late… too late… and you’re stuck with Tim in his office yet again. As you pore over the case files, you can’t stop stealing glances at him across the cluttered table. The low light of his desk lamp casts a shadow on his handsome face. God, he’s so frustrating but he’s gorgeous.

He sighs, running a hand through his hair, mussing it slightly. He shrugs off his suit jacket, draping it over the back of his chair. His crisp, white dress shirt strains against his shoulders. He rolls up his sleeves methodically, his strong arms revealed to you. You wonder just how golden his chest is.

You try not to stare as he loosens his tie, pulling it free. You wish you were the one taking it off of him.

He picks up a file, his large hands flip through the pages. A long, thick finger runs down a page as he takes information in. You wonder what his hands would feel like all over your body, what his finger would feel like inside you.

Tim leans back, stretching his arms above his head, he catches you looking and arches a perfect eyebrow. "See something you like, detective?"

You scoff and roll your eyes. "Don't flatter yourself, sir. Let's just focus on the case."

He flashes that infuriatingly cocky grin. "Whatever you say, sweetheart." 

Sweetheart. His deep voice sends a shiver down your spine. Damn him.

Hours pass as you two meticulously examine evidence and victim statements. Tim's brow furrows in concentration as he studies crime scene photos. You hate to say it, but you’re mesmerized while you watch him work. He's sharp. Insightful. Maybe even brilliant.

He paces across his office, file in hand. "I think I've got something," he announces. He walks over to you and leans in close, his strong shoulder brushing against yours as he points to a detail you’d missed. You can smell him and feel his warmth, it makes your breath catch.

Get it together. This is Tim Rockford you’re talking about. Arrogant, insufferable Tim Rockford. But as you both bounce clues back and forth and finish each other's theories, you can’t deny there’s something there. The way his gaze lingers on your lips. How your pulse races when his hand grazes yours when he reaches for the same file. 

Damn it. You’re in trouble. You might just be falling for your boss.

—

He leans back in his chair, his eyes heavy with frustration and exhaustion.

“If I look at one more file, I’m going to lose it. I need to take a break.”

He opens a drawer, pulling out a bottle of whiskey and two paper cups. Fancy.

He fills both cups and slides one over to you. "Here. I think we've earned this."

“Sir, you’re offering alcohol to a subordinate.”

“I know, but you deserve it,” he smolders, actually smolders at you as he nods towards the cup.

You eye the cup warily before taking it. The whiskey burns smooth and warm down your throat. Tim watches you with hooded eyes, a playful smirk dancing on his full lips.

"You know, you're not half bad, detective," he drawls. "Quite the spitfire under that buttoned-up exterior."

"And you're not nearly as dim as I thought," you retort with a smirk of your own. "Guess there's more to both of us."

“You know," Tim says, leaning forward. "I've always admired your mind. The way you piece together clues, your attention to detail. It's… impressive."

His intense eyes lock onto yours. His gaze drops to your mouth again. You lick your suddenly dry lips, noticing how his eyes track the movement.

“And here I am thinking you hated me,” you say, rolling your eyes.

“Quite the opposite. You’re brilliant and smart—and beautiful.” His eyes are dark as he stares into yours. Damnit.

You lift the cup up to him and nod.

He smirks, lifting the bottle and pouring you another shot before doing the same for himself.

You gulp the shot down, trying not to wince as the liquor burns down your throat. Your skin feels heated under Tim’s gaze and the whiskey.

Emboldened by the alcohol and tension between you, you rise from your chair and saunter over to him. His eyes widen in surprise as you sit atop him, straddling his lap, the heat of your body pressing against his firm muscles.

"Beautiful?" you purr, trailing a finger down his jaw. His breath quickens, his pulse jumping beneath your touch.

In a swift motion, you grab his wrists and yank them behind the chair, snapping your handcuffs around them with a click. He lets out a shocked grunt, his brows furrowing in indignation and arousal. 

"What the hell are you doing?" he demands, straining against the cuffs. 

You lean in close, your lips brushing against his ear. "Taking what I want," you whisper. "And right now, I want you at my mercy, Rockford."

He shudders beneath you and groans as you nip at his earlobe. You unbutton his shirt, pushing it open to reveal the golden skin of his chest. You rake your nails lightly down his smooth skin, his muscles tensing under your touch.

With a wicked grin, you stand, reaching under your skirt and shimmying out of your underwear before stuffing the silky fabric into his mouth effectively gagging him.

He lets out a shocked, muffled grunt, his brows furrowed in confusion, chest heaving and nostrils flaring as he struggles against the cuffs.

“Relax sir,” you tease. “I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do.”

Your words seem to calm him, his head falls back slightly, a muffled groan vibrates around your panties stuffed in his mouth.

You begin to unbutton your blouse, one button at a time. His eyes follow the path of your fingers, darkening as your smooth skin is revealed to him. The blouse slips from your shoulders, baring your lacy black bra underneath. Your hands trace the path of your tits spilling over your bra before reaching back and unclasping your bra, letting it fall away. You trail your fingers between your breasts, over your stomach, down to the waistband of your skirt. Your fingers lingering at the waistband. You turn slowly, giving him a view of your back as you begin to lower the zipper. You glance over your shoulder, catching Tim’s searing gaze. His muscles strain against the cuffs, his shoulders sit broad and wide as his chest rapidly rises and falls. You smirk, knowing the power you hold over him this moment.

Slowly, you pull down your standard issue gray skirt. Your hips sway as you feel his eyes on your ass, a muffled whimper leaves the detective as you bend forward, pulling the skirt down and letting it pool at your feet.

Turning to face him, you look down, your eyes widening when you see the crotch of his pants bulging with his erection.

You saunter back over to him, now only clad in your heels, your hips swaying with every step. You lock eyes with him before bending over, causing him to groan as he gets an eyeful of your tits. As he is distracted, you reach into his pants pocket and pull out his badge. With a wink, you hold it up for him to see. He quirks an eyebrow up, letting a sound of confusion out from behind your panties. 

You raise your leg and place it between his solid thighs. The cold metal of the badge grazes against your warm skin as you drag it slowly up your inner thigh. Higher and higher you trail the badge holding his gaze as you press the hard, cool metal against your aching cunt and moan loudly.

You grind shamelessly against the badge, smearing it with your slick. Tim makes a strangled sound, his hips bucking upward. You’re empowered by the way he whimpers and buzzes for you. Grinning, you reach down and unzip his pants, pulling his cock out. He’s golden here too, thick and already leaking out precum you want to taste.

Wrapping your fingers around his wide base, you swirl the badge around his glistening head before delicately stroking him with his badge smearing your wet along the length of him. His head falls back, tendons straining in his neck as he fights for control.

"You like that, detective?" you purr, pumping him faster. "You like it when I use your badge to get you off?"

He nods frantically, a desperate whine escaping him.

You bring the badge to your mouth, licking the mixture of you and him off the metal before tossing it behind you.

You straddle his lap, hovering just above his straining cock. His eyes widen as you grab onto his holsters for leverage and sink down onto him with a moan.

He bucks his hips up to meet yours as he fills you completely. The sting of your cunt stretching to accommodate him feels better than solving any case.

You rise up slowly, sliding along his thickness, his dark brown eyes are wild with need while his wrists strain desperately against the cuffs.

“God damnit, I don’t like you Mr. Rockford, but fuck, you feel so good inside me,” you moan as you roll your hips, taking him deeper. “So fuckin’ big and wide, stretching me just right.” You trail your hands up your body, cupping your tits, pinching and tugging at your nipples. His gaze is locked to your chest, watching and groaning behind his gag as you tease him.

"You like watching me play with my tits, don't you? Bet you wish these were your hands, your mouth." You squeeze your breasts together. "Too bad you're all tied up."

He lets out a defeated whimper, his brows furrowed over his wide brown eyes.

You grip the leather of his holsters again, bouncing on him at a maddening pace. The velvet of your walls clenching around the steel of his cock.

Your nails drag down his chest, leaving red marks in their wake, his muscles tensing under your touch.

“You’re mine now Mr. Rockford, now you’re my subordinate,” you growl, leaning in close to his ear. “I get to rule this cock, I get to rule your pleasure.”

He groans behind the gag, eyes rolling back as you grind down hard. You can feel him throbbing inside you, close to the edge.

"Not yet," you command, stilling your hips. "You don't get to cum until I say so."

You lift yourself off him completely, savoring his muffled cry of protest.

"Beg for it," you demand, hovering just above his cock. "Show me how badly you want it."

He nods frantically, pleading sounds escaping from behind the gag.

"Good boy," you purr, sinking back down onto him.

His eyes flutter shut in relief as you roll your hips and fuck him.

Your hands grip his holsters as you lean back giving him a view of your tits bouncing up and down as you ride him with abandon.

Tim’s whole body is taut as he strains against the cuffs, desperate to touch you.

“God, you feel amazing,” you moan, your head falling back. “You stretch me so good sir.”

You grind your hips down on him as the sounds of Tim’s muffled groans and the wet squelch of your cunt spearing itself on his cock fill the room.

Your hands roam your body, his eyes surveying your movements as if he’s on a stakeout. Your hand trails down to your clit, rubbing tight circles on it. You gasp at the feel, smiling a diabolical smile at him as he bucks his hips up to meet yours.

“You like watching me touch my pussy, don’t you?” you pant. “Tell me officer, have you thought of me doing this before? Maybe me fucking myself while thinking it’s your big cock?”

He nods frantically, his pupils blown out, his brown eyes looking almost black in the low light. A bead of sweat rolls down his cheek, you lean over, and lick the salty drop off of him, eliciting a whimper from behind the silk of your underwear.

Your fingers work your clit faster, you start to see the siren lights behind your eyes. Bright and flashing.

Tim’s thick thighs meet yours, his abs clenching with effort as he takes over, fucking into you from beneath.

“That’s it,” you moan. “Fuck me like you’ve always wanted to Detective.”

His muffled grunts are desperate, his skin glowing with perspiration. He’s throbbing inside you, fighting for control.

“Are you close, officer?” you tease. “Do you want to cum?”

He nods, the clink of him straining against the cuffs echoes through the office air.

You lean in close, your hand reaches up and grasps the silky fabric of your panties, slowly pulling them from his mouth. As soon as his lips are free, he gasps out a hoarse, “Fuck!”

Raw and desperate, just how you want him. You trail your fingers along his stubbled jaw, down his toned neck.

“What do you want, Detective?” you ask.

“Please,” he pants. “Please, I need to touch you.”

“I don’t know. Have you earned it?”

“Yes,” he growls. “God, yes. I’ll do anything. Just let me touch you.” You nod as you reach behind him, press the keys fully into the lock and unlock the handcuffs.

Click.

The moment his hands are free, they’re on you, grabbing your hips, thick fingers digging into the your flesh and he drives up into you.

He effortlessly lifts you, supporting you with his big arms and thick thighs. Your legs wrap around his body as his lips crash against yours, desperate groans spilling out of him as he licks into your mouth. Your tongues battle for dominance against each other as your fingers thread through his hair, pulling at the soft tendrils.

His hands roam your body, exploring you like evidence.

“Fuck,” he growls against your skin. “You feel so fucking good.”

Now you’re the one whimpering as he pounds into you. Suddenly, he pulls out, leaving your empty and aching for his cock.

Your mouth opens in protest, but before you can make a noise, he sweeps the papers and files from his desk to the floor. They scatter across the room, all of your hard work gone.

“What the fu—” you begin to complain but lose your words when your back lands on the smooth wood. His thumb begins rubbing circles against your swollen clit as he thrusts deep into your cunt, hitting the spot you want to feel him the most.

Tim folds himself over you, covering your body with his. You grab onto his holsters, the leather cutting into your palms as he buries himself into you over and over. The sirens, you can hear them, see them, and feel them.

He’s got you cornered and you give yourself up, screaming his name and surrendering yourself to Detective Tim Rockford as your orgasm captures you. Your body trembles, your pussy clenching his thick cock as your head thuds against the solid wood.

He groans, burying his face in your neck as his movements become more erratic. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” he grits against your skin.

“I’m close,” he pants. “Where do you want it?”

“Inside,” you moan. “Cum inside me Detective.”

With one final thrust, he stills as he pulses inside you, emptying himself into you. His body shudders against your still trembling body as you both ride out your orgasms.

He still covers you, breathing heavily on top of you, both of your bodies slick.

He lies there for a moment, catching his breath and gently kissing your overheated skin before pulling out and standing up. You’re not even shy as his eyes rake over the sight of your overworked body, lying spread eagle on his desk.

“Good work Detective,” he says, admiring the sight of your commingled cum dripping out of your pussy. “Though, you’ll have to stay late tomorrow again.” 

[kurokawaia]

DON'T BE SILLY 彡 Shinazugawa Sanemi

WC; 800+ | TW/CW :: reader is very polite and timid, FEM!Reader, afab, fem!reader x sanemi, emotional distress, mentions of injury, mild language, themes of loneliness and insecurites, reader is called 'wife' + more

⋆·˚ ༘ *𝑅𝐸𝒬𝒰𝐸𝒮𝒯 : (filled request) But I was wondering, if you are a viable could you do a one shot with either iguro or shinazugawa, where the reader misses them a lot since they go on missions but doesn’t say anything because they don’t want to be clingy or anything. Instead they tell someone else (shinobu or mitsuri) who end up telling the guy about and they comfort the reader. - ANON

m.list | demon slayer m.list

Currently, you were at the Butterfly Mansion, trying to enjoy the time you have by yourself but it was really hard to do so, to enjoy it. Not even the sunset, which is beautiful, the soft glow which is about to disappear beneath the trees. No, you can't even enjoy that with the distress in your heart. Your heart aches deeply but you had to push those feelings down, you won't let your tears spill over. You won't cry. 

Sanemi is gone again, off on another dangerous mission, leaving his wife behind. You hate how much you miss him, all the smiles he shares with you, only you, his voice, his hands, how he clings to you like a cat when he wakes up. He haunts you when he's out on a mission. But you can't do anything. 

You didn't want to be that kind of person—the one who begged for attention

So, you kept it to yourself, bottling it up until you felt like you might burst. The words came tumbling out only because of Mitsuri, you can't lie to her shes your best friend, she knows when you're lying.

"I just... I miss him so much," you admitted. "I know it's silly, but I feel like I'm always waiting for him. And I can't even say anything because I don't want to seem clingy or selfish. He has enough to deal with already..."

Mitsuri gasped, her hands flying to her mouth as it dropped in shock. "That's not silly at all!" she said cupping your hands. "Sanemi should know how much you care. You're not selfish for missing someone you love."

"It's not like that! I mean—okay, maybe it is, but I don't want to bother him!"

"I'll handle this for you!" She announces already walking away from you.

Hours then passed until Sanemi finally came home. He was indefinitely tired anyone who saw him could tell that he was. He was about to head into the bath house before Mitsuri popped out in front of him, almost as if she was cornering him from going anywhere else.

"Sanemi!" she began, hands on her hips. "You're such a dummy sometimes, you know that?"

"What are you going on about, Kanroji?"

"It's your wife!" she exclaimed. "She misses you so much and feel too guilty to tell you because they don't want to seem clingy! Can you believe that?"

Sanemi froze. 

She feels what?

He pushed past Mitsuri and slides open the door abruptly to your shared room. Your head perks up to the door, seeing Sanemi standing there and you could see the worried expression on your face which made your heart ache, wondering if he is okay.

Sanemi then suddenly sat down next to the futon, elbows resting on his knees as he gazed down to you, analyzing your pretty face and he could see it, the worry on your face. 

"You missed me?" he asked.

Your eyes widened. "What? No—I mean, yes, but I—" You groaned, burying your face in your pillow. "Mitsuri told you, didn't she?"

"Yeah," he admitted. "She did."

You couldn't bring yourself to look at him, your embarrassment threatening to swallow you whole. But then you felt his hands move around your body, pulling you up into a hug, arms tightly wrapped around you and you feel as if you were going to cry because it's been so long since you've felt safe in his arms.

"Why didn't you just tell me?" he asked softly. "I'm not gonna think you're clingy or whatever crap you've been telling yourself."

"I didn't want to make things harder for you," you muttered. "You're already out there fighting for your life. The last thing you need is me whining about how much I miss you."

"Listen to me," he said firmly. "I go on those missions because I have to, yeah. But you're the reason I come back. Don't ever think for a second that missing me or wanting me around is a burden. Got it?"

Tears pricked your eyes and it wasn't too long before they began to fall and your arms tightly wrapped themselves around his neck, pulling him in closer.

"I missed you too, you know," he murmured against your hair.

He rested his chin on top of your head and his heart begins to ssync with yours, this is the first time he has felt at peace for days ever since the mission ended, he doesn't think he will ever feel calm unless he has you in his arms.

"Next time, just tell me, okay? Don't bottle it up. I'm tough, but I'm not so tough I don't want to know how you feel."

You nodded against his chest. "I will. I promise."

"Good," he said. "Because I'm not going anywhere. Cling to me all you want."

Do not copy, steal, modify, etc. Relogs and like are appreciated.

m.list | demon slayer m.list

[animemakesmeanxiouss]

Cop Bakugou (Part 1)

TW: Cops, drugs, stripper, arrest

--------------------------------------------

"Spread your legs," he commanded.

"Yes sir," I purred, placing my hands on top of the patrol car and spreading, maybe even bending over a bit more than I should've, "But shouldn't we doing this someplace more private, honey?"

The blonde officer didn't reply, but it did get a good laugh from his redheaded partner, who was patting down the other girl.

He was very thorough in his pat-down, but also very professional. A bit too professional, for my liking. Once he finished patting down my legs, I pushed against back against him, hearing a whisper of holy fucking shit and a swallow before he firmly grabbed my waist and pushed me back into the car gently to create some distance between us.

"You know, Officer Bakugou, if you wanted to feel me up that bad, you should've accept my offer for a private dance back at the club," I chuckled, "I would've given you a special discount."

"You're free to go, Miss," he said, ignoring what I'd just said.

"But you, are not," the redhead announced to the other girl, standing up after having found a small baggie filled with a white powder substance in her boot.

The poor girl scrambled for words to justify his discovery, ranging between the baggie not being hers, holding it for a friend, before settling on trying to bribe them.

"We'll fuck you if you let us go."

It took me a second before realizing what she just said.

"Bitch, who is we? I'm already free to go." I said angrily, "and I barely even know you."

Both officers gave a quick glance before the cuffs were put on her and Officer Kirishima asked blondie to put her in the car.

"Hey," he said, "I was talking to the club manager because I'm throwing this guy a surprise party and wanted to hire some girls," giving a pointed nod over to a distracted Bakugou, "But he said you don't do parties."

A party for officer Bakugou, huh?

"I don't. I might be willing to for my favorite customer, but that's gonna depend."

He arched an eyebrow, "Depend on what?"

"Whether or not it's a bachelor party," I smiled.

Kirishima smiled back, "It's not. It's for his 30th birthday, and I wanted to make sure he gets to see his favorite girl," wiggling his eyebrows.

"Well, then. I'm in."

And I couldn't wait to give him his birthday present.

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Do not copy, repost, translate, plagiarize, and process in any way, shape, or form, including through AI.

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A/N: ACAB. This is just a fantasy.

[ohmybueckers]

Never Strangers: Chapter Two

Word Count: 5.7k

Warnings: drinking, author who is terrible about being consistent with tenses, incredibly down bad main characters (be gentle with Paige and Maya guys, the first love WLW situationship breakup is ROUGH)

Authors note: Not sure exactly how I feel about this chapter, but I feel like it gives a decent amount of context. Prepare for more flashbacks next chapter. Also this is highkey not proofread so … approach with caution there.

August 26, 2023

The drive from Stamford to Storrs is about two hours, traffic permitting. My mom waits approximately 20 minutes before she begins the inevitable interrogation session into the state of my life. More specifically, the train wreck it has become.

“You know, I really think you should consider rejoining mock trial. You loved it for so long, and look how many friends you made.” She rambles, her eyes never leaving I-95. “You probably would have never met Brooke if you hadn’t joined mock trial.”

Brooke and I met as co-counselors at a mock trial summer intensive for high schoolers at Yale the summer after my freshman year of college. Turns out trying to keep track of a bunch of hormonal fifteen year olds is a bonding experience like no other. She quickly became my formerly long-distance best friend and very soon-to-be roommate. 

“I told you, I’ll check it out when I get there.” I say, half telling the truth and half just trying to get her to change the subject. Clearly, my attempt was failing.

“I just want to make sure you’re making the most of college. I know University of Minnesota was not your thing, but I want you to find your why when it comes to Connecticut.”

I sighed. One of the perks of having a therapist as a mother is that you always have someone to listen to your petty problems without judgement. The downside is that she’s always trying to dig deeper, even when I really do not want to. “My why is being close to you. Plus, UConn is close enough to New York.”

“And close to Paige.” This remark nearly makes me choke.

“Mom!”

“Sorry, sorry!” She quickly apologizes, though knowing her she knew damn well what kind of reaction she would receive. I never told her full details of what actually went down between us - maybe because I thought it would be too embarrassing, or maybe because I knew that if she ended up in my mom’s bad graces, there was no coming back from that. All she knew is that at one point we were friends, then we were more than friends, and then things got messed up and we don’t talk anymore. She also knows that I really don’t like talking about it with her. “Does she know you’re coming?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know, I didn’t tell her.” 

The last text I had sent Paige was shortly after the basketball player announced she tore her ACL. Despite the tension between us, it felt wrong to say nothing in these circumstances. Basketball was Paige’s world, and I couldn’t even fathom the grief she must have felt. I received a “thank you maya, i hope you’re doing well. miss u” in return. It took everything in me not to call the blonde after reading the last five letters. 

Thankfully, my moms line of questioning ends there, and she returns to the driving playlist we made together the night before, an eclectic mix of 80’s hits with the occasional R&B ballad. Occasionally I hear her sing along, letting the crack of fresh air from the car window flow through her almost-black hair. Some people say I’m basically her twin: same dark hair, dark eyes, olive skin, and short stature. I just wish I got a fraction of her curves.

The rest of the car ride, I alternate between reading the newest Emily Henry book and messaging Brooke, who has been sending me updates on our new apartment. She moved into a couple of days ago while my mom and I were still on our girls trip to New York City, and her texts ranged from “ill give you the room with the ensuite bathroom if i can have the bigger room” (deal) to “our neighbors are FINE” (knowing her taste in men, doubtful). 

After what feels like too long in the car (maybe I never actually got over my tendency to get carsick), we pull into a lot. there it is: My new apartment, a small building surrounded by others similar to it and tall trees, still wrapped in vibrant green hues untouched by the incoming fall. I hear a yell from across the lot as I step out, but I’m so overwhelmed by the new sensations in Storrs that it takes my brain a moment to process that the tall figure running across the lot with a truly impressive speed was my best friend.

Brooke barrels towards me, wrapping me in a hug that nearly tips me over. “About time you got here!” She grabs my shoulders, her white acrylics a comfortably familiar sensation on my skin, before turning to my mom with her award-winning smile. “It’s so good to finally meet you! I’m Brooke. Wow, you could have convinced me you two were sisters. You’re gonna have to give me your skincare routine before you leave.” She gestures to my mom, who giggles. I can tell that her day has been made.

I will never fail to tell Brooke Jones that she is perhaps the most charismatic person I have ever met. When I’m in Mock Trial, I will fight to make my voice heard. Outside of the courtroom, however, I tend to lean on the more reserved side. On the first day of counselor training, it was as if she could sniff out how nervous I was and made it her personal mission to befriend me. And one thing about Brooke: she will make you talk. Somehow I don’t mind it as much when I’m with her. 

So it’s a great sight when Brooke and my mom trail ahead of me, hands filled with various decor items and chatting (I think I hear one of them mention bringing out photos of me in seventh grade, an action I know I will have to intercept later for my own sanity).  

About three hours later, with the hard work of the three of us supplemented by SZA’s discography, my space is set up just enough to where I can sleep comfortably for the next few nights. Brooke pulls my mom in first, after getting her phone number “for emergencies”. Next, it’s my turn. 

“Alright, you know what I’m about to say.”

“We’re not going to throw a party, I know you’re worried about the security deposit.” Behind my mom’s shoulder, I could see Brooke’s brows furrow as she mouthed don’t promise that. 

“No, I meant have fun. Take risks. Find your why,” She grabs my shoulders at the last word for emphasis, and it’s hard to believe that this is my real life and not some after school motivational special. 

We embrace one last time. Despite her cheesy moments, I am reminded just how much I’m going to miss seeing my mom every day. After three years of being in closer proximity to my dad, it was nice to spend the summer in Stamford, my days filled with NYT crossword games by the water and day trips into New York City. This summer solidified that it didn’t even need to be Boston - I was just happier on the east coast. 

“I like your mom, she’s sweet.” I hear Brooke say as we watch the white Toyota leave the parking lot from our third floor window. Our view is perfect, and I picture what it will be like to watch the leaves change from it as the semester goes on. It makes the last few hours of lugging furniture and suitcases up flights of stairs worth it.

“I love her when she’s not trying to psychoanalyze every decision I make,” I chuckle, moving to continue unpacking some miscellaneous items in the kitchen.

Brooke follows me. “Is that what that whole ‘find your why’ thing was about?” 

“Got a whole interrogation in the car. Everyone in my family thinks I’m having some sort of crisis,” I place a stack of plates (a gift from my mom’s boyfriend) in a cabinet. “She even suggested I came here for Paige.”

Brooke stands there, her lips falling into a flat line. She is taking far too long to respond for my preference. My jaw falls, eyes widening. “Stop.”

Brooke lifts her hands in surrender. “Ok, I would be lying if I said it hasn’t crossed my mind.”

My head falls into my hand, fingers pinching the bridge of my nose as my eyes shut. “I swear to god, why does everyone think I chose to go to UConn because of Paige?”

“Maybe because other people definitely have.” Ok, Brooke does have a point. While I have done everything in my power to not think about the blonde, everyone else has been increasingly trying to get in her orbit. I’ve even seen a handful of edits made for her in the past few months as people anticipate her first season back from her injury.

I shake my head. “I’m not that dumb. I’m here for-“

“In-state tuition and to be closer to me and your mom, I know.” Brooke finishes, coming around to wrap one arm around me. It’s her way to both apologize and check in on me. While I appreciate the gesture, a small part of me feels guilty - like I have gotten use to people extending pity to me for one reason or another: my parent’s divorce, the move to Minnesota, Paige, transferring schools. It gets to a point where I just want to win at something.

I lean into her embrace, smelling the citrus in her hair product. “I know I was down bad for a while, but I promise I’m fine.”

I feel Brooke nod above me. “Good, because she’s kinda everywhere on campus. Even if you don’t run into her, people don’t shut up about her.” This was to be expected, a fact I have been preparing myself for months for. I decided it’s just something I’m going to have to get used to, like many things in life.

“Well, why don’t we shut up about Paige and order some food. I’m starving,” I exclaim, moving towards my phone to pull up Doordash. Perhaps my first win can be proving to people that I can thrive at UConn and absolutely not fixate on Paige Bueckers. 

“Okay, okay. You good if we invite my cousin Adria to come over too? She’s chill I swear.” I remember Brooke telling me about Adria last summer, how she was entering her freshman year at `UConn at the time. I nod in agreement, excited to host my first get together in my new space. 

////

Just an hour and a half later, the three of us are sat in the sparsely furnished living room, eating pad thai surrounded by a large collection of boxes. Upon one look at Adria when she stepped through our front door, I could tell her and Brooke were related: both had the same long legs, clear deep complexion and white smiles that looked like they belonged on billboards. Where they differed was in dress: while Brooke wore the same blue sweat set that she helped me unpack in, Adria was dressed in a simple pair of jeans and a boho white tank top, a cascade of black and blonde braids down her back and an “A” necklace around her neck. 

Adria is only a sophomore, and yet from the first hour I have known her she appears far more put together than I was at this time last year. It’s evident in the way she talks about her pre-professional sorority, or in the way she talks about getting ahead of internship applications for the next summer. It would almost be irritating if she wasn’t also so charming.

“So what brought you to UConn?” Adria asks me from the other end of the couch. 

“Well, I tried U of M. My dad and his new girlfri… new wife,” The correction felt bitter on my tongue in a way that made me feel guilty. “They live out there, so I got in-state. It just wasn’t for me. I decided to transfer here just in case I still want to go to law school, since my mom lives in-state and I don’t want to go further in debt than I need to.”

“What do you mean if you still want to go to law school?” Brooke questions, her face incredulous. “Wasn’t that your whole plan since you were in, like, fourth grade?”

I love Brooke with everything in me, on the deepest platonic soulmate level there is. I tell her everything - except for the fact that I don’t know if I still want to practice law outside of college. I guess if I said it out loud to her, the girl who I once dreamed of going to law school with, practicing in the same city with before opening a shared practice, it would become more real: that I was seemingly blowing up all I’ve known with no plan B. She already thinks me dropping mock trial is some sign of an incoming mental breakdown.

“I’m just… exploring all of my options.” I muster, though from the furrow in Adria’s brow it must not be as believable as I would have hoped. Judging by the way Brooke’s shoulders appeared to relax, however, it at least worked on her. Eager to switch the attention off of myself, I turn to the younger girl once more. “Adria, what are you studying?”

“I’m kinesiology, trying to become a physical therapist. Maybe do some athletic training?”

Brooke chokes back a laugh, waving her hand. “She’s just saying that because she’s fucking someone on the basketball team.”

If there’s one similarity between Adria and I, it’s the way both of our jaws drop at Brooke’s candor. Her cousin seems particularly taken off guard, throwing her hands up with a, “Jesus Christ, Brooke!”

I can’t help but laugh at the dynamic. “Who is he?”

“She’s on the women’s team.” The word she rings in my ears as my cheeks get hot with embarrassment. I’m literally a lesbian, I thought she was above assuming sexuality based on looks after having it done to me throughout the summer by daddy’s money frat guys in Stamford.  Adria scratched the back of her neck, her cheeks flushing. “Um, KK Arnold?” 

I’ve only seen the name in passing, during a late night scan of the women’s basketball roster that I would never admit to. KK was the new recruit from Wisconsin to my memory … or was it Indiana? 

“She got a job with athletics over the summer. Somehow her and KK crossed paths and they’ve been hooking up since.” Brooke took a bite of her noodles between sentences, filling in the gaps that Adria left. 

“We haven’t even had sex, chill.” Adria held a hand up to her sister, but the shy look never left her face. “KK’s nice though. I think I could really like her, which totally sucks because basketball players aren’t exactly the relationship type.”

“Looks like you both have the same type.” Brooke says through another bite.

Silence falls on the room, followed by a confused “What?” from Adria. 

A part of me wants to be frustrated with Brooke for bringing it up - the last thing I want is to be known at UConn as just a girl who got with the basketball star. However, Adria seems like a kind person, and she did just confide in me about KK. Part of me feels like I owe her an explanation in some sick way. With a sigh, I give her the context. “Brooke is giving me shit because a long time ago, in high school, I kinda had a thing with Paige Bueckers.”

The younger girl looks at me for a beat as if she can’t believe the words that just came out of my mouth. Once she gets a minute to reboot, she explodes “Like Paige Bueckers Paige Bueckers?Holy shit!”

“Don’t say anything, it was a really, really long time ago,” I plea, recognizing that she was acquainted to one of her teammates. Oh god, the last thing I need is KK telling Paige that her … whatever Adria was … told her that her sister’s friend is still hung up on her or something.

“I won’t, I promise.” Adria holds both hands up, a move that must be genetic. “You’re not gonna hit her up now that you’re on her campus?”

“Yeah, I’ll pass,” I say, taking a bite of my own food. I try to ignore the way my stomach flips at how Adria claimed the entirety of University of Connecticut as belonging to Paige somehow. As if there was no room for me. “She may be great at basketball, but that girl does not do emotions.”

“Well, I’m not exactly surprised.” Adria shrugs. My head snaps back up, and Brooke shoots her cousin a pointed look.

“What do you mean?”

Adria continues, “I mean, its not a secret Paige kinda has a reputation here.”

So much for not fixating on Paige Bueckers. My mind races as I ask, “What kind of reputation?” although based on her tone and the context, I can make my own educated guesses. 

“She just gets with a lot of girls on campus.” Adria speaks slowly, her expression somehow guilty. “My freshman year roommates friend got with her. Said she slept with her one night and never talked to her again.”

It’s not like I had no clue that Paige had no issue moving on from me once she got to Storrs. For one, she didn’t seem to have an issue doing such a thing when we were together in the first place. She had also heard rumors through the grapevine at school during her senior year, with people saying that they knew someone whose sister was friends with someone who got with Paige or some outlandish connection like that. Hearing confirmation from someone in Storrs somehow made it more confirmed in my mind. That all Paige wants is to kiss as many girls as possible, touch as many girls as possible, fuck as many girls as possible. Maybe that’s why she started acting so cold and things fell apart. Maybe that’s why I wasn’t enough for her, I can’t help my mind from thinking bitterly. 

“Can’t say I’m surprised.” I force myself to breeze past the conversation, knowing that I cannot dwell on the past again. After a year or two of trying to figure out where everything went wrong, I have long since realized that there is nothing else to decode. I preferred to think of Paige as a painful memory that I’ve locked far, far away - it was just easier that way. “Who wants to watch a show?”

“You good, Maya?” Brooke asks, a small smile on her face. I know she feels guilty for bringing it up in the first place. But really, I have no reason to be mad: I was the one who ended things, and years ago at that. Being hung up over Paige Bueckers was ridiculous at this point.

“Yeah.” I answer, my voice more sharp than I intended. Fuck. Shaking my head as if to shake off any sort of doubts in their mind, I smile as I stand and walk towards the kitchen. “Believe me when I say I do not care what that girl does. She can do what she wants, and so can I. And what I want right now is to drink some prosecco and watch the Bachelorette.”

The sight of me pulling out the bottle of wine seems to strip Brooke of her doubts, because she agrees with a “Hell yeah, lets do it.”

Thankfully, once the TV is on we all settle into a groove of gossiping about strangers on our TV, not the very real people in our lives. Brooke in particular is enthralled, even though I had to beg her for weeks last summer to give the show a try. Even Adria chimes in as the two contestants cry over these men with a yell of “stand the fuck up!” I am quickly reminded in this moment that these two girls are, in fact, related. At one point in the night, Adria whips out her phone and snaps a photo of Brooke and I, grinning under a pile of throw blankets with our wine glasses in hand, an act I fail to question. After all, she had been checking her phone sporadically throughout the night.

Soon enough, we catch up on the past two episodes, our heads buzzing with the wine we consumed and our eyes struggling to stay awake as we say our goodbyes for the night. Adria pulls me into a hug, my head surrounded by the scent of her vanilla perfume as she whispers, “I’m so sorry about saying that stuff about Paige. You should know you… you absolutely did not deserve that shit, whatever she did. For the record, I think you’re awesome and that its completely her loss.”

I smile, happy to hear her words even if this is just a wine happy trail of thought. “It’s okay, Adria, I promise. It was so good to finally meet you.”

Brooke walks her out, and I can barely make it through brushing my teeth and washing my face before collapsing on my bed. The mattress is not the best quality and Amazon still says my mattress topper won’t be here for a few days, but I drift off easily, my thoughts filled with nothing except gratitude for my first night in Storrs and eager for my new start.

It’s safe to say this feeling does not extend in the morning, when I am awoken by the sun blazing through my window. My mouth is dry as I reach for my phone, eager to check the time and groaning when I see it is only 7AM. My groan is not audible for long, though, as I am quickly silenced by my most recent notification. One that has been awaiting me since 12:37AM.

Paige (DO NOT CALL): You go to UConn now???

August 26, 2023

“Go, go, go… Let’s fucking go Dorka!” I yell, watching as my old teammate scored in a game against the Liberty. It’s the Saturday night before the start of classes, and while the streets of Storrs are filled with people on their first night out of the semester, my teammates and I have all been moved into our current apartments for a little over two months. When your summer breaks are filled with workouts on campus mixed with brief vacations or visits home, that first night out doesn’t exactly carry the same novelty.

Which is why some of us were sat in Nika and Azzi’s living room, game on the TV as the two hosts prepare whatever alcoholic beverage they are subjecting us to from the kitchen separated by a counter. Three of our freshmen sit in the room with us: Ashlynn is on the floor, Ice is right above her on the couch with Aaliyah and Aubrey, and KK is next to me, typing hurriedly on her phone. Being one of the oldest players this year, I feel it’s especially important for me to get to know them - not just how they play, but who they actually are off the court.

“If UConn gets me playing like that,” Ice gestures to the TV, “I’ll know I made the right decision.”

“No turning back now.” Aubrey clapped her on the back, an over exaggerated grin on her face, which Ice responded to by shoving her off playfully. Ashlynn giggles, but doesn’t respond beyond that. It’s not abnormal for her to be quiet - what is abnormal is how silent KK is, her phone apparently more interesting than any of us. Aubrey seems to notice too, because she calls over to her.

“Hey KK, what did you think of that play?” No response. The typically extroverted girl has her chin in her hand, still staring at the screen in her other hand. Ice grabs the nearest pillow to her and throws it at the girl, prompting a jolt and a startled “What?” from KK and a “Ay, cut it out!” from Nika across the counter as she stirs a pitcher of God knows what.

“Bruh, KK, you’re not even watching,” I roll my eyes.

“Probably busy texting her girl,” Aaliyah mutters, although clearly she wasn’t trying that hard to be quiet. Hold up … her girl? Now the entire room quickly turns away from the game and to the freshman, who sits up from her slouched position with a death glare.

“I told you that in private.”

“Yo what? KK, you’ve been on campus for, like, five seconds,” Nika pops in the room.

“Clearly that’s all she needs,” Ice shrugs, earning her the same pillow thrown right back at her.

“Y’all suck,” KK slumps back into the couch, crossing her arms with a slight pout. I feel bad, wondering if we’ve been too hard on the teasing.

“Ok c’mon, we’ll stop. Let’s see her.” I gesture her to bring her phone closer to me, an act that she ignores for now.

“She’s not even my girl,” she mumbles.

“Do you want her to be?” Nika asks, eyebrows raised as she steps closer. All of us watch as KK bites her bottom lip, looking down at her sneakers. Hold on… she’s blushing. I may have only known the girl for two months, but i’ve never seen her do that before.

“Holy shit,” Nika exclaims. “KK’s a lover girl.”

“Nothing to be ashamed of, just surprising is all,” Aaliyah clarifies, “not many freshmen are too into settling down.”

I notice Aaliyah, Nika, and Aubrey turn to face me, their stares deadpan. “What are you lookin’ at me for?” I exclaim, pointing at my chest. The heat rising to my face reveals that it’s no secret, even to me.

“What do you think?” Azzi calls from the next room. I sigh.

It’s no secret among the team (or anyone, really) that I had a pretty… entertaining first two years at UConn. Once COVID restrictions began lifting and the team was able to see other people outside of other players, some of the older players made it their mission to show the younger ones what they had been missing, one of those things being who they were missing. Honestly, it’s what I thought I needed at the time: being trapped in my dorm the majority of the time I wasn’t in practice gave me a lot of time to think, and with thinking came regret. More than once I jolted up in my bed in the middle of the night, dreams of dark hair, tanned skin, and that laugh replaying in my mind. It was torture.

Being in a different girl’s bed every weekend silenced it, just momentarily. Some people viewed me as a player who got off on getting any girl she wanted. The guilt of it finally caught up to me at the beginning of my sophomore year, when I thought about all of the girls I hurt, the ones who thought I wanted more than just one or two nights. It just reinforced my worst fear about myself: I was a womanizer who was incapable of caring about anything aside from basketball. 

“Aight aight,” I surrender, shifting my attention back to KK. “We not talking about me right now. Let’s see her.”

KK unlocked her phone, typing a username into the search bar before handing the phone off to me. Nika and Ice were quickly at my side, craning their necks to see a peek. The girl (Adria Taylor, I discover from her bio) is tall, with deep skin and long braids going down her back.

“She’s so pretty!” Nika gushes, and I would have to agree.

Ice, unable to resist the pink circle surrounding Adria’s profile photo, taps on the waiting story before KK can protest. The phone illuminates with a photo of two girls smiling on a couch, captioned “first night back” with a heart and a couple of mentions, presumably her friends handles. I don’t even need to take a look at what is written, however, because my eyes seem to have zeroed in on the girl further from the camera, and my mouth seems to go dry. It can’t be, but it is.

Because the girl in the photo is Maya. 

“Holy fuck.”

I don’t even realize I’ve said it until the three girls turn to look at me, confusion laced in their faces. “What?” Nika asks, concern evident. My heart is racing at a million miles an hour and my hands suddenly feel impossibly sweaty, but I refuse to reveal myself to them. 

I fake a cough, covering it with one hand while the other goes to scratch the back of my neck. “Uh, nothing. Thought I saw something but um,” Suddenly the sight of my lap clad in Nike tech sweats is the most interesting sight in the world. “She’s cute, KK.”

Almost like some sort of angel sent to save me, Azzi appears with a tray full of drinks that are a bright pink color and look entirely too sweet. “Drink it slowly guys, I’m not really sure I measured correctly.” She looks embarrassed at the admission, passing them around the room. Upon my first sip, I wince. Yep, definitely not too sweet. Will I still drink it? Yes. It would be a shame to let a perfectly good drink go to waste, and I now have something to run from tonight.

We continue watching the game, or at least I am. During commercials I spark conversations with anyone who will listen, including asking Ashlynn about some country concert she went to with her parents over the summer. I don’t even really listen to country, but it was nice to see the typically shy girl light up over something. Plus, it gave me an excuse not to think too hard.

Truthfully by the end of the night I was fucking hammered, not bothering to keep track of how many shots I chased down after whatever concoction Nika and Azzi made. Everyone in the room knew it too, to the point where Nika took it upon herself to walk me back to my apartment once the game ended, even though I only lived one floor down and KK and Aubrey were both still at her apartment. 

After I promised her I would chug some water before bed and take the pain reliever she laid out for me in the morning, she agreed to leave and let me go rest. I collapsed in my bed, which suddenly felt like the most comfortable place I had ever been. My brain, on the other hand, was providing anything but comfort running at around 100 miles an hour. Unable to resist, I look up Adria’s profile on my account, clicking the story. Sober me probably would have thought about how it would look if I showed up in her profile views, but drunk me clearly didn’t care enough. 

Sure enough, she’s sat there with a glass of wine in her hands. My heart jumps as I realize that she’s still just as beautiful as she was when I first met her, just more grown up this time. Her face is all defined cheekbones, glistening eyes, and a smile - God, that smile, that never failed to brighten my day if it was directed at me. It’s been a while since I’ve glanced at her profile - though we still follow each other, she barely ever posts and I don’t remember the last time she’s interacted with anything I’ve posted. Viewing her profile is reserved for nights where I’m filled with just enough delusion to convince myself it’s a good idea. Nope, never is. 

The girl next to her (Brooke, I assume from the tag) is leaning into her slightly in a way that makes my stomach flip. She’s not entirely unfamiliar to me - I’ve definitely seen her in a photo dump by Maya last summer. A part of me wonders if that’s the next girl that gets to treat her the way I should have. What if she came to UConn for her, I think. Nope. Can’t do that. Maya hasn’t been mine, not for a while.

The urge to reach out has died down through the years, going from entirely unbearable at times to more of a constant dull itch that I feel as though I can’t ever scratch. Her texting me after my ACL tear last summer provided temporary relief. I mean, it had to say something that she cared enough to show that she cared. A person that hates me wouldn’t do that.

But then, she never responded to my reply. A person that hates me would do that.

So yeah, there is nothing I want more in this world than to text Maya one last time, just to tell her I’m sorry. That I still think about the way I treated her, and how I’ve been too afraid to be with another girl since I’m worried I’ll do the same thing. That I know I don’t deserve her, not even platonically, but feelings aside I miss being around her. I wish we could be friends again, or acquaintances who occasionally text each other on birthdays and holidays, or something. At the very least, I want her to know I’m sorry.

But beyond everything, I want her to be happy. And if me not talking to her makes her happy, as stated the last time I saw her physically where she stated she “just needed time”, I was willing to suffer through that.

Somehow knowing she could be anywhere right now, even just a short walk away, made the suffering unbearable right now, in a way that I hadn’t felt since freshman year. 

Blame it on the alcohol, or the picture, or whatever you like. Doesn’t change the fact that I opened my contacts in search for one particular one. Doesn’t change the five word text I sent that took an embarrassingly long time to think of. And it doesn’t change how my fingers pressed send before any other doubts could enter my brain. Putting my phone on do not disturb, I plug it in and turn off my lights, deciding that chugging water can wait until tomorrow. For now, I need to sleep off everything I’ve seen tonight and the memory of what I just did. 

[cigarettesaftersae]

i'll like you - 06 iykyk

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Series: reo mikage x f!reader | contains : fluff, angst, jealousy, academic rivals, fake dating

Plotting down your wooden seat, nothing stresses you more than the thought of Yuna, and how her avoidance is extreme to the eye. How were you to cope with the silence that was once filled with Yuna’s joyful laughter? And her smile larger than a rainbow, oh her eyes brighter than the sun. Maybe holding her hand and saying sorry will help? Maybe, but her avoidance is nakedly mean. As if her skin is demonic to your angelic skin. And her skin, demonic, lays in hell with friends, Naomi. “What’s with the gloomy face?” Reo sits across from you, Nagi on his phone playing video games like the usual bum he is. A sigh first leaves your lips, “Nothing”

“What a gloomy response”

“So what” You lay your head down looking off to the side

“It’s such a hassle being gloomy” Nagi’s aloof words carry nothing but annoyance to your ears, really what did you see in him?

“Really? Maybe I should sit around all day and play on phone like ya,” You bark back, still laying down your head

“Play animal crossing, not Minecraft”

“Thanks”

“Come on, let’s go eat. You can’t just strave. If you’re gonna apologize to Yuna, you need food” You lift your head up from your warm arms. You could just lay back in the warmth whilst the cold around you waves by, let dust lay inch by inch on you, even let the bugs bite you. But you lift your head up from your warm arms to see Reo, welcomed with a smile larger than a rainbow. “Fine, but remember you said you’re buying my lunches.”

The thought that Reo’s skin would be alien to you is found untrue. I thank you Reo, forever. I miss you my love

Your appetite didn’t empathize with your belly. Sitting across from the dynamic duo, you lazily fidgeted with a plastic fork, pushing the food around your plate without actually eating. Meanwhile, the sound of gunfire and shouting emanated from Nagi’s phone, his focus entirely absorbed in his game. His own meal sat untouched, abandoned in favor of his screen.

Suddenly, the fork was whisked from your fingers, stolen by a flash of purple hair. Your full attention snapped to Reo, confusion evident on your face. What was he doing?

“Open up, ahh,” Reo said, his tone playfully insistent as he held the fork out toward you, a morsel of food perched at its tip.

“I can feed myself,” you shot back, narrowing your eyes at him.

“But you aren’t,” he countered smoothly. “Eat. I did pay for it, after all.”

You hesitated, torn between annoyance and the strange warmth of his persistent kindness. Eventually, with a soft sigh, you relented, opening your mouth and swallowing the food he offered. His smug grin didn’t go unnoticed, but you chose to ignore it.

“So,” you began cautiously, your gaze dropping back to your plate, “when are we announcing… us to the school?”

“It’s only been a week since all the commotion,” Reo said thoughtfully, leaning back slightly. “Today might be a good chance.”

“Yeah… I agree,” you murmured, straightening your posture. You straighten your back, being gloomy wasn’t ever your identify. Even so, why did Reo’s presence carry blessings to you? Something you can’t answer, so you leave it to the absence of Yuna.

“You should meet my mom formally, then,” you said suddenly.

“Already?” Reo asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah. We have to start with her. She’s a bit of a… yapper, so news will travel fast, and she’s my mom she knows everything” you explained. “Unless you have practice?”

“I can come after practice,” Reo replied quickly, his eagerness catching you off guard. “It’ll be shorter today.”

“Alright, then I’ll wait on the bleachers,” you said nonchalantly.

“You’re going to watch me practice?” Reo asked, his lips curling into a teasing smirk.

“I’ll be recording you to make fun of you with my mom,” you quipped, matching his smirk.

Reo chuckled, leaning closer. “Maybe you’ll be impressed instead of making fun of me. Especially with Nagi—he has mad skills.”

“All he does is play video games,” you deadpanned.

“She’s right,” Nagi chimed in without looking up from his phone, his voice as flat as ever.

Reo groaned, shaking his head in mock defeat. “No faith in me, huh?”

“Guess we’ll have to see.” You shrugged

“Choo choo train”

“Give me back my fork—”

“Nope, I’ll be feeding you now on”

Once stepped inside the classroom Mira encounters you, she’s been a trustworthy friend for the past few days. Maybe it was her cool charisma, or the assuring little light her eyes give. She’s the girl you’d believe your mom might’ve been in her prime days. Trustworthy yes, but quite the chatter box in terms of much secretive stuff. Something you truly didn’t mind till fallout with Yuna.

“Oh, hey Mira,” With smile you welcome her back

“Hey,” she replied, her voice carrying an edge of concern. “Came to check up on you... with everything that’s been going on.”

You glanced away, “Oh thanks. I’ve been okay.”

“I noticed you’ve been hanging out with the Mikage kid. And Nagi too,” she added, her tone bordering on curious.

“Yeah, uh, I guess we’re kinda friends now,” you admitted, scratching the back of

your neck.

Mira tilted her head, a teasing glint in her eyes. “You still like Mikage?”

“Huh—oh, right, I—” you stammered, feeling heat creep up your neck.

“We’re together, actually. Isn’t that right, my love?”

The sudden, confident voice from behind made you freeze. You turned to find Reo standing there, his signature smirk firmly in place. Arm wrapped around your shoulder, his unexpected declaration sent a jolt of shock through you, followed by a fluttering you weren’t quite ready to name. Butterflies? No. Definitely not.

This was supposed to happen tomorrow. Why was he announcing it now?

Your bewilderment mirrored the wide-eyed stares of your classmates. Every single gaze was fixed on the two of you, their curiosity palpable. Mira’s jaw had practically dropped, and you could almost hear her thoughts racing.

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught Nagi, already seated and unbothered, tapping away at his phone. Of course, he knew. Nothing phased him, it seemed.

“Oh— Reo, we weren’t supposed to tell anyone till tomorrow” You portray a romantic act back to Reo. You almost spit out a darling, but that’ll make you two sound old.

“Ahh what’s the difference, today, tomorrow? I’ll still be with you”

A collective “aww” rippled through the classroom at his words, and you could only force a wide, fixed smile until the teacher finally walked in, cutting the moment short.

“Alright, back to your seats. Mikage,” the teacher said, his tone exasperated as he gestured for Reo to move.

“Mmm, could we change seats, perhaps?” Reo replied, his tone light but entirely too smug.

“What—just go back to your seat,” you hissed under your breath, trying to push him away. But Reo simply grinned at you, that flashy smile stopping your protest in its tracks.

Turning back to the teacher, Reo asked, “Don’t you think a change would do us all some good?”

“Don’t cause such a commotion, Mikage. Just sit down,” the teacher sighed.

But Reo wasn’t done. With a confident stride, he leaned in and whispered something to the teacher. The whole class watched, captivated, as you buried your face in your hands. You didn’t need to hear to know what was happening—common sense told you Reo was baiting the teacher with his signature move: dirty money.

The teacher sighed heavily, his resolve crumbling. “Alright, I suppose it’s been a while since we had a seating change. Choose wherever you’d like.”

Cheers erupted around the room, and you groaned internally as Reo pulled out the chair right next to yours, sliding into it with a triumphant smile.

“Looks like we’re seatmates now,” he said, settling in as though it had always been his spot.

You deadpanned at him, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “Lucky me.”

At natural instincts, you look around for Yuna, her seat dripped behind Naomi. You weren’t jealous no, anger no, hurt? Yes. Out of all people Yuna could’ve look forward to, it was a two-face bitch. Given the situation though, you couldn’t do anything now. And you only have yourself to blame.

You clicked the stop button on your phone, ending the recording of Reo’s practice. You had been hoping to capture something embarrassing—maybe a fumbled kick or an awkward stumble—but, to your dismay, Reo had been good. Annoyingly good. A part of you hated to admit it, but watching him out there had been... a little impressive.

As the team wrapped up, Reo walked over to you, his strides confident, his skin glistening with sweat. He lifted his shirt to wipe his face, casually revealing a well-defined body. You caught yourself staring a second too long before quickly looking away, but not before he noticed.

“Got a little drool here,” he teased, pointing to the corner of his mouth with a smirk.

“Maybe it’s from your contagious sweat,” you shot back, scrunching your nose as if the thought disgusted you.

Reo laughed, leaning on the railing of the bleachers as he tilted his head to meet your gaze. “Contagious, huh? Must be powerful if it’s got you zoning out like that.”

“Please,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes as you stuffed your phone into your bag. “I was trying to figure out how someone as flashy as you managed to survive on a team sport.”

“Flashy and effective,” he countered, flashing you a grin that could rival the sun. “You got it all on video, didn’t you?”

“Unfortunately,” you muttered, standing up to leave. “Don’t worry, I’ll find something to make fun of later.”

Reo grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder, falling into step beside you. “Keep dreaming. I’m flawless on and off the field.”

You rolled your eyes again, but a small, unbidden smile tugged at your lips. “Sure, Mikage. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“Let me hit the showers and we’ll head off.”

Walking side by side with Reo, you couldn’t help but feel like this whole charade was something out of a cheesy rom-com. Off to introduce your new boyfriend to your mom—how wonderful this would sound to her. As you approached the gates of your house, your attention was drawn to a small, neatly wrapped box resting on the porch. Its delicate ribbon and meticulous presentation made it stand out.

“Huh… We didn’t have any deliveries scheduled,” you murmured, narrowing your eyes at the unexpected package.

“I ordered that,” Reo chimed in casually, his hands stuffed into his pockets.

You turned to him, confused. “You ordered something? For who?”

“For your mom,” he said with a proud smile.

You stared at him, half-suspicious and half-exasperated. “Ordered? What is it? A bomb?”

Reo rolled his eyes, clearly unimpressed by your dramatics. “No, silly, it’s a necklace.”

“A necklace. How much exactly?”

Reo let out a slightly nervous chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh… $7,000. I wanted to make sure I made a good first impression. Oh, and I threw in a coupon for jewelry at Mikage Corporation—plus a discount on another necklace. It'll bring it down from 1000 to 300 or less.”

“Reo!” you exclaimed, your voice a mix of shock and exasperation.

“What?!” he shot back defensively.

“It’s a first impression for my fake boyfriend! And she already knows who you are! Seven thousand—are you kidding me?”

Reo’s eyes widened, his expression caught somewhere between confusion and indignation. “Okay, but—she doesn’t know me like that. First impressions are important, you know! Oh I also order in so diamond rings for her, a side of chocolate from one the most expensive brands out there”

“No,” you said flatly, shoving the box with the lavish necklace back into his hands.

Reo scrunched his eyebrows, pouting like a child denied candy. “Why not?”

“My mom and I buy from garage sales, not Pandora or wherever you shop,” you replied, your tone sharp but truthful.

Reo opened his mouth, probably ready with another dramatic rebuttal, but before he could speak, the front door swung open. There stood your mom, her curious eyes flickering between the two of you.

“O-oh, hey, Mom!” you stammered, nervousness bubbling up as you attempted a casual smile. “This is, uh—”

“I’m Reo Mikage,” Reo interrupted, stepping forward with a dazzling smile. He gave her a respectful bow, oozing politeness.

Your mom squinted at him, a thoughtful expression spreading across her face. “I think I’ve heard of you before…”

Reo’s smile brightened, his confidence soaring. “You have?” he asked eagerly, clearly relishing the recognition.

You chime in “Probably on the news or something.”

“No, I don’t watch the news.” She waved dismissively, her gaze shifting toward you, her grin widening. “It was from my daughter. She talks about you a lot.”

Your heart dropped, panic flashing across your face. “Then that must’ve been the news I was talking about!” you blurted out, desperate to redirect the conversation.

Your mom’s teasing smirk said it all—she wasn’t buying it. You knew deep down that she was playing with you, using every little thing you’d vented about to her over the months. Maybe spilling all your frustrations about Reo to her hadn’t been the smartest move after all.

“Well come in, come in.”

Once settled down in your living room, the warm tea in your hands worked wonders, its calming aroma and heat dissolving some of the tension that had built up. Across the modest wooden coffee table, your mom sat with an amused smile, her sharp eyes darting between you and Reo. Meanwhile, Reo’s tall frame seemed almost too large for your cozy living room. His long legs were tucked awkwardly, his usual self-assured aura slightly muted in the presence of your mom.

The conversation was light at first—updates on your mom’s hobbies, her garden, and her recent bargain finds at garage sales. But you were careful, very careful, to steer away from mentioning the true nature of your and Reo’s relationship.

“So,” your mom began, her tone casual but with an unmistakable edge of curiosity, “how did you two meet?”

You froze slightly, gripping your cup just a bit tighter. Reo, ever the smooth talker, leaned forward with a charming smile. “We actually met through some mutual friends. It wasn’t anything planned, but, well, sometimes things just work out perfectly.”

Your mom raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical but entertained. “Perfectly, huh? You’ve got some stories to share, I bet.”

“Oh, plenty,” Reo said with a soft laugh. “But most of them make me look bad, so I’ll save those for another day.”

You glanced at him, your eyes silently pleading for him not to overdo it. Reo seemed to sense it, his hand brushing against yours briefly on the couch as if to reassure you.

“Well,” your mom said, her tone shifting to something more teasing, “you seem to get along pretty well. Must be serious if you’re bringing him home, sweetheart.”

You let out a nervous laugh, feeling the tea in your stomach churn slightly. “Mom, it’s not—”

“She’s been great,” Reo interrupted smoothly, cutting off your attempt to defuse the situation. “Honestly, I’m really lucky.”

Your gaze lingered on him, his profile seemingly untouched by nerves or uncertainty. The casual confidence in his tone and the soft smile playing on his lips—it was so natural, almost too convincing.

Was it just part of the charade? Or did he mean it?

You swallowed, your thoughts racing. Maybe he was just playing his part perfectly. After all, Reo Mikage was nothing if not composed under pressure. But the way his eyes flickered toward you as he spoke, softening for just a fraction of a second—it felt... real.

Your mom’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts. “Well, if you’re lucky, then I hope you’re not taking that for granted.” Her sharp tone cut through the moment, her teasing grin making it clear she wasn’t letting him off easy.

“Of course not,” Reo said smoothly, turning his full attention to her. “I wouldn’t dare. I know how special she is.”

Your heart skipped a beat. Whether it was rehearsed or genuine, the sincerity in his words was enough to make your cheeks warm.

Your mom chuckled, clearly amused by his quick responses. “Alright, Mr. Smooth Talker. You’ve passed the first round. Let’s see how you hold up for the rest of the visit.”

Reo grinned, undeterred. “I’ll do my best.”

You looked away, trying to focus on anything but him. Your thoughts were betraying you, stirring emotions you hadn’t anticipated. If he was this convincing, how much of it was an act? And more importantly—how much of you was starting to hope it wasn’t?

.

.

.

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

I was thinking about something you said, that these would be the longest Invictus Games lasting 2 weeks, maybe that's why they may take the children to avoid comments about her leaving the children to merch in Canada

But what about school? isn't there school in the US in February?

Yes, the US has school in February but it doesn't matter.

Archie's only 5. He's in kindergarten. If the Sussexes take him out for 2 weeks, it's not really going to mess anything up.

The younger your child is, the less impactful missing school is. Since Archie is only 5, he won't miss much, if anything at all. Kindergarten is mostly a year where kids learn how to coexist with other kids through structured play in an instructional environment - it's building blocks for actual education (e.g. they're learning how to line up quietly, how to listen and follow instructions, how read and write, how to cooperate, how to clean up after themselves, how to sit quietly, etc.). He's not actually being graded on anything and even if he was, it's on a kiddie version of pass/fail.

(In Virginia, kids don't get numerical or letter grades until 3rd or 4th grades/ages 8 or 9. Not sure what it is in California.)

But on the other hand, we don't actually know that Archie is enrolled in school. We assume he is, but it's never been specifically announced (just a couple of leaks). For all we know, maybe Archie is being homeschooled. And if Archie is being homeschooled (or unschooled, in some homeschooling cases), then it wouldn't matter. The school travels with him.

I'm not sure what it's like elsewhere around the world but here in the US, it's no big deal to pull your kid out of school for a couple of days at a time. It happens all the time. Sometimes it's for family vacations. Other times it's for unavoidable reasons (like medical procedures or sick/dying relatives). What usually happens in this case is the parents will notify the school/teacher, the teacher may prepare a homework packet for the kid to work on, the family goes away, the kid doesn't do the schoolwork until they get back home, and the teacher rolls their eyes and spends a couple of days getting the kid back on track with their peers.

In fact, there's a growing movement in younger education to not give the kids who go out for family vacation a prep packet (at least among my teacher friends, there is). Everyone knows the kid isn't going to do the work and the parents won't make them, so the teachers are adopting the mindset of "family time is more important than academic time" because in some cases, it actually is - the kids learn more being with their parents in new environments through passive observation than if they were stuck in a hotel room doing times tables.

Also, I think I mispoke about 2 weeks. I double-checked and the games are from February 8th to February 16th (8 days). But I got the "2 weeks" report from Sussex PR, so maybe Harry plans to go early? Or there are a few days of pre-events like at the Olympics? I don't know. It's a little weird. But the games itself are only 8 days long (5 week days) and that's not any time to affect Archie's schooling.

[itsgivingmami]

Unyielding- Rhea Ripley

After a shocking phone call turns Rheas world upside down, she rushes to the hospital to find her roommate—her closest confidant and secret crush—recovering from a car accident. As emotions run high, the tension between them shifts, forcing Rhea to confront the truth: some bonds are too unyielding to ignore.

Likes,comments and reblogs always appreciated💛😈

As Rhea Ripley stood in the bustling airport terminal, her phone rang, its tone cutting through the ambient noise. Glancing at the screen, she saw an unfamiliar number displayed. She wasn’t sure why she felt compelled to pick it up—maybe residual anxiety or sleep deprivation. The fact that she’d texted you almost two hours ago and heard nothing back gnawed at her.

“Hello, is this Rhea Ripley?” a calm voice inquired.

“Yes, this is she,” Rhea replied, her voice tinged with apprehension.

“Ms. Ripley, this is Nurse Thompson from L.A. General Hospital. Your roommate has been admitted following a car accident.”

Rhea’s breath caught, her world narrowing to the words coming through the phone. “Uh, okay, fuck, I… I’m about to board a flight home.”

“I understand this is overwhelming,” Nurse Thompson said gently. “She’s conscious and talking with her doctor.”

“Thank you,” Rhea managed to say before ending the call, her hands trembling. Could’ve led with that, she thought, frustration mingling with relief.

She stood motionless for a moment, the weight of the news pressing down on her. The announcement for her flight echoed in the background, but her focus had shifted entirely. She handed the gate agent her ticket and headed down the terminal, feet feeling heavier than any weight she’d lifted. She sat in her seat with her hood up, trying to steady her racing thoughts.

~

“Miss,” the nurse assigned to you for the past few hours peeked around the curtain, her overwhelming positivity evident. You offered her a tired smile in return.

“I’ve been gone for three days,” Rhea groaned, her eyes scanning your body for injuries. Her hands clenched and unclenched, torn between wanting to hold you and fearing she might cause you pain. “I thought you might set our place on fire, but crashing your car and a concussion…”

“Someone t-boned my car; I didn’t crash it,” you defended yourself, though it seemed she didn’t hear you. “Hey, I’m okay,” you tried again.

“No, you’re clearly not,” she retorted, her eyes burning as they met yours. You swallowed thickly. “You’re sitting in a hospital bed with a head injury.”

“It’s minor; it won’t mess with your schedule,” you said, hoping to ease her concern.

Rhea’s eyes narrowed, her frustration evident. “Won’t mess with…?” She sighed angrily, gripping the metal rail on the side of your bed as she leaned down, closing her eyes. “That isn’t my concern.”

Her scoff confused you as you tried to understand why your roommate was so upset.

“No, I guess I shouldn’t assume you’d take care of m—” you began, but she pushed off the rail, rubbing her hands over her face as she laughed quietly.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” Rhea hissed, pacing within the confined space of the room.

The tension in the room was palpable, a mix of concern, frustration, and unspoken emotions hanging in the air.

Rhea’s pacing halted abruptly, her eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. “I can’t leave you alone for one second without you hurting yourself, can I?”

You opened your mouth to respond, your voice soft. “I mean, I’m fine, so it’s oka—”

“No,” she interrupted, her tone firm and edged with frustration. “It’s not okay. Not when I feel like I’m going to go batshit fucking crazy, thinking about you being hurt.”

The room fell into a heavy silence, the weight of her words settling over you both. You reached out, your fingers brushing against her hand, offering a silent apology and seeking reassurance.

Rhea’s gaze softened at your touch, her fingers intertwining with yours. “I just… I can’t bear the thought of losing you,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

You squeezed her hand gently, your eyes meeting hers with a promise. “I’m not going anywhere,” you assured her.

Rhea’s eyes, previously stormy with concern, now softened as she gazed at you. The tension in her shoulders eased, and she took a tentative step closer, her fingers gently brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear. The warmth of her touch sent a comforting shiver down your spine, grounding you in the reality of the moment.

“I’m sorry for worrying you,” you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion.

She shook her head slowly, a small, tender smile playing on her lips. “Just promise me you’ll be more careful,” she murmured, her breath mingling with yours as she leaned in, the proximity creating a charged intimacy between you.

“I promise,” you replied, your words a mere breath against her lips.

The space between you seemed to disappear as Rhea closed the distance, her lips meeting yours in a kiss that was both gentle and profound. The world outside the hospital room faded away, leaving only the sensation of her warmth enveloping you. Her lips were soft, moving with a tenderness that spoke of unspoken promises and deep affection.

As the kiss deepened, her hand cupped your cheek, her thumb tracing soothing circles against your skin. The connection between you was palpable, a silent communication of love and reassurance that words could never fully convey.

When you finally parted, both breathless and hearts racing, Rhea rested her forehead against yours, her eyes closed as if savoring the closeness. “I love you,” she whispered, the words a sacred vow between you.

“I love you too,” you replied, your voice filled with unwavering certainty.

I don’t know what this is I was high and inspired and then came back to it…🤷🏻‍♀️😂

[galaxysupreme17]

A Coven Road Trip

Y/n = Your Name

Agathario x daughter!reader

Coven of Chaos x teen!fem!reader!

The mid-morning sun glinted off the SUV’s windshield as the Coven of Chaos embarked on their magical retreat. Stacked with snacks, luggage, and a healthy dose of chaos, the cramped vehicle was an explosive powder keg waiting for the first spark. Y/n, wedged between Agatha and Jen in the middle seat, was already feeling the tension rise as Rio expertly swerved around a tight corner, narrowly avoiding a truck.

“Rio!” Billy yelped from the backseat, clutching the armrest for dear life. “Could you maybe not drive like Hydra is chasing us?”

“Hydra doesn’t scare me,” Rio said calmly, her hands relaxed on the wheel as if she were cruising down a suburban street. “Besides, we’ll get there faster if I—” She jerked the wheel to avoid a pothole, and everyone in the car tilted sharply to the left.

“Mama, I think I just saw my life flash before my eyes,” Nicky groaned dramatically, clutching the seatbelt across his chest.

“You’ll be fine,” Agatha replied without looking up from her book. She was completely unbothered, her arm draped protectively over Y/n’s shoulder as her daughter snoozed peacefully against her. It starkly contrasted Jen, who was gripping the door handle so tightly her knuckles were white.

“Why are you so calm?” Jen hissed at Agatha. “Rio is a menace behind the wheel!”

Agatha smirked, finally looking up from her novel. “Because I’ve survived worse. Plus, I trust my wife. She’s a very… effective driver.”

“That’s not reassuring!” Billy exclaimed, eyes wide as Rio executed a flawless yet terrifyingly fast merge onto the highway.

In the driver’s seat, Rio’s lips quirked into a small, knowing smile. She glanced at the rearview mirror, catching Billy’s terrified expression. “Relax, Billy. We’ll make it there in one piece.”

“That remains to be seen,” muttered Alice, seated in the back row beside Lilia. The latter was busy fiddling with the car’s Bluetooth system, attempting to connect her ancient playlist.

“I got it!” Lilia announced triumphantly as a hauntingly operatic tune from centuries past blared through the speakers.

“Oh, come on,” Billy groaned, leaning forward. “I was about to connect my phone!”

“You snooze, you lose, kid,” Lilia said, reclining smugly. “This is real music. Let’s educate your young ears.”

“Educate?” Nicky interjected with a raised brow. “This sounds like the soundtrack to a haunted castle. Maybe let Billy have a turn before I start summoning ghosts.”

“Hilarious,” Lilia deadpanned, rolling her eyes. “But no.”

Billy groaned again, louder this time. “Y/n, help me out here!”

Y/n stirred, blinking sleepily. She glanced around, assessing the situation with half-closed eyes before mumbling, “Lilia’s got seniority. Deal with it, Billy.” Then she nestled back against Agatha’s shoulder.

“Traitor,” Billy muttered, crossing his arms.

“At least she’s not complaining,” Rio quipped from the front, her voice tinged with sarcasm. “Unlike some people.”

“Speaking of complaining,” Jen interrupted, pointing at the map on her phone, “you missed the exit ten minutes ago! We need to turn around.”

“We don’t need to turn around,” Agatha said coolly, her eyes still scanning the pages of her book. “There’s another route up ahead.”

“No, there isn’t!” Jen shot back, her tone sharp. “If we keep going this way, we’ll be in the middle of nowhere.”

“Perfect place for a magical retreat, don’t you think?” Agatha countered with a sly grin.

Y/n groaned, rubbing her temples. “Mama, Jen, please, can we not argue? I’ll start crying, and you know what happens when I cry.”

The SUV went silent. Agatha’s expression immediately softened as she turned to her daughter. “Sweetheart, no need for tears. We’ll sort this out.” She shot a pointed look at Jen, who rolled her eyes but relented.

“Fine,” Jen muttered. “But if we end up lost in the woods, I blame you.”

“Duly noted,” Agatha replied, her smirk returning.

The car settled into a tenuous peace, though the atmosphere remained tense. Billy slumped against the window, sulking as Lilia’s music played on. On the other hand, Nicky leaned forward, resting his chin on the back of Y/n’s seat.

“Hey, Mama,” he said, a mischievous glint in his eye. “How do you put up with all of this? It’s like a circus in here.”

Agatha chuckled. “It’s called patience, darling. You might want to practice some.”

“Patience? With these people?” Nicky teased, gesturing broadly. “I’ll need a lot more snacks for that.”

Y/n tossed a granola bar at him, hitting him square in the chest. “There. Consider it a down payment.”

“Thanks, Y/n/n,” Nicky said with mock sincerity, unwrapping the bar. “You’re the real MVP.”

“Don’t encourage him,” Billy muttered, still pouting about the music.

The SUV pulled into a gas station an hour later. While Rio refueled, Agatha stretched her legs, her commanding presence drawing attention even in the mundane setting. Y/n followed, leaning against the car as she watched her family interact. Despite the chaos, a warmth in their dynamic made her smile.

“Feeling okay, sweetheart?” Agatha asked, noticing the soft expression on her daughter’s face.

Y/n nodded. “Yeah. It’s just… nice, you know? Being with everyone, even if it’s a bit of a mess.”

Agatha chuckled, pulling her daughter into a side hug. “A bit of a mess is an understatement. But it’s our mess.”

Nicky wandered over, hands stuffed in his pockets. “So, what’s the plan when we get there? Group meditation? Ritual chanting? Or are we just winging it like usual?”

“A little of everything,” Agatha replied. “You’ll see soon enough.”

“Great,” Nicky said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Can’t wait to see what chaos you all have cooked up this time.”

Rio approached the group, her gaze softening as she took in her family. She ruffled Nicky’s hair affectionately, wrapping an arm around his shoulders before turning to Y/n. “You holding up okay, princess?”

Y/n smiled up at her, nodding. “I’m good, Mami. Thanks for not hitting any more potholes.”

Rio smirked. “No promises on the way back.”

The final stretch of the drive was quieter, with Y/n and Nicky taking turns telling stories from their childhood to entertain Billy. Even Rio chimed in occasionally, sharing a rare anecdote that left everyone laughing.

When they finally arrived at the cabin nestled in the mountains, the tension had melted away, replaced by a sense of camaraderie. The group spilled out of the SUV, stretching and surveying their surroundings.

“Home sweet home,” Rio declared, tossing the keys to Agatha. “Next time, someone else can drive.”

“Noted,” Jen said, still looking a little pale. “But I’m definitely not volunteering.”

As they unloaded the car, Y/n caught Billy’s eye. “Still scared for everyone’s sanity?” she teased.

“Absolutely,” he replied, though his grin betrayed him. “But I guess there’s no one else I’d rather go insane with.”

“Hear, hear,” Nicky said, slinging an arm around Y/n’s shoulders. “Let the chaos begin.”

Y/n laughed, pulling her brother and Billy into a loose hug as they headed inside. Rio watched them fondly from the porch, her arm slipping around Agatha’s waist. “Our kids are something else,” she murmured.

Agatha smiled, leaning into her wife. “Perfectly chaotic, just like us,” she quipped with a smirk.

The retreat had only begun, but Y/n already knew it would be an unforgettable weekend with her chaotic, magical family.

[hinamie]

i loved the colours in this scene too much not to do a redraw

[wordfather]

hey guys, serious post here. i'm taking a break from tumblr for a while. i'm just not in a good place mentally rn. i promise i'll be okay, i just need to step away for a bit. i love you guys, take care <3 Romeo will watch over the blog whilst im gone everyone say hi Romeo:

[kirsicca]

going through my dashboard this seems to be an unpopular opinion, but... i'm glad they're still working on ts4 instead of moving on to next big sims game, because despite everything it still holds the title of my favorite game ever and i'm not ready to emotionally invest in some new game yet. Sure, i'm not on board with every new thing that i've heard about recently, but overall i still think the game has so much to offer and so much potential - at least to me - that i'd hate to see it buried yet.