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cherrysweets-world · 16 hours ago

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Eyes of the Gods XI

series masterlist - part ten

Pairing: Geta x fem!Reader x Caracalla

Summary: You dream of the future of Rome

Warnings: 18+, minors dni, unhealthy relationships, controlling behavior, period typical sexism, obsessive/possessive/ relationships, talk of pregnancy, historical inaccuracies, manipulative behavior, jealousy, mentions of slaves/slavery, mentions of miscarriage(not readers), past domestic abuse, unedited

Word Count: 5.5k

With Macrinus safely detained, the palace descended into uneasy silence once more. Macrinus was stubborn; he had yet to reveal what poison he had used but the healer had not been overly concerned. Other than some irritation and bruising at the back of your throat and a slightly unsettled stomach, you were miraculously fine.

It would have turned out differently if Caracalla hadn't been so quick or you had not noticed the difference in the taste of the wine. The 'what ifs' continued to flit around your mind as your hand curled around your stomach, fingers trembling.

It had taken what seemed like hours for Caracalla and Geta to fall asleep. They lay on either side of you, Caracalla's hand on your left shoulder and Geta's on your chest. Caracalla occasionally thrashed in his sleep, seemingly choked with panic , but he seemed to have settled down in the last half hour.

Before, when it had been just your life in danger, you had not felt quite so torn. You had even proven that you were able to somewhat defend yourself. And whilst the ferocity of the emperors was an issue for most, you had found yourself benefitting from it, becoming complacent.

That was not what you wanted for any child of yours. To have to constantly be alert, ready for some kind of attack. The worst being the one you couldn't even see, like poison.

Your thumb idly brushed over your stomach. It was too early to tell whether you were with child and then, of course, there was the poison to consider. Women lost children all the time, even without outside interference. The inner workings of your womb were a mystery to you.

Your throat throbbed. In your mind you saw a child, red-haired and giggly, and already you knew you would do anything to protect them. Anything.

The air was still and tranquil. You lifted your hand from your stomach and wrapped your fingers around Caracalla's warm hand, lifting it to your mouth a pressing a soft kiss against it. You did the same for Geta before slowly easing out of their arms and shuffling to the edge of the bed.

Your feet were cold against the floor. If they wake up, you told yourself, I shall take it as a sign and think of this no more.

Seconds passed, then minutes. The emperors did not stir.

Serenity overcame you as you accepted the actions you would take next. You could not stay, waiting to find out whether you were with child, only for that child to later come to harm. That would destroy you. Not for the first time, you wondered what kind of man your father had been to raise a hand to his only daughter.

Still, a part of you hoped the emperors would wake and demand that you get back into bed, even as you padded across the room and eased open the door to face the Praetorians.

There were only four stationed outside the door. Many had been sent to guard Macrinus, as though he might manage some miraculous escape, and there were more stationed at all entrances to the palace.

"I am going to visit the healer," you lied smoothly, easily. "I only need one of you to accompany me."

The halls were still and bathed in moonlight as you got further and further away from the emperors'. You had taken advantage of the Praetorians and the fact they would not question you. You forced yourself to set aside your rapidly building guilt.

You had no real plan. Instead you were relying on guidance from the fates. If your attempt was unsuccessful, then that simply meant your destiny was here, with the emperors. If you were successful. . .

As you approached the infirmary, you saw a female slave pause at the entrance, glancing over at you before dipping inside. The beginning of an idea began to take root inside as you got closer and closer, the potent smell of remedies and tonics swirling around your head.

You stopped at the door of the infirmary, glancing back over at the Praetorian. "I would prefer to visit alone."

The man looked uneasy but ultimately agreed. He opened the door for you and you cringed at the noise it made before slipping inside, pressing your palms against it so that it would not make a sound.

The room consisted of two main chambers; the entry way and then the infirmary itself. You could hear the groans of the sick and the low tone of the healer as he talked with someone - probably the woman from before.

You had been here only once before but if your memory was correct, you could find what you were looking for in the set of draws closest to you. You painstakingly pulled the draw open, anxiously glancing over your shoulder for any sign of more guards or the healer.

The draw was full of tunics, just like the ones you had worn before. These ones were perhaps a bit rattier from frequent washes but that was even better. Silently you pulled one out, dropping it on top of the draws before yanking off your own clothing, followed by the jewels the emperors had given you. You left a single bejeweled pin in your hair, tucking it as deep as you could and arranging your hair around it.

Stupid, stupid, stupid, your mind insisted. You did not care. You needed to get away, to be alone with your thoughts. Your mind was a jumbled mess that you had no hope of untangling without the aid of time.

You folded the clothing around the jewelry, giving the cuffs one last mournful stare, before gently placing them in the draw and pushing it shut. There was no telling how much time you had left and getting caught at this point would mean you would have a lot more to explain.

In the other room, you could hear the woman and healer moving about. Heart-pounding, you tugged on the tunic and smoothed it out before attending to your hair. The woman had been of similar build to you, her hair a similar shade, and you arranged yours to mimic hers.

Before it was too late, you went to the door and pulled it open. There was a chance the healer might get curious and come to see who was there so you let it fall shut quickly and did not look at the guard. He was stood with his back to the door, spear at his side. You scanned his side profile once, searching for suspicion, before turning your back to him and beginning to quietly tread away.

It was a pain to make sure you did not turn back or walk too quickly, lest you look suspicious. You kept expecting to hear the shout of the Praetorian, or the questioning tone of the healer. Neither of these things happened. If you had not been so preoccupied with trying to breath steadily, you would have been speechless at your fortune.

Naturally, you headed for the kitchens. That might have been the worst place to go before but now there was no-one there to recognise you. You entered the stairway, finally allowing yourself to descend into a swift pace. It was not inherently suspicious; in fact, it made it more likely that anyone who saw you would leave you alone, assuming you had been sent on some errand by an impatient master.

You paused only once to glance around the room where you had spent so many years of your life. The kitchen was not completely empty but the men at the stove hardly spared you a glance, too busy spooning soup into their mouths.

The kitchen had provided security, food and warmth to you on many an occasion. You could smell the day's food lingering in the warm air. It was also potentially the first place the emperors would come looking for you, so with once last look, you pried your fingers from the entrance and dove deeper into the slaves' quarters, heading for the exit.

Far too late to turn back now.

As expected, there were more Praetorians stationed at the exit. Your hands began to sweat as you approached them. It was impossible to predict whether one of them would notice you, even without the luxurious clothing and jewellery.

You came to a stop in front of the guard who stood directly in your way, leering down at you with hard eyes. He searched you for the mark of a slave but did not find one.

"Where are you going?" he asked, breath wafting down into your face.

"An errand for the healer," you swallowed, the motion painful.

"At this hour?"

"He said it could not wait."

The other guards were beginning to turn around, curious. If one of them recognised you it would be over. You could not even begin to imagine the type of punishment you might face.

Finally the guard grunted, moving aside to let you pass. You tried not to allow your relief to show on your face. Instead you nodded your thanks, lowering your head once more before passing by all the guards without a peep. It felt as though you were passing through a pack of dogs who may catch your scent and alert their owners at any moment.

Sweat beaded along your brow and you swiped at it as inconspicuously as possible. Each step felt like a mile but you did not stop, not even as you began to feel the palace at your back, looming over you. Your eyes began to sting and still you did not stop, the night enveloping you like the old friend it had once been.

You walked on, and on, and on.

The stench of the cells was almost indescribable. Piss, blood and fear. Geta breathed in the latter, let it settle in his chest, reminded himself of whose fear it was. Reminded himself that he was the one in charge.

The Praetorians stopped outside a specific cell, flanking him on either side. Macrinus was sat at the very back, spine pressed against the wall and chin held high. His skin looked sallow already from a single night, dark eyes peering out at him with pure hate.

Perhaps that would have disturbed Geta before. This was, after all, the same man who had pandered to him and fawned over his brother for several months now. How had he been so blind? How long would it have been before Macrinus plunged a knife into his back?

Somehow, none of that felt like it mattered anymore.

Geta leaned forward until his chest brushed against the grimy bars. "You have one chance to answer, master of lies."

Macrinus laughed loudly, smugly. "What poison did I use on your lady love?"

"Where is she?"

Macrinus paused, smile twitching on his lips before they pulled back into a fully-fledged grin. He clapped his hands together, letting out a bark of laughter. "She is gone? Truly? Well, I hope you don't mind my saying so, but I do wish she had chosen to go a day or two earlier. Might have saved me from all this trouble.”

Geta slammed his palms against the bars, the sound ringing throughout the dimly lit room. He observed Macrinus a moment longer before turning to the Praetorians. As much as Geta wanted to torture Macrinus himself, he had other priorities.

"See to him," he spat, "make sure he understands that this is not a laughing matter."

Geta was almost at the foot of the stairs by the time the yelling started. He lingered for a second, waiting for satisfaction to hit, but it did not. Instead his chest felt tight, uncomfortable.

Torturing Macrinus did not bring you back.

Part of him had known Macrinus had no direct hand in your leaving. Geta recalled your shiny, panicked eyes, the wobbly smile you had given him before going to bed. Fear of Macrinus, of others like him, had driven you to do something incredibly reckless.

It was something Geta almost understood - almost. Mostly he was angry and shaken by your absence. Understanding could come after you were returned to his side. For now there was only panic and the faint realization that somehow, at some point, he was going to have to tell his brother.

You spent the rest of the night curled up in the streets, as close to a fire as you dared get without drawing too much attention to yourself. When the sun rose you rose with it, stretching your arms above your head and brushing the dirt from the creases of your tunic.

There was nowhere to go, no-one to see. Aimless, you began to walk. If you stayed in one place too long you were certain the Praetorians would soon stumble upon you. You dragged your feet, kicking up tiny dust clouds as you trod on.

You supposed that eventually you would have to find employment elsewhere. The single pin you had kept would get you a bed for a couple nights as well as a few necessities. It was worth more than that, no doubt, but you would have to downplay it's value in order to avoid suspicion about how you had acquired such a thing.

Your hand drifted up to your hair, brushing against the pin you had buried in it. It would be hard to give it up and you were not ready. You swallowed thickly, barely noticing your own thirst, and continued on.

You stuck to side streets, avoiding the markets and stalls. The Praetorians arrived sooner than you had assumed. At first you were not sure whether they had been sent to look for you but when you saw them stopping merchants and children, grilling them with questions, you knew you had to be more careful.

Every corner you turned there was more of them. You squatted to press your hands into the rough surface of the street, running them over your tunic and eventually your face. Tiny stones stung as they rubbed against your palms but it felt necessary. It was likely they were looking for some fresh faced, well-dressed young woman rather than some rumpled slave.

Hopelessly, you drifted through the side-streets until deciding that it was maybe better to hide in plain sight. You rambled through the marketplace, keeping your body angled firmly away from any passing guards, pretending to examine the merchandise. You got more than a few dirty looks from merchants who probably assumed you were planning on stealing. You made sure to keep your hands in plain sight at all times, lest anyone kick up a fuss.

As the morning trickled by and made way for the afternoon, it became difficult to ignore the hunger brewing in your stomach and the thirst that was beginning to turn your tongue into an immovable object. Several times you thought about stopping, about trading your pin away, but the thought of drinking some untested wine or posca made you sick.

You had not expected this new aversion to liquid and it only served to make your life more difficult. Every time your throat itched with thirst you remembered Caracalla kneeling in front of you, forcing you to empty the contents of your stomach.

I could drink if they were here, you thought, leaning against the side of a building. There would be no need to worry then, because they would not allow any harm to come to you.

With a sigh, you pushed off of the building. You could hear the sound of playing children ahead and followed it, curious. A long time had passed since you had played in the street with your friends as a child. Even then it wasn't something you had been allowed to do often, thanks to your father.

You thought again of the child you might be carrying. What kind of life would they live? Out here, with you, there would be poverty but also joy. You would not be the type of parent your father had been. You imagined yourself as your mother, gentle, reassuring. You missed her now more than ever and mourned over the loss of any advice she may have been able to give.

Your own situation was vastly different to hers but a mother's input could be a valuable thing. You could not imagine how she had lived all those months when you were still small, still fragile. How she had protected you from your fathers quick temper, you did not know.

You imagined your own child and whom they might resemble. Already you felt fiercely protective over a being that may not even exist. A pang of guilt stabbed at your chest as you thought about Geta and Caracalla, distracting yourself with thoughts of what kind of fathers they may have been.

You rounded a corner and almost collided with a running child. Their speed almost took the pair of you to the ground but you managed to steady yourself, the beginning of a smile playing on your lips.

"Sorry!" the child said, offering you an apologetic grin before speeding off.

You watched as he darted about with his friends, playing some game that you had not seen since your own youth. You settled back against a wall and watched, amused.

Palatine Hill was calling you. The emperors were calling you. There was an ache in your bones that was not caused by an ailment that could be cured with medicine.

How had you come to yearn for the two people who you had once feared? You thought back to that day in the kitchens, the way you would have done anything to avoid their attention. Now their eyes were no longer on you and you felt their absence more keenly that anticipated.

The palace had always been a home of sorts. It had kept you fed, clean, clothed. All of that felt like nothing compared to the way you had felt beside the emperors or between them in bed. Fear had given way to something that was, in some ways, scarier.

It was not just fright for your potential child that had made you walk from their room earlier. Only now could you admit it, admit that your own blossoming feelings had sent you reeling and running scared.

How could they not? If you were to admit to how you felt, things would change. You would have to acknowledge that, despite the way they treated those around you, despite the terror they brought upon the citizens of Rome, Caracalla and Geta had clawed their way into your heart so viciously that you were not certain you could remove them without causing yourself physical pain.

"I am a fool," you whispered to yourself, "a selfish fool. Minerva, grant me your wisdom. I need it now, more than before.”

Once again your eyes were drawn to the children. Your hand settled on your stomach again as your mind clouded with thoughts of the emperors.

Geta had said your child would be heir, future emperor or empress of Rome. Maybe it was naive to believe him, but you did.

Geta and Caracalla could be cruel, vicious, despite the tiny changes they had made in the last few months. But your child would not only have them - they would have you.

You knew yourself to be kind, compassionate, empathetic almost to your own detriment. What would Rome be like if she had a ruler with these qualities as well as the necessary strength and decisiveness? A ruler who did not have to fear for their life because they were beloved by their people?

Your mind began to race with hope as you gnawed on your bottom lip. You struggled with trusting your own choices, but something about this felt right.

For once you saw Rome for what she could be, rather than the harsh reality of what she was. You saw yourself with the emperors, safe and content, belly swollen with the future of Rome. Your closed your eyes, let the image sink in. There were countless risks but the rewards were plenty. Not just for you but for Caracalla and Geta. For the people of Rome.

All you had to do was believe that they would protect you and your child. And had they not done that thus far?

You loved Rome for what she was, despite her flaws. You loved your emperors in the same way.

With a shaky breath, you turned and began to make your way back to Palatine Hill. There was no way of telling what reception you would get but you felt certain that you must face it regardless.

Caracalla was disturbingly quiet.

After an hour had passed and there had still been no sign of you, Geta finally told him. Your clothes and jewelry had been discovered not long after and Caracalla sat with them now, fingers opening and closing around the fabric.

Geta had had them brought to Caracalla's rooms where they could discuss you privately. The tale of your escape was slowly unwinding. Your disguise, your lies. Geta had briefly felt mildly impressed; that was, until his focus turned onto ways to make sure you would never be able to do such a thing ever again.

"Macrinus has killed her," Caracalla rasped, "he poisoned her -"

"No, brother," Geta knelt in front of Caracalla, allowing his own fingers to brush your stola. "It was her own terror that made her flee - but she is still here, in the city. She will be back."

Caracalla rocked back and forth, mouth working furiously as his hands tightened into fists. Geta got to his feet, recognising the signs of an outburst waiting to happen. Geta also wanted to shout and scream - he could not resent his brother for doing so.

When he had awoken in the early hours of the morning he had, at first, been so deliriously happy it made his head spin. He had you by his side and Macrinus in a cell. Then he had felt the space between him and his brother, felt how cold it was, and had felt sick to his stomach.

It had taken five minutes to locate the Praetorian who had gone with you to the infirmary. Like the fool he was, he had still been waiting for you despite nearly three hours having passed. Much confusion had followed and it had taken several more hours to uncover the details of your escape. By that time you could have been miles away - but still in the city. Geta was certain you were still in the city.

The idea that you weren't made his breath short and his palms sweaty so he refused to think about it.

Caracalla shot to his feet, your stola a limp ball of fabric in his fists. "We must execute those who were stupid enough to allow her to slip away - start with that Praetorian! Start executing people and she will certainly return!"

Geta wanted to do just that. He ran his tongue over his pale lips, deep in thought. If there was someway to guarantee you would return, Geta would execute a hundred Praetorians without a second thought.

"There are Praetorians in the city now. I am certain they will return her to us, brother," Geta gripped his brother's forearms and shook him. "The gods will see her safely returned."

Indeed, the man would be dealt with, but Geta had decided on sending him out to look for you instead. His own desperation to keep his life would ensure he did a thorough job.

Caracalla slumped foreword, resting his forehead on Geta's shoulder. "How could she do this? I thought - I thought -"

Geta ran his fingers through Caracalla's hair in what he hoped was a soothing motion. "It has already been done, we need not dwell on it now. If - when - she returns, we will deal with it then."

Macrinus would pay for his part in all of it. His part and more. That was certain.

Geta’s lack of anger towards you had taken him by surprise. All he felt was a frantic desperation to see you, to have you tucked safely at his side. Consequences be damned - you had to be here to face the consequences and you were still nowhere in sight. The afternoon was passing by and you were still not here.

Caracalla let his head fall back, blazing eyes darting around Geta's face. "She will never leave this place again."

Geta laughed, near-hysterical.

“Never,” he agreed, “never.”

A group of Praetorians spotted you once you were within two miles of the palace. You recognised Consus and he, in turn, must have recognised you.

The surrounded you on either side, boxing you in as you walked the rest of the way to the palace. There was a sense of relief in the air but no-one was entirely relaxed. The reaction of the emperors was on the forefront of everyone's mind, you were sure.

You may be punished. You accepted this with your chin held high. Still, you would do your best to explain your feelings and motivations, however rash they seemed. Stomach churning, you marched on and tried to ignore the wobble in your knees.

Maybe you were being entirely too hopeful in thinking they wouldn't physically harm you. No matter how hard you tried to imagine it, you could not see either of them raising a hand with the intent to hurt you. If that was to be your fate, well, then you would deal with it.

For the first time since it had all began, you felt a sense of control. You had chosen to go back. You had been able to see beyond the emperors and get a sense of your own feelings without being distracted by wandering hands and sharp eyes.

The palace winked at you in the setting sun. There was no feeling of impending doom or terror. You felt resolute, ready for whatever may happen after you entered that building.

There had been no plan, no thought out plot to deceive. Only a sense that you had to get away, like a trapped animal gnawing off it's own limb. Your mind had been well and truly clouded. By the attempts on your life, thoughts of an heir, the emperors.

Now you felt as though your mind had had a chance to clear some of the debris from the last few weeks and it had left you wanting. Wanting them.

The Praetorians became tense as you entered the palace. The entire place was on edge, as though it was seconds away from coming apart. It was hard to believe this was your doing. You would address that gnawing feeling of guilt later, after you had righted your wrong.

The Praetorians did not stop. They urged you on, closing in tighter around you as though you might slip away. Their nerves were affecting your own. You ran your tongue over your bottom lip, internally cringing at the dryness you felt. To have your confidence slip from you now would not do.

They took you to a place you had not been before. It was similar to other parts of the palace but you did not recognise it. You stopped at the door, pressing your hand against the intricate carvings and letting the edges bite into your palm. Hesitant, you glanced at the Praetorians.

They shuffled even closer. Leaving again was not a possibility, even if you wanted to. Despite their tough demeanor you could see the pleading in their eyes. You nodded, partially to yourself, and pushed open the door.

The room was an office, smaller and more formal than the one in the emperors' chambers. The desk sat on a slightly raised platform and was decorated with objects, many of which you had never seen before. The most interesting was a globe, golden and polished in the sun that was streaming into the room from the huge window behind the desk.

Geta stood there, alone.

His back was to you but you knew he was aware of you. You could see it in the hunch of his shoulders, the way his thumb was rapidly swiping back and forth over the cup he was holding. You swallowed and it was audible in the still room.

Finally, Geta turned to face you. His face was white with layers of make-up, already dark eyes smeared with kohl. The colour contrasted with the red of his eyes. This was how you had always pictured him, before you had ever gotten close enough to see what was beneath.

"Explain."

You wove your fingers together and tried not to make it look like the nervous gesture that it was. His lips were pale, bloodless, and you levelled your eyes on them as you began to speak.

"I had never considered what it is, what it really is, to be emperor," you admitted. "Not until that man tried to kill me and even then - I thought only of myself and why it was happening to me."

Geta was listening intently. You took it as a sign to continue.

"Then, there was the mention of an heir, and I became aware of the fact that I would have to guard more than just my own life," you blinked hard, letting the words spill out. "I thought I could live with people wanting to kill me - but people wanting to kill my child -"

Geta set his cup down. "You were worried for the life of our child? A child that we cannot even be sure you are carrying?"

"Not just that," you raised your hands, "but you and Caracalla! I am aware that there have been attempts on your lives before but it seemed that my presence was spurring these people on. If they could get to me, they may have been able to get to you!"

Geta pressed a hand to his forehead and began to laugh bitterly. "You have no idea the pain you have caused today, and to say that you did it because of us? It is difficult to believe."

"It is the truth," you said stiffly. "I left because I - I love you. I came back for the same reason."

The words sat heavy in the room. Instantly you wanted to take them back, scoop them up and swallow them and let them marinate inside you a while longer. They felt too fresh, too raw, and you wanted to protect them for just a bit longer. You kept your eyes trained on the floor, mortified at your own forthcomingness.

The sound of draws opening and closing piqued your interest but you could not bring yourself to look up. Only when Geta's feet appeared in your eyeline did you dare to life your eyes from the floor.

He held out his hands and you gasped. In each one was a perfectly carved child, petite and mischievous. You recognised them immediately. Romulus and Remus.

"I had these made," Geta said quietly, "after I saw that old carving you have been carrying around all these years. It was a wolf, was it not? I thought you might appreciate these additions."

You could hardly speak. That day felt so long ago now but you remembered the way your wolf had clattered to the floor, the way Geta had snatched it up and examined it with curious eyes. You had been embarrassed to see him handle your tattered old toy.

You reached out to touch them but Geta pulled back, nostrils flaring. "If you accept them now, you cannot take it back. They will be yours and you - you must not abandon them. Ever. No matter how good you believe your reasoning to be."

Your lashes fluttered against your cheek. "I would never."

You held out your hands and let Geta place the children into them. He closed his fingers over yours and squeezed tight until the pain was almost too much. You did not pull away.

He pulled you close until your chest was pressed against his. "You have been unimaginably reckless and there will be consequences."

You did not have it in you to be scared anymore. "I understand."

"Those will come later," he said, staring down at you. "You love me?"

"I do," you breathed.

Geta brushed his nose against yours. "I shall have you say it a thousand times. As punishment."

"I shall take this punishment without complaint," you offered a tentative smile.

"As you should," Geta pinched your waist. "I love you. There, it is not such a difficult task."

You pulled away, clutching the carvings to your chest. You could practically feel your eyes shining. Geta's eyebrows scrunched together as he observed your disheveled appearance. He poured you a cup of wine and you drank it gladly, hardly even pausing to consider the danger.

"Drink it all," he instructed, "and then you must see my brother."

Authors Note - hint: he wasn’t just talking about the carvings.

For those who think Reader got off lightly - it’s not over yet. Rough makeup sex anyone? And she is also about to have guards practically wedged up her ass and will never spend a moment alone again ever ever ever

Geta is also just happy that Reader came back - especially since she did it by her own choice. This might build trust for normal people but he’s content to just make sure it neverrrr happens again

Please reblog, comment, like, etc! I struggled with this chapter and support is what truly motivates me ♥️

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dykespirk · 2 days ago

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I think both tos and aos Jim survived Tarsus. but I think tos Jim was older (15-17) and aos Jim was younger (10-12).

I think tos Jim became the de facto leader of children survivors (as we see with Kevin Riley and Thomas), because of his age. That Jim carries the survivor’s guilt of not being able to save more kids—of watching the youngest ones die (ostensibly) in his care. his coping mechanism is thus leadership—usurping and clinging to positions of authority in an effort to save others; he craves authority, wants and needs to embody it to turn it into something that would’ve saved the others, would’ve saved him. Starfleet becomes his white whale. he needs the myth of Starfleet—an intergalactic emblem of peace, carving through deep space purely to discover (and defend). he embraces starfleet’s militarism because it echoes his understanding of power (some evils need to be defeated; innocents need to be protected). Jim also loves to defend—to entrench and hold boundaries (with the Klingons, the Romulans, with any hostile life). deep space is at the same time mystical—where birth and rebirth are always possible, where miracles happen every day—and orderly, where regulations and boundaries are clearly defined. Jim finds solace and role stability in this space, defending others, acting as a father figure, and indulging in hyper-independence & isolation.

that’s how we get tos Jim, who’s desperate for connection & intimacy, but ultimately clings to his leadership role like it can sustain him—like it’s all that can sustain him. (love, you’re better off without it, and I’m better off without mine. this ship, I give, she takes…I’m the captain…I’ve lost the enterprise, I’m losing command…nothing is more important than my ship) the guardian role is essential to his self-image.

conversely, aos Jim was the child. he was the scared, too-skinny kid who had the rug ripped from under him. aos Jim is born into a world where fatherhood/authority is already dead; George Kirk’s absence is a gaping hole in his life. Starfleet’s idealism makes martyrs, but it also cannibalizes its men to sustain its ideals. George’s replacement, Frank, neglects if not abuses him. that Jim witnesses the complete breakdown of authority. he watches Starfleet come with too little, too late. he sees the older kids die. he watches his only solace from Frank’s terror, his fresh start, become a waking nightmare.

that Jim learns that no one is coming.

his coping mechanisms are withdrawal from the system entirely; to bare his teeth at it, to claw at it, to draw blood. scare them before they can scare you. act bigger than you are. appearances are everything. to distrust authority entirely. give up on Starfleet, because Starfleet is an empty vaccum that will take and take, ineffectual at its core and hypocritical at best.

instead of being defined by his attraction to space, aos Jim is defined by his inability to stay still; his distaste for Earth, for Iowa, for groundedness. for him, staying in Riverside is a kind of self-harm, one he doesn’t understand how to escape and ultimately believes he deserves.

this Jim is lonely not because he uses distance as a defense, but because he’s so distrustful of others, he genuinely can’t imagine an open hand. (enlist?)

that’s how we get the Jim that ultimately cares way more about his crew than his ship; who latches onto Bones like a leech and craves Spock; who wants connection with far less shame has absolutely no expectation of receiving it. this is the Jim that blares sabotage while charging into battle, says fuck you to the admiralty, and would rather die saving lives than live with taking them—that’s what I was raised on.

there’s also the fact that tos Jim is a Jewish man written in an era of liberal internationalist optimism underscored by the early Cold War and the shadows of the Shoah whereas aos Jim is the flashy product of peak commercialized Hollywood in a post-9/11, post George-Bush America. anyways.

#star trek #star trek tos #captain kirk #captain james t kirk #James Kirk meta #star trek meta #star trek aos #tarsus iv #tarsus iv headcanon #Jim Kirk #Jim Kirk meta

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helaintoloki · 2 days ago

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Stuck in the Middle

pairing: Bucky Barnes x avenger!reader

warnings: angst, language, reader is a bit mean to Bucky but it’s deserved

notes: so i saw the thunderbolts* trailer and immediately scrambled for my phone to write this. hoping to write some more bucky/mcu related pieces so lmk if you have any ideas !

summary: you come home from work to find the last person on earth you want to see cooking dinner in your kitchen

You can sense the shift in the air the moment you step foot through the front door. Lamps that you know for a fact had been turned off before you left now glow warmly throughout your apartment as you cautiously set your gym bag down in exchange for the bat you keep strategically placed against the doorframe. Your knuckles turn white with tension as you grip the handle, rolling your shoulders back and cracking out your neck before silently treading towards the kitchen.

You live alone, so there’s no reason for the sound of pots clanging together or the smell of homemade cooking to be invading your senses after coming home from your mundane job as a pilates instructor. Despite this, there is not an ounce of fear within you as approach the intruder; in fact, you welcome a little action in your life, no matter how inconvenient it may be. Your training under Natasha’s watchful eye is paying off now as you creep into the room undetected, weapon raised at the ready and focus dialed in on the stranger as you raise the bat and swing it forward with all of your strength.

An arm immediately shoots forward and stops your assault with ease, the abrupt movement causing you to lose your footing and stumble forward. Heart pounding in your chest, your eyes widen as you take in the sight of the familiar metallic fingers clutching the bat with unrelenting force. You’re at a loss for words as you trail your gaze along the prosthetic arm and up to the face of its owner. His features are solemn and his eyes dull of the light you once remembered, but his faint smile is still the same as he finally relinquishes his hold and watches you stagger forward.

“You’ve lost your edge,” he comments jestingly before turning back to the meal he’d been meticulously preparing in your absence as if he hadn’t broken his way into your home. “Hungry?”

“What… the hell are you doing here?” You breathe out in aggravation, shoulders rising and falling rapidly with the ragged breaths you take. Your body feels as if it’s on overdrive as you try to process the fact that Bucky is standing before you in your apartment, uninvited if you might add, after having not been a part of your life for a good three years. Your stomach is in knots, hands perspiring, heart fighting to escape your ribcage, eyes struggling to hold back tears of relief and frustration, and mind trying to decide whether this unannounced visit is unwelcome or appreciated.

“Making us dinner,” Bucky offers as if it should be obvious, as if the last time he cooked for you hadn’t been ages ago. “Don’t worry, I’ll clean up after myself.”

“You broke into my apartment and you think my main concern is about whether or not you wash the dishes?!” You retort in exasperation.

“It’s not breaking in if I have a key,” he argues defensively while plating your meals.

“A key you were supposed to give back after we broke up!”

A heavy silence follows your words as Bucky finally stills. Hands planted firmly against the counter, he lets his head hang with a defeated sigh before finally turning to face you.

“You’re right” he relents with a wry smile, “I know I’m not welcome here, and I shouldn’t have ambushed you like this, but I knew if I called you wouldn’t have answered.”

“And whose fault is that?” You murmur bitterly much to his dismay. You don’t miss the look of hurt that flashes across his features, but there isn’t a single part of you that feels guilty about it. Not after all the hurt he’s caused you in his absence.

“Look,” Bucky starts carefully, hands raised in surrender as he approaches you. His mannerisms are similar to that of a hunter approaching a wild animal, but can you blame him with the way you’re still gripping the bat like your life depends on it. “I know you don’t owe me anything, and the last thing I deserve is your forgiveness, but I need you to hear what I have to say.”

Though you know it’s against your better judgement, and though every part of your conscious is screaming at you to throw him out of your apartment for good, you find yourself slowly lowering the bat until it falls to the floor with a deafening thud.

“You get five minutes.”

And that’s how you end up seated across your ex-boyfriend at the dinner table enjoying a plate of garlic basted steak and pasta while you look over the different files spread out before you.

“US Agent, Red Guardian, Yelena Bolova…” you quietly read aloud, gaze faltering on the familiar photograph. There’s no mistaking that face, not after the millions of times you’d stared at this exact file and wondered whether there was any semblance left of the girl Natasha had so often described to you. “Interesting bunch you’ve got here. Not sure why you’d break into my apartment just to show me these though.”

“I assume you’ve been watching the news lately, seen what’s going on out there,” Bucky counters, arms crossed as he pensively leans back in his chair.

“I’m familiar with the Void,” you hum quietly, and Bucky doesn’t miss the way you uncomfortably begin to shift in your seat. “It’s awful what’s going on out there.”

“It is, and there’s no one to stop it,” he utters carefully, prompting you to look up from the files.

“Please tell me you’re not about to say what I think you are.”

“I know they’re far from the best options of heroes out there, but they’re all we’ve got. The Avengers are nowhere to be found-“

“I’m an Avenger,” you bite back defensively.

“An Avenger who spends her time teaching pilates classes,” Bucky corrects humorlessly, and it takes everything in you to not lung across the table in retaliation at his demeaning comment.

“Banner said to lay low,” you remind him through gritted teeth, “and we both agreed to that before you decided to leave me with only some half assed note explaining your abandonment.”

“Y/n/n,” Bucky sighs in frustration, but you’re adamant that he’s not about to get a single word in until you’re done.

“You can make whatever comments you want about my life, about what I’ve chosen for myself, but you don’t get to make me feel small for choosing normalcy over the bullshit I’ve been through. The people I love are either dead or scattered across the globe, and I’m on my own now, so I get to choose what’s best for me.”

“Even if it means leaving the rest of the world to fend for itself?” He counters in disbelief.

“The world is ungrateful, they don’t appreciate what we do. They took Tony and Nat’s sacrifices in vain. Why would I put myself through torture for people who think that after everything that happened, everything we lost, Thanos was right?”

As Bucky sits across from you and stares you down, he realizes now that the woman before him is no longer the same woman he’d left three years ago. Whatever had occurred in his absence had changed you, and you were no longer willing to fight for others like you once had done so fiercely before. You had hardened, and his chest tightened with the realization that the girl who once wore her heart on her sleeve had now locked it away and gotten rid of the key.

“Y/n, I came to you tonight because I know I can’t do this on my own,” he admits solemnly, metal arm whirring quietly as he clenches and unclenches his hands in his lap. “If you say no to this, then there’s no point in rounding up these guys and attempting to form some sort of mediocre team of heroes. They’re not heroes, I’m not, but you are. Even if you don’t feel that way right now.”

Another heavy silence drowns the room as you contemplatively chew the inside of your cheek. Your gaze has landed back on Yelena’s file, but your mind can’t help to drift over to the thought of her sister. Natasha had always believed in you, supported you, trained you under her wing, and helped pushed you forward even when you felt like you couldn’t go on anymore. Your inaction would be a dishonor to her memory whether you wanted to admit it or not, and despite how much resentment you held for the man before you, you knew that whatever personal qualms you had did not hold more importance over the fate of humanity.

You knew the choice you needed to make, and you didn’t like it one bit.

“If I help you get this team together and stop the Void, will you let me return back to my own life?” You prompt hesitantly, and you hate the way your heart flutters at the soft quirk of his lips in response to your question.

“If you help me pull this off, you can have whatever you want,” he promises earnestly before apprehensively reaching across the table towards you. He tests the waters by placing his hand atop of yours, and when you don’t pull away he takes hold of your hand in his own and gives it a comforting squeeze.

“I really hate you,” you confess with a defeated sigh, but there is no trace of malice in your tone. In fact, you return his affectionate gesture by squeezing his hand back and offering him the first smile you’ve had since his arrival.

“I know,” Bucky says tenderly before lifting your hand and pressing a kiss to your knuckles. Heat crawls up your neck at the act, and you have to look away to prevent him from seeing the smile that fights to play itself along your lips. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t happy to be with Bucky again, and a part of you appreciated that it almost felt like old times, but you also knew that it wasn’t going to be this easy. You’re still angry at him for leaving you heartbroken and without so much as a goodbye, and Bucky himself is well aware of the fact that it’s going to take a lot more than dinner and pleasantries to get you back.

But this is a start, and you’re both ready to throw yourselves into the lion’s den if it means mending a broken past alongside the person you love.

#mel writes #thunderbolts*#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #marvel #mcu #mcu x reader #mcu imagine #avenger!reader

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obae-me · 3 days ago

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The Devil's Desire

Nothing like trying to come back from a long hiatus with more Luci content. It's always him, I can't escape.

Warning: This fic contains a makeout scene but nothing explicit, so 16+.

Disclaimer: I am NOT bashing religion, nor am I calling out any specific faith, denomination, etc. It's written to be mostly generic on purpose, and is simply based on a real life experience I have had before. Don't take this seriously, please.

Word Count: 2.3k

With that out of the way, please enjoy some Luci romance!:

To lie with the devil is to wake up in hell. Tender lips stained with debauchery embrace nothing but lies. Tainted is the temporary vice. Lost is the lamb who leaves the flock. Damned is the devoured; the ones drowned in their own sins, plunged into the fires, entombed in brimstone. The cries of pleasure now ones of wailing. Of gnashing their own teeth. Made to suffer an eternity of eternities for shunning the light.

At least, that’s what they say.

And by they, right now you meant the very adamant woman standing in front of you, brandishing pamphlets like they were her very own Ten Commandments. If only 'Thou Shall Not Harass Unsuspecting People on the Street' were one of them. If you had your own rules, that would make it into the top five for sure.

Unfortunately, the lady slowly singling you out from the rest of the passers-by did not share your same sentiments. She was on a mission. Her mission? You. The goal? To wear you down and pester you long enough to join whatever group she was promoting. You’d seen these things enough before to see the danger signs in advance. A clipboard so they could take your name and number. A promotion selling tickets that you’d inevitably have to use your email to register for. All in an attempt to get your information so they could track you down in a less stalker-y sort of way.

“Oh, hello, dear. How are you today?” The hunter was closing in, two teens carrying signs at her side working on sequestering you- the weaker link- away from the pack.

“I’m good, how are you?” Damn your polite force of habit! Curse you, customer service default settings!

She grinned, knowing that if she played her cards right, she could probably keep you trapped here for a while longer. She spoke, and due to the survival instinct in your brain, you were capable of tuning her out for the most part. Something something, for the greater good, something something, special soul. They never meant what they said, or even if they believed their own words, it was undermined by their intentions. You’d been in this boat before. You kept waving your hand and nodding your head, explaining to her that you were busy and had someone you were meeting.

As you stepped backwards, she approached again. “Just one minute of your time! One minute could save your soul from Lucifer’s clutches!”

Without entirely meaning to, the drop of that name made you pause. Every once and a while, you forgot that the person you had come to know so well was such a prominent- albeit infamous- figure in the human world. Although, the way he tended to be described made him seem more like a boogeyman rather than a demon capable of Armageddon, scaring children across different nations and cultures into behaving. Perhaps you should be insulted on his behalf. Perhaps you should share some of the stuff you had seen. Tales of ivory wings and the blinding glow of a fallen angel whose twisted voice now told beings to Be Afraid. With a haunting beauty so enveloping, you openly fell further into the nightmare. That being said, you almost laughed in her face, wanting to tell her that the man she was so afraid of had been fretting over what kind of coat to wear this morning. Black was classy. But blue made his eyes pop more. But red was his color. Thirty minutes he pondered over this. “I’m not all that worried about it.”

Maybe you hadn’t contained your amusement as well as you thought you did, because for some reason, a righteous fire had lit under her sandy open-toed wedges. “You should be! Whatever promises the devil gives you, it will only bring you misery in the end! He cares nothing for you! Only HE can give you the joy you seek.” Her pointer finger raised up while she gazed to the clouds like she could peer into Heaven from down here. It was hard to tell if the dramatics were more for you or her. When she glanced at you again, she appeared spooked, clutching pearl hands at the ready.

An arm snaked around your waist, a hand settling on your hip. If the touch wasn’t so familiar, you would’ve jumped. “I don’t know. I think I bring plenty of joy, wouldn’t you say, love?”

Speak of the devil, in a quite literal sense.

Relief flooded your body, the tension you’d unknowingly built in your shoulders loosening. Even posing as a human, Lucifer was intimidating. At the very least, no one bothered to approach him out of the blue. This party buff seemed to extend to you as well. This lady seemed much less interested in trying to convince you of anything now. She cleared her throat and thought about potentially leaving you one last message of warning, but the man in your company wasn’t having it. He scoffed under his breath before he gestured to some of the other sign bearers in the group, tilting his head slightly to the side.

“Strange weather today, isn’t it? You might want to help retrieve your things,” Lucifer announced. Eyebrows raised. The weather was quite nice today, albeit a little cold. Curiosity got the better of her. Just as the woman turned around, a heavy gust of wind blew over you all, making pamphlets and signs fly upwards and into the streets. Subtle. People scrambled. The lady hiked up her skirt and ran to the edge of the sidewalk. Cars screeched to a halt and honked, people stopped to gawk at the calamity, all the while, you felt yourself being tugged away.

Lucifer’s hand remained on your waist for a few minutes until he was certain the annoyance was far behind you. How much of a mess was the scene now? You turned your head to look over your shoulder, but only saw darkness as a gloved hand covered your eyes. A slight huff sounded off to your side.

“Leave it. This hesitancy of yours is what got you caught in the first place.” The hand moved from your eyes to the top of your head, making you look up at him with a twist of his fingers. “I leave you be for a few moments, and you once again find yourself tangled up in nonsense.” His narrowed eyes flitted over your form as if checking for signs of distress or injury, like the woman was a master of combat with pamphlets as her weapon of choice. Always the worrier that one. He’d have still a similar reaction if you found yourself lost in a grocery store…

A frown crossed over your face. “I did try to leave. How many times do I have to say ‘no thank you’ before someone leaves me alone?”

He tisked, his posture straightening as he fixed the scarf around your neck. The plush fabric was rubbed against your jaws. “There’s your first issue. Manners are all well and good until someone takes advantage of it. At some point, you have to drop the politeness and just say ‘no’. With your entire chest.” All of a sudden, he took two pointer fingers and manipulated your cheeks and lips to mouth some words. “N. O. Just like that. Can you say it with me? Nnnn…ooo…”

You narrowed your eyes a bit at his teasing, batting his hands away. “Knock it off, Luce…”

“Hmm. Maybe I should go get one of those eccentrics and tell them we changed our minds and—“

“No!”

“Ah, see, you are capable of it.” Someone was mighty pleased with himself. Anytime he found himself in a place where he was free from his responsibilities, he always got shockingly more playful. It would be cute if it weren’t so frustrating right now. His hand started running over your head. “Good job.”

“That’s not funny. You heard how they were talking about you… I hate listening to it.”

At your words, his teasing smile faded. Rolling his eyes, he lowered his hands. “I would much rather you save that vexation for yourself and how they treated you. All the humans in the world could despise me and I would not bat an eye.” Suddenly, his finger tapped your chin, trying to regain your full attention. “I only care what one of them thinks about me.”

Something about the sudden sappiness in public snapped you out of things. You turned a bit on your feet and started walking. “Did you check us in already?”

“I took care of it. Did you want to head in now or wander around the town a while?” His partial pout at ignoring his romanticism could almost be felt physically as he matched his pace with yours.

“I think I’ve had my fun for now.”

A hum, and his hand found your own. Clasping it, guiding you to the hotel as you both walked. It was astonishing how such a move cast a level of camouflage over you two. Suddenly, it was as if you both were a normal couple following the regular flow of foot-traffic, keeping each other warm in the crisp air with the heat of each others close proximity.

If the devil was so callous, why were his hands so tender?…

The rest of the walk was a bit of a blur. The people, buildings, spoken words, all unimportant compared to the sensation of having him near. The elevator ride jostled, giving you some more awareness to your surroundings. A short walk, a brandished key card, and he opened the door for you, the very picture of a perfect gentleman.

If the devil cared not for you, why would he bother with chivalry?

The “room” was huge, with an entire kitchen, walled off bathroom, closed off bedroom, and separate living area. This was more an apartment than a simple hotel room. The luggage was already brought inside, Lucifer’s portion already opened and put away. “Leave it to Diavolo to save you the biggest, fanciest suite in the hotel. If the tub has jets, I’m never leaving.”

“Do you expect the Avatar of Pride, the right hand to royalty, to expect anything less?”

“You’re funny if you think Diavolo wouldn’t give you something like this regardless of your gilded titles. Careful, your sin is showing.” You rolled your eyes and gave him a playful nudge.

He swiveled on his feet and poked your ribs. “You dare push me?” His voice rumbled in amusement deep in his chest. “Rather bold to do to such a dangerous demon.”

“Oh? Is that a threat? Going to take my soul? Well, you’re going to have to get through me first.” Fake punches flew through the air, striking at his chest and face with no force. Although you knew real punches would have the same utterly useless, painless outcome for him.

The world tilted, some of the air leaving your lungs in a giggling gasp as he scooped you up over his shoulder. He twisted, spinning around occasionally to leave you somewhat disoriented until you were plopped down on top of the bed, the whole mattress bobbing. Lucifer hovered over you. “You cannot hope to win, human. You’re mine now.”

Something in your chest fluttered at that. “So you win then, is it? How would you like my soul? Grilled? Blended? Braised?”

One of his hands worked on removing the scarf from around your neck, the back of his index finger tracing the outline of your chin. Just a breath away from being in contact. “Let me see…” Adjusting, rubbing his nose against yours, he waited for that tell-tale sign of permission, of you closing some of the distance. Temptation struck you, flooding in your heart. The plunge was too alluring. You bit of the fruit, and the devil wrapped his clutches around you.

Watch out for the schemes of the devil, who prowls like a beast, waiting for the moment to strike and devour- lips whispering inner desires. Raise up your guard to save yourself from being pulled into darkness, into his embrace, limbs aching and craving. For his claws shall tear and shred in eagerness, unable to contain themselves as they remove the body of protective vestments. He will take the very breath from your lungs. Crush the bones with a heaving chest. Partake of your flesh.

Lucifer raised his head for a moment, letting you both catch your breath. Your thumb traced his bottom lip, puffy and scarlet where you’d nipped it. Red was always a good color for him. That’s why you picked the crimson coat for him today. It matched his cheeks, the end of his ears, his longing eyes.

“Authentically,” he said, answering your question you felt you asked two lifetimes ago. His mouth covered yours as his broad hands squeezed your shoulders. “Slowly…” You could almost feel his hum in the back of your throat as he spoke between kisses. “Bit by bit…” His teeth grazed you top lip. “Over the course of a lifetime…” His affection moved on, venturing out and exploring your cheeks and gently over your eyelids. “So you’ll be right here with me… exactly like this… for a very-“ a searing mark was placed right under your earlobe, against a tingling part of your neck, “…very long time.”

To lie with the devil is to wake up wrapped up in braids of limb and cloth. Tender lips stained with last night’s embrace whisper saccharine words. Cherished is the temporary stillness. Beloved is the lamb who measures the meter of the heartbeat of the wolf. Blessed is the enamored; the ones drowned in their own affection, plunged into the fires of passion, entombed in each other’s chests. The cries of pleasure echoed with ones of mirth. Of declarations and vows held tight between their own teeth. Made to persist an eternity of eternities for existing as the other’s light.

For it's his desire.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me nightbringer #obey me headcanons #obey me imagines #obey me lucifer #obey me lucifer x mc #obey me lucifer x reader

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malewifeharem · 1 day ago

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ok but imagine sylus with a tongue piercing... why havent i seen any posts on this mdni nsfw. not proofread. fem mc

your breath hitches as you feel the cold metal of his piercing come into contact with your inner thigh. your legs are gently but firmly kept in place over his shoulders. "fuck... sy, quit teasing already..." your body feels like its been set on fire. you can feel your juices pooling between your legs and dripping onto the sheets below but you couldn't care less right now. all you can think of is the heavenly sight before you - the way you have the most wanted man in linkon - the leader of onychinus, looking absolutely debauched and feral all for a taste of you. "patience, kitten." his voice is deep and commands your obedience, and you find yourself holding back from pushing his head down nose-deep into your cunt already. he lets out an amused chuckle at the way your hips jerk up - desperate and mindless, your body betraying your mind. this is torturous, even for him - but good god, seeing you all pliant and squirmy had to be the hottest thing he's ever seen. one of his hands lets go of your thigh to slowly trail up your torso before finally giving your breast a squeeze. at the same time, sylus's head dips down to give your clit a lick, relishing in the way you immediately make your relief well-known with a loud moan. "f-fuck... oh- sylus!" your hand grabs a fistful of his hair and tugs it towards your pussy - unable to hold back the hunger for more pleasure. more of him. ever eager to please, he doesn't deny it to you. he plunges straight in - lapping up your juices as if his sole purpose in life was to satisfy you. (it is) if you weren't lost in ecstasy right now, you'd be able to see the small smirk on his face - so smug at the way he has you unraveling all for him. the contrast between the feeling of his smooth, chilling ball piercing and warm, wet tongue sends you reeling. his sharp and thick nose kisses your poor swollen clit perfectly, rubbing it just the way you needed every time you grinded against his face. "i can feel you tightening around my tongue, sweetie... does my piercing feel good, hm?" sylus says in between bated breaths - unintentionally blowing hot air onto your sloppy messy cunt. "f-fuck, sylus...! ohmygod-"

you feel an all-too familiar knot in your stomach creeping up rapidly, ready to burst at any moment.

through your teary vision and hazy mind, you notice your boyfriend's own fucked-out look - with your slick coating his entire mouth, dripping down his chin - as if he could care about that when he had a feast splayed out right in front of him. "gonna hah- c-cum... sy! 's too much- ngh- i...!" when your legs start to shake and you subconsciously move away from his tongue, you feel the constricting strings of his evol pull you back down - not letting you escape. "where do you think you're going, kitten? ngh- don't run away now..."

your eyes squeeze shut and your jaw hangs wide as you feel your orgasm crashing over - so hard and violent - you think you might not make it out alive. spurts of syrupy cum gushes out of your pussy and sylus is there to lick it all up - letting you ride out the waves of pleasure.

only when you push his head away does he stop, letting you catch your breath. when you finally come to, you notice the wet splotch on the crotch of his pants - did he really...?

"sweetie... if you keep staring, i won't be able to control myself anymore. can you bare the consequences?"

"haah... yes," you almost whine - your own hunger to please him not satisfied.

the clinking of his belt followed by the sound of his belt unzippping has you anticipating for what comes next even more - sending tingles of excitement straight to your greedy cunt.

"let me know when you're too tired to go on, pretty girl." he coos gently despite his filthy words.

"because we still have a long way to go before my hunger for you is satiated."

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promptedwordsmith · 3 days ago

Note

Hiyaaa

I have a request , if that’s fine with you?

So Reader is MC’s long lost twin sister, they reunited a bit after and have been close ever since.

Reader is much different to MC , she likes the opposite things that mc likes and has different ticks and such.

She has a crush on (any of the LADS boys) and slowly watches as he falls in love with MC. She doesn’t say anything as she knows MC likes him too.

She gets invited out by sylus and slowly hangs out with him as she isn’t a hunter but does work in the N109 Zone. They soon get close and get into some sort of relationship , she then notices he keeps buying stuff that MC would like for her.

She brushes over it but he keeps doing stuff that the Mc would like usually, the food she’d like, the clothes she’d like.

She gets sick of being in her sisters shadow and confronts him and leaves.

OK, so I literally watched this ask come into the inbox and it was like a lightbulb switched on and I NEEDED to do this I love writing angst, this is also my longest fic yet - 5.2k! Wow

The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows over the quiet city streets. The air was cool for a spring evening, a gentle breeze tugging at the edges of your jacket. You adjusted the strap of your bag, sighing as you looked down at the study materials clutched in your hand. The exam was tomorrow, but the words in your textbooks felt like they were swimming in a fog. Your mind kept drifting, not to the dense chapters of history or theory, but to her—your twin sister.

It had been years since that night, the night that shattered everything. You could still remember it as if it was yesterday—your parents' sudden, tragic death, the screaming sirens, and the confusion. And then, the moment you looked for her—searched frantically in the smoke-filled wreckage—only to find that she was gone, just... gone. You were left alone, confused, scared, and eventually, separated from the one person who had always understood you. Your twin.

The accident had changed her. The doctors said she was lost, somewhere deep inside herself, locked away in a mind that didn’t remember you anymore. But what hurt even more was that you had no one to ask. No one to explain what had happened, or why you had been torn apart. Your adoptive parents had been kind, if a bit too overbearing at times. They tried to fill the void, but they couldn’t. No one could.

You had learned to adapt, to bury the ache in your chest, and to focus on your studies, your goals. But even now, on the eve of the exam, you couldn’t stop the thoughts of her. You couldn’t forget.

Turning a corner, you stopped in your tracks.

There, standing under the flickering streetlamp at the end of the block, was a woman. She was looking down at a piece of paper in her hands, dressed in a long, dark coat, her hair flowing gently in the breeze. Something about her was oddly familiar, like a half-remembered dream, pulling at the edges of your consciousness.

For a moment, you stood frozen, your heart hammering in your chest. It was as though the universe had conspired to throw you back into the past. Your breath caught in your throat, and you took a tentative step forward, hesitating with every step.

She looked up, and your gazes locked.

The world around you seemed to fall away, the bustling city noises blurring into a distant hum. The world became small—too small, as if everything else had faded and there was only her. The same eyes, the same face... The face you had longed to see for so many years, and yet, the years had passed, and there was something different about her now.

The wind picked up, swirling the air between you as you took one more step forward. She looked... older, wiser, more distant. But it was her. It had to be her.

She didn’t say anything at first. Neither did you. You just stood there, staring at one another, time stretching thin between you.

“...Are you real?” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion, your chest tight. The question escaped your lips before you could stop it.

She blinked, her expression softening, and then she took a step toward you, as though testing the waters, unsure if the reunion was truly happening or if she was simply dreaming.

“You... don’t remember me?” Her voice cracked slightly, almost as if she, too, had been carrying this pain for all these years, but had somehow forgotten how to reach out. Her words hit you like a wave, and you couldn’t breathe.

You opened your mouth, the years of unspoken words flooding your mind. “I’ve been looking for you,” you whispered, feeling the tears well up in your eyes. “I thought you were lost.”

Her hand slowly reached out, trembling. She seemed to hesitate for a moment before placing it gently against your arm. “I—I’ve been lost,” she admitted softly, her gaze lowering for a brief moment. “But... I think I’ve found something again.”

And in that moment, standing there with your twin sister after so many years, something broke open inside you. All the hurt, the loneliness, the anger... it all began to pour out, mixing with the relief and joy that surged in your chest.

You didn’t need words for a while. You just stood there, side by side, as the cool breeze tangled in your hair, the world beginning to shift back into place as though the years had never happened.

You had found her again. And she had found you.

From that moment on, you were always together.

The years apart had created a distance, not just physically, but emotionally, and it was clear you had to relearn everything about each other. Every day was a new discovery—a moment where you would uncover something that had once been second nature between you. It was like rewinding time, only to realize how much had changed and how much still remained. It wasn’t easy at first. Trust was something you both had to rebuild, piece by piece, like constructing a puzzle you’d once finished but now had to start anew. But as the days passed, that bond, that unspoken connection, began to stitch itself back together in ways you never expected.

You learned so much—how different you had become over the years. You realized you had vastly different food tastes—she loved spicy, you preferred sweeter dishes. She always gravitated toward bold, vibrant colors, while you found comfort in softer, more muted tones. Even your tastes in men were different, and that was a shock at first. You would laugh at the things you found so amusingly out of sync—how she was drawn to a certain type of guy, while you found yourself leaning toward someone else entirely. And yet, every difference felt like another piece of the puzzle, making you realize how beautifully unique you both were.

You adored the differences. They were like little windows into the person you had missed all these years. Every new fact felt like an adventure, and the more there was to discover, the better. There was something so exciting about learning her quirks, her preferences, the subtle shifts in her personality you hadn't seen in years. And whenever you discovered something that you shared—whether it was a similar reaction to a movie or the same favorite childhood memory—it felt like a victory. It wasn’t just the similarities that made it fun, it was the process of rediscovery. And those small shared moments, they made you feel closer, like you were stitching the fabric of your connection tighter with each day.

As you spent more time together, you naturally introduced each other to your friends, and you couldn’t help but notice something that piqued your curiosity. Your sister, with her charm and warmth, had a lot of male friends—attractive male friends. You could see it the moment they walked in the room—the way they gravitated toward her, how they’d exchange casual, easy banter as though they had known each other forever. It was a little surprising at first, but not entirely unexpected. She had always been the social one, effortlessly making connections wherever she went.

But there was one guy who stood out among the rest.

Caleb.

He was different. There was something about the way he carried himself—confident, but not overly so. He had this easy-going charm, with a touch of mystery that made him hard to read. You noticed the way he looked at your sister—like she was something worth admiring, something worth protecting. But it was also the way he looked at you. Subtle glances, the kind that made your heart race for a moment longer than it should. You couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to Caleb than he let on.

You couldn’t deny the attraction, the pull that seemed to draw you toward him. It was more than just physical. There was something in his presence that made the air feel a little warmer, a little more electric.

And it wasn’t lost on you that Caleb was always there. Always around, always at the edge of the conversation, casually participating, but never intruding. He made you feel like you had to pay a little more attention, like you needed to be aware of everything happening in the room, even when it was just your sister and her friends hanging out.

The more you spent time with him, the more you realized that what you felt for Caleb wasn’t just admiration—it was something stronger. Something unspoken, something that pulled at the edges of your consciousness, making it impossible to ignore. You were drawn to him, and yet you couldn’t tell if it was just your curiosity or something more.

What made it even more complicated was your sister. She was so open, so comfortable with him. She trusted him in ways that made you question just how much you really knew about him. Could you both be seeing the same man in such different lights? Or was something else at play here—something you weren’t sure you were ready to face?

And so, as you navigated this new chapter of your life—one where your sister was back by your side and Caleb was somehow intertwined with everything—it was impossible to ignore the sense that things were about to get a lot more complicated.

But maybe, just maybe, that was the fun part.

You had always been so happy for her. When you saw the way your sister looked at Zayne, the way she couldn’t stop talking about him or looking for him, it was clear that she was head over heels. You had never seen her so alive, so full of excitement. You were thrilled for her, even if, deep down, you couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to have someone like that in your own life.

And yet, it all seemed to shift so suddenly.

You didn’t expect to walk into your bedroom that evening and find Caleb leaning over her, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips. You stopped at the doorway, your heart sinking in your chest. The moment felt like it stretched for an eternity, the warmth of the room suddenly feeling suffocating. Caleb’s lips were so close to hers, so tender, and in that instant, everything you thought you understood about your connection with him seemed to slip away.

You had spent weeks getting to know him, laughing with him, sharing subtle glances, those moments that made your heart race. You thought you were beginning to get somewhere with him, slowly, cautiously building something, but now it seemed like he had already found what he wanted.

Your sister.

The realization hit harder than you expected. You hadn’t spent enough time with him, hadn’t made him see you in the same way she had. Maybe you had waited too long, or maybe Caleb had simply been drawn to the one person who had always captivated him—your sister. The thought was like a weight on your chest, suffocating you, but you couldn’t let it show. Not now.

You cleared your throat, the awkwardness of the moment making your voice sound more strained than you intended. "Oh, sorry," you muttered, trying to sound casual, like walking in on them didn’t sting at all. "I didn’t mean to interrupt."

Caleb pulled away quickly, looking genuinely embarrassed, while your sister turned to you, her cheeks flushed with the same warmth that had been on Caleb’s lips. You could see the joy in her eyes, that sparkle that was so unmistakable. She was happy. That much was clear. And you were happy for her too... right?

You forced a smile, trying to ignore the way your heart was shattering into pieces. "No big deal," you added quickly, hoping your voice didn’t betray the devastation you felt inside. "I didn’t know you two were, um... together now."

Your sister giggled, her face lighting up with excitement. "Yeah, it kind of just happened," she said, her words soft and dreamy. "I didn’t even know I saw him that way before, but now... I can’t stop thinking about him. Caleb’s all I can think about."

You swallowed hard, nodding even though your chest felt tight. Caleb's all she can think about. The words echoed in your mind, each one a reminder of how you had misread everything. You had spent so much time hoping that maybe, just maybe, Caleb was beginning to see you, and yet here he was, kissing your sister, the one person who had always been in the center of everything you cared about.

"That’s... that’s great," you forced out, your smile faltering just for a second before you caught yourself. You couldn’t let her see. Not now. Not when she was so happy.

That night, as you both sat together on your bed, your sister gushed about Caleb to you—how she had never really seen him in that light before, but now that she had, he was all she could think about. She talked about how incredible he was, how easy he was to talk to, how he made her feel seen. It was clear that Caleb had become her world in a way you hadn’t expected. The excitement in her voice, the warmth in her words—it was everything you had wished for her, and yet, the sting of jealousy cut deeper than anything you had ever felt before.

But you didn’t let it show. You buried those feelings deep, far down where they wouldn’t be seen. She didn’t need to know that the happiness she was expressing had left you in a state of quiet devastation. You couldn’t make her feel guilty for being happy. You loved her too much for that.

So, you sat there, nodding, smiling, laughing along with her excitement, all while hiding the fact that a part of you was crumbling on the inside. You pushed the hurt away, because you wanted her to feel supported, to feel that you were there for her, no matter what. And if that meant hiding your feelings from her—hiding how much it hurt that Caleb, the man you thought might be yours, was now hers—then you would do it.

After all, she was your sister. And she deserved this happiness. Even if it meant you had to sacrifice your own.

In the weeks that followed, you worked hard to move past your feelings for Caleb. It wasn’t easy—those emotions had been strong, intense, and they hadn’t just vanished overnight. But you did your best, gradually pulling away from him, creating more distance, more space between the two of you. Every time you saw him with your sister, you pushed back the ache, burying it deeper, focusing on the things that mattered.

And Caleb? He didn’t seem to notice. At first, you weren’t sure if that was a blessing or a curse. On one hand, it was a relief. You didn’t have to explain yourself, didn’t have to confront those feelings head-on. On the other hand, it left you feeling... invisible. Was he so wrapped up in your sister that he couldn’t even tell that something had changed?

It was both painful and freeing.

But then, just when you thought you might stay in that stagnant space forever, someone new caught your eye—Sylus.

He was different. Tall, broad, and absolutely HOT. From the moment he joined the group, you couldn’t help but notice him. He had this presence, an undeniable aura that commanded attention without even trying. His voice—deep, rich, and full of a kind of quiet authority—carried across the room and made you pause every time he spoke. There was something magnetic about him, something that drew you in. And unlike the others, Sylus seemed more... open to spending time with you one-on-one.

You couldn’t explain it, but whenever he was around, you found yourself wanting to be near him more than anyone else. The way he spoke to you, the way he listened—it felt different. His attention felt genuine, unlike the usual banter you shared with the others, and before you knew it, you were looking forward to every chance to spend time with him.

In those moments together, you found yourself forgetting about Caleb, especially when Sylus’s attention became focused entirely on you. It wasn’t just that he listened to you, but that he actually seemed interested in what you had to say. And his compliments? They were always on point—never too much, never too little. It was just the right amount of praise to make you feel noticed, but never over the top.

The more time you spent with Sylus, the more you realized that your feelings for Caleb were truly fading, being replaced with something new. And this time, it was something stronger. You weren’t the type of person to rapidly shift who you liked, but there was something about Sylus that you couldn’t deny.

There was an intoxicating mix of calm and excitement in his presence—his voice, the way he held himself, the way he challenged you with his wit. When he spoke, it was like everything else fell away, and all that mattered was the conversation between the two of you. It was thrilling. Sylus had this ability to calm you with a single glance, yet rile you up with every word he said. The duality of it all was intoxicating, and you found yourself more drawn to him with each passing day.

And it didn’t go unnoticed. Sylus seemed to enjoy your company as much as you enjoyed his. You could tell by the way he teased you, the sly smile that would tug at the corner of his lips whenever you got a witty retort in. He would praise you, telling you that you were one of the few people who truly kept him entertained. It felt different from how he interacted with the others—more personal, more real.

It was almost like you were the one person he didn’t have to try too hard with, the one person who could match his sharpness, his intelligence, and his sense of humor. Every time you spent time with him, you felt like you were getting closer, like a bond was forming that you couldn’t ignore.

And you didn’t want to ignore it. You didn’t want to bury it.

The problem was, you weren’t sure if Sylus felt the same way you did. But the moments you shared together, the laughter, the conversations, the way he looked at you—those small, intimate exchanges made you feel like you were more than just another face in the crowd.

As time went on, you began to wonder... Could there be something real between you and Sylus? Something beyond the friendly banter and the chemistry that had begun to grow between you two? You weren’t sure, but the more you thought about it, the more you wanted to find out.

For the first time in weeks, it felt like you were starting to feel again. And this time, it wasn’t with Caleb—it was with Sylus.

It all changed that day.

You had thrown out another one of your usual witty retorts, something playful but sharp, and the way Sylus laughed made your heart skip a beat. It wasn’t just any laugh—this was different. He laughed harder than you’d ever heard him laugh at anything you’d said before, as if your words had truly caught him off guard. It was genuine, deep, and there was something about it that made you feel... alive.

But it wasn’t just the laugh that had you on edge. It was the look that followed it—the way his gaze lingered on you afterward. It was almost imperceptible at first, but the intensity of it hit you in an instant. His eyes darkened just a little, like the playful laughter had shifted into something else entirely. Something... charged. Smoldering.

You had felt a twinge of attraction before, but this was different. This wasn’t the kind of attraction you could brush off with a casual smile or a quick change of subject. This was real. Undeniable. The kind that made your pulse quicken and your breath catch.

You couldn’t help but feel a rush of excitement as you realized what it was. It wasn’t the easy chemistry you shared during your banter—it was something deeper. Something dangerous in the best way. Something that left you craving more.

And that moment marked the beginning of a whirlwind.

The next few days felt like a dream. Everything moved fast, but it was all so right. Sylus and you, the two of you together—it was like the world fell into place. You spent hours talking, laughing, and simply being together. Every time he smiled, every time his gaze met yours, you felt the undeniable pull between you. And he wanted you. You could see it in the way he looked at you, the way he touched you, the way he leaned in just a little closer than necessary. There was no mistaking it. This wasn’t a fling. It was real.

For five weeks, it was bliss. You felt happy in ways you hadn’t felt in a long time. With Sylus, you didn’t feel the weight of anything—no doubts, no second-guessing. It was pure, it was exhilarating, and it felt like everything was falling into place.

Your sister, ever the cheerleader, was beyond excited for you. She practically glowed with happiness whenever she talked about your relationship, always praising how great Sylus was for you, how perfect you seemed together. She was genuinely happy for you, and that made everything even better. You had always dreamed of being there for each other, no matter what, and now, here she was—celebrating your happiness right alongside you.

Even Caleb, for all the tension and unspoken feelings you had shared with him, came to congratulate you. It was strange, but in a way, it felt like a weight lifting off your shoulders. He wasn’t resentful. In fact, he seemed to mean it, offering you a smile and a casual, "You two seem good together."

And for the first time in ages, you felt like everything was aligning in the way it was supposed to.

You were happy. Your sister was happy. Caleb was supportive. And you had Sylus—your Sylus. The man who had brought something back into your life you hadn’t even realized you were missing: passion.

It felt like the perfect little bubble—one where everything was harmonious, where there were no complications, no unresolved tensions.

But as you basked in that bliss, a small part of you couldn’t help but wonder—could it really stay like this? Would it always be this easy? The kind of happiness you were feeling, the intensity of your connection with Sylus—it was almost too good to be true.

And yet, you pushed those thoughts aside. For now, everything was perfect.

At first, you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. It was small things, subtle things that didn’t make sense at first—until they did.

Sylus’s behavior began to shift. At first, it was easy to ignore. You were happy. He was happy. It was bliss. But then, the little things started to slip through the cracks.

He would do things—small gestures—that felt like they were meant for someone else. Like when he gave you a plushie that looked oddly similar to one your sister would love. Or the little trinkets he’d bring you, clearly in your sister’s favorite color, her favorite pattern. You’d laugh it off at first, joking about how he must’ve gotten confused, but it kept happening. And it wasn’t just the gifts—it was the way he started to interact with you. Sometimes, it felt like he expected you to react the same way your sister would. When he teased you, the way he smiled at your response, the way he looked at you as if he were waiting for you to be your sister.

At first, you dismissed it. Maybe it was just a quirk of his. Maybe he didn’t even realize what he was doing. You told yourself that he must just be a little... forgetful, or perhaps overly fond of your sister's personality. After all, they were close friends before you came into the picture.

But soon, it became too obvious to ignore.

You caught him. More than once. His gaze would linger on your sister when he thought no one was watching. The longing, the desire—it was palpable in the way his eyes followed her movements, the way his expression softened whenever she spoke. And you saw it. You saw it all.

You thought it was just you. That maybe you were reading too much into things, that maybe you were imagining the way his attention seemed to always drift toward her. But then you started noticing how often his attention seemed to shift, how you could feel him becoming distant in the moments when your sister was around. When the two of them would talk, you could sense it—something you couldn’t ignore. He wasn’t just in the moment with you anymore. It was as if he was waiting for something, waiting for her, always comparing you to her.

That’s when it hit you. The truth that you’d been avoiding for so long.

You weren’t really the one he wanted.

You were a stand-in. A placeholder. A substitute for your sister. The realization was like a punch to your gut, a sharp, jagged truth that twisted inside you. Sylus had been drawn to you because you reminded him of her, because you were the closest thing he could get to her.

It hurt more than you ever expected.

You thought you were special. You thought there was something between you two that wasn’t just about her, but now you realized that you had only been the next best thing. A consolation prize for the woman he truly wanted.

You tried to push the thought aside. You tried to tell yourself that it wasn’t true. That you were more than just a stand-in, that Sylus could see you for who you were—not for who you resembled. After all, you were funny, witty, confident—you had your own charm, your own uniqueness. You weren't your sister. You were you. And surely, that should have been enough.

But still, you couldn’t ignore the truth that simmered beneath the surface. Sylus seemed to be looking at your sister with an intensity that he never directed at you, no matter how many times you tried to make him see you as more than just a shadow of her.

You told yourself that if you just kept being you—if you kept showing him that you were interesting, funny, and as unique as you truly were—then maybe, just maybe, he’d see you. Maybe he’d see that you were more than just a stand-in. That you deserved more than to be a shadow in your sister’s light.

But the doubt lingered, gnawing at you. Every time he smiled at you with that distant look in his eyes, every time he gave you something that seemed like a gift meant for her, you couldn’t help but feel like you were chasing something you couldn’t quite reach.

And you hated that. You hated how much it hurt to realize that the person you were falling for might never really be falling for you.

It was that night—the night everything snapped.

He had come home with a beautiful pair of earrings, the kind that glittered in the light and caught your eye the moment he handed them to you. You were taken aback by their beauty, thinking, maybe this is the turning point. Maybe he was finally seeing you, you for who you were, not a reflection of your sister.

But then he spoke.

“You’ve been eyeing these for a while now, haven’t you? I thought I’d surprise you with them. You said you wanted to start saving for a pair like these.”

Your stomach sank. That wasn’t you. You hadn’t ever seen these earrings before, and more than that—they weren’t even your style. They were elegant, delicate, beautiful, but they looked like something your sister would wear. Something she would pick.

Your hands trembled as you stared at the earrings in disbelief. He had gotten them for her. They weren’t for you.

It was as though the fog had lifted in that moment, and the truth came crashing down. Your heart, which had been trying so hard to hold on to the illusion that Sylus saw you for who you were, shattered in an instant. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t think.

“Wait… you thought I wanted these?” You forced the words out, your voice shaky. “These aren’t mine. They’re hers. They’re for her.”

The shock on his face, the confusion that washed over him, made your chest tighten even more. He tried to explain, tried to cut in with some excuse, but you didn’t want to hear it anymore. You had been so patient, so willing to let him see you, to let him find what was special about you.

But this? This was the final straw.

“No,” you cut him off, the anger and pain bubbling over. “I’ve been ignoring it for so long, hoping you’d finally see that I’m not her. I’m me, but you never did. You’ve been treating me like I’m a substitute for her. A stand-in for someone who isn’t even here.”

He opened his mouth to defend himself, but you didn’t want to hear it.

“Stop.” Your voice was harsh now, sharper than you ever thought it could be. “I’m done with the excuses. You’ve made it so clear that I’m just the next best thing. You’ve made it so clear that no matter what I do, I’ll never be enough. I’m not her.”

Every word you spoke felt like a knife twisting deeper, but it didn’t matter anymore. You couldn’t keep pretending. You couldn’t keep hoping he would finally wake up and realize you were more than just a stand-in.

Sylus tried to step forward, to apologize, but you weren’t having it.

“Don’t,” you snapped, your heart pounding, your emotions raw. “Don’t even try. This is over. We’re over.”

You turned away, your vision blurring as your emotions surged. You grabbed the things he’d given you—the gifts, the memories, the little trinkets he had left scattered around your apartment. Each one felt like a betrayal now, a reminder that you were never really his first choice. You packed them hastily into a bag, shoving them into his arms before he could say another word.

“I’m done. Get out,” you forced out, each word a struggle to maintain composure. You shoved the bag into his chest, feeling the finality of it. This was it.

You didn’t want to hear anything else. You didn’t want to see him.

Sylus stood there for a moment, the shock still etched on his face. But you didn’t care anymore. Your heart was too broken to care.

With one final glance, he turned and walked out, leaving you standing there, the door slamming behind him with a deafening finality.

And in that moment, you knew. It was over.

The door clicked shut, and the silence that followed was suffocating.

#Sylus #Sylus x mc #Sylus x reader #Sylus x you #Sylus love and deepspace #sylus lads #lads sylus #lads x you #lads x reader

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catboydreamer · 2 days ago

Text

friendships to games to lovers

Scaramouche x reader, childhood friends (reluctant) to lovers :)

you two grew up in the same neighborhood as kids, and eventually ended up hanging out (if you could call it that)

you pestering him constantly until he finally gives in with a grumble.

eventually he starts seeking you out too, making up ridiculous lies that you see right through but pretend to be oblivious about. all because you know he’ll back down if you call it out, and you refuse to see that happen.

you had moved homes when you were 15 years old but what are the odds you’d attend the same college as him?!

actually, it was a local community college in his (and previously yours) hometown.

when he sees you he tries to keep up with his snarky comments but you can see a glimmer of emotion just boiling over the edge

he’s a shit talker but a really good gift giver. he can’t help shoving his homemade lunch towards you, muttering quietly, “if you’re anything like before, you forgot to pack a lunch. and im not having you eat the shitty food in here.”

he’s grown taller now, too. something you thought wasn’t possible out of him. he didn’t tower over you or anything like that but it was enough to give him an edge.

as you rekindle a relationship, whatever it is, he uses his height a lot. he’s almost cocky about it; reaching above you to grab a book you needed, often leaning too far into your space. or even on more than one occasion, reaching into the cupboard to grab a mug from the highest shelf when he knows you’re leaning against the counter, right in front of it. and if you question it, he shrugs, “hm. cant say I’ve noticed it.”

he’s messing with you intentionally. he watches your reactions like a hawk, intensity flickering over his eyes.

deep down he just wants you to like him as much as he likes you but he wants to see you squirm a little bit too.

it’s just the type of man he is, to tease you before letting you know exactly what’s going through his head.

well, he has no intentions of being truthful actually, just dancing around the past and the present.

he wants the transition to be painfully slow until you find yourself captured by his presence as if it’s always been there.

though, it’s you, so that doesn’t really happen. plus, he finds himself lost on you, frustrated when gestures don’t /seem/ to affect you that much.

in reality, you’ve gotten good at hiding emotions. your fear of being someone to play with rises up.

it all comes to a head one autumn evening.

he invited you over for dinner one evening, with all the usual antics.

he’s pulling a flirtatious gaze while mocking you in the same sentence.

maybe something set you off that day or the tension just grew to be too much. after all, you were never known for your patience.

the two of you were in the middle of eating dinner but the exact meal was lost on you. you didn’t care what it was. your skin felt red hot.

one final stupid comment with a sly smile made you break in half.

“you know what? im so over your stupid games, kunikuzushi.”

his eyes widen for a moment before a look of clarity falls into his gaze, “what are you talking about-“

you cut him off cleanly, “no. you know exactly what’s going through im talking about. I’m not gonna play your games anymore. you can properly ‘fess up to your feelings or this is it.”

his blood runs cold; he’s deathly pale more than usual. there’s an unusual fear in his eyes as his head drops so you can’t see his full reign of emotions as he speaks. all you want to do is lift his chin with the tip of your finger tips so he can’t escape you but you leave such a bold move for another occasion.

his words are quick to the point, “I only wanted to know if you… l-loved me back,” his voice is full of cracks.

a smooth blush blossoms over his cheeks and the tips of his ears. he’s more than unready to truly speak of it all.

slowly his gaze lifts up to meet yours; a soft twinkle in your eyes and a warming smile pulling at your lips.

“you’re so stupid. I’ve always loved you.”

his heart jumps to his throat and he’s frozen in position.

“c’mere,” and you motion to your lap.

he huffs, turning his head to the side. your eyes bore into him, not intending on taking no for an answer.

he gives in after a few beats of silence. he sludges over to you, clumsily climbing into your lap. he’s technically bigger than you now but still slender enough that it’s not too much.

he’s shaking like a leaf. you don’t comment on it and especially not on how his entire body slowly relaxes completely at your touch and you trace small circles over his shoulder blades. your other hand grips his hand into yours.

you’ll be damned if you don’t give him more than enough physical affection even if he acts like he doesn’t need it.

you smile up at him. he has melted completely under your touch but you don’t dare to speak it.

his eyes dart away from your gaze as the phrase comes out in a quiet yet clear mumble, “I really do love you.”

you give his hand a firm squeeze, I know you do.

#genshin #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin fluff #kunikuzushi #wanderer #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche comfort #it’s comfort bc it’s comforting TO ME #scara x reader #bro I actually love this one #ANDDU BETTER TOO #bc it’s beautiful #I wish I like expanded it more but I also like how it is if that makes any sense lol

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mrspiastri · 10 hours ago

Note

7. “I was trying to play it cool, but then you smiled, and now I’m a lost cause.” with Charles Leclerc + friends to lovers pls

charles leclerc x reader

prompt 7. “I was trying to play it cool, but then you smiled, and now I’m a lost cause.”

💌💌💌

Charles was in trouble.

Had been, for a while now.

He had always been good at keeping his cool. At least, that’s what he told himself every time Y/N did something that made his heart race—like the way she absentmindedly ruffled his hair when she thought it needed fixing, or how she switched effortlessly between French and Italian when she got excited. They had been friends for years, their bond built on playful banter, late-night drives, bickering over who had better music taste and the kind of trust that felt unshakable.

It had always been easy. Simple.

Until it wasn’t.

He wasn’t sure when it happened—when the way he saw Y/N shifted from best friend to the only person who could ruin me with a smile. Maybe it was that night in Italy when they got caught in the rain, both laughing as she pulled him into the downpour. Or maybe it was the time she fell asleep on his shoulder during a long flight, trusting him completely, her head tucked against his neck.

Or maybe it was always meant to be like this.

Either way, he was screwed.

Because she was still looking at him like he was just her best friend, and all he wanted to do was tell her that she was everything.

Tonight, they were at his apartment in Monaco, curled up on the couch after dinner, a movie playing in the background that neither of them were watching. Y/N had her legs tucked beneath her, wearing one of his hoodies—one she had stolen months ago and never returned.

“Okay, serious question,” she said, turning to face him. “If I was in a life-or-death situation, do you think you’d save me first or finish your race?”

Charles scoffed, feigning offense. “Chérie, I would abandon my car mid-lap if you so much as stubbed your toe.”

She laughed, the sound bright and sweet, but he wasn’t joking. Not even a little.

Y/N shook her head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You love it.”

She grinned, nudging him playfully. “Maybe a little.”

He didn’t mean to stare. He really didn’t. But she looked so effortlessly beautiful—her hair falling messily around her face, her lips slightly parted as she smiled at him like he was her favorite person in the world.

And maybe that was why he said it.

“I was trying to play it cool,” he admitted, voice soft, “but then you smiled, and now I’m a lost cause.”

The teasing light in her eyes dimmed. She blinked, her lips parting slightly in surprise. “Charles-“

“I mean it, Y/N.” He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. His voice was quieter now, steadier.

“I’ve been trying to pretend I don’t feel this way. That we’re just friends. But then you look at me, and everything I’ve been trying to ignore—” He shook his head, a small, almost embarrassed laugh escaping.

“It doesn’t work. It never works.”

She didn’t say anything for a moment, just looked at him with something unreadable in her gaze. Then, without warning, she shifted closer, her fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie. “You’re an idiot,” she murmured.

He froze. “What?”

She rolled her eyes, but her voice was impossibly soft when she spoke again. “For thinking I don’t feel the same way.”

And just like that, his heart completely gave out.

He barely had time to react before she kissed him, her hands sliding into his hair, pulling him closer. Charles let out a shaky breath against her lips, his arms wrapping tightly around her like he had been waiting for this forever. Because he had.

When they finally broke apart, Y/N was smiling, her forehead resting against his. “Took you long enough.”

Charles let out a breathless laugh, pressing another soft kiss to the corner of her mouth. “Mon amour, I think I’ve loved you forever.”

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc drabble #charles leclerc fluff #f1 x reader #f1 fluff #valentines day prompts

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ariqxwz · 3 days ago

Text

UNEXPECTED ENCOUNTER

— Gangmember!chris x rich!reader

Masterlist here…

You frowned as the GPS reset itself again, changing the route once more. Your jaw tightened, and you shoved your phone into your bag. The street was silent, empty except for a couple of homeless people sleeping on the ground. You weren’t supposed to be here. You had made dinner plans with your friend at a new restaurant in the area, but things had clearly gotten complicated.

The sound of something rustling inside a trash can pulled you from your thoughts. You turned to look at it, expecting a rat. And it was—but that didn’t stop you from taking a few steps back. You grimaced in disgust and turned away.

A gunshot echoed between the buildings. You flinched involuntarily and looked back—there was no one there. Your chest rose and fell rapidly. Your steps quickened, desperate to get out of there.

You turned a corner and crashed into something solid. A small gasp escaped your lips as your body hit the ground.

Tears threatened to spill—you felt so frustrated, so scared.

You lifted your gaze, trying to see what you had collided with. A man stood in front of you, his eyes scanning you carefully.

“Excuse me, sir, I wasn’t watching where I was going,” you stammered, stumbling as you tried to get back on your feet.

“Sir? Do I look that old to you?” His brow furrowed slightly.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured. Your eyes flickered past his shoulder before darting around the area.

“What are you doing here? You don’t look like you’re from around here.” His words were direct and dry, something you weren’t used to.

“I’m not, I just…”

“Got lost?” He finished the sentence for you. A rough chuckle left his lips. He glanced to the side and ran a hand over his mouth. “This is a bad place to get lost.”

You frowned in confusion. No one had ever spoken to you like this—with so little respect.

“Uhm, could you tell me where Holloway Drive is, please?”

The guy looked at you again, staying silent for a few seconds.

“Go straight, then take a right.”

You nodded and gave him a small smile.

“Thank you,” you said, bowing your head slightly. “Have a good night.” You said your goodbyes and continued walking in the direction he had given you.

The echo of your heels clicking against the asphalt faded as you walked away. He narrowed his eyes, watching you. Expensive dress, the lingering scent of perfume in the air, a straight posture despite the fear you had felt. You didn’t belong here, and it showed in every move you made.

You had wished him a “good night,” unaware that he wasn’t used to saying the same to anyone.

He ran his tongue over his teeth and smirked.

This wouldn’t be the last time he saw you.

🏷️:: @marrykisskilled @paulalovesyouu @faiyaz555

#chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x reader

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ginnyw-potter · 1 day ago

Note

Ginny Weasley should die.

Thank you for the prompt anon! 😊 I hope you like it.

Death's cup

"Ginny Weasley should die."

Harry looked up from his newspaper and thought about his wife upstairs. 50 years old. Not quite in her quidditch years anymore but not old enough to die of natural causes, or so Harry would think. He did not want to let her go.

He looked at death. He seemed familiar. "Ah. Interesting that you tell me this. I thought you wielded your scythe on your own time, sir."

He stood up from the table and Death was yet still taller than him by almost more than a head.

Death moved uneasily. His face was hardly visible under his hood. "I do, but you... are the Master of Death and I will not take your wife away unannounced."

"I don't have the Elder Wand. The Stone is lost to time. The cloak belongs to James."

Death nodded. "You do not lose the title until someone else brings the items together. James is a special one. He hides from Death just as well as his father. There were some close calls under that cloak."

Though the thought of his son dying prickled as much as thinking about Ginny dying did, he only nodded. "He has no clue what it used to be like."

"He grew up safe thanks to the efforts of the generation before him," Death said. "I need to go and start on my day. I will be back in a few moments."

And just like that, Death walked out of his back door and soared straight up into the sky.

Harry had not even moved from his spot when James appeared by the same back door and knocked before entering.

"Morning dad, here's the cloak like you asked." His son put the cloak down on the table. "Mum still asleep?"

He nodded, dumbfounded but didn't reveal that he had never asked for the cloak. "Sleeping in."

"Alright. I'll see you two for dinner, yeah?"

Harry nodded again, trying not to think of the horrible possibility of Ginny not making it to dinner. "Of course," he said around the lump in his throat.

His son walked to the door again but Harry stopped him. James turned around to look at him.

"With or without that cloak, you're not invincible. Don't forget that," Harry said.

James offered him a lop-sided smile. "Is this another lesson from you where you take the cloak away from me to prove something?"

"No. Just a reminder."

"Because I am getting married soon and then I want to give you some of those grandkid-things mum dreams about." James hugged him.

Harry hugged him back. "Don't tell her that or she'll bug you about it until you bring her one."

"Merlin," his son let out with a chuckle. "I know it. I thought Al was going to beat me to it, to be fair." James released him and stepped back.

"He might still," Harry mused out loud.

James nodded in agreement. "Alright, see you tonight, dad!"

Harry waved absent-mindedly, his fingers of his other hand already wrapping around the cloak.

As soon as James had disapparated, he walked upstairs and into the master bed room. Ginny was sleeping soundly.

He tried not to think too hard about losing her but his arms shook as he draped the cloak over her. She did not stir.

"I love you, Gin," he said just in case and then he walked back downstairs.

He had just poured himself another cup of coffee when Death descended the stairs and walked back into the kitchen.

"The oddest thing just happened," Death said with an air of innocence, holding a list. "It says Ginny Weasley, bedroom, but I could not find her."

"That is odd," he agreed, the knot around his heart loosening a little. "Coffee?"

"Oh. Yes, thank you."

Harry poured Death a cup and handed it to him.

The skeletal hand wrapped around the ear of the cup. Both of them leaned against the counter as Death took a sip. A bit of steam escaped from the ear holes in his hood as he drank.

He seemed to leisurely read the list to see what was ahead for the day.

"Sir Barkington?" Harry inquired as he couldn't help but glance at the list.

"Yes," Death said. "Elderly dog. One of my favourites. It's such a joy to see them escape their old body with their achey joints and bad eyesight and see them chase around like a young puppy once more. It gets me every time."

Harry smiled. "That does sound rather nice." He looked at the name still at the top of his list. "Isn't it rather odd that my wife should be listed as 'Ginny Weasley' when she's been a Potter for thirty years?"

The cup of coffee hesitated in front of Death's mouth as his eyes slipped down. "That is odd."

"So?" Harry asked.

Death grumbled. "I wonder if the stupid fragmented souls messed with my list. Can't move on, can't go back. Trying to defy nature and now I have to pass those sorry excuses for a soul every morning on my commute!"

Harry's eyebrows rose. "If one was previously occupying a diary, it would know my wife's name rather well."

"Ah." Death's gaze fell on the list again. "That may very well be it. I'll need to investigate." He set the cup of coffee down on the counter and a quil appeared in his hand. He crossed Ginny's name off the list. "One way or another, consider her off the hook. I'll talk to her in another century or so." He rolled up the list and tucked it in the pocket of his cloak. "I'll see you soon."

Harry swallowed.

"Just kidding!" Death said, opening the door and stepping outside. "That never gets old! But you will. Live a long life, Harry. I will meet you again when it's time." He waved and then soared off once more.

Harry walked up the door and closed it. He returned to his coffee and took another sip.

"Why was the cloak on me?" She held it in her hands. She looked so very alive with tousled long hair and her night dress wrapped around her form.

"If I told you Death was looking for you, would you believe me?"

She snorted a laugh and picked up the cup of coffee from the counter. "No." She took a sip and promptly spat it out. "That tastes like death!"

"Told you he was here," Harry mumbled under his breath. "I'll get you a new one."

She playfully pushed him out of the way with her hip. "I'll make myself one. You clearly can't be trusted around the coffee machine anymore."

He laughed and took hold of her, kissing her eagerly.

"On second thought..." she said as she slipped her hand down his back. "Why don't you come back upstairs with me..."

"The counter is right there..." Harry offered.

She laughed. "I am not twenty anymore."

"No, you're not," he said happily, his hand caressing the curve of her hip. "But you get better every year."

"My joints don't," she said against his lips.

He pulled her up against him. "Oh, alright. And I'll make you a proper cup in a bit."

She dragged him upstairs, Death's cup forgotten.

#anon #ask #reply #ginny weasley #hinny

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solacescastleglow · 2 days ago

Text

You're Not Lazy, You're: A Daydreamer

So, you're addicted to daydreaming, to the point where you're putting aside important real life things in favour of talking to yourself. You're sitting there, watching life pass you by, desperately trying to fill the void with people you made up in your head. Your outer life is starting to look less and less like how you thought it would be, and the worst part is, there's nothing and no one to blame.

I've been there. In fact, when I was 12, it was so bad I literally didn't care at all about my family, I had no friends, and my grades were abysmal, but I was convinced I would be fine because 'at least I have my mind'. What I didn't realise was that I had lost control of even that. Now I still daydream, but I've become much more able to cope, and I can work around it to the point it no longer affects my day-to-day life. What was maladaptive daydreaming has become immersive daydreaming. If you're in the same situation, here are a few tips to get out of that hole for good.

(Remember, this is much easier said than done, so don't feel bad if this doesn't start helping right away. Also, this is not a substitute for therapy.)

Less daydreaming

1. Eliminating the need

I'm gonna be honest, this is the hardest part. Your daydreaming came about for a reason; it's kept you alive and safe for all this time. Daydreaming is a coping mechanism. The problem comes when it becomes your only or primary coping mechanism, and your comfort zone becomes so small that you're using it all the time. Start with the negative things in your life that caused you to start daydreaming. What are they? How can they be mitigated or resolved? What are some other coping tools you can use to get through them? For me, a big part of the reason was unchangeable (untreatable illness), but some of it could have something done about it. I started medication for my mental health, switched schools, went to therapy. Am I cured? No. Did it take a long time? Yes. But was it worth it? Absolutely.

2. Attention span and comfort zone work

Now that your negative situation is ameliorated, it's time to work on getting comfortable with being uncomfortable. When you don't daydream after a certain amount of time or coming across a trigger, you start to get restless and irritable. You're, unfortunately, just going to have to sit in that emotion for a little bit. Just 5 minutes. If the trigger is media or a conversation topic, try your absolute hardest not to let your mind wander. After that 5 minutes or when the conversation is over, you can excuse yourself to go daydream. Doing this repeatedly will slowly make your brain able to go longer between daydreaming sessions, which means you can function better in your outer life.

3. Don't limit daydreaming, expand your outer life

If you're anything like me, the thought of stopping completely makes you panic. This isn't a great sign overall, but if you feel terrible whenever you don't escape, it disincentivises you from living your life. Instead, start surrounding yourself with people: spending every evening with your housemates, having an accountability partner for work, going on walks in public. The self consciousness alone is usually enough for me to not daydream, so basically I'm just giving myself less time to drift off. Bonus points if it's an activity that gets you where you want or need to go.

4. Grounding

I know, I know. It's uncomfortable when you know that's what you're doing. I personally hate the 54321 method. But you know what does work for me? This one TikTok (I can't find it) where the lady in the video tells you to look at the corner of the screen and tell what time it is, then asks questions like 'what's to the left of the screen?' and 'what are you wearing?' That snaps me right back to the present. The moment you notice yourself drifting off, look at a clock. Then look down at what you're wearing. Then take a second to describe what you're seeing to yourself and do some kind of tactile stimulation (rubbing your hands together or tapping your lap, for example).

More doing

1. Life direction audit

Your daydreams are clues to what you want out of life. Use them to guide how you want your outer life to go:

How does daydreaming make you feel? How can you emulate that without daydreaming?

Related to your daydream self's career, how does it make you feel to think of yourself getting paid to do that in your outer life? What steps can you take to get yourself there, or closer to it?

What can you do to cultivate friendships that are meaningful to you on the same level as your daydream friends? If you have outer friends, what's the most realistic scenario that would play out if you said, "I need more (support/connection/in-person time) out of this relationship"?

Are there any significant personal differences between your daydream self and your outer self? Are you a different gender, do you have a different style of dress, do you have any skills or hobbies you don't actually have? Is there anything that you would do, if only you had the [time/money/energy/certainty that this is the right thing to do/ability to get through hard things]?

Based on what you've written down, make a 10 year plan, then from that a 5 year plan, then from that a 1 year plan. Once you have your yearly plan you have options: split it up into quarters, months, weeks, or some other way. Either way, eventually you'll want to get it down to what you can do on a daily or even hourly basis to make your daydream self your reality.

2. Do it daydreaming, but do it

Now, do it. Sounds way easier than it is, but when I say do it, I mean do it any way you can. Do it upset, complaining, bored, frustrated, scared, badly, adapted to fit your abilities, in a way other people think is weird, crying the whole time, late, embarrassed, inconsistently, from your bed. Do it partway, then decide you want something else out of life. Do it when it's easy, and if you really want it, do it when it's hardest. Do something similar to it if what you want is unattainable. You can even do it with one foot in your daydream world.

As long as you're trying to do what makes you happy (and I mean the real kind of happy, not the kind that's always tinged with the grief that it's all in your head), any amount of effort you put into it is worthwhile.

3. Incentives

I was going to say to follow your plan and not your mood, but that's really hard. What you need is to find a way to make yourself follow that plan happily. For me, that's setting difficult monthly challenges for myself and getting rewards if I complete them. The challenge makes me want to do it because I want to prove my inner critic wrong. Do whatever works for you, because even if it sounds silly, it's not silly if it works.

4. Check ins

Every so often, re-evaluate where you're going. I know I just said to do it bored and frustrated, but if the whole thing is boring and frustrating and there are no upsides, don't keep at it. Check that you're actually happy with the direction your life is going.

---

And that's all I have for you. Remember, daydreaming can still be a healthy part of your life, it's the inability to stop it that's the problem. You can learn to balance it. I believe in you.

#you're not lazy #maladaptive daydreaming #actually maladaptive #maladaptive daydreamer #madd #actually madd #productivity #that girl #it girl #girlblogging #hell is a teenage girl #girl rotting #bed rotting #op

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ranposbabe · 3 days ago

Text

Wrinkled Sheets

pairing: louis james moriarty x fem!reader

summary: louis doesn’t like the fresh sheets wrinkled but you kept provoking him :(

warning: smut, slight mention of voyeurism??, unprotected sex!! he’s sick of your bs

Each morning the same routine occurred.

From the moment Louis woke up as the rays of sun rise sneaked in past the curtains, he’d gather himself up and dress along with making the bed with fresh sheets. He found it somewhat relaxing. A simple not even task completed to start off the uncertain day.

Atlas, one’s tasks are certain to be disrupted when you are around.

“Louis !” You exhaustingly call, practically slouched over standing in the doorway. Your call did nothing but bounce off the walls as he continued to folding the sheets so precisely.

You couldn’t believe it ! You barely could find it within yourself to stay awake at the crack of dawn to even think about the daily chores let alone do them !

“y/n I’m rather busy at the moment.”

He’s polite with his words yet his back remains to yous still and suddenly a devious thought provokes your mind. “Doing what exactly ?” You tease, taking steps forward as you now stood behind him. Your curiousity leads you to stand on your tippy toes in an attempt to look over his broad shoulders. “y/n” Louis sighs, his hand patting out the creases. You could only stare down at his long fingers and the way they-

“Oh !” You gasp, your balance lost like your lucid dreams. You’re quick to fall against his back but not before Louis quick reflective kick in and he turns ever so slightly just to take you into his arms to stop you descending to the floor.

Just a moment everything stops and you feel everything. How both of his hands are placed against your lower and upper back. How even though you don’t dare look up as your heads places against his chest that its pace has indeed increased ever so slightly.

“Careful.” He softly tells you off before letting you go and it’s only when you’re not pressed against Louis, you feel the sudden coldness of the room and it leads you feeling such discomfort. Time to pursue your idea !

Louis stood still clearing his throat as he adjusted his glasses and he was none the wiser as you moved before him.

As soon as the back of your knees collided with the edge of the bed you didn’t hesitate to sit down, crossing your legs in the process.

You look up and you’re clearly not taken back by the irritated look on Louis face. His brows are practically always furrowed when in your presence.

“Get up.” A sigh once again escapes his lips, staring you down. You take on the challenge.

“Why should I ?” You tilt your head, resting down back on your elbows. He still stands above you, not threatened by your game. That is until your legs are uncrossed and ever so slightly spread and Louis realises that he’s standing ever so close to between your legs.

The faint blush on his cheeks and ears gives him away.

But Louis is quick to compose himself when he sees your elbows creasing the sheets and now he’s been set off. Poor you.

“Enough !” He finally snapped, his tone sharp with warning. His scarlet eyes filled with temptation. You will admit, his tone made a whimper out of you but when you stared up into those eyes you knew deep within you that he was welcoming this challenge.

He continue to glare right down at you, you’re not sure whether he was in contemplation or if this was your punishment. Either way, you were starting to feel uneasy about the answer that you were guaranteed to find out.

“Louis I-

You try to sit up yet as if a switch had been turned, you’re pushed down by the young Moriarty and soft lips are pressed against yours which you greedily accept. Strands of blond tickle your forehead as his hands grip onto the sheets beside your head. Creasing them far more than you’ve done.

He pulls back but before you can question him, he pulls his glasses off, throwing them above you onto the pillows.

Whenever the glasses come off that was when you understood to keep quiet.

His lips now more eager are once again on yours and you return the favour by the opening your mouth to invite his tongue.

It is when Louis reaches down to pick up your leg by the back of your knee that your skirt rises, that you realise the obvious.

“Louis !” Your eyes widened. “The door is still open !”

Anyone could walk by at any moment and the would see the disgrace of yourself. This seemed to only rile Louis up even more, you could tell by the way his teeth dragged his lip without a single care. With nothing to say, you could only pout. His kisses are moved down to your exposed neck. Sooner or later your neck wouldn’t be the only thing out in the open for anyone walking by to view.

Your eyes couldn’t help but follow his movements. How his fingertips rested around your throat, not squeezing but reminding you what he’s capable off. How the light purple and blue veins look exquisite and decorate his surprisingly smooth hands. His other hand was busy pulling up your skirt that was getting in the way of his desire. Your cheeks were warm, in an instant the buttons to your blouse were opening and your legs displayed which Louis rubbed your thigh with his remaining hand yet he was fully clothed, not even his bow tie was disturbed. It felt like a silly game that really only you were playing, following along to his rules. He was the real winner here.

While his addictive kisses which turned your skin into shades of purple moved down to your chest, you sneakily took the chance to move your seemingly stiff hands down to his belt.

You barely got it open before your hands were ripped away. “Are you going to continue to misbehave?” Louis questions you all the while he tugs down your undergarments, your skirt still ruffled around your waist. “Well ?” His movements stop. It all depends on your pretty lips to move.

“Um.” The embarrassment which prior was nonexistent is evident of your reddened face. You could feel his nails begin to dig into the skin beneath the waistband of your underwear.

“I’ll behave.” Your heart is thumping out of your chest and the sight alone of your pleading eyes of submission makes Louis weak in the knees. Quite literally.

Your back arches from the bed, sheets creasing the more your head sways back as your hands move from the sheets to Louis’ hair as he places delicate but long fulfilling kisses on your cunt. The more Louis licks and even bites the more you forget yourself and your lustful cries can be heard outside of the room where the door is wide open as ever.

It’s when Louis’ teeth have a slight nip at your clit, he looks up and those scarlet eyes can see the satisfaction on your dazed face.

He pulls back, looking down at his glistening prize. Not only are the sheets now destroyed in wrinkles from you griping so tight but also due to your soaking wet cunt that’s non stop dripping well because of Louis’ skills.

You don’t even get a second to come down from your high as his mouth is replaced with his cock. His cock so deep in you he snugly fits perfectly. Even if it takes you a minute and a gasp to adjust to his long girth. Every fast thrust, his cock touches your cervix, intending to leave bruises just like your neck. All you can do is cling onto him by his clothed shoulders as he uses your cunt to his advantage. Of course you always have to irritate him. Of course you’re delaying him of his tasks. Always you and your desirable cunt getting in his way !

Well he won’t have it anymore ! The sheets at this stage are done for ! Anymore mess to be made will be put onto you. Quite literally !

As you both reach your high together, it was rightfully Louis’ turn to make a mess and of course he would all over your exposed chest and blouse. He was fully dressed, he can’t make a mess of his own clothes now can he ?

The switch had been turned again, no longer under your enchantment. Louis gathers himself quickly, adjusting his pants as you’re left covered in his mess. “I need to prepare tea.” Louis states, his hands fumbling in an effort to fix his crooked bow tie. You can only stare in, not even budging.

He points to the sheets, his demands never tire. “I want them replaced when I come back. If not you’ll obey the repercussions.” Like that Louis bolts out the door, behind on his daily routine, not even sparing you a glance.

All you’re left to do is pathetically lie there, panting away in a useless attempt to catch your breath. But that’s doesn’t mean you follow instructions. You continue to lie there eagerly staring out at the open doorway, waiting for the repercussions.

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xoxorealitygalore · 2 days ago

Text

Trust and Believe IX

summary: Keyshia and Joe had a seemingly perfect life together after marrying in 2010. However, as their careers grew, so did the strain on their relationship. When Joe cheats on Keyshia. The emotional fallout from the incident leaves their relationship hanging in the balance, with Keyshia questioning if they could ever recover from the betrayal.

Joe sat in his living room, the dim light from the television flickering across his tired face. His fingers drummed anxiously against the armrest, the rhythmic tapping a manifestation of the unease gnawing at him.

His cousins Jonathan, Jacob, and Joshua sat in a semi-circle around him, their faces tight with concern, mirroring the same worry Joe felt deep in the pit of his stomach. The air was thick with tension, and the room felt smaller, the silence between them unbearable.

“Uce, you still haven’t heard from her?” Jonathan’s voice cut through the stillness, soft but sharp, as if it were the question on everyone’s mind.

Joe’s gaze remained unfocused, his eyes staring blankly ahead. He didn’t have the answer. He wasn’t sure he ever would. His mind replayed the disastrous events of the past few days, the awkwardness, the anger, the silence, and all of it led to one conclusion: Keyshia was gone.

He shook his head slowly, the movement almost imperceptible. The weight of it all seemed to press down on him with every passing second. He couldn’t remember a time when he had felt so helpless, so utterly lost. The woman he loved, the woman he had hurt so deeply, had disappeared without a trace. And now, here he was, surrounded by his family, unable to offer anything but a sense of hopelessness.

Jonathan’s question hung in the air, unanswered. It was a question Joe didn’t have the heart to respond to directly. He’d tried everything. Calling, texting, pleading. Nothing worked. In the aftermath of the disastrous night, the night they ran into Tyson, Keyshia’s ex-boyfriend, the world had come crashing down around him.

It had been a failed date night, a fragile attempt at salvaging something after everything they’d been through. Joe had hoped it would be a simple, fun evening, a momentary escape from the strain that had settled between them. But then they saw Tyson, sitting across the room at the same restaurant, on a date with the woman that Joe had cheated on Keyshia with. The sight of them together, laughing and sharing an intimate moment, had been the last straw for Keyshia. The pain, the betrayal, the memories, all of it hit her like a tidal wave.

She had fled the scene before Joe could even process what was happening. In a daze, he paid their tab and rushed after her, hoping to catch her before she left. At first, he thought she had caught an Uber home. It seemed like the logical explanation at the time. But when he got home, Keyshia was nowhere to be found. Her things were still in their room, her side of the bed empty.

He had waited up that night, hoping against hope that she would return, that things would somehow right themselves. But when morning came and she still wasn’t there, the reality of the situation settled in. She had disappeared, and Joe was left to pick up the pieces of his shattered marriage.

For three days, Joe had been unable to reach her. His calls went unanswered, his texts went unread. He even sent her a message in desperation: “U can block me all u want doesn’t mean I’m letting u go.”

But Keyshia had blocked him just as she had done with everyone else. The silence from her side was deafening, and with each passing day, Joe's fear grew deeper. What if something had happened to her? What if she was in danger? He couldn’t shake the feeling that she was in pain, that the weight of everything had caused her to retreat into herself, to hide away from it all.

"I’ve been texting and calling everyone trying to figure out where she is, but no one is saying anything," Joe confessed to his cousins, his voice hoarse with exhaustion and worry. "I think she had a nervous breakdown and went into hiding."

There was a long pause before Joshua spoke up, his voice quiet but probing. “Have the kids said anything about her contacting them?”

Joe sighed deeply, a heavy, defeated sound. He rubbed his temples, his mind spinning. His thoughts were consumed by Keyshia’s absence, by the guilt of knowing that he had pushed her to the edge. “The older kids are keeping their lips sealed,” he replied, his voice thick with the weight of truth.

He knew his daughters, Josie and Kayleigh, understood the gravity of the situation. Josie, seventeen, was old enough to grasp the complexities of relationships, to know when things weren’t right. Kayleigh, ten, though younger, had always been sensitive, always attuned to the emotions of those around her. They had seen the pain in their mother’s eyes long before the disastrous encounter with Tyson, and it was clear which side they had chosen. Keyshia hadn’t asked them to take sides, but it was natural for daughters to stick up for their mother. Joe had always known that.

His younger kids were too young to understand what was happening. They hadn’t mentioned anything about Keyshia, and Joe hadn’t expected them to. They were still innocent, untouched by the complexities of the adult world.

“What are you going to do?” Jacob asked after a long silence, his voice softer now, laced with concern for his cousin.

Joe ran his hands down his face, frustration and helplessness mingling in his expression. “I’m trying,” he murmured. His words held a layer of desperation, of yearning for things to be different. “I want her home. I want my marriage and my family. But I won’t sacrifice Keyshia’s mental health for it. If she needs to be away from me at the moment, then I’ll let her be for now.”

His words, though sincere, felt like a hollow promise. How could he just let her go? How could he stand by and watch her slip away when all he wanted was to make things right?

Meanwhile, miles away, Keyshia sat in a dimly lit hotel room, the silence pressing in on her from all sides. The bed was unmade, a single suitcase sitting by the foot, half-packed with the few belongings she had taken when she left. She didn’t know where else to go, and the hotel room felt like a temporary escape, an unfamiliar space where she could think, breathe, and let the weight of the past few days settle before making any decisions. Her phone buzzed incessantly on the nightstand, the screen lighting up with dozens of missed calls and text messages, mostly from Joe.

She had blocked him, a decision made in desperation. He didn’t understand. He couldn’t. Keyshia just needed space, and time to sort through the wreckage of her life, to process the betrayal, the pain, and the exhaustion that had been building for so long.

Joe’s persistence had become suffocating. The constant barrage of messages only served to remind her of the pressure she felt to fix things, to make it all better. But how could she? How could she fix a marriage when the foundation had cracked so deeply? How could she trust again after the betrayal that had cut her to the core?

It wasn’t just Tyson or even Joe’s affair. It was the years of unmet needs, the subtle erosion of their connection, and the slow unraveling of trust that had been wearing her down for far too long. Joe had pushed her to the brink, and now she was standing on the edge, unsure of which way to go.

As if on cue, her phone buzzed again. She rolled over, her body aching with fatigue, and reached for the device. She glanced at the screen, seeing her mother’s name flash across it.

With a deep breath, Keyshia swiped to answer, her finger trembling slightly.

“Keyshia, baby, where are you? What’s going on? Joe’s been calling me nonstop. Everyone’s worried about you.”

Her mother’s voice was a soothing balm, but it only made Keyshia feel more exposed, more fragile. She didn’t want to talk, didn’t want to explain herself, but she knew her mother wouldn’t stop until she heard something.

“I’m fine, Mom,” Keyshia replied, her voice raw and tight with emotion. “I just need some time. I need to be alone right now.”

Her mother, ever the concerned parent, didn’t accept this easily. “Alone? Keyshia, you don’t need to be alone. You need to talk to someone. You can’t run away from this.”

Keyshia’s hand tightened around the phone. She didn’t want to argue, but her emotions were too much to keep in check. “I’m not running, Mom. I just need space to think. I can’t keep pretending everything’s fine when it’s not. I need to figure out what’s next for me.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. Her mother wasn’t sure how to respond, but Keyshia could hear the concern in her voice. “I just want you to be happy, sweetheart. I love you.”

“I’ll be okay, Mom,” Keyshia whispered, the words feeling both true and hollow at the same time. “I just need time to breathe.”

She ended the call, her phone lying heavy in her hand. The silence of the room enveloped her once again, and for the first time in days, she felt a fragile sense of peace. There was still so much to figure out, but for now, the only thing that mattered was taking care of herself. The rest could wait.

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