#this didn’t happen it’s a dramatic imagining

[ireverie]

do you like it, dr. lee?

pairing ↠ jake, jay, jungwon x (f) professor!reader

genre .. warnings ↠ smut, noncon, gangbanging, student x professor, reader is early 30s, they’re all twisted but jay is mean asfk, mentions of infidelity, age gap (18+)

summary ↠ jake, jay, and jungwon are some of the brightest, most accomplished students in your class that never fail to make high marks on the exams. but when they approach you one day in your office, your perspective of them changes dramatically.

wc ↠ 5.4k

a/n ↠ originally posted on my blog revehae, i am not plagiarizing myself. part 2/3 of the in my blood series. as always, feedback is appreciated!

don’t like it, don’t read.

it all happened so fast.

one minute, you were chatting with three of your most wonderful students in your office, and the very next, they had you sprawled out on top of your desk.

your heart was speeding. though you attempted to wrestle your way out of their less than gentle embraces, you couldn’t even take one of them, let alone all three. while somebody was keeping your hands still, another was holding you by the legs.

jay, who had his palm flat over your mouth, only watching your moist, fearfully wide eyes, leaned into your ear and whispered, “scream and we’ll saw your tongue off.”

when he dropped his palm, you sucked in a breath, face tensing with tears as you willed yourself to be compliant. your head was spinning, dizzy with shock. what was happening to you was unfathomable. these boys were some of your favorite students, the ones who never failed to perform magnificently on the exams, and were sparkling in class.

you felt betrayed, in a way. even your worst-performing student wouldn’t stoop this low, and in the midst of your fright, you wondered what you had done to deserve the atrocity that was today. if there was anybody that you could count on to make you feel as if your dedication to this job wasn’t completely useless, it was these boys.

jake was standing just shy of you, eyes fixed to that knee-length skirt he loved watching you wear. jay chuckled when he noticed where his friend’s gaze had fallen, because he found himself glancing there too, but usually when you were facing away from your students.

he always thought about getting you naked, seeing your ass without anything to hinder his view. more often than not, jay fisted himself to the thought of stuffing your ass full of his thick cock, wondering if anybody had ever fucked you there.

snapping out of his imagination, jake approached you, shoving your long skirt closer to your hips. instinctively, the first thing you did was try to protect yourself, but jungwon grabbed you and ceased all control. you slumped, whimpering defeatedly, “boys, please stop. you know that i have a husband.”

jake snickered, amused that that was the card you chose to play. “didn’t really look like you cared about your husband when you were fucking my dad,” he retorted.

rather than beat even quicker, it felt as if your heart stilled. “what?”

jay laughed boisterously. “would you look at that. she thinks you don’t know.”

“that’s right, baby,” jake replied menacingly, nothing affectionate about his tone, in spite of the pet name. “you run your mouth and we’ll make sure the whole school knows that you can’t stop spreading your legs for my father.”

donning the sweetest tone, jungwon crooned in your ear, “and you wouldn’t want that, right, sweetheart? you wouldn’t want mr. lee to know that his wife isn’t satisfied with just his cock, is she now?”

it felt as if the whole world was crumbling beneath your feet. jake was sunghoon’s son, the offspring of the man you had been hooking up with behind your husband’s back, and now he and his friends were threatening to expose your affair if you refused to let them have their way with you.

your lips were trembling. this is all your fault, you chided to yourself. if you could’ve just been a faithful wife, a committed woman, none of this would be happening. they would have nothing against you, nothing that would stop you from reporting to the closest figure of authority. but you had too much at stake.

though you were no stranger to jay’s short patience, you had never seen it manifest quite like this before, gripping your hair so roughly you whimpered in a blend of pain and shock. he growled, “he asked you a question. i shouldn’t have to tell you that that called for an answer.”

“no,” you replied shakily.

jay’s grip only tightened and he pressed, “no, what?”

“no, i don’t want him to know…,” you trailed, because it was humiliating to repeat back aloud, but jay was still gazing at you expectantly. “that i’m not satisfied with just his cock.”

“see, that wasn’t so hard. don’t be a little bitch and make things more complicated than they have to be,” jay said, releasing his hold on your hair. you would’ve fallen back had not jungwon been there to catch you, only to then grab the little buttons on your blouse. “we’re doing you a favor, really. it’s a three for one deal. a little whore like you should be excited.”

but you didn’t want them, you didn’t even want your husband. you wanted sunghoon. it made you wonder how they knew of the affair, because jake seemed oblivious only a couple of weeks ago. he referred to you as some fucking nurse sunghoon had flirted with, not his molecular biology professor.

for fuck’s sake, you were a solid decade older than them. granted, sunghoon was at least a decade older than you, though there was a discernible difference between the age gap between the two of you and the gap between you and your undergraduate students. 

your button-up blouse finally came undone and jungwon didn’t waste a breath before he snatched off your bra, eager to suck your breasts into his mouth. you gasped out when he did, his tongue darting around your nipples. in the same way, jake yanked your panties off, cupping between your legs without a second thought.

never in your life had you felt more defenseless, powerless. stripped of all autonomy and forced to let other people have their wicked ways with you. you felt nothing short of violated and it made you sick to your stomach, gut tossing and churning with reproach.

through your stinging eyes, blurry with hot tears, you watched jake sink to his knees in front of your desk. you weren’t particularly enthusiastic about how exposed you were, your breasts out and your skirt bunched just above your thighs. it felt like the closest thing to walking around the plaza half-naked.

obviously, you felt more watched than you would’ve had it just been one of them, but you were at the mercy of three guys that were paying a godawful amount of attention to your bare figure. jungwon was fixed to your perky chest and jay was watching jake situate himself between your legs, holding them open for his friend in case you wanted to be defiant.

“jake, i don’t want this,” you whined, wiping your face with the back of your hand. 

“that’s too bad, baby.” jake wasn’t even looking at you, gaze locked on your pussy, like that was what you were reduced to. “don’t worry, it’ll feel good.”

you sucked in another gasp when his mouth angled towards your pussy without affording you a notice in advance, your body’s natural instinct being to shut your legs, but jay was still holding them in place and he was infinitely stronger than you. with the vigorous training that it took to be a member of the campus’ athletic teams, it came to you as no shock, but you were heavily disappointed.

jake’s tongue singled out your clit while he lapped at you, ravenous. the second he saw you on the first day of class, he knew that he had to have you. so when he found out that you were sleeping with his father, cheating on your husband with jake’s dad of all people, he became furious. 

neither you or sunghoon were as good at keeping secrets as you thought yourselves to be. on more than one occasion, jake saw you leaving their house. every now and then, he would see your name on his father’s phone. and it wasn’t fair. if anybody could please you, if anybody could bring you to heaven and back, it was the boy with his head buried between your legs.

as if matters couldn’t get any worse, jake actually seemed to know what he was doing. though you would never admit it to his face, the way he was sucking at your bundle of nerves had you throbbing, pulsing involuntarily around nothing. you whimpered and whined, but chewed on your bottom lip to stifle the noise.

jungwon chuckled so quietly it was barely audible, but said nothing as of right now, cupping your tits in his palms and squeezing. his patience was much less limited than jay’s, who was currently shifting out of his boxers, freeing his raging hard cock. you saw him in the corner of your misty eyes, noticing how rigid and thick his cock was, but said nothing.

what you didn’t expect, though probably should have seen coming, was for him to start jacking himself to the sight of you being mishandled. jake wasn’t the only one that couldn’t stop thinking about from the moment you locked eyes. matter of fact, that mutual pining was the common denominator of this little team.

all three of them were sick in the head, out of their minds obsessed with you. you would have expected some lethal kind of rivalry to develop out of that, but instead, they were much more menacing about it. they were helping each other get what they wanted.

you were a little overwhelmed from all the attention and jay wasn’t even touching you, but just knowing that he was stroking his cock for you was more than a little unnerving. jungwon’s hands were so strangely gentle, setting a pattern as he groped you, all the while jake was eating you out vigorously.

“pretty, pretty. so pretty when you cry,” jungwon sang in a way that could’ve been kind, if you ignored the nature of what was happening to you. then, like he knew your secret and was implying that he wouldn’t tell, he whispered for only your ears, “pretty when you lie, too.”

it wasn’t fair. you didn’t want to like this, just like how you didn’t want to be aroused. but when jake pushed a pair of fingers inside of your pussy you gushed and tightened around his digits. you were so unstill, it drove him mad, prompting him to go harder.

your brain was empty but racing all the while, thinking, this is so fucking wrong. you were fucking his father, for crying out loud, and even that was wrong. you didn’t care then, so according to their logic, it shouldn’t have made a difference now.

jake and jay’s grunts blended into one giant cacophony of sound, jake moaning with a mouthful of pussy because he couldn’t get enough of the way you tasted and your pussy was spasming around his digits, whereas jay was grunting because he thought you were most right now when you were deprived of all control.

blood was pumping quicker than ever through your veins, your heart screaming for survival. you weren’t even remotely in control of your own body anymore, seized not only by your three reckless students, but the pleasure burning through you like wildfire.

your office, that was typically admirably ventilated, seemed to hot to breathe in. but your breaths became quicker and shorter, as if there was no space in your lungs, and you started to feel the sweat cooling down your back, reminding you of how naked you were.

jake was so hard, stiffening in his pants the longer he watched you start to unravel, and he could’ve probably gotten off just from making you cum. you were grinding your hips against his mouth, and his long, slender fingers that were surely getting you there. you might not have wanted to confess the truth, but your body couldn’t lie.

“she’s so close,” jay commented with a chuckle, addressing you as if you weren’t even there. “fuck, i am too.”

a hole of negative emotions opened then and there and swallowed you whole, namely guilt and humiliation. you didn’t want jake to make you cum, you didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of bringing you pleasure, but that ship had already sailed. 

nonetheless, you parted your lips and begged in between shaky moans, “jake, stop. please, i’m begging you!”

“he’s not going to stop, sweetheart,” jungwon crooned, brushing a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. “don’t you see? he can’t get enough of your pretty pussy. you should feel so good about yourself.”

few things in life had ever made you feel this conflicted. on the one hand, this was degrading on way too many levels and you felt forcibly stripped of all of your dignity. but on the other, deep down inside, the sight of jake with his head between your thighs as he licked and sucked at your cunt was inexplicably arousing.

and that did it for you. you tried to fight it, you really did, but your orgasm completely blindsided you, taking you by the reins and going to town. your lips parted in a cry of jake’s name, your thighs trembling and heat striking through you like lightning as you gripped onto jungwon for dear life.

jake continued to go down on you after you orgasmed, just until you finished more or less riding his face, going limp against your desk with only jungwon to keep you upright. you couldn’t breathe, you couldn’t think. all the blood was rushing to your head and your heart was thumping in your ears.

jake finally pulled back, licking your arousal off of his lips and the corners of his mouth in a way that made your core throb emptily, then asked, “did you like it, dr. lee?”

your ears burned and you said nothing, because there was nothing that needed to be said. your answer was in the way your chest heaved like unstill waters, your fingers still holding onto jungwon’s shirt. like you thought you would collapse if you had nothing to anchor yourself.

jungwon took one glance at you and scoffed, “i think she loved it, man.”

there was something so smug in jake’s stare, like he just knew that he had you.

when jake moved, jay came between your spread legs, still holding his cock while he stroked himself to climax in front of you. like it would never be satisfied, your pussy continued to throb at the sounds you were indirectly plucking out of him, culminating in one deep, guttural growl when he came, shooting his load on your cunt.

though you were (thank god) on birth control, him orgasming there still made you feel iffy. you could feel it trickling down into your hole and hated how eager it seemed to be filled. for half a second, you were convinced that was the worst that could happen.

imagine your shock when jungwon abandoned your boobs, soft and supple as they were, and shifted between your thighs next. you didn’t know what to expect when you noticed him move, they enjoyed keeping you guessing, but it definitely wasn’t for jungwon to lick at your release-stained pussy.

you gasped, “jungwon!”

the sound of him sucking and licking at your clit was lewd, and there were long, damp lines being made with his flattened tongue. while you were appalled, the other watched in amusement how jungwon unabashedly more or less ate jay’s cum from your hole in a disturbing licking pattern. because where it was a nightmare for you, it was just one giant game to them.

to say nothing of the fact that you had only just orgasmed, sensitive. your thighs couldn’t handle the stimulation and you let out a breath of relief when his mouth separated from you, only for him to stand and force his lips against yours. you resisted, jolting away from him, but your attempts to evade him were in vain.

jungwon didn’t even need to grab your face to keep you still, because there was nowhere for you to hide. it was a disgusting, messy kiss, given that you were adamant on pushing him off. only so much of it was your fault though. jungwon liked it messy, liked how repulsed you were. he liked the grimace you were sporting and the blend of jay’s cum and saliva dribbling down your chin. the damp spots of his saliva on your cheek from your attempts to dodge him and where his tongue pressed against you instead.

it was nauseating to you. you could taste jay’s cum on your tongue, even though his cock hadn’t been anywhere near your mouth. and the the taste just wouldn’t go away.

jungwon, at last, pulled back, though only to laugh at the look on your face. “aw, don’t make that face. you liked it, right?”

you parted your lips to say deny him, but jungwon saw it coming and just kissed you again, not one to take no for an answer.

“okay, move your ass,” jake said after a minute of watching you squirm. you never realized how strong jungwon was.

jungwon frowned, but moved out of the way. not because jake told him to, but because he had something equally devious running through his brain.

you were baffled when you noticed jake returning between your thighs, because he should’ve already had his fill. then, you noticed that he had freed his cock from his boxers in the time jungwon spent sucking on your tongue, and swallowed the lump in your throat.

you let out a cry of shock when they spread you over your desk the long way, carelessly toppling over your belongings, and yanked your skirt off your body completely. you were utterly naked, and there was no bit of you they hadn’t seen.

jake positioned himself behind you, lining himself up at your entrance. there was so much terror in your body at the moment, scared not only for what was to come, but of liking it too.

“please,” you begged, trying to negotiate once more. “you boys should fool around with someone your own age.”

jake snickered, as if that was funny. he probably thinks it is. “maybe, but where’s the fun in that?”

your jaw slacked when his first thrust drew a pitched cry from the back of your throat. he wasn’t even half as patient as his father would be to sheathe himself completely. sunghoon would take his time, wallowing in your wetness just before slowly but steadily filling you, inch by fucking inch. jake, on the other hand, went straight for the kill.

but to your horror, you were soaked enough for him to slip right in smoothly, to say nothing of jay’s leftover cum facilitating the process. jake was girthy like sunghoon too, in spite of all of their stark differences, and you hated that it was so familiar how he was stretching you out.

“wait,” you whimpered, fingers clamping aggressively against the edges of your desk. “jake, please. you don’t need to do this.”

irritated, jay nudged jungwon, groaning, “will you shut her up already?”

“gladly,” jungwon chirped, a devilish little smile tugging at his lips.

you lifted your head up when you heard jungwon approaching the side of your desk that you were facing, watching him shuffle out of his pants and boxers, and you quickly started to flail. jake grabbed your neck, lowered his head, and hissed, “behave, or we’ll have to tell the class that their favorite professor is just a slutty little whore.” 

you stilled, remembering what was at stake. it wasn’t just your career, but sunghoon’s too. the second it got out that the two of you were involved in an affair, you knew you would both have to answer for your sins.

when jungwon finally got his underwear off, lengthy hard cock standing angrily against his stomach, he positioned himself beside your mouth and crooned, “say ‘ah.’”

“i don’t want to,” you whimpered.

jay crept over, evidently disgruntled, and there was a resounding smack when his palm landed flat against your cheek. “one more thing from you and your husband’s gonna get a nice surprise in his email,” he warned.

defeated, you silently opened your mouth, letting jungwon push himself to the back of your throat. he let out a pleasant little sigh, eyes fluttering closed, paying no attention to the tears dripping down your cheeks. your mouth was too warm for him to a give damn whether or not you wanted this, to care about what you were feeling.

all the while, jake’s hands were bruising your hips with the merciless grip he had of them. unlike you, his moans were unrestrained, never shy to reveal the ecstasy making his blood pump and his dick throb. you were so wet, so tight, everything he imagined tenfold. his father didn’t deserve you, not in his opinion. everything sunghoon could do, jake was certain that he could do better, even if you didn’t want to confess.

even if he was a lot less caring than his dad would present. you didn’t know sunghoon, not like you thought. the dark side jake had didn’t just come out of nowhere. though you would never realize, there was a clear reason why jake was so sick in the head, especially when it came to you. why he took great delight in forcing you over your desk, stuffing you full of his cock and listening to you cry, struggling to hide that you loved his cock.

“he doesn’t love you, you know,” jake said none too gently, snickering from between your legs. “i hope you realize you’re just another easy whore. not the first, not the last.”

there was so much going on that you were hoping you could somehow detach yourself from the brutal reality. not only was your body overloaded, but your mind and soul, ripping a hole right through all that you thought to be true.

it was all too fucking much. “your mouth feels so good,” jungwon exhaled, a hand tangled through your hair.

“you should feel her pussy. she’s so fucking wet, dude. and she thinks we’re going to buy that she’s not begging for this,” jake replied, completely degrading. 

jungwon chuckled breathlessly. you were sucking it out of him, against your will or not. “yeah, i can hear how wet she is.”

jay said nothing, but you were already too overwhelmed to notice his absence in the conversation. he was engrossed in thought, waiting with staggering patience for his own turn. which wasn’t typical for him at all. he swore, when he was done with you, you weren’t even going to think for weeks. 

between jake’s twisted smack of his hips against yours and the way jungwon was unabashedly using your mouth to get off, you couldn’t decide which was more brutal. torture was torture, but if it was meant to be so bad, there shouldn’t have been moans slipping from your mouth uncontrollably. there shouldn’t have been a familar weight sitting in the pit of your stomach, waiting to wreck you.

“i know you love this,” jake said, maybe project just a little, but the body didn’t lie and he could feel you tightening. “i know you love this fucking dick. wish i could hear you say it, baby.”

“that can be arranged,” jungwon quipped, but it took you by surprise when he actually pulled his cock from your mouth. “c’mon, angel. tell jake how much you love his dick.”

your face flushed with humiliation, but you knew what would happen if you failed to comply. “i...,” you started, hesitant. “i love your dick, jake.”

jake smacked your ass, making you stifle a scream. “again.”

you cried out, “i love your dick!”

“i know,” jake said, sickeningly confident in himself. “i also know that you’re about to cum.”

it was maddening that your husband of ages could hardly even get you off these days but some students in your class were recognizing the signs in record time. you were also ashamed with yourself for being so aroused, for needing to orgasm this badly, but you forfeited control of yourself moments ago.

jungwon had enough and once his dick started to twitch desperately, he shoved his cock back into your mouth, chasing relief for the raging hard-on you’d given him. rather than you sucking him off, it was more of him relentlessly fucking your throat, not stopping when you gagged.

and it wasn’t long before the three of you ultimately came, like a chain of dominoes collapsing after each other. this orgasm was just as powerful as the one that came before, the room reeling as your screams were muffled against jungwon’s stiff cock. your whole body was a thousand degrees hotter. jungwon’s warm cum releasing in your mouth while jake’s seeped deeply into your pussy.

although you tried to swallow jungwon’s cum, per his request, some of it dripped onto the floor. you were terrified of leaving evidence of this encounter, wishing you would’ve gulped it all back, but then you felt jake’s cum leaking out of you and your priorities shifted.

“my turn,” jay said, though that was a given. you were confused when he started to spread jake’s cum over your asshole, though for the longest you could feel his stare burning through your backside.

baffled, and maybe somewhat startled, you asked, “jay, what are you doing?”

“shut the fuck up,” jay snapped belligerently, smacking his palm harshly against your cunt. you cried out in pain, unexpecting. “i’m tired of hearing your voice. just take it.”

but nothing could have prepared you for what was to come. nothing could have prepared you for the merciless way he penetrated your ass, effectively knocking the wind out of you. you felt like you couldn’t breathe, as if all the air in the sky was stolen and hid in this little box somewhere.

you wanted to scream, you wanted to beg for forgiveness for whatever you had done, but no sound would come from your mouth. there was only instant tears, your hands gripped the rim of your desk for purchase. the makeup you were wearing was ruined ages ago, but it had to have looked despicable now, because you were sobbing harder than ever.

“poor thing.” jungwon frowned, pretending to be compassionate. that was something he was good at, you realized. he had you fooled until you saw how recklessly he fucked your throat, and you came to accept they were all too alike.

“she’ll be, fuck, fine,” jay groaned, careless. he was the roughest of the bunch, the most antagonistic. “this hole is so fucking tight.”

jay was pressing you against the desk harder than jake had, roughly mishandling you. it was obvious that jay didn’t see you as his equal. when it came to you, all he gave a damn about was passing your class and fucking your ass.

never in your life had anyone ever fucked you there before, and the thought hadn’t even crossed your mind. you were so repulsed, choking on your own feelings as they killed you slowly. the pain was unbearable, making it impossible to remain still, but that didn’t matter when jay had you borderline flattened.

it was almost awe-inducing how he held you down with ease, regardless of how strong you thought you were and how violently you were reacting. it was the closest thing to being split open. pitiful little noises escaped you, but you bit them back, because the last thing you wanted was to get caught. somehow, though, the shock was more agonizing than the pain itself.

your agonized whimpers and jay’s husky grunts made an awkward cacophony. if there was any of them that got off to your helplessness, you knew it was all of them, but jay had to wallow in it more than either of them.

jake and jungwon were stroking their cocks to the sight of you being ravaged to the point of total destruction. there were plenty of times in your life where you felt nothing short of broken, but this was a different variant, a kind from which you knew that you would never recover.

jay couldn’t believe his thick cock was even fitting into your tight, flexing asshole, though then again, whatever you thought you couldn’t take, jay would make you do. your body was for his own personal amusement. he leveraged himself deeper and deeper, groaning and laughing, using you to his advantage. because what jay wanted, he always got. every time without fail. obviously, you were no exception to this pattern, even if it was to your own dismay.

your lip was bleeding from how frequently you were biting. all you wanted was to protect your reputation. you had things to lose, things you knew jay would steal away from you in a heartbeat, because all he did was take.

“she’s such a damn whore, fuck. she should be grateful i’m fucking her,” jay hissed, aggressive.

given how much you had heard adjacent statements in the past hour, you were starting to believe them, no matter how disparaging they were. you were accepting the cold truth, that this was your punishment for being unfaithful.

quickening his pace, jay continued, “i’ve never wanted to fuck that nasty little pussy of hers. not when everybody’s been inside of it. but i can tell she’s never had this ass stretched before.”

his words were hurting more than his cruel movements, and you didn’t understand the science behind that. you whined, “jay.” please, have mercy, was what you wanted to say, but you knew there was no point.

jay squeezed your neck, cutting off your ability to inhale, and you felt every nerve in your body start to panic. “for the umpteenth time, shut the fuck up. no one’s fucking talking to you, bitch.”

you quieted, face tensing with delirious pain. 

“pathetic if you ask me,” jake added, breath shaky. “her husband’s dick isn’t good enough for her, so she fucks my dad, and now that we give her three more, she still has the audacity to complain.”

jungwon snorted. “textbook cockslut.”

you wanted to speak, you were desperate to defend your honor and identity, but you had already said enough and you were lucky that they hadn’t already decided to expose you to the whole planet. you had no defenses against them, nothing in your arsenal. 

“begging us to stop, but she won’t stop fucking cumming. needy little bitch,” jay chided, though judging from his breathlessness, he was far from disgruntled.

jungwon chortled, his cock still close to your face, and it was making you mildly uncomfortable. “maybe we should send her back to the husband with some tips.”

“oh, i’ve got one,” jake said, beaming with his usual mischief. “hold her down and use her little holes until you’re done.”

“yeah, looks like she loves that,” jungwon retorted. 

jay quipped, “we should’ve recorded. maybe showed him a tutorial.”

jake blew out a contented sigh. “well, there’s always next time.”

your heart was taut with fear at the thought of there being a next time, but the three of your students were grinning with excitement, as if they wholly anticipated reliving this moment in the not so distant future.

“fuck, i’m gonna cum,” jay grunted, wanting to go even deeper, but there was nowhere for him to move. 

jake hummed, reminiscing over how good it felt to cum inside of your throbbing pussy. how you milked the cum out of him, bled him dry. “shame she’s on birth control. i overheard her and my dad talking,” he replied, nonchalant. “imagine if we got her pregnant.”

“man, don’t talk like that,” jay groaned. 

jake glanced to jungwon, both of them snickering amongst each other. “dude, i was just kidding. don’t tell me that’s actually getting your dick hard.”

“fuck, i’m gonna…”

the most delicious growl came from the tip of jay’s tongue when he released inside of your asshole, his brows scrunching together with pleasure. his hips finally grinded to a halt when he met his climax, dumping way too much of his load inside. you could feel his fingertips leaving marks that would indefinitely stain your skin, and you dreaded having to explain them to your husband.

when jay finally pulled away from you, having had his fill for now, your body went limp against your desk. you could have moved, but you were too exhausted. sweat cooled down your back, chilling you to shudders, but there wasn’t a single thought in your head. all you could do was lie there, used and exploited, hoping that life would return to the way you knew it before they broke you.

because right now, it was bland. the only thing you could feel was the soreness in your legs and the cum dripping from your hole, numbing yourself to everything else.

there was so patronizing about the way jay turned to you, asking with the slyest grin on his face, “did you like it, dr. lee?”

TAGLIST: @ribbioniki, @yunakj, @vvenusoncasual, @lovingvoidgoatee , @iloveu-143, @bigwforjay, @hooniehon, @adoredbyjay, @cloud-lyy, @firstclassjaylee, @captainsaposts, @tinycatharsis

[acciocriativity]

->You're hyper independent || Ateez Reactions || Hyung Line

Genre: fluff, angst (because of the theme on itself), slice of life AU

Warnings: NONE

N/A: This is a very real trauma response that real people have. However, I tried to keep it light, humorous, and focus on the support and love the reader received from the boys in different contexts instead of the actual trauma triggering situation that cause the trauma response. If I, in any way, offend people who have this trauma response, I'm open to learning and editing this, if necessary.

N/A ²: This is a gender neutral! reader.

Ateez Masterlist

Kim Hongjoong (김홍중): You don’t let him pay for you, and he’s helpless

On your very first date with Hongjoong, just as casually as he wiped out his card to pay for the meal, you wiped out yours. That day, he learned you were as hardheaded as he was, which was an interesting surprise. There was no dance of “Oh, I pay. No, it’s okay, I can pay. No, I insist. Oh, if you insist, then…” as he imagined at first. If you said you were going to pay, then you would do so. In the end, you both agreed to slip the bill even.

That was a common occurrence at the beginning of your relationship, a spit-even bill no matter the cost of the meal or whatever you were doing together.

It wasn’t like he was flaunting his money, nor did he want to offend you in any way, which you didn’t think was the case, thank God. It just became second nature for him to be attentive to those around him, and if he had an opportunity to do something nice for people he cared about, why would he not? Why wouldn’t you let him? You thought he was adorable when he vented that to you on a 1 A.M. something call, like those thoughts plagued his dreams or something. You liked your man a little dramatic like that.

There were times when it was a given that he bought something for the two of you, and then you made sure to put your money on something else for you both that same day. He thought you would rather keep things “separated” at that stage, where things were uncertain, to not create any kind of “debts” with each other, it seemed, although he didn’t agree with that trail of thoughts at all, and it was a bit offensive to him. First, because he’d never be the type of man to expect anybody to owe him anything after dinner, and second, because he hadn’t any doubts about the relationship.

His suspicions weren’t that far off, honestly. You said plainly you rather avoid any discomfort or expectations at this stage of your relationship with him, and he could sleep well because you knew how caring he was even if he wasn’t the one paying for you.

It was lovely for him to know what you thought of him. A simple phrase made his day, and if that was your answer, then he wouldn’t push it. Even if he was desperate to know what those discomforts were for you and if they happened frequently in the past.

For now, he’d gladly wait for you while you met in the middle, even if he feels a little helpless.

Park Seonghwa (박성화): he isn’t allowed to baby you like you baby him, but mama raised no bitch

It wasn’t a rule per se, but the only 3 times he ever tried to baby you during your one-year relationship like you usually do with him, two of them made you almost become physically ill, and the last of them, you were, in fact, ill.

He never thought karma would hit him as hard as it did when he met you for the first time. His tsundere exterior was nothing compared to yours. It felt like he encountered another version of himself, one that he lost to instantly. It was safe to say your charm wasn’t cuteness. It was how attentive you were, how you cared for anyone around you in a quiet and practical way, and how you were honest above all. You were reliable, steady, and so so warm with those you cared for. He was down bad before he could say the word “tsundere”.

The first time was a mistake, almost an instinct. It wasn’t rare for you to be cute unintentionally, but just as much as one shouldn’t make any sudden noise to not scare a grumpy cat away after it laid near, he should not have cooed and pinched your cheeks while you tried some of his stew at a dinner night at his house, the first of many.

He didn’t move, his arms hurt from the position he was in. The sheer astonishment on your face made him freeze, but there was no way of reversing time. There was no running from this. It was done. He feared for his life as you slowly processed what was happening to you.

It was clear how deeply you disliked it, even if you didn’t say so, and Seonghwa always prided himself on being a great boyfriend, so he kept that in mind to never do it again.

But he is just a man at the end of the day, a very, very weak man, and your cheeks are really, really perfect to pinch. Still, he chose his battles carefully, and the last two attempts were successful because you always let him off the hook without much of anything. In all honesty, he was the cutest and childlike one in the relationship even if he didn’t show it after first, and you fell hard for that side of him. The way his pretty brown eyes shined with mischief whenever he got away with calling you cute or cooing at you melted your heart on the spot, so you let him.

If it was anyone else, you’d run as far as you could from whoever it was, even your own parents. You were just not a touchy person at all, because maybe you grew up without people giving that kind of love to you then, but you got used to it from Seonghwa. Of course, it was best if he never knew how much power he actually had, so you let him fear for his life for a moment or two.

Unfortunately, Seonghwa was a cute, silly man, but he was your cute, silly man.

Jeong Yunho (정윤호): You don’t ask him for help, but what else can he do with his acts of service love language?

You two have been friends for a good while now, that kind of friend who everyone thought would amount to something else yet never did. The time to risk for something more was the night you two met, but neither of you took any action then. Now, you two had a good friendship, and that was more than enough for both of you.

Yunho couldn’t lie and say he hadn’t thought of what ifs with you in the past, but in his mind, you were never interested in him like this, so the whole thing was pointless. You didn’t seem interested in a romantic relationship then just as much as you don’t now, and he was fine with it.

You had a nice future ahead of you. A lot of your time was spent on building a good curriculum for college and then a solid career for yourself in a predominantly male industry. It was a rough path, sometimes you wondered if that was the right choice or not, doubted your own capabilities because your colleagues did so all the time, but at the end of the day you had amazing people to remind you who you were, you had Yunho. Sometimes, you wondered if he was a mind reader of sorts.

You dreaded the simple thought of looking weak, even if it was something as little as asking for some space to vent. You grew up with the mindset that any kind of vulnerability was bad, which wasn’t healthy for you at all, but it feels like it’s too late to change, even if you want to. However, the thing about Yunho is that he’d never allow you to ask for anything because he hands you anything you might need.

Did you need someone to distract you after a rough day of work? That’s a given. His silly memes and TikTok’s were waiting for your reply. Oh, you actually needed space for yourself? It’s ok. He’s got the hint quickly, and he’d leave you be with a simple encouraging message to remind you to rest and contact him the next day.

The good stuff came when you had your weekend free because he remembered you wanted to shop for a new couch, and given the amount of work, it’d be great to have a helping hand, right? Oh, it’s rot-in-bed day instead? Well, it's a good thing he’s versatile.

You never really asked for an all-in-one man, but you got him anyway, so better enjoy it!

Kang Yeosang (강여상): You’re the only person he choose to chase and God forbid if that ever reaches San’s ears

He’s an idol, he’s been in this industry for almost a decade, so he understood being busy, and this overwhelming need to isolate yourself and forget about everything else outside your room. The key difference is that he couldn’t do that much. However, that seemed to be your favorite way to cope lately. It was a lose-lose for him because if you were not locked away in your own world, then you were busy with a million other things.

You’re the only friend from his childhood he still has a relatively stable relationship because of how close in stages of life you two always have been, even now, both working in very different industries.

It has been like this since the very beginning. You two always aimed to be something in the future when you were kids. What you two would be was a different question, and neither was ready to answer. In the teen years, Yeosang got his answer while you worked hard to get into a good college, hoping to find yours when you got there. That could’ve been the end of the friendship, but you were both so aligned still that it could only be fate. He took a chance at a smaller company, and you decided to study something different than you had imagined for yourself. You both had similar struggles, doubts, and accomplishments around the same time. It was a running joke at this point.

He had to remind himself of that sweet part so he wouldn’t lose it the moment you actually picked up his calls. He knew lately it’s been tough for you. Only you chose not to speak about it and went right into your suffer-alone mode.

The upsetting part of all this was the fact that these were your vacation days, you earned them and he wouldn’t be Kang Yeosang if he’d let you waste it in bed all day after he heard for months all about the places you wanted to go. It was a coincidence the fact that he also recently got some free days for himself.

He was nice enough. He gave you a last heads-up that he was coming. In another life, he could say he wasn’t taking no for an answer, but you wouldn’t say no to him in this lifetime.

It’s only been a while since he was slightly concerned with this “on my own” approach to coping with the pain because you decided not to include him in it. The why he didn’t know, neither was he interested in it. But looking back, you’ve always acted like this, like a little fortress of sorts, like you had to be strong for all to see and this was the first time he was taking an action against it.

[magnagaruzenmon]

Tomboy is the name of a song right?

Uh oh does Dino have a crush? Does my writing partner have a big crush? In all seriousness this was really cute. Okay Dino you’re kinda on a roll I’ll admit. Give a big thanks to @moonluvrrsworld for the idea

You wouldn’t call your marriage to Sohyun “arranged” per se, but it was definitely “encouraged.” You’d known each other your whole life, growing up as neighbors and later as classmates. Sohyun had always been more of a best friend than anything else, the type of person who’d sit with you on the roof of her house, sharing snacks while talking about the wild ideas of escaping to some far-off place. She kept her hair short, dressed simply, and carried herself with a straightforwardness that made her seem more like an equal than someone you’d ever imagine dating—let alone marrying.

So, when your parents sat you down for “the talk” and floated the idea, you didn’t know how to process it. It felt absurd, even laughable. But somehow, it all happened—her parents agreeing, your families eagerly planning, and then the proposal. You’ll never forget how she answered, her expression calm as ever, a hint of amusement in her eyes:

“Well, if it makes everyone happy, sure.”

It wasn’t exactly a declaration of love, but it wasn’t a rejection either. You still don’t know why she agreed—whether out of obligation, curiosity, or something else entirely. The wedding was a small affair something both of you demanded of the other, making it seem more like an elopement than a grand ceremony and declaring of love for one another to hammer this home both of you wore suits to the affair. It bothered your parents but you wanted Sohyun to be comfortable and happy, and that’s what made her comfortable and happy.

The first year of married life wasn’t what you’d call a whirlwind romance. It was… practical. Strangely, the challenges weren’t about you two as a couple. You didn’t fight over finances or argue over big-ticket issues like religion, politics, or even how to raise hypothetical kids. On the contrary, you two fell into an easy rhythm, dividing chores, coordinating schedules, and sharing meals without much fuss. Your talent for domestic life had you spearheading a lot of the cooking and cleaning while she made up for it in other ways. She lets you enjoy your hobbies and passion rather freely. You guys worked well together and complimented each other surprisingly well, so much so that your friends who saw your life at home were often jealous of how well the two of you clicked in each other’s lives.

No, the real problems came from the outside. Sorting out the paperwork for name changes and passports was a bureaucratic nightmare, the kind of thing no one warns you about. That’s why your honeymoon plans fell through—months after the wedding, you were still stuck in government offices, navigating endless forms and regulations. Then there were the awkward conversations with friends who couldn’t wrap their heads around your marriage, some of them outright questioning if it was even real. “So… are you guys actually in love, or is this like… a thing your families did?” they’d ask, their voices dripping with skepticism.

Through it all, Sohyun stayed steady. She had a way of brushing off the chaos with her bright, easy smile, grounding you whenever things got overwhelming. You’d wake up to that smile every morning, her hair slightly mussed, her voice soft as she greeted you. It was comforting, more than you ever realized you needed.

But lately, you’ve noticed something different about her. Subtle changes in her demeanor, like the way she lingers when you’re talking, her gaze warmer, more searching. She’s started wearing her hair longer, experimenting with little touches of makeup, and choosing outfits that feel just a bit more… deliberate. There’s an unspoken tension, an energy that wasn’t there before, as though she’s navigating unfamiliar territory within herself—and with you.

It’s nothing dramatic, but it’s enough to make you wonder. Was this marriage truly just an arrangement to her, or is she beginning to see you differently too?

When you asked about her hair all she could really say was, “Oh it was time for a change, yadda yadda. Bla bla bla,” you took it in stride but then the next change was a bit more noticeable. Dresses and more feminine patterns in her clothes started cropping up. Baggy t-shirts became billowing blouses with brazen blazers that complimented the figure you knew she had but never really paid mind to. Again when most of your previous conversation revolved around the literary merits of Orwell or Twain you never considered the body beneath the brain, but now you were and she had a marvelous figure.

The next major thing you noticed was when the two of you were discussing honeymoon locales and she suggested Argentina you were surprised.

“Sohyun you hate the heat and it's like 28C there right now,” you say.

Her response was again “I just wanted to change things up a bit. It's been super gloomy and I wanna explore a new place that's not as cold,”

You glance over at Sohyun as the plane levels out, the cabin lights dimming to a soft, ambient glow. She’s flipping through the in-flight magazine, a faint smile playing on her lips. Her hair, now long enough to frame her face, catches the light from the small reading lamp, giving her an almost ethereal glow.

“You know,” you say, stretching your legs under the cramped seat, “this might be the first time I’ve seen you look genuinely excited about a trip.”

Sohyun tilts her head, smirking. “What’s that supposed to mean? I’m always excited about trips.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh, sure. Like that time we went camping, and you spent three hours arguing with a squirrel over your trail mix?”

“That squirrel started it,” she says, deadpan, but her smile widens. She nudges your arm with her elbow, her tone dropping into something teasing. “Besides, you’re the one who packed gourmet cheese for a hike. Who does that?”

“Someone who has taste,” you counter, leaning slightly closer. “Not that you’d know much about that, considering you still put ketchup on your eggs.”

Her mock gasp is loud enough to turn a few heads. “Excuse me, Mr. High Standards. If you weren't my husband, I’d have you escorted off this plane for such slander.”

“Well, good thing you are,” you shoot back, “because you’d miss me too much otherwise.”

The playful banter hangs in the air for a moment before Sohyun bursts into laughter, a sound that’s rich and unguarded. You’ve heard her laugh a thousand times before—on rooftops, in late-night study sessions, over inside jokes—but now it’s different. The husky warmth of it wraps around you, sinking deep into your chest. It feels like home and adventure all at once, and you find yourself leaning into it without even realizing it.

“You’re so full of yourself,” she says, shaking her head but still smiling.

“Comes with the territory,” you reply, trying to sound nonchalant.

But it’s hard to play it cool when her voice follows—low, velvety, teasing. There’s something about it that catches you off guard every time, like the first note of your favorite song. Lately, it’s been happening more often: the way her words linger in your mind long after she’s spoken, the way her laugh stays with you like a melody you can’t shake.

Sohyun folds the magazine and tucks it into the seat pocket, turning fully toward you now. Her gaze is steady but softer than you’re used to, and it catches you off guard. “You know,” she says, her voice quieter but no less playful, “I think this is the first trip we’ve taken where we actually feel like a couple. Not roommates, not friends, but… a couple.”

You blink, caught off guard by the sudden sincerity in her tone. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“A good thing,” she says immediately, her smile turning into something warmer, almost shy. “A very good thing.”

The flight attendant interrupts the moment, offering drinks and snacks, and Sohyun orders a glass of white wine. You follow suit, and when the glasses arrive, she holds hers up in a small toast.

“To new places,” she says, clinking her glass against yours.

“And new beginnings,” you add, meeting her gaze.

She takes a sip, then smirks over the rim of her glass. “You’re getting better at this whole romance thing, you know.”

“I learn from the best,” you reply, and for once, you mean it entirely.

She laughs again, that bright, husky sound pulling you in like a tide. It’s something you never thought much about before, but now you can’t get enough of it. The sound, the way her lips curl just slightly at the edges—it’s all starting to feel dangerously enchanting.

As the plane hums steadily toward Argentina, the conversation drifts back to familiar banter, but the undertone of something more lingers. For the first time, you’re not just comfortable—you’re captivated. This feels like the start of something neither of you saw coming, but both of you are ready for.

After a long flight and a quick check-in at the resort, exhaustion overtakes both of you. The room is cozy and bright, with a balcony that offers a sweeping view of the ocean. You barely have time to take it all in before you crash onto the bed, the travel fatigue winning out.

When you wake up, it’s to the sound of waves crashing faintly in the distance and the soft rustle of movement nearby. You blink a few times, the sunlight filtering through the sheer curtains, and sit up groggily. That’s when you see her.

Sohyun stands near the sliding doors to the balcony, adjusting the strap of a two-piece bathing suit—a pale lavender color that complements her complexion perfectly. For a moment, you think you’re still dreaming. Your brain struggles to reconcile this image with the Sohyun you’ve always known: the one who usually opted for modest one-piece swimsuits or an oversized T-shirt and trunks when the two of you swam together.

“Holy fuck,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself.

She turns, startled at first, then breaks into that familiar, warm smile of hers. Her hair is pulled back into a loose ponytail, and the sunlight streaming in from behind her gives her an almost radiant glow. But it’s her figure that truly has your attention—something you’d always known was there but had never really noticed until now. It’s not just the bathing suit; it’s the confidence she carries, the way she holds herself.

“What’s wrong, honey?” Sohyun asks, her voice calm, like she hasn’t just completely turned your world upside down.

You clear your throat, feeling the heat rise to your face. “It’s just… I’ve never seen you in something so bold.”

Her smile widens, and she steps closer, her bare feet padding softly against the floor. “Do you like it?” she asks, tilting her head slightly, her tone teasing but curious.

You nod, but words fail you for a moment. A thousand thoughts race through your mind, most of them not entirely innocent. You’d never thought of her this way before—not quite like this. She’s always been beautiful, yes, but this is different. It’s as though seeing her like this has unlocked something in you, a wave of emotions you weren’t prepared for.

“I—uh—yeah,” you manage, your voice cracking slightly. “You look amazing.”

She laughs, a low, husky sound that pulls at something deep inside you. “Well, thank you. I figured since we’re on vacation, I’d try something new.”

“It suits you,” you say quickly, your eyes flicking away briefly, but they find their way back to her almost immediately.

Sohyun steps closer again, now standing right in front of you. She places a hand on your shoulder, her touch light but grounding. “You’re acting like you’ve never seen me before,” she teases, her eyes twinkling.

“I feel like I haven’t,” you admit softly, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

She blinks at you, surprised by your candor, but her expression softens. “Well,” she says, her voice dropping just slightly, “I’m glad I could surprise you.”

There’s a pause, charged with something new and electric. She doesn’t pull away, and neither do you. For the first time, you’re not just looking at Sohyun—you’re seeing her, really seeing her.

Before the moment can stretch too far, she steps back with a playful grin. “Come on, get changed,” she says, her tone light again. “The beach isn’t going to wait forever.”

As she walks away, you watch her go, your mind still swirling with everything you’ve just realized. You’ve always known Sohyun was your best friend, your partner, the person you trusted most in the world. But now, she’s something more, something you’re just beginning to understand.

You take a deep breath, standing to find your swim trunks. Whatever this vacation holds, you have a feeling it’s going to change things—for the better. As you get changed you notice that you have a rock-hard erection and part of you feels shame. Here you are what’s supposed to be a trip with your wife and your body is festering this itch inside of you. Granted it’s been hard for the two of you to get alone time together because of the amount of work that plagued the two of you in the first year of your marriage so you couldn’t really properly release but still this was a lovey-dovey trip no time for impure indecent thoughts. Sohyun was better than that you were better than that… you hoped.

The sun is high by the time you step onto the beach, the golden sand warm beneath your feet. The breeze carries the scent of saltwater and the rhythmic sound of the waves crashing against the shore. Sohyun walks ahead of you, her lavender bathing suit catching the sunlight in a way that makes her seem almost otherworldly.

She turns back, shielding her eyes with one hand. “You’re so slow,” she teases, her voice laced with playful impatience. “I thought you were the athletic one.”

“Just taking it all in,” you reply, though you’re pretty sure you’re not talking about the scenery.

Sohyun rolls her eyes but smiles, her steps light and carefree as she leads you toward a quieter spot near the water. When she sets down her beach bag, she stretches her arms above her head, and you catch yourself staring at the curve of her waist, the way the movement emphasizes her figure.

You shake your head, trying to clear your thoughts. This is Sohyun—your best friend, your wife. The person who once dared you to eat an entire raw onion on a bet. The same person who fell asleep on your shoulder during countless movie nights. But now, as she pulls her hair into a loose ponytail and settles onto the towel, she feels like someone entirely new.

She glances up at you, catching you mid-thought. “Why are you just standing there?” she asks, patting the spot beside her.

You sit down, the sand warm beneath you, and she leans back on her elbows, her face turned toward the ocean. There’s something so effortless about her, like she belongs here under the sun, surrounded by beauty.

“Do you remember when we used to talk about running away to the beach when we were kids?” she asks, her voice soft but filled with a certain wistfulness.

“Yeah,” you reply, a smile tugging at your lips. “I think your plan involved us becoming pirates or something equally ridiculous.”

She laughs, the sound low and husky, and it sends a pleasant shiver down your spine. “It wasn’t ridiculous. I’d make an excellent pirate.”

You can’t help but grin. “You’re too nice to be a pirate. You’d probably end up apologizing to everyone you robbed.”

“Maybe,” she says, turning to look at you. Her smile lingers, but her eyes hold a warmth that makes your heart stutter. “But you’d make a good first mate. You’ve always had my back, after all.”

The weight of her words settles between you, and for a moment, you’re both quiet, the sound of the waves filling the space. Then, Sohyun shifts closer, her shoulder brushing against yours.

“Can you put some sunscreen on my back?” she asks, holding out the bottle.

“Uh, sure,” you say, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickens.

She turns, pulling her ponytail to the side, and you carefully apply the sunscreen, your hands moving over her skin. It’s nothing you haven’t done before, but it feels different now. You’re hyper-aware of the softness of her skin, the way her muscles move slightly under your touch.

“Thanks,” she says, glancing over her shoulder with a smile that feels just a little too knowing.

When she turns back around, she props herself up on her elbows again, her expression light but teasing. “You’re staring again,” she says, a playful lilt in her voice.

“I’m not staring,” you protest, though you know it’s a lie.

“You are,” she insists, her grin widening. “It’s okay, though. I don’t mind.”

Her boldness catches you off guard, and you’re not sure how to respond. Sohyun has always been confident, but this—this playful, flirtatious side—is new. And it’s doing things to you that you’re not entirely prepared for.

She leans closer, her voice dropping to a soft murmur. “You know, you’re allowed to compliment your wife. It’s kind of expected, actually.”

“You’re beautiful,” you say before you can stop yourself.

Her eyes widen slightly, and for a moment, you think you’ve overstepped. But then her cheeks flush, and she bites her lip, her smile turning shy in a way that’s both endearing and completely captivating.

“Thank you,” she says, her voice softer now.

As the day goes on, she continues to surprise you. The way she walks along the shoreline, letting the waves lap at her feet, her laughter ringing out when she splashes water at you. The way she tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear, glancing at you out of the corner of her eye, her smile both teasing and tender.

By the time the sun begins to set, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, you realize something has shifted. The image of Sohyun you’ve carried for so long—your best friend, your partner in crime—has started to transform. Now, you see her not just as your wife in name, but as someone who could truly hold your heart.

And the most surprising part? You’re starting to hope she feels the same way.

The two of you get back to your shared room. Sohyun says, “I’m gonna shower first unless you want to join me,” before enticingly wiggling her cute butt in front of you. At that point, the itch becomes overwhelming as you approach her. She smiles knowingly as you take your cock out. Sohyun’s eyes widened

“Oh I knew you had a nice cock but this was perfect for me,”

You look at her in. A lust-fueled haze, and she says, “Are you gonna fuck me because I really need it.”

Barely able to hold it in you plunged your cock inside of Sohyun.

Overwhelmed by the intensity of each other’s sexes you both cum violently as you bottom out

Sohyun screams as she squirts everywhere and her walls milk you rapaciously. Your dick wildly fills her womb with your seed as the two of you revel in orgasmic bliss.

“Fuck why haven’t we done that before?”

Feeling a bit flustered you respond, “Because I only thought we were friends, I didn’t even know you had this,” you spank her tight ass, and Sohyun moans erotically making you hard again, “or these,” you add massaging her voluptuous breasts. You begin ramming into her tight cavern again as she moans.

“Fuck if I knew you'd feel this good I'd have seduced you years ago,” Sohyun says as her eyes roll into the back of her head. She moans as her pussy sucks you in further.

“Fuck please fuck me harder,” she pleads as your rail her. Her walls tighten around your manhood as you watch her supple ass bounce and ripple with each thrust. Sohyun moans your name continuously as she takes you, and you take her.

“Ahh uhh,” she stammers and moans as you fuck her. Both of you are so far gone in lust that words could barely be found in the pleasure young two get from each other. As you pull her up from her bent position by her long hair something in you awakened as your wife came around your cock again.

With your other hand, you grab one of her breasts and massage the soft flesh. Sohyun moans as she's sent into another orgasm. She squirts all over you again.

You give her a bit of time to recover from her high as you remain buried in her cunt. She smiles as she's filled to the brim with you. She turns around and says, “Am I yours,”!you nod and say

“Of course,”

She smirks and says, “Good you're gonna fuck me every night from now on because I can't go back to masturbating alone especially when you have this nice a cock,”

With the image of your wife changed into this sultry vixen you asked what caused her to become this. She smiles lustfully and answers,

“Ive always been this, but you make me feel safe and comfortable being Sohyun the bro but also as Sohyun you're sexy wife. Being married to you has been a dream and I just wanted to show more of who I was to you,”

You smile as you kiss her. She smiles as she leads you to the bed and she gently pushes you down on it.

“I'm gonna ride you now,” she says emphatically. You groan as she hastily grinds on your crotch. You watch as her breasts bounce beautifully and she smiles at you. Instinctively you buck your hips but she stops you, “no no no. I'm in control. I control the tempo. I control the rhythm and I control when you cum.” she says sternly as she rolls and deliciously dances her hips over yours. She is unbearable tight as the pleasure melts your brain to where all you can think about is her.

You barely last a few minutes of this before you cum inside her again. Sohyun moans as you both come down from your shared highs before the two of them pass out on the bed. You hold her tight your grip gentle but possessive as you cling to each other you both drift off into dreams.

The sound of distant laughter and the smell of summer grass fill your senses. You’re back in the neighborhood park, where the sun is warm, and the sky is endlessly blue. A pair of small hands tugs at yours, pulling you toward the swings. It’s Sohyun, her short hair sticking out in every direction, her face flushed with excitement.

“Come on!” she says, her voice high-pitched and full of determination. “I want to swing higher than you this time!”

You let her drag you to the swings, laughing as she clambers onto one with all the grace of a kid who hasn’t yet figured out coordination. “You never win, you know,” you tease, taking the swing next to her.

“Not yet,” she shoots back, pumping her legs furiously.

The two of you race to see who can swing higher, her competitive grunts mixing with your laughter. Eventually, you both slow down, letting the swings sway gently as the golden light of the late afternoon bathes everything in a warm glow.

“Do you think we’ll always be friends?” she asks suddenly, her voice quieter now, almost shy.

“Of course,” you say without hesitation. “Why wouldn’t we be?”

She kicks her legs idly, her swing rocking back and forth. “Sometimes people grow up and stop being friends. That’s what my mom says.”

“Well, we won’t,” you declare firmly. “We’ll always stick together.”

She smiles at that, turning her head to look at you. There’s a seriousness in her eyes that’s unusual for a kid her age. “What if we get married? Then we’d have to stay together forever.”

The suggestion catches you off guard, and you burst out laughing. “Married? You and me?”

“Why not?” she says, crossing her arms. “You’re my best friend. And my mom says you should marry someone who makes you happy.”

You consider this, your legs scuffing lightly against the ground as your swing slows to a stop. “I guess that makes sense. But aren’t you supposed to, like… love the person you marry?”

She scrunches up her nose, clearly unimpressed with your reasoning. “Well, I love you, dummy. Don’t you love me?”

Her words hit you with the blunt honesty only a child can muster, and you feel your cheeks heat up. “Uh… yeah. I guess I do.”

“Then it’s settled,” she says with a decisive nod. “When we grow up, we’ll get married. And you can do all the cooking because you make better sandwiches than me.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Fine. But only if you promise not to boss me around too much.”

“Deal,” she says, holding out her pinky. You loop your pinky with hers, sealing the pact.

As the memory begins to fade, you hear her voice one last time, soft and confident. “See? We’ll be together forever. You’ll see.”

You wake up with a start, the sound of waves crashing outside pulling you back to the present. For a moment, you lie there, the dream still vivid in your mind. The memory feels both distant and impossibly close, like a thread connecting the past to the present.

You glance to the side, where Sohyun is still asleep, her hair spread out across the pillow, her face peaceful in the soft morning light. The promise from that day echoes in your mind, and for the first time, you wonder if she remembers it too. Seeing the smile plastered on her sleeping face as you caress her shoulder tells you all you need to know. You cuddle closer and are surprised when she buries your half-erect cock in her sopping pussy she moans then says

“I want all of you all the time,” you moan as the two of you go back to sleep

You wake up to Sohyun’s lips pressed into yours as you feel something soft wrap around your cock as you cum. Your eyes focus on Sohyun staring at you with a lascivious glare as she feels your cum pour out.

“Good baby you're awake,” she says. Her eyes glazed over with desire.

“I wanted you to breed me. You have more in you right?” she says hungrily

Seeing her all on display for you makes incredibly hard for her. Seeing it as encouragement she mounts you happily. As she bottoms out on you you moan in pleasure. “Oh fuck honey you're so tight,” Sohyun smiles and you explode in her again. Sohyun feeling your release groans as you cum in her. She bends over to you and whispered

“I'm not birth control and today I'm not safe so I'm gonna get pregnant.”

Her words stir inside as the primal need to claim your woman overwhelmed your entire being your lips raise to meet hers finding yourself lost in a desperate messy lustful kiss that leaves the two of you breathless and hungry you two stare at each other as lust and live intertwine you say to

“God I love every part of you,” Sohyun smiles before responding.

“Oh you have then why didn't you make a move?” she asked

“Because we had been friends for so long. I thought you didn't like me, but you drive me wild Soho,” you say.

Your wife smiles as you ram into her. She groans as thrust in and out.

“You close baby?” you ask. Sohyun smiles as she caresses your face.

“Im always close for you baby,” she says before cumming violently all over your cock. You groan as you join her in another orgasm.

Hours later the two of you sit on the balcony of your resort suite exhausted , the warm night air wrapping around you like a blanket. The ocean stretches out endlessly before you, the waves glowing faintly under the moonlight. Sohyun has her feet propped up on the railing, her body relaxed, a glass of something tropical in her hand. She’s wearing a light sundress that flutters gently in the breeze, her hair loosely pinned back.

You sip your drink, watching her out of the corner of your eye. For what feels like the hundredth time on this trip, you’re struck by how different she seems—not just in how she looks, but in how she carries herself. There’s a confidence in her now, something bold and unshakable, and it’s left you feeling a little off-balance.

“Can I ask you something?” you say, breaking the comfortable silence.

“Of course,” she replies, glancing at you with a small smile.

“What’s with all this?” You gesture vaguely at her—her dress, her posture, everything. “I mean… why are you so seductive all of a sudden?”

Her smile widens, and she lets out a low, amused laugh that sends a shiver down your spine. “Seductive, huh?”

“I’m serious,” you say, though your tone is light. “You’ve always been confident, sure, but this… this is different. You’re different. And I don’t mean that in a bad way,” you add quickly. “It’s just… new.”

She sets her glass down, turning her body slightly to face you. For a moment, she studies you, her expression thoughtful. Then, she leans back, stretching her arms out along the back of her chair, her gaze flicking toward the horizon.

“It’s hard to explain,” she begins, her voice soft but steady. “But I guess… being married to you, living with you—it’s done something to me. It’s like it’s awakened this part of me I didn’t even know was there. This… primal femininity, I guess you could call it.”

You blink, surprised by her honesty. “Primal femininity?”

She chuckles, shaking her head. “I know it sounds weird. But it’s true. I’ve always been comfortable with who I am, you know? The short hair, the baggy clothes, the ‘one of the guys’ vibe—it’s always felt right to me. And it still does.” She pauses, glancing down at her hands. “But being with you… it’s like I’ve started to feel this other side of me, this softer, more feminine side. And I don’t mean in a ‘let’s conform to societal norms’ way,” she adds quickly, meeting your eyes. “It’s more personal than that. Like, you bring it out of me.”

Her words hit you harder than you expect, and for a moment, you’re not sure how to respond. “Me?” you manage.

She nods, her expression softening. “Yeah. You make me feel safe. Like I can just… be. And for the first time, I’m realizing that I can be all these things at once. The tomboy who’ll always beat you at Mario Kart and the woman who wants to wear a dress and flirt with her husband. They’re both me. And I like that.”

You stare at her, your heart doing something strange and uneven in your chest. “I had no idea I had that kind of effect on you.”

“Well, you do,” she says simply, her lips quirking into a teasing smile. “You’ve always seen me for who I really am, and that’s… freeing, you know? It makes me want to be even more of myself, if that makes sense.”

“It does,” you say quietly, your voice thick with emotion. “And for the record, I think both sides of you are amazing.”

Her smile softens, and she leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “So, does that answer your question?”

“Yeah,” you say, a slow grin spreading across your face. “But I still reserve the right to be a little dazzled. You’ve been catching me off guard a lot lately.”

“Good,” she says, her eyes sparkling. “It’s about time I had the upper hand for once.”

You laugh, and she joins in, the sound light and easy. And as you sit there, talking and teasing each other under the stars, you realize just how much you love every part of her—past, present, and whatever comes next.

[embraceyourdestiny]

Animal crossing wild world is so interesting when it comes to its social relationships with villagers I LOVE that they give you quests and it feels like real friendship and the villagers have grand social lives with each other and sometimes it’s very healing how real it can feel AND ALSO TERRIFYING like when they give you a present to deliver to someone else for an example and you are a 9 year old kid and this little cat just gave you a Present and said doooont open it be a good friend and deliver it safe and sound to gaston! And of course you’re a kid so you immediately open it and its an ugly lamp and you’re like aw that’s not cool and you glumly deliver it to Gaston’s house and you’re like “hey Gaston here’s this trash lollie gave you” and gaston’s like “oh my god, how could you *insert your name*? I feel so saddened that you ripped open my present before me. Lollie was really nice to send this and I was really looking forward to it but oops you opened it first. That’s fine I guess… *glumly walks away*” and you’re like Oh My God, I’m A Monster and you RUN back to lollie and you’re like LOLLIE IM SORRY I WAS A BAD FRIEND and you tell her and she CRIES and she’s like YEAH YOU WERE A BAD FRIEND Y/N!!! 😭😭😭 and you’re left there heartbroken and shattered it’s 11 am on a Saturday and you barely just ate breakfast and now have all this pain for your virtual friends bc you fucked up. Wild world is really fun.

[avirael]

Stuck on Repeat

He wanted to scream.

To scream and to cry and to be anywhere but here. But the best A’viloh could do was try not to tremble and instead follow Rael‘s example, who - despite the fact of being shackled and pushed around - still maintained a certain stubborn grace. He wished he knew how they did that.

What exactly was going on? A‘viloh wasn’t sure of that yet and it would take a while for him to process all of this. Everything had happened so fast. Suddenly the sultana had gasped for air, her goblet falling to the ground along with herself, soaking the expensive carpet with its dark red content. While A‘viloh had only stared in shock, Rael had immediately jumped up and was by Nanamo‘s side only split seconds after she collapsed. The next moment there had been guards everywhere and also that mean Lalafell accusing them of regicide. They had barely been able to say anything before the guards had grabbed them both, checked them for weapons and tied up their hands.

Now, as the door in front of them opened, the soldier behind A‘viloh gave him a rough push. The miqo‘te winced and stumbled forward into the room filled with people, all eyes on him. He lost his balance and with his hands tied behind his back, he landed rather ungracefully on the hard, cold stone tiles. His head started to spin, his vision began to blur, his heart was racing. It was all just too much and also too late to stop the memories that had buried their ugly dark claws deep in his mind. Miserably he gasped for air.

Rael hadn’t fallen but still knelt down and leaned towards him, wanting to make sure he was alright. „A‘vi! Please stay calm. I’m trying to find a way to get us out of this…“, the viera managed to whisper before someone pulled them away.

A’viloh still struggled to sit up and at the same time tried desperately to see where Rael had gone, when someone grabbed one of his arms and a handful of his hair and yanked him into a kneeling position. He pressed his eyes shut and tried to breathe, tried to not let the fear and the memories overwhelm him, but a small whimper still made it past his lips. He fought against his own mind, racing and about to shut itself off from all of this.

„Stop it!“, Rael hissed angrily. What else than complain could they do with their hands tied behind their back. The brass blade turned his attention to the viera instead of A’viloh. „Shut up!“, the man growled and struck Rael across the face with the back of his hand. They gasped and when they looked up again a moment later, with a mix of shock and indignation on their face, their lower lip was split and bloody.

Ashamed A’viloh stared to the ground and tried to pretend that this wasn’t his fault while the voices and turmoil around him faded to the background. Instead his mind was filled with questions and fears. Would they be executed? Thrown in jail? What had happened to Nanamo? Would their friends at least get out of this with their lifes, if Rael and him were made responsible?

Suddenly something touched his shoulder and pulled him out of his thoughts. A’viloh gave an alarmed shriek.

„Shhh!“, Rael shushed him, leaning their shoulder against his. Worried they glanced at him. „You were gone for a moment weren’t you?“ A’viloh didn’t answer but that wasn’t necessary. Rael sighed deeply. „Give me your hands. Maybe I can loosen the knots…“

Working behind their backs Rael tried their best but it was impossible. The angle was bad, they didn’t see what they were doing and the knots were simply too tight. On their own the two of them would never make it out of their ties. “Seven hells!”, Rael cursed. “I would sooner chew through these things than get that knot open!”

It was a funny imagination and under different circumstances A’viloh would maybe have laughed about it. Instead he turned to look at them and offered a sad smile. “It’s alright. At least you tried…I’m sorry about your lip.”

The viera looked surprised and then shook their head. “Don’t worry. I can fix that.”

Suddenly the turmoil around them got even worse. A’viloh only now noticed the screams and the fighting. “What’s happening?”

“Raubahn killed Adeledji. Tried to kill Lolorito too. Panic broke out and now he is fighting Ilberd. But I honestly don't think he has a chance...”

As if to confirm this, one of the giant stone pillars exploded under a heavy misaimed hit and through the cloud of dust and rubble Raubahn was hurled through the air and landed right beside them. With a swift movement of his blade he cut their ties and only then as he stood up, rubbing his wrists, A’viloh noticed that the Flame General was missing an arm.

But there was no time to question how that had happened and what else he might have missed while dissociating. Confidently as ever Raubahn spoke up saying that he never doubted them or the Scions and that they should flee. A’viloh was still to dazed to argue against that and so let Rael pull him along, to Minfilia and the others and then out of the palace.

As they hurried down the stairs of the Royal Promenade Thancred ran towards them and with a sudden peng of guilt A’viloh realised that he had been so shaken until now that he hadn’t even noticed yet that the Hyur hadn’t been with them. Thancred warned them that Lolorito’s soldiers had already taken control of all important points in the city and that it would be impossible to just walk out through the city gates. Luckily he offered another plan. Rumours about very old secret passages leading out of the city and luckily he knew how to get there.

But just as they wanted to leave the heavy steps and yells of the brass blades got closer.

“Go ahead! I’ll handle this!”, Yda exclaimed and turned towards the soldiers.

Papalymo made an incredulous face. “By yourself?! …I suppose I shall just have to join you.”

Rael offered to help them too. Papalymo and the viera could cause quite the destruction together that was certain but the thought of leaving any of them behind made A’viloh sick. There had to be a different way. One were all of them got out of here together.

“Don’t!”, he croaked and hated how his voice sounded a lot quieter and squeakier than he had intended. Had anybody heard him at all? But before he could say anything else or before Rael could join Yda and Papalymo, the Lalafell shot a fireball at the mechanism that held the palace gate open and with a roaring sound it crashed down and cut of the path between the two of them and the rest of the group. It would give them some time but neither Minfilia nor A’viloh seemed to be willing to leave without their friends. Helplessly and pleading the Miqo’te reached through the bars with one arm and stretched out a hand towards his friends. A’viloh and Yda had quickly befriended each other after meeting for the first time. They had spent a lot of time training together and Yda had soon become one of his dearest friends among the Scions. The thought that something could happen to her was unbearable for him. “Yda! Please!”

But the girl laughed at him and locked her fingers with his for a second. “Don’t worry, A’vi! We’ll see you later!” Confidently she smiled at him before she let go of his hand and turned back around to face the soldiers that had almost caught up to them.

The others called out for them and reluctantly Minfilia and A’viloh followed. There was nothing else they could do now apart from making Yda’ and Papalymo’s efforts worth it and get out of here before more soldiers appeared.

In a haste they ran through the decorated corridors of the palace district and luckily the entrance to the secret passage was exactly were Thancred had suspected it to be. The tunnels were bigger and more complex than A’viloh would have thought and for quite a while they ran through dusty old corridors trying to find the right way that would lead them out of the city.

After a while the echoes of yells and footsteps appeared again and unlike them their pusuers seemed to know the ways down here. They tried to hurry but in no time the voices were coming closer and closer.

“I will stop them.”, Y’shtola exclaimed and abruptly stood still, making everyone else pause for a moment as well. “You go on ahead!”

“No…”, A’viloh protested, he wasn’t willing to leave any more people behind. But Thancred nodded. “Then I will stay too! It would be rude to let you fight alone…”

“No! This is all wrong!”, A’vi repeated a little more loudly. “Let me and Rael fight them, we can defeat them surely.”

Y’shtola shook her head. “Not that many of them…” and Thancred agreed, “The two of you are far too important to get captured...” He didnt say or worse but it was clearly there.

“But…” A’viloh wanted to protest but what was there to say? So he just helplessly stared from one of them to the other. Instead Rael nodded. “Alright!”

“No! Nothing’s alright!”, A’viloh exclaimed pleadingly. „There has to be another way!“

“No, there isn’t.” Thancred said and put his hands on A’viloh’s shoulders. „Listen! There is no time. You have to get out of here, do you hear me? And you have to get Minfilia to safety. Look at me A’vi!“

He slightly shook him and despite the closeness between them A’vi did as he was told.

“Can you promise me that? To get yourself and Minfilia to safety?”, the Hyur asked with a serious voice.

Pleadingly A’vi stared at Thancred’s face wondering if it would be the last time he was going to see it. He hadn’t stopped shaking since Ilberd’s soldiers had put him in chains but now it got worse again. Nonetheless he nodded slightly.

“Good.“ Thancred said and nodded too, but hesitated to let go of him.

A strange expression appeared on his face, one A’viloh never had seen on him before. A mixture of doubt and maybe fear? Thancred sighed and muttered “Just in case…“ more to himself than anybody else but A’vi was close enough to hear it anyway.

A’viloh hadn’t expected at all what happened next. Before he even realised it, Thancred had leaned down, closed the gap between them and kissed him. He was too shocked to react, too confused as well, so he just let it happen. Weirdly this made him feel better but also hopelessly sad at the same time. What was he doing here? This was crazy! Maybe he would later curse himself for allowing this or he would wish he hadn’t wasted this moment like this but before he had figured out how to feel or to react the moment was over. Thancred pulled back a little and looked like he already regretted either what he did or simply having to let him go. Or maybe that was just how A'viloh felt himself. “Consider this my lucky charm…“, the hyur whispered, barely audible, and weakly smiled at him.

Then he pushed A’vi away, as gently as the urgency of the situation allowed, and spoke up louder to all of them.

„Now, get out of here!“

„No!“, the Miqo’te whimpered, his hands tried to hold on to Thancred’s arm but he ignored him and looked at Rael instead. „Get them out of here, please. I’m counting on you.“

The viera looked annoyed, more than usually, but nodded without a word and only when A’vi felt their hands at his arms pulling him away, he realised they were all still here watching him. At any other occasion he would have felt horribly embarrassed now but all he could think of right now was that he couldn’t leave all of his friends behind here to fight, and possibly die, while he fled to safety. He didn’t want to run any longer. But Rael seemed to share Thancred’s opinion.

“Come on, A’vi. We can’t waste time now. Every single soldier in this twelves-forsaken city is after us now, we can’t fight our way out of this. There’s no way to set this right if we don’t get out of here first.”, they explained as calmly as they could in this situation, then grabbed A’vi’s hand and dragged him along as they ran. A’viloh followed on stumbling feet but only because his body had long since stopped listening to anything his brain screamed at him. Stop! Go back! Fight!

Rael’s words made sense but still… weakly he tried to look back and see what was happening behind them but then Rael and Minfilia took a turn into another tunnel and he lost sight of Y’shtola and Thancred. For another while he just numbly let the viera pull him along until they abruptly stopped at an intersection.

“There is light! The exit must be right around that corner!”, Rael announced pointing to one of the tunnels.

Minfilia nodded. “I think so too. But I have somewhere else to go. Hydaelyn speaks to me, I have to stay behind but you two, you cannot stay with me.”

Rael shook their head: “We promised to protect you and I don’t plan to break that promise.”

Minfilia smiled kindly.

“I release you from this promise. Instead promise me to flee and clear our names for us! You are the only ones who can do this. I have a different task to fulfil. Please, you must go on! You are the Warriors of Light! You are hope - for the Scions, and for all the realm! As long as your flame continues to burn, the light of the dawn may ever be relit! You must escape, and save Eorzea from those who would plunge it into darkness! This is the only way...”

Rael grimaced but nodded. “Fine…”

A’viloh on the other hand just weakly shook his head. Words had long failed him and with every minute all of this felt more and more like it was happening to someone else and not him. Like all of this couldn’t be real. Like it was a horrible, weird dream that he would wake up from every second now! How had everything escalated so fast?

Minfilia saw his expression and put her arms around him in a tight hug. “Don’t blame yourself for this, A’vi. None of this is your fault. Everything will be alright, I promise.“

Then she ran in the opposite direction and all A’viloh could do was watch her vanish in the maze of tunnels.

After a few seconds Rael took his hand again and A’vi snapped back to attention watching the Viera’s free hand point towards the light. “Let’s go, the exit is right there.”

But A’viloh refused, even if his voice was nothing but a weak whisper. “No, please go alone. I’ll follow Minfilia. Someone has to protect her.”

Rael growled. “Were you listening at all? Do you want all of this to be in vain? I know this is difficult for you, but so it is for me!“

“But-“, A’viloh tried to protest but Rael looked like they almost wanted to hit him and angrily yelled at him. “I want you to be safe too, you know?! I would gladly stay behind and fight if it meant you and the other’s were safe but the best we can do now is run!”

Before A’vi could say anything else a deafening crash sounded through the tunnels. Alarmed they both stared back the way they came. The walls and the floor seemed to tremble and a roaring sound echoed down the tunnel and came closer and closer.

“Oh no!”, Rael gasped. “The ceiling is coming down! We have to get out of here! Now!”

“The ceiling?!”, A’vi shrieked. “But what of the others? We need to — Let go of me!!”, he protested as Rael tried to drag him out of the tunnel.

“It’s too late now, A’vi. Please!”, the viera pleaded but A’vi struggled and screamed. They almost wouldn’t have made it out in time. Just as the cloud of dust and rubble hit the protective barrier Rael had summoned up to shield them they were catapulted backwards by a burst of magic the last few meters out of the ruins and into the late afternoon sun.

Both of them coughed from the dust and it took a moment until they could see anything again. The entrance to the tunnels had collapsed entirely, lots of small and bigger pieces of stones lay in a huge pile in front of what was barely recognisable as the tunnel entrance anymore.

Shocked A’vi stared at the rubble for a few seconds before he began to scream again. Quickly he jumped up and tried to get the stones out of his way, to find a way back in, but of course it was hopeless. The old broken stones were too many and too heavy for him. They wouldn't give in to his pleading. "No! Please, no..."

As calm and soothing as they could Rael took his hands and spoke to him. “A’vi. Not now. There’s nothing we can do now…”

Slowly he let Rael turn him around. He looked at the viera, his eyes filled with tears, before he wordlessly threw his arms around Rael‘s neck. „I‘m so sorry…“, he whispered after a moment of just silently clinging to them.

Rael shook their head. „Not your fault…“

A’viloh didn’t answer to that. Instead he sullenly looked at Rael for a moment before he dared to ask, „Do you think they are dead?“

Rael sighed and then grimaced. „I’m not going to lie to you, A’vi. I honestly don’t know, but it really doesn’t look good…“

The Miqo’te just nodded weakly, the corner of his mouth twitching for a second. He appreciated the honesty but he had hoped for something a little more reassuring.

Rael carefully squeezed his shoulder. „But maybe they aren’t. We will figure that out, I promise. But first we have to proof that we did NOT kill Nanamo... We should really go now…“

„Thank you. I would be lost without you…“, A’viloh muttered and followed Rael along the railroads leading towards Blackbrush station, defeated and disheartened. Silently he wondered if there was a safe place now for them at all and how they possibly could manage to clear their names…

[blueish-bird]

sorry if I don’t remember your name or conversations/experiences or basic things about myself, every few weeks my brain gets factory reset and I have to relearn how to be alive

[cynicalmusings]

also… been having a figure skater xiaophros au in my head recently… xiao’s an up-and-coming star who never really asked for the popularity, and aphros is the quiet artistic kid he’s had a crush on since he was seven

[yueebby]

how i met your mother  — gojo satoru

contents. fluff, meet ugly, established relationship, highschool!gojo in flashback, gojo just loves his wife and everyone is sick of it

notes. this is apart of my indulge me series but everything can be read as a standalone!

“you forgot to give me a kiss this morning,” your husband pouts from your lap before puckering his lips out, “i’ll need a thousand more to compensate!” 

just a couple meters away from you, paper crinkles harshly as nanami, your fellow colleague, flips the page on the newspaper he’s reading. you hear a heavy sigh leave his lips.  “i missed it when you both hated each other,” he readjusts his glasses with one hand tiredly. he’s disappointed, but not surprised with satoru’s behavior.

this comment causes itadori, who happened to be hanging out in the teacher’s lounge to perk up.

“gojo-sensei and gojo-san hated each other?” he sits up straight on the couch. the pink haired boy looks between you and satoru, who is purring happily as you play with his hair. “i can’t imagine that..” he mumbles quietly. he was, unfortunately, a first hand witness of gojo’s love for you.

the white haired male that was comfortably nestled in your lap looks up at you, “ah! she tried so hard to resist my charms, but this handsome face won in the end!” his loud boast leads you to cover his mouth with the palm of your hand.

“that couldn’t be farther from the truth,” you press your palm harder against his mouth, determined to silence his protests. 

nanami easily ignores his senior’s muffled whines while itadori looks at his sensei in pity. marriage must be tough, he thinks.

you only lift your hand off of his mouth with a shriek when satoru decides to lick your palm. he smirks proudly at himself causing the other two males in the room to grimace at the strange display of affection. 

“darling, you hated me?” his eyes blink up at you innocently, blue eyes on full display. you purse your lips together, resisting whatever game he was playing at. from the moment you stepped into the lounge with him, he insisted on taking his blindfold off. he argues that he has to see you with his own eyes or he’ll die. you argue that he’s dramatic. nonetheless, satoru was cute so you’ll let him get away with it. 

“hate is a strong word– i just didn’t like you very much. we got off on the wrong foot, might i remind you.” 

2005 — year one at tokyo jujutsu tech

meet at 1 chome-1-1 dogenzaka, shibuya city, tokyo

that was written in the letter addressed to you from yaga. the bustling streets of tokyo, filled with the cacophony of hundreds of conversations and the rush of oncoming traffic, were a stark contrast to the serene country life you had enjoyed. 

the sheer mass of people in the street made it nearly impossible for you to spot your teacher and future classmates, but the heavens above must be on your side because you spot a dark uniform in the corner of your eye, similar to the one you’re wearing.

a jujutsu tech uniform! without wasting a second, you weave your way through the crowd to the tall figure. upon closer inspection, you find that it was a boy with snow hair, a juxtaposition to the dark fabric of his uniform.

“excuse me, but are you by any chance from–” you tap on the abnormally tall frame from behind.

“not interested.” he doesn’t spare you a glance before walking away. it takes you a minute to process what had just happened. did he just–? that must have been a figment of your imagination. you feel as though you were shell shocked.

another voice joins the conversation, “oh, gojo, you found her.” it was another guy with a uniform just like the white haired boy and yours. he has notable bangs, you think. 

“did i? she must be a real weakling. i couldn’t even sense her cursed energy,” gojo now turns back to look at you.

a surge of irritation courses through you, your grip on your skirt tightening. this guy must be some spoiled brat that came from a special lineage. you shoot him a sharp glare from the corner of your eyes, only to find out that he too had a sharp gaze on you.

a low whistle comes out of his mouth. 

 “oh,” there is a noticeable change in the tone of his voice. from your peripheral vision, you notice him take off his round sunglasses. “hey.”  you want to laugh.

out of pure pettiness, you recycle his previous comment, “not interested.”

thankfully, another student arrived, this time it was a girl with short brown hair. she waved at you politely, to which you happily smiled. it was nice to know that there were some people left in this world with manners.

soon after her arrival, yaga comes.

“hello, i’m [last name] [first name] from kyoto. please take care of me!” you bow before everyone but gojo or whatever his name is. you come to find out that mr. bangs is actually geto and the pretty girl is ieiri.

“you didn’t tell me she was hot,” gojo not-so-quietly whispers to geto. the hand over his mouth is in vain because you can still hear him clearly. both ieiri and geto make a distasteful face. 

you look around confused. it’s not everyday you receive such a brash compliment, “...thank you?” 

there’s a slightly horrified look on gojo’s face when he realizes that you had heard him, but he recovers quickly, replacing it with a cheshire grin.

“say, have you been to shinjuku? i’m sure a country bumpkin like you wouldn’t know, so allow me to–” 

there’s only so much patience in your body. with a deep breath and your best passive aggressive smile, you utter, “no thanks.” 

he blinks. once. twice. you assume he is not used to rejection with the way he has yet to process it. 

a soft chuckle leaves his mouth, “playing hard to get, i see. i like a challenge.”

“that’s not really the case.”

“one date,” he announces with a playful smirk, raising a single finger in emphasis.

you’re on the verge of shaking your head in rejection, but before you can, yaga intervenes, swiftly and unceremoniously slapping the back of gojo’s head.

“kids these days,” he mutters under his breath while gojo rubs the wound painfully. you snicker.

gojo straightens up when the sound of your laughs reaches his ears. his eyes track the sound waves back to your face, only to be disappointed when he sees that your attention is on geto. 

unlike gojo, geto was trying to salvage what was left of a good first impression. the black haired male smiles awkwardly, leading you away from his strange friend, “so you’re from kyoto? why didn’t you attend the jujutsu tech there?”

from behind you, there’s an incredulous, “eh? and lose a beauty like that to the kyoto guys?” 

you’re nearly certain that a blood vessel is about to pop. but you swallow your frustration, choosing to answer the only sensible boy you’ve met today.

“i’m trying to avoid clan matters, so kyoto is the last place i want to be,” you explain to geto who nods understandingly. 

what you don’t see is the sneaky wink he sends back at a fuming satoru.

2018 — present day

your recollection must not have been accurate, because your husband is sulking by the end of your story. 

“hmph. that’s not how i remember it.” he crosses his arm with a huff.

“how do you remember it? do tell.” you look down at him. there’s a cheeky glint in his eyes, like you’ve just walked into his trap.

there’s a cheeky glint in his eyes, like you’ve just walked into his trap. “i remembered cherry blossoms falling and more hearts floating around,”

you smack his shoulder.

“be serious!”

he waves his hand in the air to stop your playful attacks, “fine, fine!” 

you know that he’s secretly enjoying the attention.

“well, i’m quite the looker so it was common for girls to constantly gush over me y’know?” he grins. you did not find that amusing, retracting your hands from his hair. he immediately grabs your hand and places it back on his head.

“let me finish!”

you resume your handiwork on his head reluctantly. “go on.”

there’s a content smile on his face, “i thought you were just trying to hit on me! it was only after i took a good look at you, i realized that you were totally hot.”

“i can’t believe i married you.” you roll your eyes, but there is no malice behind the action.

“hah–” his mouth is wide open. “i’m a total catch, ya’ know?!” 

“mhm, yeah. you are a catch toru,” you coo while pinching his cheek and he blushed furiously. 

the two of you are too engrossed with each other to notice the horrified look that has settled on nanami’s face. one peaceful afternoon, he thinks. one peaceful afternoon is all he asks for.

extra notes- 

yuji respects gojo as his teacher, but he still can’t believe that gojo was able to pull you.

there have been multiple occasions where you had forgotten to give satoru a goodmorning kiss, each time he finds you and forces you to actually give him a dozen to compensate. it doesn’t matter if he was on a mission or teaching (he’s annoying like that).

gojo’s the pride of the gojo clan so he was spoiled rotten, hence the reason why he was so sure you were into him.

this is only the start, as your high school years go by, he only falls harder.

[makethatelevenrings]

Ubi Amor Ibi Fides (Where there's love, there's faith) // Lucius Verus x f!reader

summary: When he saw you that day, surrounded by a gaggle of children who begged you to tell them a story, he had no idea that the Fates had their own epic tale in mind of everlasting devotion. OR, contrasting vignettes of the past and the present through the eyes of Hanno and his wife.

word count: 13.2k

warnings: SPOILERS FOR THE MOVIE!! 18+, war, blood, death, allusions to rape and what happens to female prisoners of war, allusion to desecration of a corpse, historical inaccuracy (if Ridley Scott can do it, so can I!), smut, Lucius being Down Bad for this wife, mythology and religion (with inaccuracies), discussion of suicide, suicide attempt, grief, throwing up, Roman culture???, period-typical misogyny but like, make it feminist

“Tell me a story.”

Exhaustion clouded his voice and you turned away from your weaving to find him leaning against the roughshod mudbrick door frame. It was days like today that you cursed his stubborn nature. While he had been willing to let you help in breaking in the ground for the coming harvest, your husband sent you inside by midday when the sun was at its highest. Now, you were rested and chilled by the wind that eased its way through the small house, and he was completely depleted.

“Come.” You beckoned him with an outstretched hand. “Rest beside me and then I will tell you.”

He didn’t argue, for once, and took your hand in his. You drew him down to sit beside you, his head settling in your lap. Your fingers curled into the soft, downy hair at his temples and he relaxed with a sigh. While you wished you could continue stroking his hair, the weaving in front of you wouldn’t be completed without two hands. As you went back to your work, you began to speak.

“There were once two lovers by the name of Pyramus and Thisbe…” He huffed out a quiet laugh. You smiled at him, delighted that it made him relax even further. Most of your stories were the ones he had told you about from his childhood and you weren’t really in the right mind to come up with a fresh story.

“The parents of our two lovers refused to let them marry, but their love reigned strong through the thin crack in the stone wall that divided their property.” As you spoke, you embellished the story with extraneous details and dramatic gasps, eliciting quiet chuckles from your husband. He looked weary these days and not just from the labor in the fields. The Romans were creeping closer, and it would only be a matter of time before they came to your city. You woke up last night to a cold bed and found him standing at the doorway, staring out towards the sea. He knew what was coming. You both did.

“The gods looked favorably upon their sacrifice and changed the tree to its dark appearance to signify the devotion between them.” You ended the tale and stopped your weaving for a moment to gently trace your fingers along the edge of his features. You loved the sharp crest of his nose, the curve of his lips, and the bright blue of his eyes. His lashes were so long that they left shadows across his cheeks when he shut his eyes.

“I understand why he did it,” he said softly.

“Hmm?” Your hand stroked over his curls once more as you thought through everything you needed to get done tomorrow. You paused, however, when you felt his face turn to see you better and his lips brushed against your palm.

“I understand why Pyramus ended his life.” His calloused palm covered your own and he turned your hand over, his fingers sliding along yours and intertwining. “One can only imagine the pain he must have felt.”

A painful squeeze built in your throat and you felt an awful burning sensation behind your eyes. He sat up and gently cupped your face in one of his large hands, drawing your gaze up to meet his.

“Hanno,” you breathed. He smiled softly and leaned in to capture your lips in a sweet kiss. He was never one for words, always more inclined to act. Breaking apart, you pressed your forehead against his and breathed in the masculine scent of him tinged with soil, sweat, and something purely him.

“When death claims us, we go as one,” he vowed. “I cannot exist in this world without you.”

“As the gods see fit,” you assured him. “I will follow you wherever you lead.”

You wished this was a story.

It had been an easy day in the fields. You were sprinkling seeds in the ditches that Hanno dug earlier. The chickens clucked at you from their pen, begging for a bit more food as if they hadn’t been fed a hearty amount of grain earlier. After you planted these, Hanno would place the earth back over it while you worked on your herb garden.

You were capable of doing the hard, manual labor. Growing up, you would always help your parents through the entire process of planting, but Hanno was insistent on keeping his precious wife away from the heavy work. Rather, he encouraged your herb collecting and training with some of the city healers. You were grateful for him, truly. Most men would sequester their wives in their homes and work them to their deaths from labor, both of earth and child. 

But Hanno was different. 

He taught you to read, speak, and write in Latin. He would easily switch between Numidian, Phoenician, and Latin until you could respond perfectly. When he took breaks from tilling, plowing, and managing the harder tasks with the animals, he sat next to you at your garden and asked about the different plants. He was never cruel, never struck you or screamed at you the way you had heard other wives whisper to one another. In fact, Hanno was exceedingly kind to you and to anyone he didn’t view as a threat.

Which is why you thought this was a nightmare at first.

The horns of war sounded and you stood up straight to watch as the beacons erupted with fire at the top of the wall. Fear seized your heart and you stood frozen, transfixed, by the flames that licked the sky. Smoke curled off the top of them and the smell burned at your nose. You might have stood there all day if it hadn’t been for Hanno rushing out of the small house to your side.

“Come,” your husband instructed you. “We must get ready.”

He grasped your arm gently and it snapped you out of your reverie. Swallowing down your panic, you followed him into the house and to the small trunk he had made to hold your armor. The two of you silently donned your gear and were nearly finished when Jugurtha came to your door.

“My lord,” you greeted him with a slight bow. The chieftain’s face betrayed nothing, but you could see the worry in his eyes. Hanno and Jugurtha would be in the heat of the battle, directly in the path of the oncoming Roman fury. Would the gods listen if you sent them a prayer now? It felt as though they had decided to abandon you.

“The healers are gathering at Taklit’s house.” Jugurtha looked at the two of you, a hidden regret in his gaze. “We will come retrieve you once we have claimed victory.”

“Yes, my lord.” Your voice had softened as you realized how quickly this was all happening.

“I will join you soon,” Hanno replied. Jugurtha nodded and left, his imposing figure leaving an empty space in the doorway and in your heart. Needing a distraction, you turned and focused your attention on securing Hanno’s armor. As your trembling fingers finished tightening his armor, his hand enfolded around yours and he drew your fingers up to his lips. Hanno placed a delicate kiss on the tips of each finger. You searched his face to memorize every last detail, from the crinkles beside his eyes to the slight curve of his lip. Only the gods knew how this battle would end and the anxiety felt like it was going to swallow you alive.

“We go as one,” he reminded you. “I will not lose you.”

“Nor I, you.” His lips ghosted over yours and you leaned up, capturing him in a searing kiss. You poured every ounce of your devotion, fear, and worry into the kiss and he took it all onto his broad shoulders, shielding you from this world. His hand fisted in your hair and he pulled you impossibly closer so he could sink the weight of his devotion into every fiber of your being.

The gods had granted you this man as your husband. Perhaps they had not abandoned you yet.

“Be brave, my Hanno,” you whispered once you broke apart. He pressed his brow to yours and you breathed him in. “Be strong and be brave. And come back to me.”

The warm metal of his betrothal ring pressed into the skin of your cheek as he cradled your face between his hands. He kissed your forehead, his lips warm against your clammy skin. You savored the ring, this physical reminder of his tie to you, and touched the one that rested on your hand as a reminder of your tie to him.

“I will see you soon, my love.”

How bittersweet endings are, you thought to yourself as the walls of the city were seized by Romans. Men and women fell left and right from the parapets and you knew there was no help you could give them once their bodies hit the ground. Instead, you watched in horror as Roman soldiers grew closer and closer to where you were stationed and awaiting the wounded. You could see Hanno at the top of the wall fighting for his very life and your heart beat wildly in your chest at the sight of so many men around him falling in battle. Would he be next?

A cry of pain nearby alerted you to someone needing help. One of your people had been caught within the crosshairs of an archer and you rushed out of the house to grab them and drag them to safety. The child, only a mere babe, shrieked in agony as you dove to cover his little body when another arrow went sailing over your head. Even over the din of war, you heard Hanno scream your name. 

A Roman soldier grabbed you by your hair and yanked you up off the ground, forcing your back to bend sharply and a shout to emerge from your lips. He drew his sword, placing it to your throat with the intention of drawing your blood, your life, out of you with one swift pull. Despite knowing it wouldn’t help, you shouted your status in Latin.

“Healer! I’m a healer!” Perhaps he would be merciful. Perhaps he would let you go. Your eyes sought out the top of the wall and you saw Hanno desperately fighting to get to you, but he was too far away. The blade knicked the soft skin of your throat.

Two things happened simultaneously. One, a general pointed at you from the crowd and yelled at his man to stop. Two, Hanno was shoved off the wall and into the sea, right where huge rocks clashed with the waves.

A scream escaped you. A wail. War makes widows, your mother had said. And here you were, one of them. 

The soldier removed his blade and forced you up to your feet, shoving you back in the direction of the house. You scrambled to scoop up the child in your arms. If you could not save your love, maybe you could at least save a mother from grief.

The child died in your arms by the time you stepped into the healer house.

Numidia fell. Rome claimed victory and dominion over the land. Hanno was dead.

You busied yourself with tending to the wounded in hopes that you wouldn’t think about the fact that you were now under Rome’s control, a widow, and possibly homeless. What would happen next? Would they let you retrieve his body? Or would they throw him into a pile and burn it all along with the city itself?

A shadow fell over you as you tended to one of your own. You looked up to find the general gazing down at you. All at once, you were filled with hot rage and the deepest sorrow. You stood quickly, your hand reaching for a stray knife on the ground but he merely raised a brow. Right. What skill do you have against a Roman general?

“You’re a healer,” he said, not as a question. “And you speak Latin. How?”

“How do I heal or how do I speak Latin?” you spat. He remained stoic and you narrowed your eyes in suspicion. You would never reveal Hanno’s secrets. Not even under the threat of death.

“My husband is-” You stopped yourself and swallowed hard. “Was a merchant. He taught me so I could help him sell.”

“But you are a healer.”

You shrugged. “We do what we must.”

He studied you carefully and then nodded at one of his soldiers. A sudden bolt of terror struck you. Was this your future? To be a general’s plaything? A concubine? Some kind of bed warmer until he got back to Rome and disposed of you into the nearest brothel?

No. You were the wife of Hanno, a kind man and a good soldier.

“If you expect me to lay with you, I ask that you let me slit my wrists first so that I can die knowing I never let you take more from me than you already have,” you hissed. The soldier went to unsheathe his sword, but the general raised a hand to stop him. He took in your figure and the way you trembled with rage and grief.

“I need a healer,” he explained. “For my men. I will not touch you, for I am a married man, and you are a widow.”

He turned to the soldier once again. “Place her in chains and then put her in my room. Do not lay a finger on her, nor let anyone else.”

What choice did you have? If you defied them, you would be dead. If you went with them, you would have a chance to avenge Hanno before you died. Either way, you would join your husband in the afterlife. Going meant you had a chance to drag another life with you on the journey.

You dropped the blade and let the soldier lead you to the ships, not daring to look at the mass of bodies being piled up on the sand. Tears blurred your vision as you were hauled onto the ship. The keening wails of mourners raised above the fractured walls and you watched as smoke started to envelope the city. Just this morning, you had been thinking about spring planting and now you were a Roman slave.

What fresh hell was this?

The soldier clamped the heavy irons onto your wrists, connecting them together, and then attached two to your feet as well, forcing you into a shuffle as he then moved further below deck to a room. He tossed a thin blanket onto the wooden floor and pointed at it. You needed no words to explain that it would be your new bed.

When the door shut behind him, you fell to your knees over the chamber pot and promptly threw up everything in your stomach. An agonized sob tore from your lungs and you grit your teeth to silence the wail that threatened to emerge. You beat your fists on the hard, unforgiving wooden floor and wept silent tears, rocking back and forth in time to the crests and waves of the wailing mourners outside. Your people were subjugated. Your home was destroyed.

Your Hanno was dead.

Oh Thisbe, you thought as hot tears coursed down your cheeks. I understand. I understand. I understand. If I cannot shoulder this burden, then let the gods strike me down so that I may join him in peace.

“Tell us a story!”

The voices of children bubbled up over the crowd and Hanno looked up from sharpening his sword to find a woman surrounded. The kids eagerly mobbed her, their little heads bobbing up and down as they pleaded for her to tell them a tale. A basket balanced precariously on her head, but she seemed as though there was no worry about it falling.

But the thing that Hanno noticed the most was that she was completely and utterly beautiful.

“Who is that?” Jugurtha smiled at the young soldier’s question. He saw the way the woman captured his gaze. He knew that look in his eyes.

Jugurtha said your name quietly and explained how your family used to live on the outskirts of the city so they could accommodate a larger farm, but recent skirmishes in the area had wounded your father and drew you behind the walls of the city. Hanno had met your father before and made a mental note to visit the man and see how he was healing. Perhaps he would bring some fresh fruits from the merchants.

Jugurtha must have caught onto his train of thought because he called you over. The gaggle of children followed closely behind and you laughed, a sound that Hanno delighted in hearing.

“Are you interested in a story too, my lord?” You said in greeting. Jugurtha grinned and gestured for you to sit.

“You’ve been hard at work. Take a moment to rest and tell the children a story.”

With careful hands, you reached up and lowered the basket to the ground. Hanno could see it was full of various types of plants and fabrics. He had a million questions swirling around in his head. What did you do to pass the time? Where were you staying? Did you like it here? He stayed silent, however, as you slowly lowered yourself onto the ground. Your dress pooled around your legs and the coins on your shawl clinked against each other. What would you look like bare? He banished the thought as soon as it appeared.

“Come.” You beckoned the children to sit around you and gathered one of the youngest into your lap. The child reached up and played with the ends of your veil and you smiled down at her before beginning your story.

“Long ago, there was a queen of Numidia by the name of Kahina. When invaders came to Numidia to conquer us, she stood strong and fought them off with all of her might. Kahina was brave and smart, using both her strength and her mind to push the invaders back.” You launched into a tale filled with drama, some comedy, and even a bit of romance that had the kids shouting and cheering with glee. Hanno even stopped cleaning his weapons to sit and listen. He was enraptured by the way you kept the kids engaged as you weave your tale. The child in your lap started to drift off and you didn’t even hesitate before drawing her closer into your arms and cradling her.

“Queen Kahina is a reminder to all of us,” you declared. “That each of us has the power to stand up for ourselves, to do what’s right, and to be proud of who we are.” You gazed out onto the sea of little heads bobbing their agreement and then looked up to lock gazes with Hanno. For a brief moment, it felt like everything in the world went still. He scarcely knew he was breathing until Jugurtha nudged him. You tore your gaze away and offered a brilliant smile to the children. Clapping your hands together, you shooed them back towards the gathering of homes.

“Your mothers are probably wondering where you’ve gone off to. Now, go home and do some chores to help her out.”

“Oh, but we want another story!” One boy cried out. You huffed out a laugh and shook your head, your veils moving like buttery silk across your skin.

“Only if you finish your chores for the day. I will ask your mother and you know I will. Now, off with you!”

The children dashed off, leaving you with the sleeping babe in your arms. You slowly started to rise, intent on not waking her, when Hanno spoke.

“Here, let me carry your basket.” He stood and took the wicker basket from the ground so you wouldn’t have to worry about carrying both child and items. You regarded him warily at first and Jugurtha had to hide his smile behind his hands.

Truth be told, you were one of the most desired women in the city. You were also one of the least trusting. Your mother desperately tried to set you up with suitor after suitor, but none met your standards. Your father laughed off your mother’s attempts and said that the gods would lead the right man to you. You were older than most women to be unmarried, but you remained steadfast in your belief that the right man would come someday.

And perhaps today was that day.

Jugurtha offered you a short nod to express his approval of Hanno and your suspicious expression melted somewhat. You turned and started to walk towards the village. When you realized that the handsome man with blue eyes wasn’t following, you glanced back at him.

“Are you coming or not?”

Hanno scrambled to catch up and quickly joined your steps, a smile cresting on his face as he asked you about how you were settling into the city.

Hanno cried when his mother sent him away. He sobbed when he fled his hiding place, cried on the boat crossing, and sniffled away into his sleep the first few days of living in Numidia. But he had never wept like he did when they tossed him into the hold of the ship with a Roman brand on his shoulder and a ring that felt infinitely heavy on his finger.

The last thing he saw before plunging into the sea was the blade sliding across your neck. Stuck between the two worlds of consciousness, he saw flickers of a wheatfield stretched before him and, for a moment, saw the outline of your body amongst the stalks. He reached out, his hand passing through where you stood, and then you disappeared from his grasp.

Coming to, he rushed from the sea and towards the city, but two Romans stopped him. He needed to find your body. He needed to see that you were buried properly. He was never as devoted to the gods as you were. You kept idols on the hearth and prayed regularly, but he only found himself turning to the gods at a time like this. But, right now, he found himself praying to Viduus, Libitina, and Proserpina.

Let her soul cross, Mercury. Bring her to the Fields of Elysium. Please. Tell her I will meet her on the other side.

He was forced to kneel next to Jugurtha, stripped of his armor and weapons, and watched as they loaded body after body into a pit. Jugurtha’s gaze never left the growing pile, even as he asked the question that Hanno dreaded.

“She’s gone,” he said, his throat raw from screaming your name across the battlefield. Did it hurt? He wondered. Was it instant? Did you feel pain? His sweet wife who dedicated her life to healing and helping died in such a brutal manner. His hands curled into fists as rage filled his veins. You were supposed to die at an old age, tucked in his arms and surrounded by your children. That’s what he planned that day so long ago when he walked you home, basket in his arms and a babe in yours. You dropped the child off with her mother and he refused to let you take your basket back, instead carrying it to your small house where he checked in on your father, met your mother, and charmed your whole family.

He craned his neck to see the dead lying a few feet away in hopes of catching a glimpse of any sign of you but there were too many dead. Too many lost. He saw the man he had bought silk from two days earlier. The midwife in the village. So many of the soldiers he had helped train.

Hanno glanced beside him and saw a fellow healer who was weeping openly. He leaned closer and asked if she knew anything about what happened to you.

“They took her,” she wailed. “They took her.”

Any grief that remained calcified into pure, hot rage. They took your body? For what sick purpose? To desecrate your corpse? To taint you with their hatred and their delusions of power, even when you were already dead? He started to rise, intent on seeking out your corpse and draping himself over it so that he would still be holding you when they killed him. Jugurtha stopped him with a shaking hand around his wrist.

“I’m sorry,” the leader lamented. “But not like this. This is not how you will die.”

Hanno’s eyes fixed on the man standing in front of the soldiers, in front of the keening mothers and children, in front of the men he had defeated and stripped of their armor to expose their humiliation. Hanno remembered the way he pointed directly at you, encouraging the soldier to keep the bloodshed continuing, and knew what Jugurtha meant.

He was going to kill him, and then he would reunite with you in the afterlife.

“Tell me a story,” Lulit encouraged as the two of you picked herbs from outside the city. The two of you rode out early this morning to gather herbs not grown in the village gardens. Lulit was with child and Jugurtha insisted on a guard coming with you and you glanced over at the man asleep at the base of the tree that the horses were tied to.

You paused for a moment to consider which tale you should tell. Recently, the only stories that came to mind were romances. Your face burned at the thought, but you knew why they were the only things that floated to your memory. A certain blue-eyed man had consumed every waking thought of yours and it was driving you mad.

He was a consummate gentleman and always found ways to visit your family. He started helping your father get his new trading business up and running in the city. He brought your mother fresh wheat to bake bread. He carved toys from wood and willow reeds for your siblings.

Hanno was the man of your dreams. He was exceedingly kind, handsome, and funny. He was sincere and wasn’t putting on some kind of face to impress you. He was just truly nice to everyone he met. You saw him once helping one of the elders bundle their wheat harvest and carry it into their house. Jugurtha had already come by and assured your parents of Hanno’s good nature.

He had started to teach you Latin and how to read and write Phoenician and Numidian. He told you stories from other empires and listened intently when you told him tales your grandmother had told you. The gods had indeed brought the right man, the perfect man. 

“Psyche was one of three daughters of a king and a queen of a far away land. She was renowned for her beauty and praised among the land as the second coming of the goddess of beauty. Her admirers would bring offerings and gifts to her, angering the goddess, who decided that Psyche must be punished.”

A thorn caught on your finger and you let out a hiss of pain as you brought your finger to your lips, sucking the blood away. You began to continue your work and your story when a horn trumpeted across the sky.

The sounds of war.

Your heart leapt into your throat and you immediately looked to Lulit. Her face had drained of color and she traded a worried glance with you. In the time you had lived here, the horns had never sounded.

“We need to move.” Despite being asleep moments earlier, Hanno was already leading the horses to the two of you.

“Who is it?” You knew better than to stall, especially when he wore such a serious expression. He helped you climb onto the back of your horse and paused for only a moment, one of his warm palms resting on your skirt-covered thigh.

“A small war party, by the looks of it. Nothing the defense can’t handle. But we need to get out of the way before they attack. There’s a forest just a few paces away, but we need to get moving.” He ensured that you and Lulit were secured before he climbed onto his own horse. Dust grew in the east and you felt your worry build with it. Hanno tugged at the reins of your horse, urging you to follow. You urged your horse into a gallop and kept close to him, but you still looked over your shoulder to gauge how close the marauders were.

“Hanno.” Your voice carried a warning and he looked back to see a rider closing in on them. He let out an expletive and pointed to the trees that were nearing with every step.

“Go! I’ll find you.” He slowed his horse and fell in line with you, his bright eyes meeting yours. “I swear to you.”

You swallowed against your rising panic and he sent you a reassuring smile before he turned his horse around and rode off in the direction of your pursuer. You looked back to watch as he drew his sword with expert ease.

Focus, you chastised yourself. You need to focus.

Lulit silently followed you as you led the way to the forest. Once the trees began to cloud your vision, you looked back and saw nothing but dirt and sky. He would be okay. He had to be.

Dismounting, you grabbed the reins of your horse and led her further into the forest until you came to a clearing with a good underbrush. You tied the horses and instructed Lulit to dig out some of the underbrush so she could lay down and rest while you brushed out the horses.

“Are we in danger?” she asked. Were you? You had no clue. But you set your shoulders and covered her with the blanket she kept on her saddle.

“Hanno would never let anything happen to us,” you told her. You settled down onto the soft grass next to her. “Let me continue my story. While Psyche’s sisters married, she found herself still unmarried and that worried her father who consulted a seer. The seer predicted an awful outcome for the beautiful daughter, one of a brutish husband in the form of a dragon who came to claim her and whom the gods feared. But truthfully, the goddess of beauty had been so enraged by the people’s devotion to Psyche that she sent her son to enchant her with a hideous creature, but instead found himself falling in love with her.”

Lulit curled up onto her side, cradling her growing belly with her hands as she listened raptly to your story. You spoke of the trials the lovers endured in their pursuit of one another, but as you began to wrap up the story, you found that she had drifted off to sleep.

A branch cracked nearby and you flinched. There was a small knife in your saddlebags that you used for foraging and silently, you crept over to your horse and retrieved it. The leaves rustled and you spun to face whatever beast dared to come close. You held your knife aloft and pointed it in the direction of where the noise was coming from. Oh, you were not brave. You were a farmer’s daughter and a healer. The most you knew with a knife was how to butcher an animal.

“You need to adjust your thumb to the other side,” Hanno said in greeting as he stepped through the forest and into the clearing. “It will give you better control.”

With a ragged sigh of relief, your shoulders fell from their tensed position and you dropped the knife onto the grass below. He stooped to catch it and studied the small blade with a hint of a smile. Droplets of blood stained his face and you carefully examined him for any sign of injuries.

“I am unharmed, my little warrior,” he teased. He rose and handed you the knife once more. “And I will make sure to teach you how to use that.”

“Are you sure you’re alright?” He could easily be lying. Father always brushed off your mother’s worries so as to not incite her own anxieties. Hanno raised his arms from his sides and slowly turned so you could see that he was indeed unharmed. His sword hung from its scabbard and you could see that blood still lingered on its surface.

“Are we safe?”

His eyes darkened and he stepped closer, his hands hovering over your waist. He searched your face for something, you weren’t sure, but dipped his head into a nod. “Aye. I would never let anything happen to you. To you or Lulit.”

“Then rest, soldier. Let me clean your sword.”

He looked as if he wanted to argue, but determination furrowed your brows and Hanno reluctantly unstrapped his sword from his side and handed it to you. This was a task you had witnessed your mother perform before when your father took on anyone trying to attack the farm. Blood was not a foreign thing to you, even if Hanno appeared to want to protect you from it.

You took a rag from your saddle pack and sat down by a tree. Hanno joined you, his back against the bark and his eyes studying the treeline for any disturbance. Slowly and methodically, you ran the rag over his blade and ensured that every last drop of blood and gore was cleaned from it. He searched your face for any sign of fear. Fear of what? Of him? A man who so willingly charged into danger to protect you engendered no fear from you.

“There,” you declared. “Good as new.”

He gratefully accepted the blade from you and placed it back in his scabbard. The sun was starting to set and the glow between the trees created a halo of light around you. He reached up and tucked a stray strand of hair out of your face before curling his knuckles against your jaw and stroking his thumb over your cheek. You let your eyes flutter shut and leaned into his palm, savoring the rough drag of his calloused fingers against your soft skin.

You loved him. Oh, the thought made your heart race and you surged forward. He caught your waist in his calloused hands and let his lips meet yours in a breathless kiss. Hanno groaned against your touch and you pulled away, thinking he was hurt with some injury you hadn’t seen, but he merely cupped your face and pulled you back in so he could nip at your lips and soothe the slight sting with his tongue. You whimpered at his touch and kissed him once again, moving your hands down to trace along the hard lines of his chest. Your hand moved lower and Hanno quickly pulled away from you, one of his hands catching yours and tangling your fingers with his.

“Not yet,” he panted against your cheek. “Not yet.”

Dawn was breaking when you awoke. Your head rested on a blanket that you recognized as Hanno’s while your own draped over you, protecting you from the bitterly cold nights of Numidia. Your soldier sat wide awake and alert beside you and you could tell, from the fatigue weighing down his eyes, that he hadn’t slept a wink through the night. A silent sentry, guarding you and Lulit from any unseen danger.

The blanket fell from your shoulder as you began to sit up and he instinctively reached over to drag it back up your shoulder, bathing you in warmth from both the outside and surging through your insides at his tenderness.

You woke Lulit and the three of you rode back to the city, barely making it in time before a search party headed by Lulit’s husband went out. He wept when he saw his wife and swept her into his arms. Two men offered to take your horses to the stables to care for them and you graciously accepted. Hanno refused to leave your side until he deposited you at your doorstep.

It was still early but you knew your parents would be awake, both from their anxiety and their history as farmers. Your mother let out a shriek when she saw you approach and ran from the doorway to hug you. Hanno squeezed your hand once and made to step away, but you kept your fingers tightly entwined with his.

“I believe you have something to ask of my father,” you explained. His brows raised in surprise and you offered him a shy smile. As your mother ran back to the house to exclaim of your return, you raised your clasped hands so you could press a kiss to his dirt-stained skin.

“Are you sure?” His hesitation had nothing to do with you, but rather in his belief that he was not good enough for you. You laughed and started to drag him in the direction of the house.

“You foolish man.” A boyish grin lit up his face and he followed you inside.

“What happens to me once we reach Rome?”

General Acacius looked up from the letter he was writing and turned to face you. The floor barely made a comfortable place to lay your head, but he had at least given you blankets and removed the chains from your legs. They only went back on when you were on the deck, thanks in part to your failed attempt to jump overboard and sink into the sea.

“My wife will find a place for you in her house,” he explained. You scoffed and picked at the dried blood under your fingernails. You spent your days stitching up and tending to the wounds of Roman soldiers and spent your nights curled up on the floor of this room, dreaming of bright blue eyes and a crooked smile.

“Why? Couldn’t you just drop me off at the nearest brothel and let them rip me apart?” His compassion, minimal at best but still present, confused you. To him, you were barbarian scum. A conquered people. Prisoner of war, spoils, an artifact of his military prowess. He winced at your accusation, knowing that it was true for many military campaigns that the women were subjugated into the slave trade and forced into prostitution. The general refused to meet your eyes and you savored what little bit of power you held over him.

You could picture it now. You would demure yourself and behave in his wife’s house until you found a chance to slit her throat and leave him with the same raw, empty feeling that consumed you.

“You have skills that would be useful,” he muttered. “Your husban-”

“Don’t you dare speak of him,” you hissed. “My husband was a good and kind man. You do not deserve to speak of him.”

“He taught you well,” he continued on. “Lucilla could use someone with your skill set.”

The name made you pause and you tilted your head to the side, brows furrowing as you mentally ran through your memories. “Lucilla, daughter of Aurelius?”

He regarded you with suspicion. “Aye. How do you know of her?”

“Everyone knows of Marcus Aurelius,” you retorted. “I’d be a fool not to.”

A sudden knock on the door drew his attention away from you and he rose to answer it. General Acacius left the room to sort out some sort of issue and left you alone with your thoughts. You drew your knees up to your chest and rested your cheek against your folded arms. If you shut your eyes, you could see his face. If you thought hard enough, you could feel him in your dreams. The rough stubble of his beard. The high plains of his cheekbones. The crooked smile he gave you when he made you laugh.

Lucilla, daughter of Aurelius, you ran the words over and over in your head. Aurelius. Aurelius.

You could only hope that Hanno would forgive you if you delayed your joining with him in the afterlife for a little bit longer.

He slept fitfully on the ship and in the cages. He dreams of your eyes, your laugh, your smile, and wakes with your name on his lips in a strangled cry that he buries into his bicep and lets only a few tears leak out onto his battered skin. 

He has nightmares most nights and the lack of sleep fuels his rage. Dark circles take hold under his eyes and weariness leaves red rims around his blue pupils, making him appear as the wild barbarian they purport him to be. His muscles ache and scream and bruises litter his torso. He bites a monkey back and savors the burning anger that courses through his veins. The crowds cheer and shout and applaud his fury, but he pays them no mind. All he focuses on is going back to his cell and dreaming of you once more.

Killing men has never been an issue for him. He was raised a fighter, even in Numidia where he helped Jugurtha lead their forces. He fought in skirmishes and battles. When he met you, it brought another reason to keep the fight going. He refused to let a single person pass into the gates of the city when you were seeking protection inside. He had failed you, and every new scar on his body was merely penance.

Ravi chastises him for the way that he seeks out injury, but the man doesn’t refuse to help him. In an opium-fueled haze, Hanno tells him quietly that his wife was a healer. She was exceedingly kind and gentle. Too gentle for him. He was scared he would break her with his brutish nature, but she was also enduringly strong. A stray tear slips down his cheek and he tosses the opium aside in favor of feeling the pain and knowing that it pales in comparison to the ache in his chest. His grief builds and compounds into this sickening version of him that he cannot recognize. The blood of other men stains his skin, no matter how hard he scrubs in the baths. Even when the iron-thick substance is gone, he can still see it.

Macrinus brought the finest courtesans by his cell, but he refused them everytime. Once, the girl shared a similar hair color as you and he invited her into his cell, but merely let her rest on his cot while he sat at his desk and sketched what he could remember of your face on thin papyrus.

When he looked into the stands and saw your murderer seated with his mother, his rage calcified into his heart. With every kill, he pictured your pale face crying out for him. With every breath, he reminded himself of his failure to protect you. His mother had the audacity to reason with him.

“Do you have a family?” Lucilla asked.

He says your name with the reverence afforded to the gods and then hisses out that you were dead and taken from him by her husband. How dare she try to call her son home when she shares a bed with that monster? Ferality consumed him and his thirst for revenge. He meant what he said to Macrinus. Only Acacius’ head will quench this fire in his blood. For a sickening moment, he wants his mother to feel the way he does.

There are times when the night is darkest that his mind descends into the throes of the deepest depression and he wonders about how you would feel if you saw him like this. There is one nightmare that plays over and over again in his mind. He is in the Colosseum and the crowd is cheering in their bloodlust. The gates open and he steps out to face his next opponent, only to find you standing in the sand with your hands outstretched towards him. In this dream, he can’t stop himself from raising his blade an-

He woke up screaming.

Hanno doesn’t trust Macrinus within an inch of his life, but he trusts that he’ll bring him Acacius and that…that will be enough.

“Can I tell you a story?” Hanno whispered into your hair.

The wedding was an all-day event. You looked resplendent with flowers woven in your hair and layers of colorful fabric adorning your body. It felt as though the whole city came out to celebrate your union and the dancing, food, and music flowed for hours. Jugurtha clapped his hands on Hanno’s shoulders and congratulated him. A knowing glint flashed in the older man’s eyes and Hanno was eternally grateful for the man’s meddling.

Your father had tears in his eyes when he took your hand from his and placed it into Hanno’s, but they were tears of joy. When discussing the marriage negotiations and dowry, your father declared that there was no one greater for his daughter. In his vows, Hanno promised to protect and provide for you until his very last breath, one that he would take with you in his arms at an old age, with your children around you.

As the night grew longer, the crowds began to thin out. Parents took sleeping children home and the elders slipped away so they could rise early and start their daily chores. The fires began to burn low and Hanno looked over to you, only to have his breath catch in his throat at the realization.

His wife. His wife. Your lovely face was now his to wake up to every morning and your sweet laughter was his to elicit. Izim was telling some tall tale about his adventures as a sentry, but Hanno didn’t hear a single word. He ignored the hoots and hollers of his fellow soldiers and friends as he left their group and strode towards you.

The women around you tittered and giggled as he approached and it drew your attention away from whatever Seble was telling you. You barely had time to react when he suddenly scooped you into his arms. Hanno easily cradled you to him, your long veils swirling around the two of you, and he made his way towards the new house he had built with the help of your father and a few friends. The party cheered and you hid your laughter into the crook of his neck.

Hanno stopped in the doorway and set you gently onto your feet so you could examine your new home. Someone, your mother, you presumed, had already set some lanterns alight in the house and a clay jar of flowers sat on the small wooden table in the center of the room. It was a small house with the bed on one side and a small kitchen on the other. You traced your hand along the furniture that you knew he constructed himself. Your dowry chest laid at the foot of the bed already and a loom was on the wall. Your husband had done all of this.

The word made your throat squeeze with a level of affection you had never experienced before. He watched you carefully from the doorway, but you could see tension in the line of his shoulders and how his hands fidgeted until he clasped them behind his back. The flames from the lanterns made his eyes glow and heightened the smooth planes of his face. You reached up and unclasped your veils, letting them pool at your feet before you took a step forward.

He met you halfway, his hands going to settle on your waist as you nestled into his strong arms. Your hands came up to rest on the rough fabric of his tunic and you could feel his heart beat wildly under the tips of your fingers.

“My husband,” you breathed to the heavens. You wanted the gods to know that this man was yours. He had placed an iron ring on your finger and you savored the weight of it, the press of it against your skin. Hanno’s lips lifted in the barest hint of a grin, but his eyes took on almost burning intensity.

With nimble fingers, you released the clasps of his tunic yet kept your gaze locked on his as the fabric pooled to the ground. Hanno’s breaths grew ragged as you settled your hands back onto the chiseled muscle of his chest. For a moment, nothing happened. You just stared at one another as the air electrified with palpable energy. You had no idea where this boldness emerged from, but you slid your hand down his bicep, along his arm, and then to his wrist where you clasped it and raised his hand to rest on your breast. He swallowed so hard you could see his throat bob and just the simple evidence of his arousal made your skin burn.

“My wife,” he said hoarsely and untied your dress.

Hanno sucked in a shuddering breath as the fabric fell away from your body and joined his on the floor. He stroked his hands over your quivering flesh and stepped forward so that his body pressed against the length of yours. You felt him harden against your thigh as he leaned down to capture your lips in his. The two of you had kissed plenty of times, from small chaste pecks to that heated moment in the forest, but this felt entirely new and you welcomed it. He nibbled at your lips and explored your mouth with the desperation of a dying man searching for water. You moaned your approval which encouraged him and he let one of his hands drift down to cup your breast.

Hanno’s touch made your skin light on fire with every simple brush. How were you supposed to act when the man strutted around shirtless most of the time and built your house? Some of the older women in the city gossiped about their husbands. They told you about how it hurt, about the way he took without giving, and how they hated it.

From the delicate way Hanno touched you and the tender press of his lips against your pulse point, you knew that this would be different. He bent down and hauled you up against him, your legs wrapping around his waist for security, but you knew he would never drop you. You slid your arms around his neck, pulling your chest flush with his and he let his head fall back with a sinful groan, exposing the column of his throat. Eagerly, you licked a stripe up against his sweat-tinged skin and savored the taste of salt, musk, and man.

“By the gods, you will be the end of me, my little wife.” His teeth enclosed around the hinge of your jaw and you let your head fall to the side with a little sigh. Hanno nipped at the skin of your neck and you jolted against him, causing his throbbing cock to brush against you. Hanno squeezed his eyes shut at the sensation that wracked his body and you turned your head so he was facing you. Running your thumb along his jaw, you pulled your husband into another kiss and then pulled his bottom lip between your teeth. He sucked in a sharp breath and his hold tightened on you, sending a zing of pain mixed with pleasure down your spine.

“Take me to bed, husband,” you panted against his mouth. “Claim me as yours.”

Furs and silk lined the bed and softened your fall. You marveled at the way he prepared everything for you, even bringing over the blankets you wove for your marriage chest and setting them on the bed. He planted himself over you, his chest rising and falling with every heavy breath he took and you stole a glance down his broad chest to the heavy manhood that stood proud between his thighs. Your body pulsed with want even as your mind protested the idea of taking his length. He sensed your apprehension and leaned down to place a gentle kiss against your temple, your brow, both eyelids, and then your lips once more.

“I cannot promise it to be painless,” he said. “But I will do everything in my power to make sure you find bliss too.”

One of his hands snaked down to your most intimate place and your eyes widened with shock as he brushed the pad of his finger along the seam of your cunt. Your legs spread further apart instinctively and he kissed you in thanks for your invitation. A gasp escaped you as one of his fingers slid past your entrance and he kissed away your shock, even as you felt the rough and calloused pad of his finger slide up and press against some part of you that had you seeing stars. A little whimper from you had him pausing and he immediately pulled his hand away, eliciting a low whine from his wife. Hanno couldn’t stop his cocky smile that spread across his face before he touched that part of you again. His finger drew a circle over your flesh and your hips canted up, a mewl spilling past your lips and your breath catching. He stole a kiss, then another as he sent electricity up your spine and shocks scattered through your bones.

“You are magnificent,” he murmured just as he slipped another finger into your aching cunt. For a moment, you felt a hint of discomfort and bit your lip to refrain from making a sound. Hanno frowned and pulled your lip out from between your teeth. Some small part of you whispered ugly words and lies into your mind in an attempt to push his affection away. He only wanted you because other men did. You were merely a token to conquer. He needed a wife before he could get a concubine.

“Let me hear those pretty sounds.” He kissed the corner of your lips and you turned your head to see him properly once more. His eyes burned with a hunger you had seen before like in the forest or when he saw you carry one of the village babes on your hip. Hanno cheek pressed against your own and he whispered into your ear as he sank one finger into you and then two. He told you how proud he was of you, how good you were for him, how precious you were, as he pulled little cries of pleasure from you. You tightened around his fingers and he leaned back and watched your face as your body twitched and seized with the electric shocks of pleasure. A proud smile captured his face and he craned his head down to kiss you again and again and again. You climbed higher, higher, higher but then he abruptly pulled his hand from you, leaving you empty and aching. 

“I know, I know,” he groaned in that deep timbre bass that wracked through your body. Hanno rubbed a gentle circle into your outer thigh and shifted himself until he was kneeling between your spread legs. He grasped his cock in one hand and pressed his other hand to your hip, holding you in place under his heavy gaze. You squirmed as his eyes raked down your naked body and the little thoughts began to creep in once more, but he silenced them with one word.

“Divine.” Hanno leaned down and laid the flat of his tongue along your cunt. Your back arched off the bed with a choked out gasp and for a moment, you thought you died and entered the afterlife. He chuckled against your inner thigh and pressed a kiss to your pussy before sitting back on his heels. He stroked his thick length twice before moving closer to you. He nestled his face against your hair and inhaled the sweet scent of rose petals. His cheek rested on your temple, and he shocked you with his question.

“Can I tell you a story?”

You choked back a laugh and kissed the shell of his ear. “I suppose.” While you were the typical storyteller, you would always accept whatever he gave you.

“There was a king of the island of Ithaca by the name of Ulysses*. He was sent to fight in the Trojan War and on the way home, was blown off course. The journey home took over ten years and was filled with countless obstacles and dangers.” You gasped as the blunt head of his cock slid past your entrance and Hanno inhaled deeply. “Odysseus had a wife, the queen of Ithaca, named Penelope. A hundred suitors from the various lands and tribes came in an attempt to woo her and take her hand in marriage. Everyone thought Odysseus to be dead.”

He rocked his hips and his thick length began to split you open and your lips parted in a silent moan. Any air that was in your lungs seemed to evaporate as he filled you fully. Hanno swallowed your shaky whimper with a sweet kiss. You clawed for purchase against his chest, your limbs liquifying when he pulled out. Hanno caught your hand in his and flipped your hand over so he could pepper kisses along the inside of your wrist.

“Penelope was a devoted wife and ever faithful. She never doubted that Odysseus was alive and would come back to her. She lied to the suitors and told them that she would marry them when she finished weaving a funeral shroud. But she undid her work each night.” This time, his intrusion didn’t have the burn like the last thrust. Instead, his cock dragged against your walls in such a way that had your eyes rolling back into your head.

Hanno groaned as he started a steady thrust of his hips. He moved your hands above your head and entangled his fingers with yours, squeezing them in assurance as he fucked you. The pleasure burned so hot in your stomach and consumed your entire being. Everytime he thrust in, it felt like he was carving you out and branding you with his claim and oh, how you wanted this. He built this house for you and your future and even though he put a roof over your head, you saw stars with every touch against your skin.

“Ha-Hann…” You whined as he hit a certain spot that made your head spin. “Hanno.”

He frowned and slowed his thrusts and he touched your cheek, his thumb rubbing away the tear that you didn’t realize slipped down. “Does it hurt?”

You yanked him closer until his nose was touching yours. Your legs wrapped around his hips and he bottomed out in surprise.

 “Don’t you dare stop.” He grinned that reckless, crooked smile of his and swept your lips into a bruising kiss as he fucked every last thought out of your head. His name became a prayer that you chanted to the skies as he took you higher and higher until that coil that wrapped in your stomach snapped. You clenched around his cock and your body seized up as your orgasm washed over you. Hanno let out a guttural, animalistic groan and he spilled his seed into you, flooding you with warmth.

Silence enveloped the two of you, only the heavy exhales from exertion permeating the bubble that surrounded you. Hanno’s body relaxed and he caught himself before he put all of his weight on you. Rolling to the side, his arm came up to curl around your front, and he pulled you to his chest. Nose to nose, you met his gaze and let your breath mingle with his.

“Penelope didn’t falter in her devotion,” you said hoarsely. “Did she?”

His hand drifted up and down the raised gooseflesh on your arm and he reached over to draw one of the furs over you. “Aye, she didn’t.”

You tossed the edge of the fur over him and kissed him once again. “I will always remain steadfast.”

His lips met your temple and he tucked your head under his chin. “And I shall always come for you. No matter what it takes.”

Acacius lead you into the villa, the shackles and a new plate around your neck indicating your designation as slave. Lucilla immediately greeted him with an embrace and you looked away, your heart shattering at the sight. Quiet words were exchanged between the two before Acacius paused and stepped back to display you.

“She is from Numidia,” he explained. “She has skills in healing and I felt she would be a good addition to the household.”

Lucilla approached you and took in your sorry state. You felt bile rise in your throat as you bowed your head to the woman, but she stopped you with a raised hand.

“What is your name?” she asked you in Phoenician. You paused before answering her in your second tongue. That’s when you saw her eyes and realized, with a jolt, that she was indeed the woman you had heard of.

“Leta,” Lucilla called for another slave. “Come. Show her to the baths and give her a fresh chiton. Acacius, unchain her.”

He obeyed his wife’s command, but the slate remained. Perhaps you would wear it for the rest of your, hopefully short, life. Leta, an older woman, silently beckoned you to follow her deeper into the villa where a few slave women were gathered together over a pool of warm water.

“Who is this?” one of them asked in Latin.

“A Barbarian whore for the general, I presume,” Leta replied. “He brought her from Numidia. Thing hasn’t had a bath in her whole life.”

You remained silent, hands clasped before you, even as Leta pointed towards the bath. “You. Wash.” You pretended not to understand and she huffed out an annoyed breath and marched off, leaving you to strip out of your ruined and bloody dress from home and step into the water. You didn’t want to wash the gore off of your skin. Not when it was your last reminder of home. Of him.

Taking a moment to look around, you tried to picture what it was like living here in all its splendor. Leta returned and tossed a dress for you onto the edge of the tile and you stared at it blankly. She turned her back to you and started to gossip with the other girls. Your hands scrubbed at your skin, but your ears picked up all that they were saying. Gladiator games, senators, the emperors, it was all banal and boring.

But you found it all invaluable.

When night fell, you slipped out from the tiny cot you had been given in the slave quarters and silently made your way through the halls. Mosaics lined the walls and depicted everything from myths to actual battles. You stopped at the bust of Marcus Aurelius and stared at it for a moment. Shaking your head, you moved on to the hall that everyone had pointedly walked past and Leta explained was off-limits. Or as she said, “no touch”, because she thought that your supposed inability to speak Latin was also an indication of your idiocy.

You pushed open the doors and entered the chambers. Dust covered every inch of the place, as if no one had been in here for years. You carefully made your way over a broken tile and into the bedchamber where the sheets were still unmade and a book lay open on the desk. Turning slowly, you took in the whole of the room with an unsteady inhale.

“The gates of hell are open night and day,” you whispered under your breath. The words were etched onto the top of the wall. “Smooth the descent, and easy is the way: But to return, and view the cheerful skies, In this the task and mighty labor lies.” As you spoke, you could almost feel the presence of him at your back, his rough and low voice breathing the words into your ear.

You fled from the room, unable to bear it.

You almost made it back across the atrium when Lucilla emerged from seemingly out of nowhere. The two of you paused and you quickly lowered your head in deference.

“I hope you weren’t trying to escape,” she said gently. “Acacius told me that you were recently made a widow.”

The wince on your face was visible even in the moonlight and she stepped forward, her hands clasping over yours in comfort. She spoke her next words in Latin. “I am sorry. These meaningless deaths are foolish emperors playing war without considering the human cost of it.” The older woman patted your hand and made to leave, but your voice stopped her.

“Your slaves do not respect you,” you spoke in Latin. “Leta spreads vicious rumors about you and she said she has ties with some of the senators. Your allies are playing you and your plan is shaky at best.”

She whirled around to face you and you jutted your chin out in defiance, your eyes flashing with something dangerous. “In Numidia, my husband was the soldier, Domina. But I was the politician.”

Macrinus delivered on his promise. Acacius faced off with four soldiers in the Colosseum before Hanno was given a taste of vengeance and oh, did he savor it. Acacius ordered your death. Now, Hanno had the chance to ensure you were honored properly.

But Acacius stood across from him, sword on the ground, and accepted his death with a stoicism that Hanno only dreamed of possessing. The crowd roared and swelled with indignation after Hanno demanded to know their morals, but he was ushered away before he joined his father in dying in this ring.

He was granted the chance to see his mother one last time before her execution for treason and his slaughter in the arena. Lucilla told him of his father and he remembered meeting Maximus and how kind he was, even in the jaws of death. When his mother meets him for the last time, his only thought is how much Lucilla would like you.

She gave him two gifts in parting.

One, his grandfather’s ring.

Two, a lock of hair. And not just any…

Lucilla smiled sadly. “Acacius took her from Numidia to be a healer and didn’t realize she was your wife. She is safe, Lucius, and under the care of my household. I’m afraid I put it together too late, and she isn’t aware that you are here.”

For a moment, the rage subsided and he heard only a shrill ringing in his ears, as though he took a heavy blow to the head. Lucius turned the hair over in his hand and raised it to his nose, smelling a faint hint of rose petals.

I shall always come for you. No matter what it takes.

His mother was taken back to his cell and he took a moment to curl his palm around this fragment of you and press it to his chest to guard it from the world.

And then he called for Ravi.

Your hands remained steady when you slit Leta’s throat. You did so quietly, in the darkness of an alleyway. Blood never fazed you before, and the taking of a life was no different now. As far as you were concerned, this woman was one of the reasons why your Hanno was dead. Was it a rational thought? Perhaps not. But rationality would come another day.

The Colosseum roared with fury and you tried not to flinch at the deafening sound as you slipped in through the gates below, into the pens with the animals and gladiators. Chaos reigned above and below the world’s largest stadium so it was easy to blend in with others. The cloak you stole from Leta made you appear to be a fellow slave working amongst the masses. It never failed to amaze you how they called you a barbarian when they fought men to the death for their entertainment.

Your fingers skated over the smooth wood that curved over your spine and you felt a little better knowing that it was on you. The games were already underway with a few prisoners being devoured by Barbary lions as the crowd screamed for their blood to spill. You slipped around a few courtesans that lingered in the hall and passed the raised dais where three maidens were chained. Pushing on, you found a small corridor that was unoccupied and slipped in between the stones to hide from any roaming eyes.

The noise increased and you knew what was coming. Lucilla would be executed and Macrinus was to blame. The lanista was the mastermind of all of this, and you knew firsthand what war could do to people. You refused to let Lucilla die and, as much as you hated the Romans for what they took from you, the innocent children in the streets would die.

After this, you promised yourself, you would join Hanno.

Footsteps rushed past your hiding spot and when it quieted down in the hallway, you took that as a chance to peek out and see if you had an opening. You slipped out into the hall and darted towards one of the gates that was partly open. A bloodbath was the only word to describe what was happening in the Colosseum. You blanched at the sight of Lucilla tied to the dais, but it seemed as though the gladiators had it well in hand.

Removing the bow from your back, you notched an arrow onto the string and inhaled deeply. Macrinus was not hard to stop, thanks to his place behind Emperor Caracalla, but you didn’t have a clear shot. The crowd was turning on the Praetors and more soldiers entered the Colosseum on horseback. One Praetor nearly took the head off of a gladiator and you turned your bow in that direction.

Breathe in, aim, fire as you breathe out, Jugurtha had instructed. Keep your arm steady, your aim true, and your mind clear. There is no time to panic, just shoot.

The arrow sailed through the air and straight through the Praetor’s shoulder, knocking him off his horse and to the ground. You drew another arrow and started to aim towards Macrinus once more, but this time he was standing up. Caracalla was slumped over dead in front of him and Macrinus had his own bow in his hand.

Numidians were excellent horsemen and archers. Before you ever met Hanno, before you even bled for the first time, you were trained in the art of horsemanship and archery. Indeed your husband vowed his protection, but you were not one to go down without a fight. He taught you how to manipulate a knife, where to aim on the body, but Hanno never came close to your familiarity with a bow.

Your next arrow arched through the air and collided with Macrinus’ shot. The wood splintered midair and you loaded a third, but the lanista fled the stands before you could take another shot. It gave a gladiator the chance to free Lucilla and pass her to another gladiator, a hulking beast of a man. The gladiator gave chase to Macrinus and you focused your attention on your subject at hand.

There had to have been a reason the gods kept you alive and took Hanno. Clearly, it was to protect your husband’s mother.

“Are you ever going to tell me what you’re hiding from me?”

His hand stilled from where it had been absentmindedly stroking your thigh. Hanno came home from the field and immediately drew you into his lap, inhaling your sweet smell and letting his hands roam all over your body. You savored his touch, but marriage had sharpened your mind regarding his mannerisms. Something was bothering him.

Hanno sighed and he nuzzled his nose against your shoulder. You let him have this moment, but you would weasel the truth out of him, someway or another.

“Is it another woman? A concubine?” you asked, your voice hushed and wounded. He laid a kiss against your skin and shook his head.

“Rome is moving closer,” he finally said. You turned so you could see his face and cupped his chin, drawing his head up to meet your gaze. He blinked up at you with those sky blue eyes of his and nestled into your palm until he could lay a gentle kiss there.

“My name, my real name,” he whispered, “is Lucius Verus Aurelius and I am the prince of Rome.”

The first thing he did after ascending his rightful place as Emperor of Rome was go to his mother’s villa.

Lucilla was fine, a small gash on her bicep and shaken up, but fine. He tried to be a good son, but she could tell his focus was on anywhere but her. Lucilla directed him to the gardens and that is where he found you.

The Roman dress was different from what he was used to seeing, but you still covered your head with a veil when praying to your gods. Head tilted towards the heavens, hands outstretched, you made a beautiful image of devotion.

Your feet inched closer to the edge of the cliff.

“Forgive me, my love, for being so weak that I could not do this sooner,” you said. Tears coursed down your cheeks and stained the fabric of your chiton with damp tracks. You muttered a mixture of prayer and apology and he strained to hear it.

“Give me the strength to commit this final act, oh gods, grant me this. I have protected his mother and granted her the life he was not spared. Please, oh Hanno, let me see you in the afterlife. I am tired, so tired of only seeing you in my dreams.”

“Step back from the edge, my heart.” His voice came out in a tremble.

“Hanno,” you whispered. “Forgive me for being so weak. Forgive me for failing you. I’m sorry.”

“You’ve been nothing but strong.” A ferocity claims his words. “Step back from the edge.”

“We made a promise,” you pleaded. “We go as one. Let me join you, please.”

You raise one foot over the rocky cliff and he lashed out before he could think. He grabbed your wrist and pulled you back so hard that the both of you tumbled to the ground. Quickly, Lucius kneeled by your side to search for any injury.

“Open your eyes,” he ordered. This was the afterlife. It must be. You obeyed his command to find those bright blue eyes that haunted your dreams.

“Am I finally dead?”

“Not for a long, long time.”

No, this wasn’t the afterlife. Blood caked his skin and scars littered his bare arms. He had been muscular before but now he appeared to be only thick, corded muscle. Your hands came up to rest on his neck and you examined his face. The same freckles. Same lines by his eyes. Same long eyelashes.

Trailing your hands down along his arms, you skirted around the obvious injuries he had until your fingers brushed something new, something entirely foreign to you that resided on his shoulder.

A brand.

And with that, the dam within you shattered. The wails of a widow finally escaped your chest and you let out an agonized scream as you curled in on yourself. Hanno gathered you into his arms and buried his face into the crook of your neck. Hot tears slid down his cheeks and onto your skin. Your hands scrambled to find purchase on the armor that still adorned his body and you eventually settled on cradling the back of his head with one hand and grasping his forearm with the other.

“I am so sorry,” he wept. “If I had known you were alive, I would have come for you sooner.” He wrenched the slave plate from your neck and kissed the places where the chain had rubbed your skin raw.

All the agony of grief and rage and terror from the last month spilled out of him in broken, gasping sobs. His precious wife was alive and in his arms. Numidia had fallen, but now he had the chance to protect her with all the power and might of Rome. He could now have armies at his beck and call, coffers of coins brought to him, and enemies assassinated but the true power laid in his arms.

His little wife was right. He was the soldier, the muscle, the physical strength. But the reason he fought and killed, the reason he kept going even when every part of his body screamed to give up, was because of her. As far as he was concerned, she had the power to raze cities and command armies. All she had to do was ask him.

“Is this real?” you breathed once your sobs and trembling ceased. He pulled you into his lap and almost began crying once again at the feel of your supple body against his.

“It’s real,” he assured you before he bent down and kissed you. Despite the blood that coated his skin, you savored the taste of him. You never thought you would get this again. Maybe the gods did bless you.

He kept you pressed against his side as you made your way back into the villa. One of the slaves nearly dropped her tray at the sight before her and ran to grab Lucilla. The stately woman swept into the courtyard and met you both there.

“Lucius,” she exclaimed. “I take it that this is your wife.”

“Yes.” His gaze never strayed from your face. “This is her.”

You instinctively went to bow to Lucilla but she stopped you with a gentle hand on your arm.

“You are not my slave any longer,” she assured you. “Not only did you save my life, but you are now my daughter and also Augusta.”

Hanno, Lucius, you reminded yourself, stood in all his resplendent glory, covered in dirt and blood with his gladius hanging from his sheath. How different the two of you were now, yet still fit like the gods made you for each other. Your small house was gone. Your home was subjugated. Your family and friends in the afterlife. But Lucius was still here and still breathing. That made it all worth it.

He might be the Emperor of Rome now and you, the Empress, but he was still your charming soldier, your devoted husband. This, you decided, would make an excellent story someday.

[screampied]

Hey vegas baby, so lil request if you don’t mind, imagine riding Sukuna and he is slapping your face urging you to go faster, and you slapping him back and laughing in his face 🤭 like he is in shock because how dare you, but in the same time he is like “ok girl, I’m intrigued” 🤨

Love you and your works 🤎

❤︎ ໋𓈒 sukuna getting turned on at you being a brat

warnings. fem! reader, cowgirl, praise, degradation, impact play, unprotected, choking, overstim. an. thank u luv u2!!!!

sukuna would be laid back with the most smuggest expression on his face — he noticed how you’d always halt your hips a little, slowing down the moment you were getting close.

he tsks, bringing a big hand to grip your chin before giving you a few smacks. “awwww,” he’d coo, feeling your hips try to keep up its repetitive jerking. he was just teasing you, giving you another light tap on your cheek before your bottom lip quavered. you felt yourself reaching close, your legs felt like complete mush before you whimpered. “don’t tell me the big girl’s tapping out already. what happened to ridin’ me until my eyes rolls back?” and sukuna sneers once he sees your cute glare. “i was rooting for you, princess.”

“s-shut up, ‘kuna.” you’d gnaw on your bottom lip, and he stares at you with a smirk. knowing him, he’d probably reply with the obvious, ‘make me’ to which he did. as you made him lean back just a bit more, your hand ends up lightly going against his face.

sukuna’s stunned for a moment before he jibes. he brings both big hands towards the edges of your waist, pressing his thumbs into them before snarling lowly.

“hm. did you just slap me?” and whilst he said that, you felt yourself pulse — not a heartbeat but a familiar pulse that was located between your legs. not waiting for an answer, he snickers, grabbing your chin once more before he spats, “oh. don’t look away from me now. do it again. ‘n just a heads up, if you’re gonna smack me at least do it harder, little girl.”

“i’m not gonna do it again because you’re gonna e-enjoy it.” you moaned, feeling him use his hands to make your hips rock against him again. it felt so good . . the stimulation, whilst you grind against him, your knees felt weak. each buckle, you heard an echoe through your ears ring the more and more you felt yourself getting close.

“yeah ‘m gonna e-enjoy it,” he mocks your little weak stutter, dragging a thumb towards your upper lip. he snickers, pulling you into a quick kiss before humming. “c’monnn, no eye contact either? such a shy baby.”

you continue to glare at him. making a cute attempt at moving your hips again — but he reached so deep inside your walls, that spot.

you let off a soft whine, feeling the curve of his dick stretch against your sweet cunt that never stopped gripping down on him. it was exceedingly sloppy, your arms that were thrown over his neck started to feel warm.

“f-fuckkk,” you’d bite your tongue, and sukuna just guffaws once more. he finds your behavior adorable and somewhat amusing.

he considers it cute on how you desperately tried to bite back your own moans, you throbbed at the continuous stares he gave you. such playful stares, he was waiting for it.

it was the way your legs were just about to give out — you felt an entire bundle of nerves brew up. up and up and up, you didn’t know how much longer you could have lasted.

“oh, boo. don’t make me fall asleep,” sukuna raises a brow, releasing an overly dramatic faux yawn. he was so cocky, purposely being in manspread for you. he parts his legs just a bit more and you moan. the heftiness of his cock pressing into you, it was enough to make your mouth salivate. “thought i trained my girl to not get so s—”

sukuna gets cut off once he feels your hips start to quicken and he chuckles, maintaining the same rough grip on your waist.

“mhm,” he huffs out, feeling gradually hasten. yet sukuna barely bats an eye, although . . that’s when you bring a hand to wrap around his neck. “choking me now? that’s k-kinda kinky.”

you watch as sukuna’s breathing hitch, and a sly smile spreads across his lips. he likes the feeling of your slender fingers wrapping around his throat. you give it a slight squeeze, and for a brief moment you watch his pearly fangs poke out. if he wasn’t amused, he was surely amused now.

sukuna doesn’t expect you to start laughing in his face now. he’s a bit caught off guard — the both of you were reaching such euphoric peaks at an unsteady pace, he intakes a single sharp breath before you murmur. “now look at you, ‘kuna. growing flustered ‘n all.”

“don’t … get too much of a swell head, brat,” he scoffs, and he was for sure flustered. a cute tinted pink color rises towards his face, and you felt his dick sporadically twitch inside of you. sukuna was definitely embarrassed. for once, he barely had a witty comeback, and he grips the fat of your ass before giving it a rough spank. “shut up ‘n finish.”

“don’t tell me what to do with a cute expression like that,” you giggle, the grip of your thumbs lingering a bit harder against his neck. sukuna snarls. you could tell you were irking his nerves, and he always let you. it pissed him off to say the least, sukuna casually gives you an eye roll and you smile. “you’re being the brat more than me.”

“watch how you speak to me girl,” he grumbles, and a small pout curls against his lips — it was cute, the curse trying to keep up his mean tough facade yet was melting right underneath you.

he loathed how much he enjoyed feeling your hands, the softness of your bare hands against his skin.

feeling you steadily jerk back and forth against him, a toe-curling orgasm right at the tip of your tongue, you moaned. sukuna buried his fingers into your skin, his right thigh idly bouncing underneath you. “mhm. try giving me dirty talk.”

“dirty talk?” you tease, softly stroking your thumb against the middle part of his neck. “you’re into that too, ‘kuna?”

“shut up woman,” he scoffs with puffed cheeks. he regrets even asking — yet you hum, leaning up close to him before giving him what you wanted. you imitated him earlier, smacking his temple gingerly yet with just enough roughness.

the last thing you expect was for a low needy moan to depart from his lips. “you gonna make a mess for me, sukuna?”

“f—fucking woman,” he grunts, and you can tell he’s starting to lose composure. the softness in your voice, the playfulness that ran underneath it. he’s stirring up your insides without a doubt, making your knees buckle and lock. as you straddle him, he could barely keep his hands gripped onto your waist. roughly attached like velcro.

sukuna’s breath, it became unsteady. this time you’re the one squeezing his chin, giggling at the way he tries to give you an irritated glare. “just make me cum.”

“okay baby.”

“call me that again ‘n see what happens.”

“aw baby, don’t be so stubborn.”

his eyes flicker towards you, and you were keen on getting on him annoyed. the grip your soaked pussy had on sukuna had him grow mute for a moment. just the mere squelches that loudly ricocheted from between your legs. the sweetened slick that ran against your slit, it had him locked. for a moment he’s seeing nothing but pure angelic stars. sukuna’s practically speechless, and he finds his rough hands tightly holding onto the mounds of your ass.

“f-fuck,” he huffs out, and his voice grows a tad bit lower. the baritone in it makes you pulsate. shockwaves started to coarse through his veins. it was a multitude of synonyms — heavily intense.

it makes his jaw tense and tighten, he bites down on his lip the moment he feels his balls nearly prepare to dunk inside of you. he was so thick, you had to angle yourself a certain way so he could hit each and every orifice of your gummy walls. every corner, every direct hit to make you moan tight against his ear. every crevice.

“c-cumming,” he throatily groans, his climax hitting him like a truck — the both of you ended up finishing at the same exact time, and sukuna’s eyes eventually do end up rolling back. he literally ate his words. he was on a plateau, a constant high. he swallows thickly, and you make your hips come to a halt once he starts to pour a hefty load into your cunt.

it was so much that it spilled out. all out of your folds, it was a mess. you wriggled your hips teasingly, getting over your orgasm yourself before running a finger down his chest. “tapping out on me, sukuna?”

“tch,” he growled, feeling that same hot flush rise towards his cheeks. he couldn’t deny though, he may have found himself a few favorite kinks. sukuna’s hooded eyes glare at you before his and flex and tense. “whatever, little girl. you—you win, this time.”

[eiloveir]

→﹐naruto imagines !

naruto men and their jealous streaks

genre: fluff, fluff, and more fluff—very romantic

characters: uzumaki naruto, uchiha sasuke, nara shikamaru, gaara

warnings: none, aside from the potential cringe and the relationship dynamics

author’s note: this idea sprang from a post i saw on pins (again)

uzumaki naruto

“is everything alright? you seem a bit off,” you asked him, concern evident in your voice. he had been his usual cheerful self, but when you both said your goodbyes to the people of sunagakure, his behavior had shifted dramatically. he hadn’t uttered a single word since then, and his silence was starting to worry you. You couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to cause this sudden change in him. but he didn’t answer right away. instead, he folded his arms across his chest and slouched slightly, his shoulders sagging. he turned to look at you, his eyes holding is something else you couldn’t quite place. his mouth was set in a pout, lips pursed tightly, making it clear that he was upset about something. his expression was a far cry from his usual upbeat and energetic self.

“you don’t do that with me...” he mumbled under his breath, but his voice was just loud enough for you to hear. “the... what?” you asked, eyebrows knitting together in confusion. you could sense the tension emanating from him as he shifted uncomfortably beside you. his eyes flitted towards you, searching for some sign that you were pretending not to understand. when he realized that your confusion was genuine, he let out a sigh and averted his gaze. “why do you talk with him that way?” you blinked in surprise, taken aback by his sudden question. his behavior was so unlike his usual self, and you struggled to understand the root of his discomfort. “what do you mean?” you asked, trying to grasp the meaning behind his words. his sulky demeanor was puzzling, leaving you to wonder why he was so unsettled over what seemed like a minor issue. naruto fidgeted, clearly uncomfortable with having to vocalize his romantic feelings. he toyed with the hem of his jacket, his gaze fixed on the ground. “when you talk to him,” he began hesitantly, “it’s different. you’re... softer, kinder, almost like you’re more patient with him. it feels like... like you don’t talk to me that way.” as his words sank in, you began to understand what made him act like that. seeing him like this, open and hurt, tugged at your heart. you reached out, gently placing a reassuring hand on his arm, “naruto,” you said softly, “you mean a lot to me. i had no idea i was speaking differently to him. maybe it’s just because i’m trying to be respectful. but that doesn’t mean you’re any less important to me. you have a special place in my heart, always." he lifted his gaze to meet yours, his eyes reflecting a roller coaster of emotions—relief, doubt, and hope. a small, hesitant smile began to form on his lips, and he leaned in slightly, seeking the comfort and reassurance of your presence. “really?” “really,” you confirmed, giving his arm a squeeze. “you’re special to me in ways you can’t even imagine.” his expression softened further, and he let out a deep breath, as if releasing the jealousy he had been carrying. his earlier sulkiness melted away, replaced by a shy, contented smile that made your heart flutter. he leaned closer, resting his forehead against yours, closing his eyes as he sought solace in your closeness.

uchiha sasuke

“i’m not upset,” he said, though his tone betrayed him completely. the words were delivered within a composed manner, but beneath the surface, there was an edge—a trace of irritation that he was trying, and failing, to mask with an air of indifference.

you watched him closely, your own expression of skepticism. raising an eyebrow, you crossed your arms over your chest in a gesture that was both defensive and doubtful. his posture was a clear signal that you weren’t buying into his attempt at denial. “sure,” you replied, your voice thick with irony and disbelief. “you’re not upset.”

he exhaled a quiet, almost imperceptible sigh, slowly turning his head away from your gaze. “i’m fine,” he insisted again, though his voice lacked the strength and certainty it usually carried, betraying his true state. the rigid tension in his shoulders and the way his stance became unnaturally tense suggested he was preparing for a confrontation he was clearly not eager to face. an air of unease enveloped him, and it was impossible for you not to be drawn to the sight of this usually composed uchiha, now so visibly disturbed. the very essence of his discomfort piqued your curiosity, making you wonder what could have unsettled him.

you tilted your head, examining him with a more scrutinizing gaze. although his expression remained a carefully maintained mask of neutrality, his eyes—dark and turbulent—spilled secrets of struggle he could scarcely conceal. despite his repeated claims of being fine, it was evident that something was troubling him. with a decision to probe a bit more, you leaned in slightly, a mischief dancing at the corners of your mouth. “you know, for someone who insists they’re not upset, you’re coming across as unusually grumpy right now.”

sasuke’s response was immediate. his eyes momentarily flashed with irritation, and he shot you a look — powerful enough to make most people instinctively retreat. “i’m not grumpy," he snapped back, but the low, grumbling quality of his voice did little to support his assertion. the sharpness and defensiveness in his tone only served the truth of what you had already surmised—something had clearly gotten under his skin, and he was making a strenuous effort to conceal his discomfort.

you let out a soft chuckle, feeling a strange sort of affection for his defensiveness. it wasn’t every day that sasuke allowed himself to lower his guard enough to show his true feelings, and it was even rarer for him to be visibly unsettled by something that seemed so minor. this glimpse into a side of him that was usually hidden from view brought a sense of pleasure to the moment. “it’s actually kind of charming,” you teased, your eyes dancing with amusement as you took in his uncharacteristic display of emotion.

sasuke’s glare grew more intense, yet you couldn’t miss the subtle blush that began to rise on his cheeks in response to your words. he swiftly turned his head, clearly attempting to conceal his embarrassment. “shut up,” he muttered, though his voice was softer than usual, lacking its typical edge. the vulnerability in his tone tugged at your heart, even as you maintained your playful teasing.

you couldn’t help but grin, feeling an irresistible urge to push his buttons a bit more. there was something endearing about seeing sasuke, who usually projected an air of composed detachment and aloofness, becoming flustered over something so seemingly insignificant. it was clear to you now that his irritation wasn’t just a reaction to your teasing but stemmed from a more personal place. perhaps he was feeling a a pang of jealousy—an emotion he rarely displayed openly. seeing him struggle to maintain his usual facade while clearly bothered by the situation made the moment all the more entertaining. “aw, come on, sasuke. don’t be like that,” you said, your tone light and playful. “it’s okay to admit that you’re jealous, you know.”

at the mention of jealousy, sasuke’s head jerked back towards you, his eyes widening in surprise and a blush crept across his cheeks. “jealous?” he said, clearly flustered by embarrassment. “what do i have to be jealous about?”

you shrugged casually, maintaining your smile as you observed him with a keen eye. “you tell me,” you replied in a calm and tone, “it seems like there’s something bothering you, or should i say, someone bothering you?” you added with a teasing edge, your gaze fixed on him, searching for any subtle hints that might reveal the true cause of his agitation.

sasuke’s cheeks turned a deeper shade of red, and he tried to mask his embarrassment with a scowl. “i’m not jealous,” he insisted, crossing his arms over his chest in a defiant gesture. yet, his reluctance to meet your gaze betrayed him, making him appear almost like a child caught in a lie, desperately clinging to his facade. you couldn’t help but smirk, clearly seeing through his tough exterior. “really?” you asked, raising an eyebrow with a playful glint in your eye. “then why do you get all grumpy whenever i talk to someone else?” you took a step closer, closing the gap between you. the warm, charged atmosphere between you made his struggle to maintain composure all the more evident. sasuke’s glare deepened, but there was a flicker of something else in his eyes—something that resembled uncertainty. “i don’t get grumpy,” he growled, his voice a low, petulant rumble. yet, as he spoke, you noticed the way his jaw tightened and the slight tremor in his hands as he clenched them into fists. you snickered, thoroughly entertained by his defensiveness. “oh, you do, actually,” you countered, taking another step closer. the warmth radiating from him and the thick tension in the air made the moment feel charged. “you get all moody and irritable when i talk to other people. it’s kind of adorable.” sasuke’s eyes widened at your comment, and for a brief moment, he seemed lost for words. “what do you mean ‘adorable’?” he snapped, his voice rising slightly in pitch. you moved even closer, a mischievous grin spreading across your face. “well, it’s cute seeing you all pouty and jealous,” you said, batting your eyelashes at him in an exaggerated manner. the playful teasing seemed to throw sasuke off balance, and he took a small step back. sasuke’s face flushed even more as you continued to tease him. he opened his mouth to retort, but the words seemed to catch in his throat. “i’m not pouting,” he protested weakly, though the pout in his voice was undeniable. the vulnerability in his eyes made your heart skip a beat. you chuckled, thoroughly enjoying his reaction. “oh, you definitely are,” you said, closing the final distance between you until you were standing right in front of him. reaching out, you gently tapped his nose with your finger, a gesture that made him flinch slightly. for a moment, sasuke looked like he was about to argue further, but then he seemed to deflate, his shoulders slumping in defeat. his cheeks were still burning with embarrassment, but he finally relented. “fine,” he muttered, looking down at the ground to avoid your gaze. “i am jealous. okay?” he took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. when he spoke again, his voice was soft, almost hesitant. “it’s just... whenever you talk to someone else, i can’t help but feel annoyed. like they’re taking your attention away from me.” his admission was quiet and vulnerable, making your heart ache with a mixture of sympathy and affection. sasuke’s gaze finally lifted to meet yours, and you saw the sincerity in his eyes. “i don’t want to feel like this,” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “but i can’t help it. it’s like... i want you all to myself.”

nara shikamaru

shikamaru’s gaze was sharp, a steely glint in his dark eyes that pierced through the quiet hum of the room. his brow furrowed, deepening the lines on his forehead, and his lips pressed into a thin, disapproving line. the weight of his scrutiny was noticable, and it felt as though the very air between you crackled with an unspoken accusation. he stood with an air of nonchalance that belied the tension simmering beneath his calm exterior, his arms crossed firmly over his chest in a stance that spoke of both confrontation and a subtle, guarded defensiveness. his fingers tapped impatiently against his biceps, a gesture that conveyed his agitation despite his otherwise relaxed posture. “the hell was that?” he demanded, the question hung in the air. the way he pronounced the words made it clear he was not merely curious but genuinely perturbed. it was as if he had caught you in the middle of deception and now sought an explanation that you were not entirely prepared to offer. his tone had a biting edge to it, the kind that suggested he was not in the mood for excuses or evasions. you stood there, attempting to maintain a façade of innocence, though you could feel the telltale signs of discomfort creeping into your demeanor. the corners of your mouth twitched ever so slightly, a smirk that you struggled to suppress. you knew exactly what he was referring to, the stunt you had pulled earlier—a move so calculated and audacious that it was almost as if you had choreographed it with the intention of provoking a reaction. the very thought of his jealousy bubbling beneath the surface was almost amusing, though you maintained your composure with practiced ease. “what?” you replied, feigning ignorance with a slowness, the memory of the earlier incident was so distant that you needed to retrieve it from the recesses of your mind. the subtle arch of your eyebrows and the slight widening of your eyes were all part of the act, a display of confusion that was more theatrical than genuine. his eyes narrowed further, and his expression hardened as he stared you down. the slight twitch in his jaw betrayed his struggle to contain his irritation, and the silence that followed was thick with the tension of unspoken words. he seemed to be grappling with his emotions—jealousy and frustration—as he waited for your response. “the thing you did earlier,” his gaze remained fixed on you, a demand for an explanation that would either placate his concerns or further ignite his displeasure. the accusation was implicit, wrapped in the layers of his carefully controlled demeanor, and it was clear that he was waiting for you to explain mystery behind your earlier actions.

his words caught you off guard, making your heart skip a beat as if it had been yanked into a sudden stop. the intensity in his gaze revealed that he was acutely aware of the event that had taken place earlier. you knew, with a feeling, that he was referring to the kiss you had planted on choji’s cheek—a mischievous act that you and the others had planned with the intention of testing his reaction. it was a prank meant to stir up some emotions and see if shikamaru could be nudged out of his usually imperturbable demeanor. your own curiosity had driven you to participate, intrigued by the prospect of seeing the usually unflappable strategist display a hint of jealousy. tilting your head slightly to one side, you allowed a coy smile to surface, a playful glint in your eyes that you hoped would mask your true understanding of the situation. “what stunt? i just gave choji a friendly kiss on the cheek,” you said, the words slipping out with feigned innocence. even as you spoke, you could feel the tightrope of deception you were walking on, knowing full well the motive behind your action.

“yeah, sure,” he said, the sarcasm in his tone sharp and unmistakable. “because kissing someone on the cheek is a completely normal way to be friendly.” His voice dripped with disdain, the sarcasm was heavy, the sort that carried an implicit critique of your attempt to trivialize the situation. his eyes narrowed, a storm of emotions flickering within his gaze.

you could not help but chuckle, a sound that was part amusement, part nervousness. the realization that shikamaru was not fooled by your act was relief and further tension. his reaction was as potent as you had hoped, the jealousy you had intended to provoke now clearly visible in his demeanor. “okay, okay, you caught me,” you admitted with a playful sigh, raising your hands in a gesture of mock surrender. the smirk on your face widened as you leaned slightly forward, your shoulders shaking with barely contained laughter. “it was just a prank.”

his expression softened just slightly as he rolled his eyes with exasperation. his arms, still crossed tightly over his chest, seemed to loosen a bit, though the trace of annoyance remained etched on his face. “a prank, huh?” “yeah, a harmless one,” you replied with a playful smile dancing on your lips, trying to diffuse the tension. “sakura, ino, and i thought it’d be funny to see if we could make you jealous.”

a small frown tugged at the corners of his mouth—his gaze, however, remained locked onto you with a level of intensity that suggested he was not entirely dismissing the matter. “and was it funny?” he questioned, it was pointed, as though he was challenging you to justify the prank, to explain whether it had indeed succeeded in its aim of provoking a reaction. you couldn’t help but tease, your eyes sparkling with mischief. “well, it’s a bit entertaining seeing you get all worked up,” you admitted with a grin, “but i didn’t mean to make you feel anything other than jealousy, and i wouldn’t do anything to hurt you intentionally.” the reassurance came with a warm tone, you wanted to ensure that despite the prank’s impact, your intentions had never been to cause genuine harm or distress. “not like it meant anything?” he repeated, his voice rising slightly, “you’re my girlfriend. i don’t appreciate other guys getting close to you like that, even if they’re just friends.” the words came out more forcefully than he probably intended. you raised an eyebrow at his overt display of jealousy, a small, secretive thrill running through you. the fact that your plan had worked was evident in his reaction, and you couldn’t help but take a bit of pleasure in seeing him so visibly affected. “is someone getting a little possessive?” you teased, stepping closer to him with a confident stride. you traced a finger along the collar of his shirt.

his eyes narrowed further at your touch, though a subtle hint of a blush began to creep up his cheeks. he seemed to be fighting a smile, the struggle apparent in the tight line of his lips and the faint flush of color on his face. “i’m just saying, you don’t see me going off and kissing any girls on the cheek, do you?” he retorted, his voice lowering slightly as if he were trying to keep his irritation in check. you laughed, thoroughly enjoying the playful exchange. “well, maybe you should. it’s not like i would get jealous or anything,”

he rolled his eyes, clearly not buying into your facade. “oh, please. you’d be mad as hell if i went around kissing other girls.”

gaara

gaara had always considered himself immune to jealousy or the idea of love itself, believing that such emotions were beyond his reach. that was, until you entered his life, almost as if scripted by fate. your presence stirred feelings within him that he had long thought inaccessible. now, he found himself grappling with an unsettling jealousy when he witnessed you and his brother, kankuro, engaging in playful banter right before him. he made a conscious effort to disregard the lively interactions between you and kankuro, attempting to ignore the way you both teased each other so effortlessly. yet, despite his best efforts, he could not suppress the rising tide of jealousy and possessiveness coursing through him. the sight of you laughing and enjoying yourself in kankuro’s company felt like a painful irritant, no matter how hard he tried to remain indifferent. his fists tightened into clenched knots as he observed you from the periphery of his vision. as kankuro’s teasing continued, gaara's frustration only intensified. he attempted to dismiss his growing irritation, but the heat in his cheeks and the tension in his jaw betrayed his internal struggle. eventually, gaara could no longer tolerate the scene unfolding beside him. the casual, affectionate banter between you and kankuro became unbearable, prompting him to rise from his seat, unable to mask his growing annoyance any longer.

“kankuro, knock it off,” he snapped, his voice taut with irritation. the lively, carefree banter between you and kankuro came to an abrupt halt, and the room fell into a heavy silence. the air was thick with the sudden tension that gaara’s commanding tone had injected. kankuro’s smirk faltered for a split second as he turned his attention to his brother, his expression shifting to one of feigned innocence. “oh, come on, bro. we’re just having a little fun,” kankuro said, his voice oozing with casual nonchalance. you looked up at gaara, your heart thudding in your chest. his reaction was intense, a side of him you hadn’t seen before. his irritation was noticable, and it was evident that he was struggling to mask the emotions simmering beneath the surface. gaara’s jaw tightened, his features hardening as he fixed a steely gaze on kankuro. “cut it out, kankuro. you’re being annoying,” he said, voice devoid of warmth and edged with frustration. the sharpness in his tone cut through the room, making it clear that he was no longer in the mood for light-hearted banter. kankuro raised an eyebrow, a sly grin spreading across his face as he leaned back in his seat with exaggerated nonchalance. “oh, am i annoying you, lil bro? it seems like someone’s feeling a bit jealous…” gaara’s irritation flared, his fists clenching into tight, white-knuckled balls. he turned to face kankuro fully, his eyes narrowing into dangerous slits. “i’m not jealous,” he asserted, though the strained quality of his voice betrayed the falsehood in his declaration. kankuro’s grin widened, clearly enjoying the effect he was having on his brother. “oh really? then why are you so worked up? you’re practically vibrating with anger.” his face flushed with ffrustration and embarrassment. he knew kankuro’s words were striking close to the truth, but admitting it felt like a defeat he wasn’t willing to accept. “that’s beside the point!” he snapped, his voice rising in volume. “just stop being such an idiot and leave us alone.” kankuro leaned back even further, crossing his arms and adopting an exaggeratedly thoughtful pose. “‘us? so it’s ‘us’ now?” he noticed the shift in your expression, the slight frown on your lips, and his grin grew wider, clearly reveling in the situation. sensing that the situation was escalating further, kankuro decided to heed gaara’s command. “alright, alright, i get it,” he said, raising his hands in a gesture of mock surrender. “my bro’s here is getting a bit too worked up for my taste. i know when i’m not wanted.” with a cheeky grin and a playful wink aimed directly at you, he made his exit, the door closing behind him with a soft click that seemed to echo in the now quiet room. with kankuro gone, the atmosphere in the room felt almost eerily still. the laughter and playful energy that had filled the space were replaced by a heavy, uncomfortable silence. gaara’s gaze remained fixed on the empty space where kankuro had been, his jaw still clenched tightly. after a tense moment of silence, gaara finally turned to face you. “sorry about that,” he muttered, his voice softer than before. he seemed unsure of how to handle the sudden shift in the dynamic between you two. you took a step closer, your eyes filled with concern. you reached out and placed a comforting hand on his arm, your touch tender and soothing. “it’s okay, gaara,” you said softly, your voice carrying a warmth meant to reassure him. “i didn’t realize it would bother you so much.” gaara shifted uncomfortably under your gaze, his eyes darting back to you. “i didn’t mean to overreact,” he admitted, his voice dropping to a quieter, more vulnerable tone. “it’s just… i don’t like seeing you so close to someone else. it makes me feel… unsettled.” a small, understanding smile touched your lips as you moved even closer, your hand gently cupping his cheek. “gaara, you don’t have to be jealous. you know i care about you deeply,”

his eyes softened at your reassurance, the tension in his posture easing slightly. “i know,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “it’s just hard for me sometimes. i haven’t felt like this before, and it’s… new.” you nodded, the vulnerability in his confession resonating deeply with you. “it’s new for me too,” you admitted, your thumb gently brushing against his cheek. “but i want you to know that you’re the one i choose. you’re important to me, and that won’t change.”

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now? | 8

it's the morning after. spencer reid suspects you’re left with some doubts after losing your virginity to him. he has to figure out why—which is hard when you're keeping secrets.

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this series is 18+ warnings/tags: fem!reader, blood related to losing virginity (dramatized for the drama duh), super vague allusions to the BAU being hungover, mild blasphemy if anyone even cares, pondering god bc am I really a fanfic writer if I don’t get a little religious w it, emily AND hotch are here and nobody knows why pls don't pay attention to that bc we are imagining like season 11/12 spencer and I'm inconsistent w who is unit chief in this series apparently, spencer slut lore, spencer emotional wounds lore, Spencer is a traumatic situationship survivor a/n: DADDYS HOMEEEEE (me and dybmn not spencer) anyway missed these little guys and am happy to be writing for them again!! idk what my upload schedule will becoming back to this but pls lmk what u think of this part, I have no idea how you will respond but I'm being brave and ily

Friday morning Spencer comes into the office fifteen minutes late (he tried his best), in yesterday’s suit (everything in his go-bag had been too wrinkled), hair messy (no doubt from your fingers), coffee cold (he’s exhausted) and overall, in an excellent mood.

The rest of the team isn’t faring quite as well—Spencer gathers they stayed at the bar celebrating Derek’s birthday a lot later than he had. It shows through sallow skin and dark circles and the grimaces he receives on the way to his desk that are probably supposed to approximate good morning’s. 

Honestly, he doesn’t mind the dull mood—he doesn’t need the teasing and the prying questions that would be sure to come if his co-workers were at peak performance and were able to put together his unusually perky demeanor and disheveled appearance. At least Prentiss doesn’t appear to be paying him any mind. She’s always the one who can read him like an open book and has no shame in doing so aloud. Echoes from years of, ‘so who was the lucky girl, last night, Reid?’ Still ring through his mind and it’s like he can feel her finger prodding at his side. 

The Emily of it all makes him smile, though the rest of the memory leaves a metal tang in his mouth. Back in those days, there were sometimes a lot of girls, but even then he was consciously aware he wasn’t necessarily doing something he enjoyed. He spent a lot of time, actually, staring at his bedroom ceiling, psychoanalyzing himself. Repetition compulsion. The insatiable desire to repeat or reenact emotionally painful experiences. Maybe he thought if he could teach himself to subsist off of emotionless hookups, he could in some way heal from his experience with Elle. Though, he’s hesitant to think of it now as healing—it’s not like he didn’t know what he was doing when a few nights after she said I don’t feel the same I’m sorry he opened up his front door for her. It’s not like he didn’t know what he was doing every time after that. So, maybe heal isn’t the right word, when one doesn’t have the right to be injured. Or when the injuries are, in a manner of speaking, self-inflicted. At the very least he could tell himself that this time around, meaningless sex was a choice he was making for himself. Spencer hates when things just happen to him. 

But you—you’re different. You were a complete surprise. At first, a cute and unexpected complication. After a few painful and short-lived attempts at real relationships, Spencer decided he was simply not to be trusted with emotional intimacy of any kind, including that which inevitably develops from physical intimacy, and would resign himself to a life of celibacy. He tried not to like you, but you were just so damn likable. Magnetic, to use a trite and perfectly honest turn of phrase. All that to say: he doesn’t regret you at all. There is no filter of putrid shame or anguish over his memories of last night. 

Just you. Perfect. Starlit. Glowing softly around the edges like you’re not even real. 

I love you I love you I love you. A hymn with no melody. You, always reminding him exactly why he is decidedly not a man of faith. At least, not in the typical sense of the word. 

How God became the idol and not Mary is lost on him. That’s why, Spencer supposes, tapping an eraser on his desk, marriage and sex were forbidden for so many ecclesiastics. After all, if they knew what it was to love a woman, specifically to love you, he doubts they’d feel like spending much time in the pulpit. Love. Humans had that long before they had any gods. It’s primeval. It’s the most natural manifestation of devotion and worship. It will always have come first. Isn’t it a better kind of religion when a man realizes he can kneel in front of a woman rather than an altar?

A heavy hand falling on his shoulder jolts him from his theological musings—which are in all practicality useless. What’s that saying about blasphemous thinking on the FBI’s dime? Right. There isn’t one. 

“I’m scared to ask,” Morgan says as Spencer jumps slightly in his chair. 

“What?” He mumbles, looking up from the document he’d only sort of been reading.

Morgan just looks at him, strong brows furrowed and a ditch between them, angles his head and glances to the side as if Spencer is missing the obvious. He almost follows Derek’s eye-line. When that doesn’t work, Derek just says your name. Like your status is somehow in question. 

“Did you two work things out, or not? It looked pretty bad when you guys were leaving last night.”

People often misunderstand an eidetic memory. It’s not like things can’t slip his mind—Spencer can actually be quite forgetful. It’s made worse by the fact that last night at the bar feels like months ago. For a moment, he has no idea what Derek is referring to. 

“Oh. Oh! Right, we—right. Yeah, we, uh—we worked it out.” Before Derek has a chance to read his face, no doubt as incriminating as his fumbled speech and an ill-timed throat clearing, he turns back to his paperwork. “Thanks for keeping an eye on her at the bar. I appreciate that.”

It’s quiet for a moment, and Spencer’s lips twist as he can feel the incoming inappropriate comment. 

“Is that the same suit you were wearing last night?” Morgan quips, his wide grin audible. Spencer can practically hear the cartoon gleam of his friend’s bleached teeth. 

“No.”

“You dog.” Derek is still smiling as he claps Spencer’s shoulder again. “What did you say to her that worked so well?”

Spencer clears his throat again and tries to look extremely involved in logging onto his computer, speaking quickly as if he’s beyond disinterested and can’t wait for the exchange to be over. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m actually trying to work so if you wouldn’t mind going back to your desk that would be great.” 

“Uh-huh. I’ll let you work. But I see you, pretty boy.”

Spencer tries not to blush like a teenager as he refuses to look up. 

Naturally the rest of the day is a slow descent into dread and madness as all those good feelings with which Spencer had started his morning begin to harden into something much worse, chilled by your lack of response to the text he sent you earlier. Which was essentially a rehashing of the note he left on your bedside table. 

Maybe it was too much. It should’ve been one or the other, but not both. He’s overwhelmed you. 

Okay, so maybe this is what religion is for. A last ditch effort when you can’t talk to your girlfriend so you have to try talking to God. 

But Spencer knows you, and he knows something is wrong. You wouldn’t just ice him out so blatantly if everything was okay. He catches himself glancing up toward Hotch’s window to see if the blinds are drawn, and considers faking an illness to get out of work early and go check on you. But he powers through the remaining hour and a half that he is obligated to stay at work, he bounces a pencil between his fingers, drums at his desk, and gets nothing else done. As soon as 4:59 rolls around, he’s out. 

Spencer can hear shuffling on the other side of your door as he stands in the hallway. A pot clatters. The walls hum with the rush of water through the pipes to your sink. He knocks, relieved that you’re okay and at the same time struggling with that weight on his chest—something cold that leans over his shoulders and whispers into his ear—so she just didn’t want to talk to you. 

Suddenly all sound from inside your unit ceases. For a few long seconds, Spencer’s confusion only grows exponentially. 

“Who is it?” You finally call, voice wavering. Also odd. Usually you just open the door. 

“Um… Spencer?”

“As in my boyfriend Spencer?”

He frowns, bottom lip jutting out ever so slightly as he tries to decipher your sudden paranoia. “I hope so?”

The click and jingle of several locks precipitates your much-anticipated reveal. 

“Come in,” you say breathlessly, more harried than usual and not giving him the tender greeting he’s selfishly become accustomed to—barely even giving him a second to look at you. But he steps inside, watching on in concern as you do up every single lock—the one on the knob, the deadbolt, even the chain. Is this really all because of his little comment last night about anyone being able to get in? He certainly hopes not. He didn’t mean to terrify you. 

When you finally turn, he takes stock of your appearance. Big hoodie, pajama pants patterned in little hearts. Hair pulled back hastily. Your skin is sort of dull where you normally glow. But you’re beautiful, like always. It always aches just a little bit to look at you. Spencer’s always been like that. Going breathless at a particularly good piece of art or pretty girl. Like yourself. Mostly you. 

You quickly turn to hurry back into the kitchen. “I was trying to make dinner, I—”

“Hold on,” he interrupts, stopping you with a hand on your stomach that is so non-demanding it’s really mostly a suggestion. He tries to clear his head, though you make it hard. “You didn’t talk to me all day. Not that you have to, but… I was worried.”

You glance at the floor and mumble, “I lost my phone,” with so much embarrassment he believes you’re telling the truth. “Did you, um—did you text me?”

Insecurity. Spencer knows well what it looks like on you. He softens. You weren’t ignoring him—but you’d been left in a vulnerable state without any ability to contact him or anyone. That couldn’t have been comfortable. 

“Of course I did.” He pauses to observe you. Still anxious. Still prepared to run at any second. Something, and he’s not sure what, did a number on you today. Maybe it’s sheer exhaustion, maybe it was the anxiety of not having your phone. But he has to figure out what it is so he can undo it. “What? What’s wrong?”

He watches your breathing pause—watches your eyes gloss over with tears and a frown contort your features. Oh, god. He’s done something terribly wrong. It’s been thirty seconds and he’s done something wrong. 

“Can we sit down? I don’t feel very good.”

“Yeah. Yeah, we can. Whatever you need.”

You cast a baleful look at him and now he has to wonder what that means. Spencer sets his bag on a pulled out dining chair and follows you to the couch where you settle on opposite sides—you’re curled up in the far corner, hugging a pillow to your chest with your legs folded in front of you. Spencer’s heart is beating fast. He doesn’t know what’s going on with you and he can’t figure it out just by looking and you don’t seem eager to tell him. 

He’s exhausted all his typical ways of collecting information, and now he’s at a loss. 

Eventually, the anxiety comes bubbling up. 

“Please talk to me,” he pleads. And you do. Almost instantly, like he stepped on some sort of landmine. 

“I know it’s my own fault for not having my phone on me and not being able to see your texts, but it really sucks that I had to find out from my creepy neighbor that you snuck out in the middle of the night without saying goodbye.”

The whiplash is so strong it’s almost a broken neck. Spencer reels, frowning deeply as he tries to process your impromptu speech, the sudden confrontation. What creepy neighbor?

“I… didn’t. I went to grab my stuff from the car around one, but I came right back. I left at 7:30. You don’t remember me saying goodbye?”

Your brow furrows, and your eyes dart over the design on the rug like you’re watching memories go by. He sees it in your eyes when you recall some hazy image of him holding your face, kissing your cheek more times than was necessary and whispering sweet things against your lips before he had to go. You shrink into the couch, clearly struggling under the combined weight of relief and embarrassment. 

“I forgot. I thought… he said…”

A moment passes and it’s clear you’ve abandoned the sentence. Spencer is concerned about this shadowy male figure who put malicious untruths into your head. He slides his hand under yours and twines your fingers together. Finally, finally you meet his gaze. 

“Someone made you believe I left without saying goodbye.”

And he almost wishes you weren’t looking at him as more tears pool before falling down your cheeks. You nod, and don’t make a sound. 

“No, honey. I didn’t do that. I’m sorry that’s what you’ve been thinking all day.”

“I was worried that you… or that I wasn’t…”

His chest aches. You’d woken up alone, no recollection of his goodbye, and without the comfort of even a text. 

“You didn’t see my note?”

The way you look at him then is heartbreaking. Eyes wide and wet and sad, lip trembling. 

“You left a note?”

Murphy’s Law. Anything that can go wrong, will. 

It must’ve fallen off the bedside table, or maybe he just hadn’t positioned it obviously enough. 

A lost phone, a missed note, and not even a memory of his departure. While none of these things are verifiably Spencer’s fault, he feels so, so guilty. 

“I did,” Spencer says gently, scooting closer and pulling you into him, head pressed to his shoulder as you try not to cry, and he rubs your back slowly. 

Your sulky words are muffled by his shirt. “I didn’t see it. What did it say?”

“A lot of very nice things about you,” he whispers. Spencer thought maybe he could get away with giving you all the sincere compliments you can’t accept face to face through a note you could read while he wasn’t around. That way you couldn’t refute them or stop him. It was a good plan. 

He feels the sigh of relief leaving your body against his neck. 

“I didn’t know.”

“I know. I’m sorry. That’s not… I should’ve just stayed. This is my fault.”

You keep your cheek pressed to his shoulder as you speak. 

“It’s not. You have a job. A really important job. You can’t just call out whenever I want you around.”

Logically he knows you’re right, but he doesn’t always think logically around you. 

“I could’ve made it work. I could’ve come in late, or the team could’ve called me if there was a case, which there wasn’t—”

“Spencer, it’s okay. It’s not your fault. Don’t worry about it.”

He pulls back slightly, frowning at your tone. You do look relieved, much less plagued than you’d been when he arrived minutes ago, but something heavy still weighs you down. The burden of it darkens your eyes and dulls your expression. When he cups your cheek, you glance up at him, and then away once more. 

He speaks softly. “Is that all you wanted to tell me?” 

Again he earns a moment of your eye contact, but it’s fleeting. He watches the words spin around your head as you try to figure out what to do with them—and then choose to remain silent. 

There is in fact something you’re keeping from him. 

Spencer hates to use work tactics on you, but he doesn’t speak either, hoping that you’ll feel compelled to fill the silence with the truth. Knowing how you’re not entirely comfortable with quiet. 

And you try, lips parting and the sound delayed as you wrestle with something you clearly don’t know how to talk about. 

“I… my neighbor,” you say, frowning like you don’t quite know why you’re speaking. “The one who told me he saw you leaving in the middle of the night. He also—he said…”

Spencer brushes hair away from your cheek with a thumb, stroking the high point in gentle passes as your words taper off. Now that he’s thinking about it, he did encounter a man in a dumpy robe standing in the courtyard and smoking a cigarette when he left you tangled in sheets and dozing contentedly to get his bag from the car. In fact, they rode back up to your floor in the elevator in mostly awkward silence. Spencer was sure his outfit told a story—shirt untucked and hastily buttoned only partway, no belt, shoes barely tied, duffel slung over his shoulder—he wasn’t really expecting to run into anyone at such an hour, to be honest, but he hadn’t particularly cared what this man thought of him, so it didn’t cross his mind again.

Now he remembers. 

Long night, huh? I remember those days. 

It was an inappropriate comment, but given his job he’s used to ignoring those. Mostly his mind had been preoccupied with the idea of returning to you, who gave him such a warm and sleepy welcome when he climbed carefully back into your arms several minutes later that it was like he’d never known anyone else at all. 

Now he resents that he hadn’t said anything, he hates the idea that you spoke to this man and he said something to upset you and Spencer wasn’t there. Usually he tries not a judge a book by its cover (metaphorically, of course) but he’s been around enough bad men to know when he’s looking at one. Last night he hadn’t even been cognizant enough to realize they got off on the same floor. 

“What did he say, angel?” Spencer whispers, incapable of being anything but soft with you at the moment. Even though he senses something a lot like a tide of preemptive anger rising in his chest, painted over with layers of anxiety and guilt. He should’ve found a way to stay with you this morning. 

You sniffle and let your head fall again, forehead resting against his collar. Instinctively his hand slides to the back of your neck and even at the awkward angle he finds a way to press his lips to yours hair. “Can we talk about it later? I don’t feel good.”

If it’s making you this uncomfortable, Spencer really wants to know what passed between you and this neighbor. In fact, he’d be willing to bet a lot of your strange behavior this evening stems from something that occurred which you don’t feel comfortable telling him yet. But he manages to bite back anymore questions. He doesn’t want to make you feel interrogated. 

“Yeah, you mentioned that,” he says eventually, kindly, hand tracing down the length of your back and up again. “Why don’t you feel good?”

He doesn’t miss the way you reach up to discreetly wipe your cheek. But he won’t make you talk about anything you don’t want to talk about until you’re ready, and it seems like you’re already having a rough day. Which is not what he wanted. This is so far from what he wanted for you. He’s cursing himself for how he handled this whole situation. 

“Um, I just… I don’t know. I feel… bad. I’m sorry I’m being so weird.”

“You’re not being weird, honey. You had a hard day. You’re having a normal reaction to an abnormal set of circumstances.”

You sit up, sniffing and wiping your tears like you can just make the whole thing go away. 

“No, I am. I am. It’s all okay now, right? So I don’t know why I feel like this. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

He watches helplessly. “Nothing is wrong with you. We’ve… it’s been a big couple of days. Mostly good, but I think you’re probably really tired. Emotionally and physically.” 

You bury your face in your hands and nod silently. He still feels like he’s shooting in the dark, but you’re not entirely comforted yet, and it’s killing him. 

“Whatever you’re feeling is okay. If this is… about last night, or this morning, or something entirely different—regardless of what it’s about, you’re not going to be… in trouble with me if you’re having complicated feelings. And you can talk to me. But it doesn’t have to be right now. We don’t have to figure it out all at once, okay?”

You press the heels of your palms into your eyes, and for a moment, his words sink into silence. When you do raise your head, nodding, the evidence of your discomfort is all over your face—reddened eyes, cheeks polished with wiped tears. But you take a deep breath and try to project whatever it is you think he wants to see. 

The back of your hand is soft under his thumb as he sweeps it, as if he could draw forth more information that way. People speak when they’re ready.

“Is there anything I can do?” He tries, all ramped brow and soft spoken. 

You’re looking at where he’s tracing swirls on your hand as you swallow and blink the last of your tears away. 

“Um… you can say no, but—do you think it would be okay for you to maybe stay again tonight?”

Spencer sucks in a breath, painfully aware that he’s about to let you down. 

“I… I haven’t been home in a week. I’ve been wearing this suit for two days straight and I don’t think I would want to share a bed with me again until I shower.” He watches you wilt and lifts a hand to stroke your hair. “But I do want to spend time with you… do you maybe want to come stay with me instead? No pressure—”

“Okay. Yes. Is that okay?”

Spencer’s brow knits. You seem even more enthused about the idea of going to his apartment, like now that the opportunity has presented itself you can’t wait to get out. Maybe you have some sort of black mold problem. 

“Of course. Do you wanna grab a few things and then we can go?”

“Um—I also haven’t showered today. Do you mind waiting?”

“Sure. Or you could use mine. With supervision, this time.”

Spencer is attempting to make a joke about your unplanned (and unmoderated) stay at his apartment last week after he left—but looking at your face now he’s wondering if he touched a nerve. 

“Like… one at a time? Or…”

He thought maybe you’d be more comfortable around him after last night—and it’s not like he hadn’t seen you naked before then, either.

“Do you wanna do it one at a time?” He asks gently. 

There’s this sparkly sort of longing in your eyes that he’s seen before, but you tamp it down like always. You’re so cautious. About everything. Even the things you’re curious about. It’s sweet and a little sad. 

“I’ve never… showered with anyone.”

The corner of Spencer’s mouth twitches as he pushes hair over your shoulder. “I know. You don’t have to. We could save like 100 gallons of water depending on how long your showers typically last, but—”

“Spencer—”

“Sorry, sorry—I didn’t—I didn’t mean it like that. I’m not trying to pressure you. You absolutely can take your own shower. You can go first so you get the hot water.”

“No,” you laugh, and it’s like a sparkling cloud of gold has settled around you, fractals bouncing off the shine of your cheeks and eyes—the sound of your laughter, the look of it, is such beautiful relief he can’t believe how good it feels, but it fades from you quickly. “It sounds… I think I want to, I just… I don’t wanna, like… do… anything.”

For a split second your veiled language mystifies him and then he realizes what you’re trying to say without saying. Something has changed since yesterday, when you brazenly referred to it as fucking, and today, when you can’t even say sex. He’s gotten as far as it being something your creepy neighbor said. Maybe. He needs to know what. 

But that’s not the topic at hand. 

“We don’t have to. I didn’t mean to imply that we would do anything like that. I don’t expect anything from you.”

You swallow. 

“Okay. I wasn’t sure.”

About what?

He says your name. No response. 

“Can you look at me, please?”

It takes you a moment, and your head raises like you might need some oil in your hinges, but eventually you manage. Spencer hopes the way he’s rubbing your leg is comforting. 

“You know I’m never, ever going to make you do anything you don’t want to do, right?”

To his horror, your answer isn’t an immediate and resounding yes. Instead you look back down and cover his hand with your own, fiddling nervously with his fingers. 

Eventually, you reply, “Yeah… I know. I just thought… I’m not sure. Maybe it’s supposed to be different now.”

“It doesn’t have to be. Nothing has to be different. We’re still doing everything on your schedule, okay? And as for the next few days, at least—I think it might be a good idea to take sex off the table altogether.”

Your eyes narrow and you hesitate. “Why?”

“Because I don’t want you worrying about it. And I don’t think it would feel good for you right now. I think there are things we need to talk about, but… we’ve probably tried enough for a while, hm?”

You give him a shy nod and hum your agreement. For a moment he lets his hand linger on your leg and then pulls it back. 

“Okay. Do you want my help packing a bag, or should I wait out here?”

“You can wait. It should only take a minute.” You pause, halfway up to look pensive. “Um, Spencer—do you think it would be okay if maybe I… if I stayed tonight and tomorrow? I just—I wanna get out of here, for a bit.”

He frowns but doesn’t hesitate. “Of course. Can I ask why?”

“It’s just… suffocating sometimes,” you call as you turn and hurry down the hallway to the bedroom. “Feels like my neighbors are on top of me, like they’re… breathing down my neck, half the time.”

Sure, bigger apartments exist—but it’s not like you’re in a studio. And you’ve never mentioned feeling that way before. That bad feeling is starting to come back—like you’re not telling him something he needs to know. But is it worse to let you deal with it yourself until you’re ready to talk or to force it from you?

A few minutes later you return, a duffel of your own over your shoulder and full to bursting. 

“So I’m an idiot. My phone was literally in the pocket of my jeans on the floor.” You drop the bag as you bend down by the door to pull on your favorite slippers. “Oh—I think I forgot my charger, can you grab it? It’s by my bed.”

Spencer of course obliges, and is secretly pleased to be in your room again, in the light this time, so he can see better. It’s sweet. The pictures on the walls, the plants and the knickknacks and the sticky notes scrawled with messy reminders on every surface and the sweater hanging over the back of a chair—the one you’d been wearing at the cafe all those months ago—it all feels so you. He wonders why the two of you don’t spend more time here. 

He lets himself linger for only a minute before remembering his task, but as he reaches down to unplug your charger, whatever dopey smile he’d been wearing evaporates. The sheets have been stripped from your bed, and he can see why—there’s a striking stain of dried blood, and several surrounding dots, soaked into the mattress. Not much, but enough to make him feel horrendously guilty. He cringes, imagining what it must’ve been like to wake up all alone to nothing but your own blood. Poor girl. Of course he’d noticed some, last night when he was doing his best at cleaning you up, but it had been dark, and he was exhausted, and he hadn’t done enough. 

“Where’d your sheets go, baby?” He asks once back by the front door with his own bag on his shoulder, setting a gentle hand on your lower back and holding out your charger for you. You jump slightly, and he makes circles on your back, wishing there was something he could do to settle you. 

“Oh! They—they got ruined. I threw them out. It’s fine. I have others.”

So you didn’t have enough energy this morning to walk a few feet to your shower, but stripping your bed, getting dressed, and walking down to the trash chute at the end of the hall had been top of your priority list. 

You swallow as he undoes the locks and holds the door open for you, and pretend like you’re not doing surveillance to either side as you stand in the hallway, locking your door again like you can’t get out of here fast enough. 

Spencer casts a sidelong glance at you and wonders if you’re intentionally avoiding eye contact. He tries not to think like a profiler. He tries not to assign meaning to your actions, but he can’t help it. He can’t not notice. 

He can’t not worry. 

And he can’t not wonder what you’re not telling him. 

-

part nine

[srslyblvck]

── secret santa,, james potter [part one]

pairing: james potter x fem!reader

synopsis: in which you become the secret santa of none other than james potter

genre: fluff

warnings: none

author's note: ik it isn't even december, oh well, i couldn't help myself :)

word count: 1.1k

part two!

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ SNOW FLUTTERED GENTLY AGAINST the tall, frosted windows of the Gryffindor common room, casting a soft glow over the cosy space. The fire crackled merrily in the hearth, and the air buzzed with anticipation as the Gryffindor gang gathered in a circle on the floor, laughing and sipping on mugs of cocoa.

Sirius, always the self-appointed leader of mischief, stood atop one of the squishy armchairs like he was addressing a crowd of thousands. His dark hair flopped dramatically as he gestured toward the large bowl of folded parchment in his hands.

“Lend me your ears!” Sirius announced with flair. “It is time for the greatest, most legendary Gryffindor tradition—our annual Secret Santa! The only thing that rivals this sacred event is when James hexed Snivellus’—”

“Sirius!” Lily interrupted, fixing him with a sharp glare, though the corners of her mouth twitched in amusement. “If you could manage to keep it PG, that’d be great.”

Sirius sighed dramatically, holding a hand to his chest. “Evans, your lack of faith wounds me. I’m a model of propriety.”

Remus snorted softly from his seat on the arm of the couch. “Sure you are.”

“Can we please get on with it before Sirius bursts into a sonnet about himself?” James chimed in, sprawled out on the floor with his hands behind his head. His untamable hair stuck out in every direction, and his glasses were slightly askew. He was grinning, the kind of grin that could light up an entire room.

“You’re just eager because you’re convinced you’ll get Evans again,” Marlene teased, leaning over to flick James on the shoulder.

James shot her a mock-wounded look. “For your information, I have no such hopes. My heart will graciously accept any gift—except socks. Sirius.”

Sirius gasped. “I would never.”

“You absolutely would,” Dorcas piped up with a smirk, earning a round of laughter from the group.

“Alright, alright!” Sirius cut in, gesturing dramatically toward the bowl in his hands. “The rules are simple: pick a name, don’t tell anyone who you’ve got, and if your gift sucks, prepare to be ruthlessly mocked.”

“Sounds fair,” Peter muttered as he scratched his nose.

One by one, the group leaned forward to pluck a slip of parchment from the bowl. You waited until your turn, your fingers brushing against the cool paper as you grabbed a folded chit. Your heart skipped a beat as you unfolded it and saw the name:

James Potter.

Your eyes instinctively darted toward him. James was mid-laugh, probably at some ridiculous quip Sirius had made, and there was a mischievous sparkle in his hazel eyes. You quickly looked away before anyone could notice the heat rising to your cheeks.

Of all the names you could’ve drawn, it had to be James.

From the moment names were drawn, the common room became a hotbed of shenanigans.

“Oi, love,” James said casually the next evening as you sat near the fire, working on your Potions essay. “You can just tell me who you’ve got, you know. Save yourself the stress.”

You didn’t even look up from your parchment. “Nice try, Potter. Not happening.”

He leaned back in his chair, clutching his chest dramatically. “You wound me! After everything we’ve been through?”

“I’m doing you a favour,” you said with a smirk, finally glancing up. “Imagine the disappointment if I told you someone else got you and not your precious Evans.”

His grin widened, and there was a playful glint in his eyes. “Who says I want Evans?”

You raised an eyebrow. “You’ve only been after her for, what, three years?”

James shrugged, leaning forward on his elbows. “Maybe I’ve had a change of heart. Maybe there’s someone else who’s caught my eye.”

Your cheeks burned, and you quickly ducked your head to pretend you were reading your essay. “Well, whoever they are, I’m sure they pity you.”

He threw his head back with a laugh, and your stomach did an annoying little flip. Merlin, he was impossible.

The chaos only deepened as Christmas approached. James became increasingly annoying in his quest to figure out his Secret Santa, trying to weasel answers out of everyone.

“Wormtail, it’s you, isn’t it?”

“What? No!” Peter said, flustered, clutching his Charms textbook.

“It’s Moony, then,” James decided, turning to Remus.

“I’m not saying anything,” Remus said calmly, flipping a page in his book. “But if you keep pestering me, I’ll make sure whoever has you gets you socks.”

“Traitors, all of you,” James declared, throwing himself onto the couch in defeat.

“I heard Sirius in Honeydukes the other day asking the shopkeeper if they could make a giant chocolate wolf. Like, life-sized.” Marlene whispered, her eyes wide with glee.

You clamped a hand over your mouth to stifle your laugh. “You’re kidding.”

“I wish I were,” Marlene said, grinning. “The poor clerk looked like they didn’t know whether to laugh or run.”

“Are you two gossiping about me?” Sirius asked, turning to narrow his eyes at you and Marlene.

“Always,” Marlene quipped, not missing a beat.

Sirius looked pleased. “As you should.”

You spent hours agonising over James’ gift. He was impossible to shop for—he had everything he needed, and he didn’t seem the type to care much about material things. But you wanted it to be special, something that would show you’d noticed the little things about him.

Finally, inspiration struck.

You bought him a small, leather-bound notebook, the kind with a soft cover and faint golden stars embossed on the front. James was always scribbling something—Quidditch plays, spell ideas, random doodles. It seemed like the perfect fit.

Inside the front cover, you wrote:

For all your brilliant (and slightly ridiculous) ideas. - ♡

You also found a tiny enchanted Snitch pin at a shop in Hogsmeade. It was gold and delicate, and its tiny wings occasionally fluttered when touched. You figured it was subtle enough to wear but still a nod to his love for Quidditch.

The common room glowed with the warmth of fairy lights strung around the tree, and the group had gathered again, this time with a pile of wrapped gifts beneath the branches. Sirius had, naturally, donned a Santa hat and was gleefully handing out presents.

When it was James’ turn, he tore into the wrapping paper with childlike enthusiasm, his grin widening as he pulled out the notebook and pin.

“This is…” He trailed off, turning the notebook over in his hands. His hazel eyes softened as he read the note inside, and a small, genuine smile played on his lips. “This is brilliant.”

He held up the pin, letting it catch the light, and glanced around the room. “Whoever got me this, you’ve officially got better taste than Sirius.”

“Oi!” Sirius protested, though he was laughing.

James’ gaze flickered to you for a brief moment, and your heart stuttered. Did he know? The way his smile lingered made you wonder, but you quickly looked away, your cheeks warm.

For now, you were content with the way his smile lit up the room.

[moonlesslights]

Two Idiots in Love

Miguel O'Hara x Reader

Warnings: Sex, P in V, choking, breeding kink, innuendos, Miguel it's fucking hard to talk to.

A/N: Hope you enjoy this, I haven't sleep well for three days trying to get it done, but it's finally here. Love y'all xoxox

━━━━━━✧❂✧━━━━━━

Ok, but what about you becoming an Spider just about a year ago?

You are managing just fine.

Things got nasty for a while, that’s true. Your uncle died, your new responsibilities caught up on you, you almost die fighting some bad guys on your first months… And now you just try to eat three times a day (sometimes it doesn’t happen), pray to get more than six hours of sleep and do good in college.

But then, out of fucking nowhere, just when you were making peace with what your life was now and who you are, your identity, your place in this big ass world where you were completely alone to bear this double life… This giant prick with sullen face and cheeks the size of the moon comes into your life to tell you you’re not alone, everyone here has experienced the same or worse, stop being so dramatic.

So, in a second, your protagonist moment turns to you finding out there were thousands like you out there. And your whole life goes upside down.

Because now you don’t have to protect and look out only for your Earth, your city; but everyone else’s too. You have to travel to the most craziest worlds you could’ve ever imagine and fight horrible creatures you couldn’t even conceive its existence. And to make things even worst, Mr. Wide Hindquarters took an special hold of you to help him out with anything he would be ‘to busy’ to do. Like inform new recruits about their missions, filling out reports, doing research either respecting to what he occupied in the laboratory or to some universe yet to be explored… Whatever he needed, you would be called in to do it.

Some Spiders told you you were lucky, not many could work that close to Miguel, let alone being in charge of so many things without screwing something up and getting ‘their head ripped’. Even Lyla tells you that you’re something special, specially on the hard days, that’s why Miguel trusts you so much. After that you would just smile tiredly at her, whispering it was okay. Then Lyla would go face Miguel and demand him with a raised eyebrow to give you a break.

You manage for a few months, surrendering yourself to this strange routine. And your even more strange companion.

Every day you walk in to his space, every day he is already there. You turn a personal mission to arrive before he does. You never make it. The man apparently didn’t sleep and you aren’t waking the fuck up at 3:00am to prove a point or find out. So you let it be as another mystery to be solved.

“Good morning.” You wave your hand at him, making your presence known with that. Sometimes between a yawn, sometimes still cleaning the sleepiness off of your eyes.

“Good morning…” He always adds your last name to his greetings. It makes you feel like you are being scolded. Most of the time he is at the tables, working through the screens; if he’s not there, he’s at the lab, measuring substances with the help of crystal clear instruments.

Without looking at you, he points with his chin to the steaming coffee under the express machine. Through the weeks he has learned exactly how you like it. The first ones he made you were exactly like his: Awful. That couldn’t be drinkable. But you thought it was nice of him to always have hot coffee for you, so you didn’t say anything. But the faces you made at every sip were worth a thousand words.

Now, as you drink today’s, you cannot avoid thinking how cute that big stoic man must look every morning pouring the exact amount of sugar and cream you like into the cup. Moving the liquid with a tiny spoon until is all mixed.

He doesn’t talk much.

No more than orders and “Go home” followed by a “Good night”. You let him be for the first weeks. Not your business. But after the first month you knew you would go crazy if you continued this way of living.

You needed to talk to him. You needed to make things less awkward. He was your only human contact sometimes for entire days, and you cannot stand the fact of barely talking to him.

You don’t have idea how does the term “coworkers” serves on his Earth, but in yours, Human Relationships are encouraged to happen for the sake of teamwork.

With that very idea well tangled on your mind, one of those long days, you take a deep breath, imagine him naked (which isn’t difficult to be honest), stare deep into the space and say:

“Sohowhaveyoubeen?” Squeaking as fast as you can.

Miguel stops whatever the hell he is doing and turns his head to the right, side eyeing you with a raised eyebrow. You don’t even look at him, continuing to fill the document in front of you with the most unstable smile he could have seen in his entire life. Then, he turns around again, coming back to typing into one of the screens. You almost think he has completely ignored you until he answers in another fast and neutral line:

“I’m good.”

You give him an acknowledging nod, smiling softly and returning to your duties.

You had never wished so much to be victim of a lost bullet. Like right now. Like right fucking now. Please.

For one more week you took another personal mission: making a question a day.

“How was your day?”, “Did you have breakfast?”, “How was yesterday’s mission?”… It would be a good day if you got more than a monosyllable for answer. It was embarrassing, really. And Lyla looking at you with a grimace made it ten times worst.

After that, you just came in the eighth day and remained silent, focused in finishing all your work as soon as possible rather than trying to make your prick boss to talk to you. You felt bad, actually. Maybe he just doesn't like to talk, maybe you were making him uncomfortable, maybe... Maybe he's just an arse. Yeah, that is probably the right...

"Hm? Uh, what... What is this?" You look up from your tablet, facing the broad of his back walking to the desk at the other side of the room. You raise an eyebrow at the small cardboard box in front of you, the one that Miguel just left there.

"Food." He says as answering the very question to the origin of the universe.

"For me?" You tilt your head and he looks at you like you were stupid. You frown. How were you supposed to know that, when he barely even looks at you?!

"I did too much." He explains. "... So I brought you some. You can throw it away if you don't want it."

You look down at the box again, watching it as the weirdest of things, and cannot help the little smile that creeps up to your lips. You knew Miguel didn't eat at the HQ cafeteria, since he owns an apartment close from here, so this was completely homemade. Hm, you never thought he was into cooking.

"Why can't I give it to someone else if I don't like it?" You respond with an easy smile, almost teasing him.

"Throw it." He sentences without even looking back at you.

You side eye Lyla at your left, who winks at you. This is a whole ass victory. And you and the little hologram girl knew internally Miguel did not like the day you decided to stop trying to talk to him.

"Thank you." You finally murmur. "I really appreciate it."

"It's just leftovers..."

You nod, pursing your lips and… Still smiling. Fuck it. It was obvious he was going to dismiss it with something like that.

None of you says anything else for the rest of the day, but you make the choice to keep trying on the small talk every day and Miguel, apparently, started to mess up the amount of ingredients for his meals and brings leftovers almost daily.

You continue with this new routine for another couple of weeks.

With the time passing, you gain more and more confidence to talk to the big guy. Most of the times he doesn’t engage in the conversation, it is just you saying your thoughts out loud and telling him everything about your life at college, 'till the point he has a personal beef with some of your classmates. I mean, he doesn’t say it but he surely grunts under his breath every time you mention their name.

Gwen did asked you at some point if he really listened to you or if he just... Left you. You wondered the same for exactly... two hours.

"... And I handed him my essay, right? And he looks at me and says: 'So are you going to tell me who is helping you with these or am I going to find out myself?' So I obviously told him nobody was helping me, I just like doing them. And he freaking threatened me saying that if he founds out he's going to fail me. Like... He doesn't even listens. Agh, he hates me..."

"Is the same one who got angry because you were late to his lecture about himself and his recently published book?" That was a week ago. And he remembered.

You nod, sighing. Miguel clicks his tongue, shaking his head with disapproval.

He might not be talkative (at least for now) but he listens to you. You have no doubt left about that. He may not say a single word while you drop a hundred for minute, but he would come the next day asking "How was the test?" or would know you have classes with that professor and add to his daily good night a soft "Good luck tomorrow." You even start catching him lifting the left corner of his lips when you drop a bad joke about all the things you need to get done by the end of the day or about something you heard on your way there.

You noticed it when certain Spider came in to a meeting, a Spider two days ago you and Miguel had gossiped about because you were told something by your friends on Wednesday, Miguel heard some more on Thursday and with a final comment you put the pieces together on Friday, looking at him with a wide proud open mouth as he shook his head with a soft chuckle. Talking to the Spider in question Miguel would turn to you with the most neutral and blank expression and you would still fight to hide your smile at the memory of everything you found out during the week. No one ever noticed and you liked it. Miguel liked it. It was like a private joke only the two of you could share.

"But what would happen?" This was the part Miguel didn't like. "Like, how would you know I would fuck up something?"

"You cannot give Noir a kaleidoscope." He sentences, giving you another raised eyebrow.

You were in the middle of the daily session of Instructive and Informative questions, according to Lyla and you. Miguel prefers to call them Destructive and Irritating.

After today's mission you had taken a particular soft spot fo the black and white Spider, to the misfortune of your boss. So the whole session has been about the long shot of taking special gifts from your dimension to him.

"But why? Really, what's the worst that could happen if I just give him a tiny little kaleidoscope?"

"Ay, Dios, dame paciencia... You already gave him a rainbow slinky spring toy, why do you keep insisting on gifting him more stuff?"

He fix his gaze on you as you lower your eyes down to your lap, fidgeting with your fingers. "... He just looks happy when he sees color."

Miguel sighs, pressing the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger.

"I know, but every one of us needs to respect the natural order of our Earth. He shouldn't keep taking things with him that shouldn't be there, do you understand?"

"But..."

"No more 'but's'. I want those reports done by the end of the day." Miguel returns his eyes back to the screen in front of him, dismissing you just with that action. "Get to work instead of keep losing our time with this."

He hates the way you comply to his orders. Hates the way you leave the space beside him empty to go working at the other side of the room, where he can only see your back. He hates when you refuse him to see your face.

The human part in him hates the questioning sessions because they always end up with your heart too big for your own good, crushed a little bit more. The human part in him is what brings him closer to you after a few minutes, talking you through some trivial topics until he can convince you it is all not as bad a it seems, until you smile again when you insist it's okay, that you just needed a minute, that you understand. And he might o might not tell you can give Noir that fucking kaleidoscope if you want it so much.

But some deep and primal part in him whispers into his veins to walk up to you, take you by your jaw, forcing you to look up at him and order you you better not refuse your face to him one more single time again. That if he wishes to see your eyes, the curve of your nose or your lips, you better fucking show them to him... Every day. Every. Time. He. Wants. To.

He gets frustrated when he catches himself in the middle of those thoughts, of the drives. He has been able to control it magnificently 'till now. But he fears the day he won't.

For another while you enjoyed the 'leftovers' brought to you too. But it also came to happen the one day, they stopped being leftovers:

You yawn as you make your way to the exit of the lab, making sure your alarm for tomorrow is correctly scheduled, you can not afford another harsh look from your professors one more time. The building has fallen silent already; most of its ordinary inhabitants have already retired to their rooms or to their home worlds.

Miguel walks up to you from behind, watching you standing at the door. Neither of them managed to see even a ray of sun today. He didn't care, he had something much better to watch all day… But he can't help but sigh at the thought of taking it from you.

"Italian or Mexican?" You turn to look at him, barely catching what he said. Both of your brows furrow and he glares at you while adjusting the neck of his jacket on. "For tomorrow's lunch. You want me to bring Italian or Mexican?"

"Oh, uhm..." You widen your eyes, surprised by the consideration. Pursing your lips and squinting, you think about it for a second, but the only possible answer comes immediately after: "Mexican."

"Hm." He nods, fixing his eyes to the front again.

Both start walking now towards the exit of the building. You know you can open your portal to go back home now, but you refuse to do so. Miguel knows there's an exit on the other side of the lab that leads him to a closer path to his apartment, but he refuses to take it. Because you always take this one.

"It's getting chilly." You whisper, watching the first snowflakes of the season falling on the other side of the big windows in the lobby. Miguel hums in response. "I like it, though. The first month working with you I had to carry a fan with me everywhere. I am so sorry for the cost of the electricity bill back then."

Miguel tugs at one corner of his lips, but only that. You tilt your head, glaring at him for a second before you take two fast steps to put yourself in front of him. The poor man has to stick his feet to the floor to avoid knocking over you.

He frowns, confused, and you look up at him with those same eyes filled with determination you put on when you look at the cookies he always -purposely- leaves on top of the highest cupboard in his office. He could only describe it as the face of a master plan, because you would always come back with ideas to get them down without asking him for help. And he loved to play guess with what you would do this time.

"Smile for me." You ask as you were some kind of cameraman, and if he was confused before he's into a new level now.

"What?"

"Y'know..." You bring both of your index fingers to the opposite sides of your face and part your own lips into a simple smile, like showing him what he was supposed to do.

"I know what smiling is." He frowns. "Why do you want me to do it?"

You shrug. "I just... I would be really happy to see it."

Miguel's expression remains unfazed, but he prays to every God out there you can't listen how hard his heart jumped inside his chest when your words reached him.

He swallows. His eyes fix on you and he brings both of the corners of his mouth up, exposing bright teeth and two big fangs that brush on his lower lip in the most precious awkward smile you could have ever seen. His brows are drawn together and he looks like he's in pain, and you know that even if a fucking meteor crashed down in the city right now, you still wouldn't be able to look away.

You clear your throat and lament how his smile is gone as soon as it came. You brush your hand at the back at your neck, nervous, fucking ashamed of your imprudence. Miguel raises an eyebrow at your reaction.

"Thank you. That was nice of you." You smile, avoiding his eyes and solely focusing on the snow awaiting for you. "I'm sorry if it was unpleasant for you. I didn't mean..."

Your words get caught up in your throat when you suddenly feel the texture of fabric coming around your neck. You turn back to look at the front again only to find Miguel tugging his scarf on you, with his fingers making sure it hugged every part of your skin your sweater couldn't.

"Miguel, no. It's even colder here than on my Earth. You need this more than I do." You frown with a worried expression washing over your features.

"You'll come back tomorrow pretty early. And it's going to be cold." You could try and argue about you having your own scarfs to bring tomorrow with you, but his eyes tell you he is not asking.

"... Thank you."

Miguel laments the moment your turn around, laments the moment you don't look at him anymore. He is sure the smile from a minute ago hadn't been anywhere near one of his best, and yet your eyes shone with the light of all the moons he's seen in all of the Earths he has visited.

And as you do a little wave when you start walking away before entering your portal, Miguel waves back, slowly and with only two unsure swings of his wrist. It was enough to make you smile anyway. It was enough to keep him standing there even after you were long gone wondering what the hell he was doing.

When Miguel began to bring food made specially to share, you began to bring desserts from your Earth for him to try.

You both started having lunch together after you told him how tired you were of eating while standing. Don't get me wrong, when you first told him he 'offered' you to go eat at the cafeteria if you wanted it so much. But when he dismisses you for the second time the next day with a 15 minute break to go find somewhere to sit, you, instead, sit down reluctantly at the very center of his work space, just a few meters behind him.

Miguel has to do a fucking double take to make sure he is seeing right before turning around at you calmly crossing your legs on the floor and unboxing today's meal with abrupt and resigned movements.

"Could you be so kind as to explain to me what you are doing?" He tilts his head with amusement when you take the first bite of your food.

"Eating."

"Sitting on the floor?" He raises an eyebrow.

"Sitting on the floor." You nod.

"Care to explain why?" He crosses his arms, pursing his lips when you refuse to raise your eyes at him.

"... Because of you." You murmur, taking another unnecessarily aggressive bite.

"Elaborate, please."

You keep on looking down, chewing the morsel in your mouth. Miguel awaits for you with well known experienced patience. By now, he recognizes when you are mad at him or the world, he sees how you fight to keep calm inside of all of this mess, that's why he always tries to encourage you to talk out the things that bother you, because he's there, he can listen; because he likes the way you smile after you let it all out.

And maybe...

"I don't care about eat sitting comfortably at the cafeteria. I want to eat with you. So if you want to stay here be my fucking guest. I'm staying here too."

Because you were the only one who could throw a tantrum at Miguel O'Hara without flinching.

You have earned that right. You didn't know when, because you insist you don't throw tantrums at him; you're a college student, basically an adult, you don't do tantrums. And still...

"Fine, spoiled girl..." He sighs, walking to get his own little box from the table and then coming to close the space between the two with a few long steps. He sits down right beside you, imitating the way you're crossing your legs. "If you want to eat on the floor, we can eat on the floor."

"I'm not spoiled." You hiss, giving him a deadly side eye that puts on a soft, almost unnoticeable grin on his face. Lyla had made fun of him a few days ago about him spoiling you, but instead of getting on his nerves he took a liking for the nickname. And now you suffer the consequences of it all. "And we wouldn't be eating on the floor if you decided to go to the cafeteria for once."

"... I hate talking to people."

You sigh, nodding. That's exactly why you never push him to do anything of that sort.

"I know." You turn to look at him out of the corner of your eye, noticing how he keeps his head low while eating. "Hey" You call for his attention, smiling. He blinks up to you, tilting his head. "It's okay." Your shoulder drops to his arm. "I like being here. I'm not stuck with you, you're stuck with me."

That makes his eyes catch a little bit more of light.

"Thank you." He whispers.

You stare at him for a second more and he fights to put all of the mess inside his head, his feelings, into his tongue... But he can't. You continue eating, and he knows you would never hold a grudge on him for it, and he's so thankful for that, for you being able to understand the way his actions speak when his words can't. But he still aches at the thought of never being able to tell you everything he wants.

The next morning you walk in to find out a new cleared space beside the screens with an elegant glass table and two chairs. It surely looked expensive, like everything he does and has, but for you, it's just the little corner where you can leave that particular cake from your Earth he seems to like so much, and then go to the laboratory to see the cake you seemed to like so much.

After two more weeks enjoying the day-to-day in the usual things in your life, you and Miguel got to a mission which revealed as the true calmness before the storm.

The anomaly you had fought was stronger than expected, more aggressive, more letal. Everyone had run lucky at least two times to escape from its claws, but you can still remember their closeness, the screams, the sirens at the distance. It all almost ends up with another canonic event altered.

"There's always a first time." Jessica had told you when you finally finished off the anomaly. She was worried about you, and you can't blame her. You haven't even registered how bad you were trembling until it was all over.

"Is there going to be a last time?" You replied, looking up at her with big eyes. And Miguel, only a few meters behind you, still trying to give some last orders to every Spider there, felt his heart breaking at the very sound of your words.

Nevertheless, thankfully, the universe remained perfectly fine and just a couple of hours later everyone was back home safely again. Most returned immediately to their Home Earths, but you, Miguel, Jessica, Lyla and a couple more had ten thousand things to do in the HQ before calling it a day.

"I thought I told you to go home an hour ago." Miguel points, coming from behind you.

You turn your head to look up at him and you can't not smile at the sight. The feeling of safeness that floods you when you see his huge figure entering any room hasn't wavered for a single second. He's still that solid ground you can always rest on when the world is to heavy to carry alone.

"I'm serious. What are you doing here?" He continues, grunting in pain when he drops his weight beside you. You turn to him, furrowing your brows in worry again. He had seen that expression in you so often today... And he hates it so much. "I'm okay. Just little scratches here and there."

You withdrawn your feet from the edge of the building where you had them hanging for an hour now and crawl your way to him, sitting down on your knees to try to be eye height with him.

Your right hand wanders to his bruised neck, there where the anomaly had left his horrible mark of the violence it brought within. You follow with your index the way the clotted blood draws on his skin, sending shivers down his spine.

"Does it hurt?" You ask.

"No." He responds in between goosebumps.

He loves the effect your touch has on him. He loves your little hands looking for him, tugging at his clothes to call for his attention, brushing against his when you pass him the tablet, documents, anything. He loves the busy days where he doesn't have time to eat, where he wouldn't eat if it wasn't for you sitting beside him as he works on the screens, you scrolling through your cellphone, taking little pieces of food with a spoon or a fork to bring them closer to his mouth so he could eat without even taking his eyes off the screen.

Ridiculous? Yeah. But he loved the intimacy within. The many forms your soft hands could soothe him.

But his? He hated them. He was scared of them. Their only use was to destruct, to tear flesh apart, not to...

"Show me." He asks, pointing with his chin at your left hand placed softly above your thigh.

"It's nothing."

"Let me see it." He insist and you carefully bring your arm up, placing your fingers against his when he holds out his hand for you. Your whole palm is bandaged, the work the doctor did on you was amazing, but he can still see dried blood on it.

He doesn't say anything when he finds your eyes on him, conflicted, hesitant. There is so much between both of you, so much unsaid, so much still to do. But he sees your doubt, he hates to be the cause of it. He stays still, but he wants to scream at you, to make your little head understand: "How can't you see?! Can't you see how much you mean to me?! You're the only thing in my mind when I'm fighting, because I know I have to win, I have to get out alive to see you again. Eres lo único por lo que mi corazón llama!... Can't you not hear it?"

Instead, the tips of his fingers brush on your skin, his eyes reflecting every single light of the city below.

"Come." It's only a whisper that leaves his mouth, and you need nothing more to jump into his embrace with a desperate sigh, immediately cuddling yourself up on his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck, looking for his warm.

Hold.

He loves to hold you.

His hands serve to hold you.

To hold you against him, to protect you from anyone who wants to rip you away from his arms. To keep you warm, to keep you safe, to let you know you're home.

"Aquí estoy." He whispers.

"I know." You reply.

You breath into his scent for a couple of minutes more, until the screams and the sirens fell low to the sound of Miguel's chest going up and down in a soothing swing, his breathing, turning into the only thing you could listen to.

By the time you got your head out of his neck, he was already waiting for you with a soft smile, smile that puts your attention on the deep cut on his lower lip.

"What happened?" You ask, carefully pulling from his flesh to see the whole extension of the wound.

He sighs, closing his eyes with embarrassment. "I bit myself during the fight."

You smile, shaking your head. Your fingernail taps against the right fang in question, testing the edge by gently pressing the tip into your fingertip.

"I hate them." Miguel breaths out. His eyes are now so dim that you struggle to say where are they looking at in the middle of the night darkness.

"Why?" You whisper, taking your finger back at his lip.

"Because I fear of them. I fear they'll hurt you like they hurt me."

You purse your lips and then take his hand placed on your hip, looking back at him with raised eyebrows.

"Is the same with these?"

He nods.

"They are made to kill. I have done so many horrible things with, caused so much damage and pain, I..."

"Did you know I'm scared of heights?" His trail of words stop at your interruption. You smile, looking down from the edge, turning away form him just a little. "Ironic, for a Spider. But I still fight with it every single day. I always get so sticky when I'm on top of a building for too long it's embarrassing but..." You raise your hand in front of him, waving your fingers with a playful smile. "I'm not sticky now. And that it's because you're holding me." You cup his face. "Those things you're afraid of, are part of the person I love. And I wouldn't change a single thing."

"Mi cielo..."

"I knew what I was getting into when I decided to love you, Miguel, so don't get all soft now. I'm not going anywhere..." You whisper. "Make me bleed."

He would be lying if he said he haven't thought about it, that he haven't succumbed to his most animalistic urges when alone in the privacy of his room, pretending it was you around his cock and not his fist. He wanted to bite, he wanted to fill you. And he wanted to tear apart with his bare talons anyone and anything that got in his way.

A part of him might be scared to hurt you, yes.

But a bigger part of him was actually scared of what he would do to keep you safe. Of what he's capable of... to keep you his.

He feels sorry for you when you cuddle against his chest in your sleep as he stands up and starts walking back inside the building, covering you with his jacket to protect from the cold wind of the city for when he swings back to his apartment with you in his arms.

He feels sorry for the innocence in your love.

Like a beast, that's what he was. A beast who loved the softness in your touch, the kind in your words. But cannot return the same love. The beast is possessive, jealous of the very air that caresses your hair. And it may act vulnerable only to you, letting you get as close to slaughter him, but knowing you'll place a kiss instead. The beast would hold you as his own treasure, a creature that must not be hurt, not even for his own hands. He would cut them off before.

He would cut them off from anyone before they touch you. For no one should ever touch what he decided, that very morning you asked how he had been, would belong to him.

AND EVERYTHING WOULD HAVE CONTINUED ON GOING SO SMOOTHLY... BUT THE DAAAAAAAAMN FINALS, ah, made their entrance.

You barely have time to sleep, to eat, to fucking breathe. Your levels of anxiety are higher than the HQ damn building and your brain is so overworked you cannot do more than what you're asked to in autopilot. You know that you're only going to be like this for approximately another two weeks, but your poor lover has suffered the last four days thinking you're sick, or sad, or worse... Mad at him. No, not in that order.

"Arañita..." He calls for you. Your hand moving over your notebook at one hundred km per hour concerns him.

"The reports are done. Peter from -5266 and Hugh from -1993 are out right now. They should be getting back at any minute. Anomaly #125 was sent to its original universe this morning." You push the tablet to him with your free hand without even looking up or slowing down your writing.

"Thank you, but..." He tilts his head, furrowing his brows. "Are you okay?"

"Yes. I just need to get this done before four. By the way, can I leave early today? I need to study for tomorrow's test."

"Again? Didn't you have one yesterday?"

"Yes. We're on finals, Miguel. We tend to have a lot of them these days. That's why I'm losing my mind over here."

"Just for some tests?" You have to stop yourself to remind you it's not his fault to be smart. It's not his fault being more intelligent than almost every person you knew. It's not his fault he doesn't know what is to struggle on school. It's not his fault, It's not his fault, It's not his fault... "You haven't even touched your food." He says, looking at the little box he got you with the meal now cold.

"I... I know. I'm sorry, Mig." You sigh, looking up at him for the first time in the day. "I'm just really stressed out right now. But I promise I'll take it back home later, okay?"

This was also the fourth day you didn't stay at his place. My man doesn't want to be a burden, but he has attachment issues, ok?, and after the week you spent sleeping in his arms, it may or may not be that Miguel has been having trouble falling asleep without the weight of your body on his chest.

After watching you leave that day, Miguel found himself staying till unreasonable hours of the early morning working in the lab. There was no point on going back to his cold apartment anyway... And he had a lot of things to get done. He didn't have time to...

"Oh, it's you." Miguel jumps in his place at the sudden voice calling from behind. "I thought that poor girl had stayed here, with all the things she seems to be doing these days."

The man shakes his head, ignoring Jessica closing the distance behind him, leaning against the door frame. Miguel can almost make out the little smile on her lips without turning around, and that only infuriates him even more.

"And why do you look like a caged lion?" She mocks. "Trouble in paradise?"

Miguel's first instinct is snap back at her and ask her to leave him alone. He knows she would comply, what he doesn't know is how benefic that would be for his current situation.

"I don't know what's going out with her." He admits, letting his head fall in irritation. "She says she's having some tests right now, but she's just to... Stressed? I don't know. She's so smart I cannot conceive how bad this is affecting her." The laugh that emanates from Jessica's throat makes his ears go red. "What?"

"Oh, babe, when was the last time you went to college?" Jessica puts both of her hands on her waist, pursing the lips to avoid smiling again.

"Why is that important?"

"When, Miguel?" She demands.

"Ugh... I don't know. Like four-five years ago."

"When was the last time you failed a class?"

"Never." He immediately responds.

"When was the last time grades were important on your Earth?"

Miguel frowns. "I don't remember. The path for learning had changed long before I was born. I don't even think I ever had something like a grade. We were judged individually for our skills and our intelligence type. Not memorization."

"Exactly." She claps, pointing at him with a all-knowing finger. "Thanks to that you got the chance to develop your true abilities as a student, but our girl from 2023 it is not beneficiary of this privilege. She doesn't get the chance to strengthen in what she is good, she must memorize and memorize and memorize over and over again. Because the tests on her Earth aren't done with the purpose of just checking how is her knowledge progressing, they are done to see if she's worthy of continuing forward in her very career."

Miguel remains silent for a minute, swallowing all the new information by pieces. For someone so smart, Jessica has never see him seem so lost. The nuts in his brain begin to turn and turn until his eyes seem to light up with the clarity of the light of the new world.

"Hm." He nods. "Thank you."

The woman knows he doesn't need anything more when he turns around, typing into one of the screens something that escapes from her eyes.

During the rest of the two weeks of finals, Miguel tried to do his best to support you.

He even read all of the information about your education system, striving to understand everything in just a couple of nights.

He's a man on a mission: letting you know he's there, that you're strong and smart, and you can do it.

While you study in the lab, he leaves you be. He gets you coffee, or tea, or anything you prefer. He might even hiss at people entering his space (your space) making too much noise, pointing at you with his chin and threatening eyes.

"Hey, girl..." Peter B. comes in one morning, moving nervously under the scrutinizing gaze of your lover. "Don't be so harsh on yourself..." He gives you some awkward pats on the back, smiling. "You're doing great."

That was all it took.

"No, I'm not!" You weep, letting your head fall on the desk, shaking between sobs.

"Great. Ya la hiciste llorar." Miguel pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing. "Here, give it to her." He calls for Peter's attention, handing him an specific chocolate.

Peter takes it with confused eyes, offering it to you, reaching out his arm as if he were to touch you, you'll explode.

"Here." He says. "Look what I got."

You raise your eyes, meeting the little packing. Then, when you look at him, Peter almost thinks he just made all worst.

"Oh, Peter... Thank you!" You take the chocolate, pulling from him to a big hug. "I love these so much, thank you! You're so kind!"

Peter lets you be, looking back at Miguel who just nods at him to let him know this wasn't his first rodeo. He pats your back, soothing you with some more nervous words until you're ready to let him go.

If you're really struggling, Miguel won't think twice to help you. He's smart, it takes him nothing more than a look to his old notes or a quick search on the internet (specially if you're studying something science related or an engineering, if you're on law or arts, oh boy, you're gonna make this man suffer) to know exactly what you need and make sure you're taking that fucking project tomorrow.

Some other days, he just catches you sleeping with your hands crossed above the table and your saliva drooling out to your notes. His jacket would then come over you, after, he would take your pending stuff and start solving problems and making notes for you to have it easier at the memorizing part of the study.

You always wake up to see the edges of your paper full of arrows, little equations and encircled key words. And, sometimes, a tired Miguel sleeping uncomfortably by your side, just waiting for you to tell him it's time to go.

The day, a Friday, where you're finally done with college (at least for a couple of months) Miguel felt it like the day his soul came back to his body.

You are smiling all day again, calling his name, doing a mess all over the whole building. And he can not be more happy about it.

He might never tell you, me might even justify himself saying he had been staying up late working in the lab every time you ask for the bags under his eyes. Because he's definitely not telling you there were nights where he couldn't even close his eyes 'cause you weren't there with him.

"Time to go home." You hum behind him, getting all of your stuff inside your backpack.

"Thank God" He rubs his neck, walking closer to you to give you a soft kiss on the forehead. "I'm dying."

You yawn, nodding. "Me too. These weeks drained me."

"Me too." He repeats, and you don't know how much he means it. "Let's just go to sleep, yeah? Hopefully tomorrow there won't be so much to do."

You smile, leaning into his embrace as you walk out the door, hearing the lights turning off as both come closer and closer to the exit.

"Yeah, that sounds good."

"Okay."

"Okay."

Miguel steadies your body by pressing down on your hips, keeping your ass on the bed. You try to push his face out of between your thighs but he refuses to pull apart.

"Miguel!" You cry out, tears rolling down your cheeks cause of the overstimulation he was putting you in. "Too much, too much..."

His fingers curl inside you one more time, and your arch your back, almost rolling your eyes at the feeling. His tongue flicks over your sensitive bud again, dragging choked moans out of you. You try to squirm away but his hands pull you from your ass back at him as soon as you start moving.

"Easy there, Arañita. I'm almost done." He smiles up at you, letting you see the lower half of his face completely covered in your arousal.

"Mig... Mi amor..." You breath out, trying to push him out again when his chuckle crashes against your folds.

"One more, love, and you'll be ready for me." He sucks on your clit as he speaks, moving his fingers with an slower pace now. "Uno más, mamita, dame uno más."

He pushes his face down on you, working his tongue all around your most needy spot with his digits burying now deep inside you, hitting that soft place between your walls that makes you want to cry. You're a mess of moans and whimpers by now, but when his teeth slowly press on your clit, it's over for you. Your eyes roll back, your thighs tremble around him, encaging him in his favorite prison as he guides you through it, moaning into your skin when he feels your pleasure dripping on him, motivating his hips to hump against the mattress as a fucking teenager would do.

After you get down from your high, you look up at him to find him positioning himself between your legs, dragging the tip of his cock up and down on your folds.

"Miguel, wait, I'm..."

"You know your safe word, mamita, you can make me stop whenever you want." He places your legs on his shoulders and his hands on your hips, keeping you just as he wishes to. "I'm going in, and I want your eyes on me all the time I fuck you, ¿me entiendes, hermosa?"

You nod, watching the point where both of your bodies would join. He enters slowly, giving you time to adjust his size. But after the first hint of your hips trying to feel him even more, he pulls back and thrusts all the way in, making your head fall back as your back arches.

His right hand grabs you by the jaw, forcing you to open your eyes and observe how red his irises had turned.

"Eyes on me."

His pace speeds up, bottoming out with every thrust he makes. Your hands push at his lower abdomen, biting your lip to avoid crying out loud again.

"Too fast, Mig. Too much." You moan, your still overstimulated clit rips another whimper from you every time his happy trail and trimmed hair crashes against it. You were barely holding on, but your lover can't never get enough. His body reaches down, and as he places one hand around your neck, his other thumb toys at your clit in a excruciating pace. "Fuck! No, Miguel."

You tremble under him, wrapping your legs around his waist when you cannot think about anything more than cumming. Your nails bury on the skin of his back, dragging an out of breath grunt out of him.

"I'm, I'm cum-" You try to voice but nothing in your brain seems to work anymore.

"Do it, love. I got you." He keeps up his pace, almost kissing your cervix by now. "Cum for me, mi amor."

His hand squeezes a little bit harder on your neck and you need nothing else to see fucking white. Your mouth opens in a big O before your start trembling, shaking uncontrollably under his body, letting out the sweetest of sounds for him to hear.

He grunts, falling into the crock of your neck when you tighten your walls around him.

"I'm going to fucking fill you." He's out of breath and he curses something in Spanish you cannot make out. "I'm going to put a baby on your tummy, mamita..."

"Miguel..." You were on the verge of tears again, you cannot longer feel your legs but you surely can feel him deep inside you.

"Yes, love. Fuck... I'm cumming. I'm..." He bites down on your flesh, sinking his fangs into your skin when his hips stutter. His talons grow so big they dig into the headboard.

You moan at the feeling, hugging your body to his until he can breath normal again.

When he looks back at you his eyes have returned to that soft brown you're used too.

"Are you okay?" He asks, sending shivers down your spine when he caresses the sore skin.

"Yes." You smile and he traps your lips into a kiss. "And now I'm really fucking tired."

He chuckles, lifting his weight onto his forearms.

"Come here, amor. Let's take a shower so you can rest comfortably." He places another soft peck on your forehead. "I'll wash your hair."

You definitely know he will do more than that.

PD: Tbh with you guys, all I could think about while writing this was this tiktok:

[saetoru]

imagine rich boy gojo finding out your name for him in his phone is just “satoru” or something 💀 and then from the side geto is like “mine’s got an emoji!”

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。NO HEART — GOJO SATORU. (rich boy! au)

rich boy! gojo, college au, fluff, established relationships, dramatic gojo which is consistent in every version of him no matter the au

studying with gojo satoru is the worst idea you could ever allow to happen—and yet, every time he asks, you let it happen.

“baby, aren’t you getting my texts?” gojo pouts. it earns him an unimpressed glare from you as you look up from your textbook, a glare that makes him wilt while geto snickers from the corner.

“satoru, if you don’t stop bothering me while we’re supposed to be studying, so help me—”

“but it’s funny, look,” he whines. and before you can stop him, he picks up the untouched phone beside you, tapping the screen to unlock it. except, he doesn’t make it that far.

suddenly the world stills. it stops spinning on its axis. and suddenly, gojo satoru’s face is the dictionary definition of devastation.

“satoru, what’s wrong,” you furrow your brows.

“satoru. satoru? satoru?” he repeats, each time in more disbelief than the last.

“that’s….your name, yes?” you raise a brow. and then realization strikes your features—or so he thinks. he’s soon to find out he’s mistaken. “oh, sorry,” you snort, “toru, is that better? toru, get to studying—”

“my name in your phone is just satoru?” he asks, cutting you off like you’ve genuinely wounded him—the betrayal on his face and the shock in his voice are all too real.

you blink for a moment before you realize the source of his tantrum seems to be the contact name you have for him in your phone. only gojo satoru would find a way to make a big deal out of his own name, you think.

“well, yeah,” you shrug, “it’s your name. plus i had it set when i first got your number from that project. i hated you back then.”

“you called me gojo back then,” he squints accusingly.

“yeah that’s because it was gojo satoru at first,” you nod. from the side, you hear geto snicker again about the full government name to himself—which earns him a pillow thrown at his direction by gojo. “i deleted the gojo part when we started dating,” you add.

“oh so you can delete my surname once we started dating but you couldn’t even add a heart?” he asks, jaw dropped and eyebrows furrowed in that dramatic way he does. it’s a bit cute, the way he’s worked up over something so small—but it’s also entirely theatric, making you roll your eyes.

“would a heart make you feel better, satoru?” you purse your lips.

“no! not if you don’t add it because you want to,” he huffs, “you might as well just say you don’t love me!”

“satoru,” you sigh in exasperation. maybe if you didn’t have physics 1302 problems to work through—a whole six of them due before midnight, in fact—you would humor him in his elaborately dramatized attempt at getting your attention. but you have classes to pass and gpa’s to maintain, so you purse your lips instead. “it’s just a contact name. what’s mine?”

“it’s baby <3. with a heart. see?” sure enough, when his phone is turned to face you, it’s baby <3. with a heart.

“i have an emoji in my contact,” geto adds from the side, ever the instigator, “maybe it’s because i’m cuter—”

“you gave suguru’s an emoji?” he asks in distress, staring at you like you’ve told him you’ve cheated. you think you might hurt his feelings less if you did, with the way his lips are curled in a genuine frown.

“suguru set his own contact,” you defend, shooting the nuisance in the corner a sharp glare. geto only offers you a sly wink in return. “i didn’t realize you cared that much about contact names,” you shrug, “i can change it—”

“no need,” gojo huffs, holding up a hand to silence you as he turns away and sticks his nose in the air in defiance. “i’ll just change yours to your full government name. see how you like it.”

“satoru—”

“and you’re not getting a heart either,” he glares, deleting the <3 slowly just for show, making eye contact with you so you know the severity of your actions.

you roll your eyes, snatching your phone back as you shake your head. “if i make your contact baby <3 with a heart because you’re my baby, will that cheer you up,” you sigh.

he ponders it for a moment, as if debating the offer. and then his arms cross in defiance once more. “no. make it baby boy 💋 with a kiss emoji.”

“gross,” geto twists his face in disgust.

gojo turns to him, face blank and serious as he shoots, “single people should not speak when it’s not their turn,” before turning back to you. “i’ll consider forgiving you if you make it baby boy 💋 with a kiss.”

“okay,” you sigh, “baby boy it is.”

“with a kiss!” he glares.

“with a kiss,” you assure, rolling your eyes.

“can i also get a kiss?” he asks hopefully, eyes wide and bright and earnest enough to warm your heart.

you smile, chuckling at the way he looks so cute, at the way he melts your heart and makes you forget you have physics homework for a moment—but only for a moment because then you mumble, “no. now do your homework.”

PLS THIS PROMPT KILLED ME

[yoursjaeyun]

enhypen’s hyung line reaction to their 3-year-old daughter being angry at them ᡣ𐭩

pairings. enhypen x fem!reader | genre. fluff, imagines | wc. 1k+ (?) | warnings. not proofread | an. hai i have returned from my grave :] /gen hope you all like thisbekdnd promise i’ll come back w something better ! just starting off with something small for the time being <3 didn’t expect this to be so long so i apologize :[ love n miss u all.

이희승 (lhs)

it was a typical afternoon in the lee house, but today, a dramatic showdown was in full swing. your 3 year old daughter, with her puffed-up cheeks and a frown that could rival a storm cloud, was clearly upset with her dad. you watched from the kitchen, trying to hold back a laughter, as heeseung crouched down at her eye level, desperately trying to placate her. "sweetheart, what's the matter? did daddy forget something?" he asked, his voice a mix of concern and confusion. she crossed her arms and glared at him. “you didn’t let me use the purple crayon!” she declared, as if this was the most grievous of parental offenses. heeseung, ever the diplomat, knelt down and tried to reason with her. “but princess, the purple crayon is for special drawings, remember? you promised to use it for your masterpiece.” her response was a huffy, “but i wanted to color the sun purple!” heeseung blinked, clearly trying to understand the logic behind a purple sun. he scratched his head and gave you a helpless glance. you only stifled a giggle and watched as he continued to negotiate. “okay, how about this,” heeseung began, putting on his best ‘super serious dad’ face, “i’ll make you a deal. you use the yellow crayon for the sun today, and tomorrow, i’ll let you draw a purple sun, a purple moon, and even a purple spaceship.” her eyes widened at the promise of interstellar coloring adventures. she uncrossed her arms and considered the offer. “deal,” she said, but not without giving him a stern look. as heeseung breathed a sigh of relief and stood up, you could see the sheer relief in his eyes. “you’re the best, daddy,” she said, her pout melting into a smile as she grabbed her yellow crayon. heeseung ruffled her hair and gave me a warm glance, his eyes twinkling with affection. “glad to be of service, princess,” he said, smiling as he watched her eagerly scribble away and winked proudly at you as you leaned against the counter, catching his eye with a loving smile.

( the rest under this line! )

박종성 (pjs)

it was one of those rare, peaceful evenings when the chaos of daily life seemed to take a break. you were curled up on the couch with a book, enjoying a rare moment of tranquility, while your husband was in the kitchen, attempting to cook dinner—a task he was only slightly more adept at than his three-year-old daughter as she created abstract art with spaghetti. the quiet, however, was abruptly shattered by a high-pitched wail. you looked up, immediately recognizing the sound of your daughter’s tantrum. you sighed and set your book aside, heading towards the source of the noise. as you reached the kitchen, you saw jay standing there, looking bewildered, while your daughter sat on the floor, her face scrunched up in a fierce scowl, tears streaming down her cheeks. jay was holding a spatula in one hand and a half-cooked piece of chicken in the other. “what happened?” you asked, trying to suppress a smile as you took in the scene before you. jay looked up, his eyes wide. “i don’t know! i was just trying to make dinner, and she—” he pointed to his daughter, who was now dramatically flailing her arms. “she’s mad at me for some reason. i didn’t even get to ask her how she wanted her chicken cooked!” you knelt beside her, who immediately stopped crying as if she’d just noticed you for the first time. “sweetheart, what’s wrong?” you asked gently. she glared at jay with all the intensity her tiny frame could muster. “daddy’s mean! he put peas in the pasta! i hate peas!” jay’s eyes widened in surprise. “i thought you liked the green bits of happiness!” she shook her head angrily. “no! no peas! only noodles!” you suppressed a chuckle and gave jay a sympathetic glance. “well, jay, it looks like you’ve got a culinary crisis on your hands.” jay groaned and you only smiled, your heart softening as you looked at the chaotic but lovable scene before you. “it’s okay, baby. just talk to her. maybe she’ll understand if you explain why you added the peas.” jay took a deep breath and crouched down to her level. “my sweet angel, i’m really sorry. i thought the peas would make the pasta taste better. can you give daddy another chance?” she stared at him, her little brow furrowed as she considered his plea. “but... no more peas?” jay shook his head earnestly. “no more peas. i promise. just delicious, no-green-thing pasta.” her frown slowly began to waver. “okay... but i want a strawberry smoothie please..” jay looked at you, his face a mix of relief and exhaustion. “do i look like a smoothie-making machine?” you laughed softly and gave him a reassuring kiss on the lips. “you’re doing great. and don’t worry, i’ll handle the smoothie.” jay smiled weakly and reached out to her. “deal?” she nodded, finally letting go of her anger and allowing a small smile to form. she reached up for a hug, which jay gladly accepted, pulling her into his arms. you watched the tender moment between them.

심재윤 (sjy)

jake’s face twisted into a comedic mix of confusion and concern as he tried to navigate his three-year-old daughter’s latest meltdown. you watched from the kitchen, holding back your laughter as jake, ever the doting father, attempted to reason with his little girl, who was currently giving him the coldest of shoulders while clutching a teddy bear like it was her lifeline. “baby girl,” jake said, crouching down to her level with a look of exaggerated seriousness, “i’m really sorry about the ice cream. i didn’t know you wanted bubblegum, okay? i promise i’ll get you the bubblegum next time.” her little brows knitted together, her lips in a small pout that would’ve melted anyone’s heart, except she seemed intent on maintaining her grudge. “no, daddy! you forgot the sprinkles!” jake’s eyes widened as if he’d been struck by a thunderbolt. “oh no, sprinkles! i knew i forgot something!” he straightened up, looking around as if sprinkles might magically appear in the room. “i’ll get you some right now.” as he stumbled off to find the elusive sprinkles, you couldn’t help but interject, your amusement barely concealed. “jake, honey, i think the sprinkles are a lost cause. maybe just a hug will fix this?” jake’s face fell slightly, but he quickly squared his shoulders and marched back over, now armed with a massive, exaggeratedly apologetic grin. “baby, i’m so, so sorry for forgetting the sprinkles. how about a hug and a promise to never forget them again?” her stern face softened just a fraction, but she still shook her head. “no hug! i’m mad!” you watched as jake’s comedic struggle continued, every attempt met with her determined frown. “okay, what if i also give you a big, extra special hug from me?” jake tried, eyes wide with hope. she looked at you, then back at jake, as if weighing the merits of his offer. with a dramatic sigh that would put a soap opera star to shame, she finally relented and held out her arms. “okay… but only if mommy hugs me too.” jake practically beamed with relief, enveloping her in a bear hug, which she returned with all the fierceness a three-year-old could muster. you joined in, laughing softly as you wrapped your arms around them both. “there we go, the family hug fix.” jake looked up at you with a mock-solemn expression, his eyes twinkling with the kind of mischief you knew all too well. “i’m really going to work on those sprinkles. maybe i should just carry them with me at all times.” you raised an eyebrow, smiling. your daughter now placid and cuddled in the middle, looked up at her parents with a satisfied grin. “but daddy has to do better next time.” jake nodded solemnly. “you got it. i’ll be the best sprinkle-and-ice-cream-daddy there ever was.”

박성훈 (psh)

sunghoon’s reaction when his little princess gets mad at him is always a sight to see. one afternoon, as you were trying to tidy up the living room, you heard the telltale stomp of tiny feet approaching. your daughter, with her pouty face and crossed arms, stormed into the room, her small brow furrowed in the most dramatic fashion. "daddy, i’m mad at you!" she announced with the seriousness only a three-year-old can muster. sunghoon, who had been helping you clean the coffee table, immediately straightened up, his eyes wide with concern. he was always so attentive, especially when it came to his little girl. you couldn’t help but chuckle at how seriously he took her tantrums. he knelt down to her level, “why are you mad at me, princess?” he asked, his voice as soft and gentle as it could be. she folded her arms tighter and gave him the classic toddler response: “because you didn’t help me with my puzzle!” she pointed to the half-finished puzzle on the floor, her tiny finger jabbing at the pieces as if they were to blame for her frustration. sunghoon’s face fell into a comically exaggerated look of guilt. “oh no— i’m so sorry! i was just finishing up, but that’s no excuse. let me help you right now.” he scooped her up with a dramatic flourish, and she squealed with both surprise and delight. as he carried her back to the puzzle, you could see the determination in his eyes as if he were about to perform a rescue mission. sunghoon took his job as a dad very seriously, and his efforts to mend the situation were both endearing and slightly over-the-top. “okay,” he said, placing her gently on the floor next to the puzzle. “i promise i’ll make it up to you. daddy’s going to fix this puzzle like a superhero,” with exaggerated movements, he started picking up the puzzle pieces and placing them in the correct spots. he made goofy sound effects with each piece, “whoosh!” and “bam!” as if he were fighting a villain instead of just putting together a puzzle. your daughter watched him with wide eyes, her previous anger melting away into giggles as sunghoon made silly faces and pretended to struggle with the puzzle pieces. as he worked, you could see the loving glances he would cast your way, his silent way of saying, “i’m doing this for us.” despite the chaos of parenting and the little disagreements, his devotion to both you and your daughter was always evident. his playful attitude and willingness to dive headfirst into whatever made his daughter happy were qualities you adored. after a few minutes, the puzzle was complete. sunghoon triumphantly held up the finished product with a loud— “ta-da! daddy’s superhero skills save the day,” he declared, his grin as wide as ever. your daughter clapped her hands and giggled, her earlier irritation forgotten. she threw her tiny arms around him in a hug, her face lighting up with joy. “thank you, daddy!” you walked over and gave sunghoon a quick kiss on the cheek, your way of showing your appreciation for his efforts. “looks like you’ve earned the title of super dad,” you teased. sunghoon beamed at you, his pride evident. “anything for my girls.”