#this was very fun but also agonizing | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nesepte · 24 days ago

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Forbidden Fruit Pt. 2 | Na Jaemin (18+) | Read Pt. 1 here

Pairing: Brother’s best friend Jaemin x fem! reader

Genre: sexual tension, teasing, mind games, desperation (is this a genre?), but they are very desperate, longing, brother’s best friend Jaemin, Jaemin is also very shameless and brazen. Warnings: smut, sexually explicit, unprotected sex, mild exhibitionism, outdoor sex, alcohol consumption, pet names (baby, darling), sexual footsy. Word Count: 2.7k words

A/n: Thank you so much to the anon who requested this. Here you go! It was fun writing this one (I do feel bad for Mark though :/)

It’s been three months since Mark caught you both that night.

Three. Agonizing. Months.

No matter how much you tried to convince away your heavy breaths, your dishevelled states, the spilled wine and the obvious smear of your lipstick all over Jaemin’s face, Mark knew better at just one glance.

He was angry, more at Jaemin than at you but that didn’t stop him from glaring at you whenever he got the chance. As for Jaemin, he didn’t speak to him for a month. His silence progressed into a stalemate when they were grouped together for a project and eventually into a fight that had Jeno and Haechan holding the two of them back from punching each other black and blue.

At last, Mark had sighed, had pulled Jaemin in a corner and talked sense. It wasn’t that Jaemin particularly had a reputation but he was also not exactly the ‘good boy’ that Mark would want his sister to date.

‘Nobody would be good enough for her.’

Mark was almost ready to punch Jaemin again when he had said that. But he had calmed himself down for your sake. At the end, Mark just had one condition— meet your parents.

And that is how Jaemin ended up in your family home for dinner tonight.

This was the first time you had seen him since that night. Mark had forbidden it and Jaemin kept to his word. That obviously didn’t stop him from sending you late night texts to rile you up, and no matter how much you tried to take care of yourself, it just wasn’t enough, not after you had already tasted him.

Jaemin knew this. He knew it well because it was no coincidence that he was sitting right across from you at the table— his sleeves rolled up, his fingers swirling the wine glass lazily, and his foot rubbing you below the table with a straight face for the past hour.

Jaemin had been careful the whole night, or in your mother’s words— a very sincere boy. He had dressed up in a suit (the jacket of which he was more than glad to discard upon seeing your eyes on him), brought flowers for her, talked business with your dad, helped set the table and even cleaned up between courses. He had even managed to earn an approving look from Mark when he had given up the seat next to you to sit across you instead.

If only Mark knew why he was so willing to do so.

You were holding on, barely, feeling hot underneath your flimsy top. Your fingers were raw from your tight grip around the edge of the table. Perhaps it was as torturous as it was risky because Jaemin had just found your spot, and had pressed hard against it to pull the subtlest of whimpers out of your lips. You wanted to curse at him, and maybe you had too because he was now drawing circles over it.

You heard your mother’s voice. She was speaking to you— you could make out that much but except for a numb ringing in your ears, you couldn’t hear anything else. Nod, you told yourself. Nod, you repeated but your hazy mind was a maelstrom, your drumming heart drowning out everything except the soft feel of Jaemin’s toe against your core. You bit down hard on your lip, a bashful flush creeping up your face but you were also shamelessly bucking your hips forward, bracing against the table for support.

Then you felt a nudge, from Jaemin’s foot, and the jolt was enough to bring you back to your senses albeit at the cost of almost exposing yourself through a gasp.

Your mother looked worried. Mark had the same expression, only suspicion weaved into the lines of his forehead.

‘You don’t like the dessert?’ Jaemin helped you.

‘Huh?’ Your glazed eyes were still focused on his arms, swallowing the blood you had drawn from your lips earlier.

He gestured to your untouched plate of sorbet, sliding his blessed foot back to himself.

‘I… no, I mean… I do like it,’ you managed and if you had looked up at him, you would have seen him supressing another smirk behind his wine glass.

‘Have mine,’ he offered sweetly and didn’t wait for you to protest. It wasn’t like you were going to anyway but he was sure to hold down your wrist when he made the exchange— all in jest, of course, at least that’s how everyone was seeing it.

He tilted his chin, his gaze boring into you. You gritted your teeth and clenched your legs tightly together, almost frustrated at how calm he was. He knew exactly what he was doing and your quivering silence only bolstered his brazenness. He wasn’t even being subtle about it anymore because he licked his own spoon clean and held it out for you.

He gestured towards it, his eyebrows raised in a sickly-sweet challenge.

You both knew you weren’t going to decline it. You wanted to taste him so bad, even if it meant like this, even if it meant admitting that he had you right where he wanted— desperate, needy and restless for him.

His fingers lingered on yours, just for a second longer to not raise suspicion but you could feel Mark’s questioning stance next to you.

Jaemin settled back into his seat, arms folded, waiting.

Was it lemon? Pear? You couldn’t quite tell. All you tasted was him, your tongue lapping up the last of it like it was the sweetest nectar you had ever had.

‘How do you like it?’ he asked, not holding back his smirk anymore and if you were paying attention, you would have caught the twinkle of triumph in his eyes too.

You licked your lips as you slid the spoon out of your mouth, nodding, and saw his own resolve break for the first time, or perhaps you had already pushed him to the breaking point without even realizing it because suddenly, the glass of wine in his hand spilled all over him.

You saw it happen— the wine swirling comfortably within the glass then soaking his white shirt and the split second in between, the second where he gave his hand away.

It was intentional and his deliberate glance over to you confirmed it.

‘I’ll show you the bathroom.’ You stood up in your seat before Mark could even offer, forcing your gaze up from Jaemin’s chest.

‘Take him to the one down the hall,’ you heard your mother say but your feet were already walking you away from the table.

Jaemin followed you, keeping a respectful distance between you both. You didn’t bother with the lights— the dark gave you some privacy. But you were still in the view of the table and more than your parents, you were worried about Mark. You increased your pace but Jaemin made no effort to catch up. He was patient, and quiet. You peered over your shoulder, just enough to catch his silhouette still following you but he seemed distracted.

Was the spill actually an accident? Were you mistaken? Did you read his cues wrong? It wasn’t like you could do anything anyway, right? You would have to be quick and quiet, very quiet. Mark would surely try to find you both if you were gone for too long and you can’t lock the bathroom with both of you inside. That would be too odd. Maybe just a kiss, or peck, even a hug would do—

All of a sudden, you felt Jaemin’s strong arms pull you inside one of the rooms at the end of the hall, walking you through the darkness of the study to your backyard. He closed the door shut and looked about himself.

‘Jaem—’

He pinned you to the nearest tree and placed a hand over your mouth.

‘Shhhh, they’ll hear us,’ he whispered, pressing his forehead against yours.

This close, you could finally see the familiar gleam of his growing desire in his eyes. He wasn’t distracted; he was searching.

Your eyes quickly raked the area. Sure, the backyard was dark and the tree provided some privacy, but you were still out in open view for anyone who would as much as glance in your direction.

You wanted to shake your head, telling him to stop but Jaemin had already taken your lips into a desperate kiss. The three months had done their magic because your hands, that you had intended to push him away with, were fumbling in his shirt to pull him closer despite his body being completely pressed against yours. His tongue traced the line of your lips, hungrily, plunging into your mouth like he was starved for ages. You were moaning into him already, breathless and needy.

The kiss should have given you some respite but the harder he kissed you, the more you wanted him.

‘God, I missed you so much, baby,’ he murmured against your lips. He was panting already and you couldn’t help but cup his cheek affectionately, offering some solace in the middle of the storm.

His lips trailed down your neck, two of his fingers already inside you, making you squirm with the slightest of pulls.

‘You are such a tease,’ you said, your hands tangled in his hair, leaning your head back for him.

‘Oh, come on,’ he cooed, his lips burning hot against your skin. His hands were ripping the collar of your top in an attempt to mark your shoulder. ‘I thought we were done pretending.’

There was a scoff on your lips— one he was more than glad to kiss away. He pressed you further into the trunk, the roughness of the bark a stark reminder of where you were and what you were doing.

‘Ugh,’ you groaned.

‘Baby, you’ll have to be quiet,’ he whispered, pulling away just enough to look into your eyes. ‘We are outside,’ he reminded, as if that was enough to calm your frayed senses.

You wanted to whine, even protest but his fingers were making it difficult to question much. You bit down on your lip, holding back your tongue.

‘Hm?’ he asked, his own restrain close to snapping. ‘You’ll be quiet for me, won’t you, baby?’

You nodded, your hand stroking him over the fabric of his pants. He hissed, biting back his own sinful moan and for a moment, you thought he would actually give in but he grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head.

‘I won’t be able to hold it,’ he reasoned, his eyes so desperate that you almost pitied him.

But then he was pulling your skirt up roughly, unzipping his pants and angling against you as if he was not about to keel over from just a little stroke. He pulled one of your legs around his waist and slid inside you, one of his hands pressed over your mouth. He was moving, and you couldn’t blame him for not waiting for you to adjust because you too were too fucked out to have any patience.

Shame rose inside you as tears, or perhaps it was your own need manifesting in the most pathetic way. And if it wasn’t for him holding you up, you might have even pushed him away. But he tightened his hold over your mouth, shaking his head desperately.

You wanted to tell him it didn’t matter anymore because it was him who was grunting, whimpering like a wounded animal with every thrust. It was almost vulgar the way he was fucking you, not caring about the sound his skin was making against yours. You could tell he was holding back, trying different angles to find the one that made the least noise. One of you had to be careful and your mind held onto this information to give in, using his caution to push away your own shame.

‘Jaemin…’ you mumbled beneath his palm.

‘Hm,’ he groaned in frustration, knowing how useless it was to silence either of you anymore. The sound of his obscene rhythm was unmistaken and Jaemin was making no effort to slow down. He gripped your hips tightly, tilting them further up to sink deeper into you.

‘Is… this…’ he was slurring his words like a drunk.

‘W-What?’

He leaned onto your frame, biting down on your shoulder. Your wrists struggled in his grip but he was not going to let go. This was his last attempt to control either of you and he was holding on.

‘Is this… good for you?’ he managed and you wanted to laugh at his courteous formality.

‘Harder,’ you told him, your back arching for him. His other hand came up below your top, slithering its way up from your chest till it held your jaw tightly in place. He thrusted harder into you, more urgently when you moaned his name, his body reacting to your every sound, every twitch, every sweet little whine.

‘Do you like that baby?’ he mumbled against your skin as you leaned your head into his shoulder which he welcomed with a nibble on your ear.

‘They… might hear us,’ you returned.

He let out a humourless laugh against your ear. ‘The whole world can hear us, darling.’

You groaned but he pulled your face closer to kiss you.

‘Oh, don’t start clenching baby,’ he rasped. ‘Let me fuck you some more, hm, please?’

He adjusted his angle, his knee pushing your leg away to give himself more space. You didn’t know that it was even possible for him to move any faster.

‘God, you’re making this so hard,’ he cried out, burying his face in the crook of your neck. ‘Sweetheart, be still… I can’t…’

You shook your head, frantically. ‘Jaemin… no more…’

The knot in your stomach tightened. The movement of Jaemin inside you was the only thing keeping you from slipping into the luring void. He was no longer holding back, all semblance of his control crumbling around you. You could feel the back of your clothes being reduced to tatters from grating against the rugged trunk but all you could do was scream his name over and over again like a pleading pilgrim.

With a wretched moan, you released, your insides clutching onto him so tightly that Jaemin was ready to start screaming too, his knuckles turning white with the pressure he was holding on to the last shreds of his dignity.

His sloppy thrusts found their own release as his desire mounted on top of him and he had to find it within him to not start fucking you again as your body writhed against him in the same rhythm.

The silence that crept up your senses right after numbed you, your breaths echoing in the dark like a siren’s song. Jaemin moved first, helping you wear your underwear, his lifeless hands straightening your hair back in place.

He stared at you for what seemed like an eternity but couldn’t have been more than a minute because you barely had enough time to catch your breath before he was leading you inside.

The warmth of the study brought back the faint memory of the dinner, your parents and Mark waiting for you.

‘Baby,’ he said, his voice carrying no weight.

You looked up at him. He was swaying or maybe it was you because he held you in place by your shoulders.

‘Your clothes,’ he pointed out.

Your clothes looked like they had survived a war. Jaemin needed a new shirt too, one that didn’t have your scent all over it and of course, the wine stain that you had to help him with.

It took you an embarrassing amount of time to find your own room in your own house and even more to find clothes that looked half-decent. At least this allowed for some of your fried nerves to form a believable façade of a functioning human for your family.

But when you both returned, the dining room was empty except for Mark who was sitting at the table, red in the face. He looked up at the sound of you both, a murderous scowl growing on his face as he took in your state.

‘Mark—’

‘You are dead, Jaemin!’ he gritted out.

#na jaemin #jaemin #jaemin x reader #na jaemin x reader #jaemin imagines #jaemin x you #jaemin smut #na jaemin smut #na jaemin imagines #na jaemin scenarios #jaemin scenarios #jaemin fic #jaemin fanfic #nct dream jaemin #nct dream fanfic #nct dream smut #nct dream imagines

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solifloris · 11 months ago

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≡;-꒰ 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐃 (?) 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 ꒱₊˚ ପ⊹ 𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆 & 𝑫𝒆𝒆𝒑𝒔𝒑𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝑩𝒐𝒚𝒔: 𝑨𝒘𝒌𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒅 𝑴𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔 𝑫𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑺𝒆𝒙

── mdni sexual content. inclusive of: vaginal sex, slight pet name usage, shower sex, getting caught, sex as a stress reliever. but overall this is a lot of fun LMAO

the truth, is that caleb would always be willing to experiment.

he's had so much pent up for you, that you'll frequently find he has something in new in mind to try out with you—or, in short, he liked to find new ways to have his way with you. so it wouldn't surprise you that eventually, you'd have your hands pressed against the glass, your head tilting back to meet his kisses. of course, it would feel good, like it always did. his cock would fill you so well, and taking it from behind made you feel everything so much more deeply. it would be oh so asy for both of you to get lost in the pleasure, droplets from the shower, running down your back, the rush of water doing nothing to drown out your moans.

... but shower sex is never just rainbows and butterflies, and sometimes, being fucked silly allows all sense of rationality to go down the drain.

it's quick, when it happens—caleb accidentally knocks down the bar of soap, and the already-running water makes things progressively worse. you gasp, wide-eyed, as you slip, and caleb seems just as surprised as you. perhaps, his reflexes did him no favors in the moment, as his attempts to catch you only have him slipping on the very same trail of soap you'd also slipped on.

the both of you remain on the shower floor with agonizing pain, and perhaps you look more like a drenched, unsatisfied cat than anything else.

"shit—fuck—m'sorry, pipsqueak..."

"...we should just stick to the bedroom next time."

sex with rafayel is always so intoxicating.

he'd have himself buried inside of you in a way that just feels so right, so perfect, that you would always find yourself lost in the moment. whether he goes slow, or fast, or even if he lets you take charge, the result is the same—you could only ever focus on him, him, him. perhaps, it was intentional on his part, but you liked it that way. he made you feel good.

except sometimes, rafayel was too much of an airhead that your distraction wouldn't always end well... such as one particular morning, where he had you pressed against his couch, fucking you as well as he always did, and the sound of footsteps barely registered in either of your ears.

"rafayel, why aren't you answering my calls? i told you, this is an important deal, and—holy fucking shit! are you insane?!!"

rafayel never quite bothered to lock the door, and though you knew this and tried often to get him to do it, there were still times that he would... forget.

such as right then.

in that moment, you would yelp, hitting at his chest, barely having the strength to push him off of you as he hastily throws a nearby blanket over the two of you instead.

and thomas would storm away, eyes shut tightly.

"god! lock the door, rafayel, seriously! just—just finish whatever you're doing and call me back!"

"yeah, yeah. bye, now!"

"...rafa?! never let that happen again!"

in the years you've spent together, you had come to the conclusion that xavier liked to relieve his tension in very specific ways.

you didn't mind it, of course; in fact, you enjoyed it. it's become an established part of your week, him pressing you against the door in as soon as you get home from a particularly tiring mission, soft kisses gradually turning more heated and passionate as he leads you into the bedroom. these moments were some of the only times he'd allow himself to be more selfish with his desires for you, and with no surprise, you'd find yourself looking forward to it—expecting it.

but on one particular night, you find him to be less... dominant, than he usually would be with you in these moments, almost passive. but his hands still roam your body, brushing against all the sensitive spots he's memorized like the back of his hand, still kissing you in a way that would make you melt—so you don't question it immediately. perhaps, you think, he wanted you to take the lead this time.

except, you reach down, and he's...

...not hard at all.

even as you rub against him, as his lips place soft kisses on your neck—

there's no reaction.

he looks up feebly and then you find the telltale traces of exhaustion on his face, the tips of his ears pink with embarrassment. his eyes are nearly drooping closed.

"sorry, angel, i'm too.... i think... i think i just really want to sleep right now, after all..."

"...oh..."

over the course of the past couple of weeks, you'd found that zayne's adorable affection for cats had gotten the better of him.

the calico cat you'd often see roaming his street would now prance happily around his house, feeling almost more at home than zayne himself—surely, at least, that it was certainly home more often than him. you found it adorable, and sweet, and you loved it, you really did!

but...

your more passionate nights with zayne would be rare enough as it is considering his busy schedule, and it was unfortunate that you now hard a rather... entitled audience.

he would by thrusting into you so nicely, so deeply, your legs hooked over his shoulder as he leaned in to whisper sweet nothings into your ear. often, your eyes would be closed as you took in every bit of pleasure he would give to you, fully focused on the feeling of his cock stretching your walls the way you so desperately needed.

...only now, when you open your eyes, you find that a certain ball of fluff had casually walked over to lay on zayne's back.

your eyes lock, and it's almost as if the moment is completely lost.

zayne would stop thrusting, noticing your change in mood, and then he'd recognize the weight on his back.

"...sorry, sweetheart... should i—"

"....it's staring."

"..."

"zayne, maybe... we should do this at my place next time..."

⁺₊ / an: light moments to start the day!!! 💖 it was super hard to choose what exactly to write because there's a lot of awkwardness that goes into sex, but i hope this was a fun little read~

© rose-tinted-kalopsia. all rights reserved. do not: steal, copy, repost, reupload, modify, or claim any of my works as your own, regardless of credit given. absolutely do not use my works for AI training and other related purposes.

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avicecaro · 8 months ago

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see. okay. this is true about chairs. and while i personally think “adult human female, female meaning of the sex which produces ova” is a very clear and comprehensive definition, not everyone agrees. and, for the sake of argument, that’s fine! but that’s not how the law works. lawmaking bodies agonize over the precise definitions of terms to ensure that the law does what they’re hoping it will do, and is not easily misused. that’s their job.

in ireland, the bread that fast food restaurants use is legally considered cake because of the sugar content. cake is regulated differently than bread. do you and i need to argue the finer points of cake and bread? how sweet do you think something has to be so we can consider it cake? does it matter? not really. but it does when you’re trying to tax staple foods and non-staple foods differently.

there have been multiple court cases in the US determining if a taco is a sandwich (as of May 2024, it is, as per the superior court of indiana, fun fact). is a taco a sandwich? i don’t know! i don’t really think so. if someone said “hey i made sandwiches” and gave me a taco, i’d be confused. and anyway, does it matter? not really. but it does when i’m trying to determine if a taco restaurant can open in a space that won’t allow sandwich shops.

is a barbershop different than a hair salon? i think so. i go to a hair salon, my brother goes to a barbershop, if we switched our appointments we’d both be unhappy. it matters for the sake of communication, but is it a super important distinction? not really. but what if i signed a non-compete agreement with the barbershop i work at that said i wouldn’t work at any nearby barbershop for six months after terminating my contract? can i work at a hair salon? now it matters.

if i needed fifty chairs for an event, and the company i contracted with sent fifty horses, or fifty tables, they could argue “but it’s something with four legs that a person can sit on!” and they’d be correct. but i would know i’d been given something different than what i asked for, and i would expect the chair supplier to know that, too. so if i want to demand a refund/return/exchange on the basis that i’ve received the wrong product, do i have a claim?

so, okay, you feel we can’t define the term “woman” perfectly. or maybe we can define it, as in we know what we’re trying to talk about, but we don’t have a good term for it. wouldn’t be the first time it happened! but if we are creating a legal category, it does in fact need to have parameters. meaningful parameters.

if i want to give some speeches promoting radical gender acceptance, i could probably get away with never outright defining the word woman. but what if i want men who kill women to have their crimes classified as hate crimes? i need to have a meaningfully defined category of what a woman is and what makes one different from a man. mexico requires that congressional candidates be split 50-50 between men and women to enforce gender parity. “woman” has to be a meaningfully defined category, or else … well, you’ll end up with the same problem they keep having to deal with.

if we want protections or resources for women, “women” have to be a meaningful legal category. if it is a category anyone can opt into, then it is a category that includes anyone, which is not a meaningful category when it is meant to include only half of people. also women aren’t chairs.

#rose post

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blueberrypancakesworld · 2 months ago

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Hiii! Could you write a one shot with both Caracalla and Geta? The idea is that the reader is their favorite concubine (or legit their wife idk if that's how it works lmfaooo) but she's a witch? Like she's an oracle or something, they keep her around because she brings them luck and what not (they also kinda love her but they're both insane so...)

No worries if you don't want to write this!

The oracle of the emperors

Geta/Caracalla x witch!reader

warning : hurt/comfort, power inequality, kissing, mention of smut (light smutish), family issues

Summary : In times of war, one had to resort to everything, be it rationing, ambushes, burning or fetching the walking omniscient shadow from the alleys of Rome. An oracle surrounded the two emperors and was so much more to them than just a surrogate for the gods.

info : I love the idea, almost an au in Gladiator (maybe more someday) thanks for the request and have fun reading :)

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rome was a world city, an empire for decades no for centuries, it would outlast all time. Everything would fall to make way for the glorious holy roman empire and no one would stop it, no country, no army, you just had to keep conquering and conquering.

An idea, a thought, a dream that had burned itself into the minds of the two emperors - they wanted more, had to and needed more. The reign of Geta and Caracalla was to be glorious, but the body cannot bear what the mind dreams of, especially not when its own warlord threatens to withdraw.

You can't keep a man from dying for a lifetime without risking his downfall, a fact that the two also saw...but if the fighting force failed, what could be done to win more easily and quickly?

Gods, oracles and witches, the supernatural, that which could see more than only man could see.

Since the conquests, the oracles had only predicted victories, but why did more and more bases go under, why did the harvests come to an end and why did the emperor's gold seem to dwindle?

Wrong answers were punished with death and the temples remained mostly empty, the only thing that was known to help was the shadow of Rome, the woman who was found before she was even looked for.

Her figure emerged from the streets wrapped in the dark fabric, the rustling of the small bones in her pouch accompanying her as the people looked at her in awe, as much as she was feared she was revered, ,,The sound of water will bring you a poet, just as these bones of death brought me to you...my honorable emperors” she greeted them as she came up the stairs to the palace and saw the golden gods in human form.

Of one she had dreamed his gold would cover the Senate like blood that would not stop flowing and the other she had seen an agonizing spirit that would perish along with all of Rome.

,,You will be placed in our service, no harm shall come to you as long as your words are of use to us,” Geta assured her as he showed her a bedchamber larger than anything she had ever had and still needed some work, for as much as she saw and heard them all, she knew how to interpret the looks in their eyes.

And the looks of the brothers were full of desire.

After a very short time she was surrounded only by the two of them, hardly any other servants or concubines, the campaign was victorious as she had predicted, but her warning also came true.

It only took a full moon for the “poet” to arrive inside the palace and she saw the amused look on Caracalla's face as he grabbed her hand, ,,You predicted it!” he said, and his brother looked at her, a look she took as respect.

When they were with the brothers during the day, she was with Geta, his hand at her side, the human god who wanted to be closer to Olympus through her, ,,You belong to me, here, in the Senate and out there,” he reminded her whenever they took up political matters.

Dark eyes with make-up looked at her whenever she moved the figures on the map, whenever she whispered her proposal to him in the senate and when he drew her to his bedchamber.

Why should she say no? Even a fool would have slept with the most powerful man whose voice was almost as intoxicating as his body, his kiss intense he wanted this power she had, his gold soon adorning her too, gifts in the hope that she would stay with him, touches of lust, he desired her power and beauty until the day she asked the question.

The fire turned bluish and she heard the cry of a monkey asking him, ,,You speak of belonging but this mine, is it none of your brother the Emperor Caracalla's concern?" a question that drove him from her, his face became incredulous and she saw the disbelief in his eyes.

He felt betrayed.

A betrayal she thought he would spear away, but her last prediction that this mine would mean his end must have frightened him, frightened and almost more God-given.

The gifts of gem and gold he made sure she wore, as much as he tried to hold it back she belonged to one god and not two at the same time.

Geta would spend hours in the temples, making people feel at ease and being addressed as a god. it was during these days and weeks that the monkey Dundus would often run up to her and she would see the uncertain look on Caracalla's face.

As much as he was fascinated, he was also afraid of her, ,,Witches are a bad omen...but you helped us,” the younger one said as he ventured into her room and watched, curious about what she was doing there.

Instead of luring him with physical devotion like his brother, she put a motherly smile on her lips, ,,Look even I can make fruit dance” she lured him and he sat down on her chair while she instructed him to close his eyes, she mixed a few simple tinctures and dripped them on the grapes.

A simple reaction of plants, but for Caracalla, who clapped his hands in delight, it was worth almost as much as the whole of Rome, ,,You see, I can't be angry at all, my sweet king,” she murmured to him and hugged him carefully, an embrace he wanted more and more from then on. during the day she belonged to Geta, who soon ignored her warning.

Why listen to a witch when he was a god? The jewelry covered her body, his love visible on her body and at night she took care of the younger one, so much pain and suffering as she held him like a child who would soon take advantage of her when his madness took over, ,,His gold, his jewelry but you're mine, aren't you? I need you alone, not shared,” he ordered, fingers clutching hers helplessly.

A question she answered with a kiss and the game between the two emperors continued to grow daily. The bones in her bowl became more and more when she made new predictions and she went from a god to a delusional one whenever one of them needed her.

Gold and make-up adorned her body and whenever Geta and Caracalla met it seemed as if Rome was on the verge of collapse.

In the midst of this they stood, the most influential authority taking on the two emperors while Rome changed around them, brothers not seeing that the shadow had closed in around them when the first thought had fallen upon them.

She felt at home in the madness of the two and the threads that held everything together, because no one could separate such a love. Yet to everyone else outside the palace she was nothing more than the concubine of the brothers Emperor Geta and Caracalla.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

#gladiator ii #gladiator 2 #emperor geta #emperor caracalla #emperor geta x reader #emperor caracalla x reader #male x female #reader is female

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mihii-i · 6 months ago

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Hi love 💕 May I request comfort/fluff one shot Arlecchino x fem Reader who developed a terminal illness a few years back and is now often bedridden but is getting better however Arlecchino is still super overprotective of her

white light.

Pairings: arlecchino x fem!reader

CW: sfw, female reader, terminally ill reader, angst, but there’s comfort yay I know yall love this, LOTS of mentions of death, like a ridiculous amount, dw reader doesn’t die but grim reaper bullies us every chance he gets like damn, or is the grim reaper a she, that means my friend is immortal since if death is a woman it’ll never come for them, sorry off topic, very soft arle, yes we love our soft king walskskfj, why is the shower so cold help me, not proofread.

A/N: THIS WAS SO FUN TO WRITE AND IT TURNED OUT SO NICE HOLY also, school is starting soon so I might have to go on break in couple months but no worries I can find some time to write and it’ll be a while into the year until i actually need a break yk <3 🕯️

The fluffy layered clouds hovering in the sky slowly parted themselves to reveal illuminating gleams of sunlight pouring into the room through the window curtains situated to the right of your bed. Slow gusts of wind began to join the warmth of the gold light, brushing along your skin and causing an array of goosebumps to bloom along your arm. You were lucky. Not too long back, your immobile body was enveloped into the same bed, a sickly hue painting your face as your pale tinged lips could only part to cough out a few strained noises.

Perhaps the gods had took pity on you? You supposed you’d never figure out the answer as to how your body curved back from a terminal illness in its final stage. It was supposed to be incurable, and your body back then seemed to agree with what should have been. You were dangerously dangling right above the realm of death, only a hair apart from succumbing to your imminent demise. The doctor who noted your worsening state only had a strike of pity in her voice whenever she’d inform Arlecchino of your current condition, shaking her head as the words: “she won’t make it.” muffled through the door seperating your room from the outside.

It hurt to hear. Not for you per say, but more to hear the emptiness in Arlecchino’s voice when she attempted to dismiss the doctor’s words coldly. She didn’t want to hear that. She didn’t want to hear that your condition was only drawing you closer and closer to death, she wanted to hear that you atleast had a small chance of surviving. As much as she tried to choke back the bitter pain in her unwavering voice, she always clung onto that small sliver of hope deep down, internally calling out to a sea of nothingness in hopes that something would come help you.

Sudden news of your recovery, or rather your condition suddenly improving one day was nothing short of a miracle. It shouldn’t have been possible at all. You were around the final month mark, your entire body burning with an agonizing rush of soreness as you wanted to plead for death to take you away from the unbearable discomfort searing every limb of your ghastly and thin form. That night you had gone to bed, hoping to escape the aching pain of your illness eating away at you. That was when you saw it. You dreamt of a faint glow of white light—or was it a slight pale yellow? The dream was vague and confusing, and held no meaning at all. The light simply danced in circles before you as your life trajectory seared across your eyes.

However, the dream must have meant something.

The next morning you had awoken, your body feeling much lighter all of a sudden, as you had the strength to now sit up completely. Hands carefully massaging the thick blanket draped over your lap, you blinked in confusion upon realizing that you were indeed alive and able to sit up. Sure, you were still incapable of moving around or sitting up for long, but originally, you weren’t even able to raise your body a quarter of the way up, as it would simply result in your spine slamming back into the sunken, comfortable mattress.

When the doctor made her way into the room, performing her checkups which she believed to be futile and tragic, her initial expression of sorrow shifted to one of quick shock. This shouldn’t have been even the slightest bit possible. Arlecchino’s reaction was all the more endearing the moment the newly discovered news made its way to her. You’d never forget the rare smile of pure relief and happiness crossing her usually stoic front, seeming as if Arlecchino was glowing in that moment.

She had attempted to clear her throat and position herself upright, concealing the internal delight bubbling in her mind at that moment. The door had softly creaked open, the sway of the old hinges on your bedroom door being the only noise, along with the quiet howls of wind, resounding within the cell of a room that held your life by a mere thread.

You simply sat there, your scrawny form nearly engulfed by the heavy blankets cascaded onto your lap as the light livened the hue of your face. And when that sweet smile made its way onto your lips weakly upon seeing the harbinger hover before your bed, Arlecchino had to suppress every urge of hers to hem you between her arms in a tight hug and never let go. She wanted to embrace you with every drop of love and affection lingering in her heart as her blackened hands tightened into your back, like a promise to never let you go. Since then, your condition had steadily improved. Months passed, and then years. At this very moment, you now had the ability to walk around and perform minor tasks adequately, yet you still remained bedridden for the majority of your time.

A light pain slowly overtook the side of your chest abruptly, drawing out a few heavy coughs from your throat as your palm pushed against your left breast in an attempt to soothe the throb pushing and pulling against your heart. Quiet ticks of the clock seemed to inch in sync with the rugged beats of your heart, both echoing throughout the room in a sort of twisted harmony. Although your condition had gotten better, storms of weakness and coughs would still persist through, as this was quite a serious illness you suffered from.

The silk white blankets enveloped your limp frame, cascading over your body and situated slightly below your chest, while the back of your head burrowed into the pillows to bask in the favorable comfort enshrouded around every outline of your lounged body. Your chest rhythmically rose and fell as you choked out a few labored breaths, still clenching your fingers against the fabric of your loose shirt covering your chest.

Your vision suddenly started a gradual spin, objects within your range slowly drawn out of focus, and not taking long for the spin to pick up the pace as your vision suddenly shifted to a bleary mess of the room. Head tilting back, you rasped out a line of shaky breaths as the frightening episode of dizziness quickly subsided as soon as it began, causing a sense of panic to rush through you briefly while your chest rose and fell in uneven motions from your initial fright. In that very moment, a small screech of wooden hinges caught your attention, your head carefully raising as to not incite any possible negative reaction from your sensitive body.

Swift and heavy clicks of heels prodded across the room, a sound you’d recognize anywhere even if you were miles away. You raised your head barely even level to the headboard, delivering Arlecchino a feeble smile as her eyes softened upon meeting yours. Slowly, you took her hand into yours, palm resting over the top of her defined knuckles as your thumb circled along the cursed gradient of her hands gently. She could only breathe out a grateful sigh, her head dropping in a restful state as she rested herself onto your shoulder affectionately.

“Are you feeling any better?” She almost immediately questioned, her usually composed eyes having a flicker of concern dashed across them. Her eyes wandered along your frail body, the hints of worry still subtly etched onto her face as her grasp on your hand below hers grew increasingly taut and stiff as she awaited your answer. As much as you wanted to chuckle and tell her you were okay, you clearly couldn’t even say that much.

“Hm. Same as usual. Can’t move my legs well today, but I’ll live.” You casually answered, not taking in the impact your words might have placed onto Arlecchino.

Live.

She was so glad you were able to live.

Arlecchino suddenly dragged her teeth along each other, her mouth remaining closed as the grit of her teeth quietly bounced off of her cheek into her eardrums. It took everything she had to swallow back that wretched feeling boiling up to her throat, her heart wrenching and flooding with discomfort upon hearing the way you threw your life around so casually in your words. She had always been extensively protective over you ever since your condition deteriorated, yet it grew exponentially once you began to recover over the years. She’d always tend to you, sometimes never leaving your side for hours on end as she’d just sit there, head lowered and lips pushed against your frail hand.

Her grip on your hand tensed noticeably, making you shift your eyes up to her lowered dark gaze, staring off into an endless abyss as her expression just seemed…soulless and empty at the mere thought of your passing away. She was afraid. Afraid that just when she believes that her beloved would live despite being in poor condition, she’d walk into your room one day to discover your heart dead still, body completely limp and deceased.

The thought of that made her hand noticeably quiver between yours, disturbing images of your possible sudden death plaguing her mind like a broken subliminal record trying to shatter her soul by tearing away the one person she loves most in this cruel world. It was indeed cruel, as this very world had targeted the reaper to loom over the side of your bed at all times, carefully awaiting the moment to take you away from Teyvat. Arlecchino internally cursed herself at the idea that perhaps this punishment was because of her. She wanted you to be spared. You weren’t the one with blood on your hands, she was.

Despite her agonizing thoughts gnawing at the back of her mind, your sudden firm grip on her hand made her head snap back up abruptly, eyes locking onto your thin fingers cupping her shaky hand in place. If she could, Arlecchino would cry at this very moment, allow herself to shed a couple tears. Yet she knew she couldn’t. She didn’t want to worry you any further, especially in your current state.

“Arle, I’m staying. Please, don’t worry about me. I am better now, right?”

“I know. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. I don’t know what I’d do if you weren’t around.”

It was evident that Arlecchino had a difficult time a few years ago, when you were announced to die in under a couple months. She had to mentally prepare herself to lose you soon. She was used to it, you were just another person in her life that slipped away too soon, right?

But she couldn’t.

She couldn’t bear losing you. It was too much even for her.

Arlecchino needed you in her life, and she’d wipe out the entirety of the world just to keep you safe.

Your hand reached up to graze along the skin of her cheek, smiling as she instinctively leaned into your touch. Her eyes fluttered shut as she held your hand in place against her cheek, opening her eyelids once more to gaze at you lovingly with red x-marked eyes.

“Hey Arle, I’m still not feeling the best today…so do you think you could-“

You didn’t even get a chance to finish your hesitant sentence as she lowered herself onto the side of your bed, squeezing herself next to you as her arms gently circled your torso and grasped you against her. You only hummed out a content sigh as you felt your slouched back press to her upright chest, the difference in your postures just making the moment oddly romantic and sweet. Arlecchino’s face buried into your shoulder, intaking a soft inhale as if she missed your scent clouding her senses every time she was close to you.

It didn’t take long for you to drift off to sleep in Arlecchino’s arms as you curled up into the warm blankets piled over both of you. Arlecchino, still awake, quietly shifted her weight onto her side to glance down at you, smiling softly upon seeing your peaceful rested expression. Maybe finally, she rinsed the lingering blood splattered on her hands that led you to this awful fate. She’d rinse it a thousand times if it meant that you would remain safe like this for as long as you lived.

However in this very moment? Arlecchino had forgotten every sense of dread clawing at her constantly, instead focusing on your huddled up form engulfed between her protective grasp.

She swore that she would never let you go again, and she would treasure every inch of you. Not even death can do you two part.

A/N: omg I kept switching between being proud of this and being not so proud bc I had to stop midway through and I lost my train of thought AUUUSHSHDBFN anyway yayayayashshdhd I loved writing this so much AND CALM DOWN ON THE ARLE REQUESTS HOLY SH-

ok bye I’m gonna go on character ai cause I can’t sleep to bed

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