#who is that man and why is he not your husband

[daemonbrain]

1.8k, cw: ghosts a pervert, smut, readers husband is piece of work, not proofread.

Simon Riley who first saw you at the butcher's shop on the phone. 

You were a pretty thing. Wearing a pink little yoga set, one arm holding your mat and the other holding your phone to your ear as you wait for the butcher to bring out your cut of meat.

Which was taking a long time

Simon would’ve had it chopped and packed to go by now. Though, he can’t complain with the view he has of your ass- you. The man was touch starved. He hadn’t been back home in a while, back-to-back deployments keeping him occupied. His only company being his calloused and scraped hands roughly jerking himself until he came, bordering on unpleasurable. Not what some could consider enjoyable, but try being in the middle of fuckin’ nowhere for weeks on end and see if you care so much about gentle.

The borderline perverted look you were blissfully unaware of was tracking down your form. He stared at the way the material tightly clung on to every bit of you in a welcoming way, a second skin. The sweat on you from your little session.

Just how flexible does yoga make a bird like you?

It was only when he heard a grating sound come from your phone that he snapped out of his trance. Even with his bad ears from all the bullets whizzing past him, bombs going off within meters of him, and the usual shit show he did for a living he could hear the voice which bled through your phone's speaker.

"Get me a steak this time. Nonna that nasty shit from last time!"

You hurriedly turned your volume down as it blasted in your ear, startled by the voice. Chewing on your lip you pivoted towards the counter to see if your order had been brought out; the motion to no avail as the employee continued chopping away in the back room.

It was only when your other hand came into full view from the motion he noticed the absolute rock on your finger.

"Honey, I thought the salmon was pretty good." That prick clearly firing something back as you winced away from your phone once again. Gritting your teeth as if biting back your arguments, looking around to occupy your time as the man on the phone continues to speak. "I know... I'm sorry. Don't worry, it'll be ready by 7." You placatingly cooed.

"Listen, I have to go. I love y-" You began, but the moment the words tumbled from your lips you pulled the phone fully from your cheek to see a blank screen with the time staring back on you. The asshole hung up!

What a fuckin tosser.

Simon hears the butcher finally call your name with familiarity and with a sigh you step towards the counter. 

He leaned on to the wall further as he had been the entire time. Silent. Unsettling. A stark contrast to your bright appearance in the shop, the larger man brooded in his corner waiting his turn.

“See ya’ next Friday!” You still managed a bright smile at the butcher who handed you your meat.

A mild thing like you really shouldn’t be talked to so thoughtlessly, some guys are fuckwits though. He never liked the type. Why lock a bird down with a ring if you were gonna be mean to her?

“S’cuse me sir, i’m just gonna push past you here” You asked. With widened eyes, Simon gruffly mumbled a “Yeah,” out before creating a stupidly small space.

Maybe he really did want you to push past him. Or just push up on him but oh well.

Sweeping past him, you give him a toothy smile as you had so sweetly done to the butcher, as if you hadn’t got yelled at less than five minutes ago. God you really have no common sense, beaming up at the lurker in the corner at least twice your size. A girl as pretty as you should really stick to herself.

From that interaction on, Simon found himself being guided by the memory of you back to the butcher shop the next Friday.

And the next…

And the next.

Every week progressively standing closer and closer to you as you picked up your usual order. One day you had taken the liberty of starting small talk with him after recognizing his unmistakable stature. After all, there were only so many people you had seen in this shop and none so… large.

You could not deny you found this mystery man disquieting. Always dressed in dark colours, not so much as a word coming from him. Like clockwork you would come in after hot yoga, greet the butcher, he would come in, silence would ensue as you both waited for your meat, and you would leave with a quick smile.

It was rude. He had never even said a simple hello to you! Though, you suppose that it could be due to your own curt exits. The thought of the unkindness you might’ve exhibited subconsciously sent your mind into a spiral, leading to your abrupt introduction.

After all, who were you to judge! Kindness is and should always be the response in your books.

At this kindness, Simon swore he had to take a breath in as you politely outstretched your hand and spoke your name casually. Tilting his head down to your face he raises a brow skeptically, and then firmly shakes your head.

He failed to hide the shudder which wracked his body. The way your hand effortlessly slipped into his. Soft and manicured engulfed in his.

“Simon.”

“Well it’s good to meet you Simon” With the twinkly little smile you would grace him as you hauled it out of the shop. He felt the shiver go down his spine a second time when you spoke his name for the first time.

And then- it happened.

You giggled. A soft thing, no doubt intended to be small. It wasn’t to Simon though. It reverberated throughout the room, rang so prettily in his ears. Fuck. He would remember that sound later on tonight.

“Are you cold? You keep shivering. It’s pretty harsh out there right now.”

“Nah. Not really.” His accent thick as he shrugged.

Letting out a little “mhm” you nod and look back to the counter.

“I was freezing outside! Usually I walk home-” Simon already knew that “-but today I called my husband to come grab me! Way too cold!”

That visibly made him stiffen. Of course. Perfectly normal that guy is coming to get you, he’d be an idiot to leave you walking home alone in the cold.

If you were his girl, Simon wouldn’t have let you out of his sight. Fuck sakes you practically had “come mess with me” written all over you. There were creeps all over the place nowadays, (thought the creep).

He would’ve carried everything for you, scarfed down whatever the hell you had taken the time to prepare him. That husband of yours doesn’t like your salmon? Simon would. Hell if he didn’t, he’d cram it down his throat with gratitude anyways. He doubted anything could be worse than some of the rations he’s eaten on duty. 

That train of thought is pretty redundant when he takes note of how you wouldn’t be able to leave the bed to make anything.

Maybe you’d cram something of his down your throat in gratitude.

Shaking his head subtly, he hears the bells of the store door opening. He watched your face fall as you step away from him and it’s when he sees your husband's look of complete irritation he understands why.

You had grabbed your order swiftly and with a quick wave goodbye you were on your way back to your husband. Simon could only register your husband's whisper-yell as he disapprovingly glared his way. “The fuck are you doin talking to him?”. And with that you were hurriedly ushered out.

You deigned it necessary to continue greeting Simon, have little chats about the weather, any plans he had for the weekend. Tossing in your stupid jokes that he would laugh at. You interpreted it as something closer to a breathy snort-hopefully positive- and it went on as such for weeks

And every time he returned home Friday night, he came home with only one thought after. You.

As he laid in bed the same thought persisted as he slipped his cock out of his boxers, red and weeping for some sort of stimulation. He took to his usual harsh pace. You’d be so much softer.

You’d be so nice to him wouldn’t you? Coo some compliment as he lets you tug at him. Fuck he wouldn’t know what to take first.

Would you give him a blowie or a hand job? 

No. You wouldn’t be on your knees- not yet. If you’d let him have you, you’d be on your back in an instant. He’d rip the stitches of those leggings right down the middle, your panties next.

“Fuuuuuck” he moaned into the quiet of his room. He’d stick it in slow, he’d try. It would be torture not to ram himself right up to the hilt, but he’d do it for such a good girl.

That’s what you were, weren’t you? Always a nice word for someone? What would you say to him when he began to rut into you like a madman. When you would feel the pummeling intrusion, his head knocking into the deepest parts of you.

He’d be able bend you into so many different positions that you’d better hope that yoga has taught you well. Split your legs open to accommodate his imposing body size as he’d take purchase between them. Then you better hope your cunny can accommodate his other size when he spears you open on his cock.

Would you take it smiling? Would your tears roll down your cheeks, the prodding bordering too much? You’d take it either way, he knew you could. He’d rub at your clit with such tenderness he never afforded himself (as gentle as he could anyway). He’d make sure you begged to stay on his cock forever, fuck himself so deep you would be too stupid to pull away unknowing of where he ended and you started. Not that you’d have to care.

He’d flip you on to all fours and rip away your clothes entirely, pounding you from the back and instead of just his own labored breaths, the sound of skin slapping together would ring out.

In silent stoicism, he feels his balls tighten up at the thought of your perfect face stuffed into the pillows screaming your thank you’s. You probably were just as nice with someone stuffing themselves into your pussy.

At both his ruthless ministrations and boundless imagination, his release spurted all over his hand with a breathy sigh. When you were here he’d make sure to slam his hips to yours and keep them flush against you, coat your insides in hot cum better than your limp-dick husband ever could. That man wouldn’t be able to fuck you the way Simon knew he could. You deserve someone who could make you go stupid on his dick, not cry of frustration like you probably did everytime that knob who thinks himself a man rolled over after finishing himself off.

Not that you’ll have to worry about that soon

…

He wouldn’t be around for much longer anyways.

[kamiversee]

𓆩 Crown of Sin 𓆪

Segment I Chapter: One

❀ ~ Synopsis > In which you’re a princess who's given a total of six months to converge & inaugurate a solid plan secure enough to rid you of your fated marriage arrangements to Naoya Zenin. 

❀ ~ Content > language, arranged marriage, tension from all over, bickering, mentions of a harem, etc.

❀ ~ Word Count > 5.6k

❀ ~ Pairings > jjk men & women x f!reader.

{ chapters m!list }

——You would rather die a thousand times over than become Naoya Zenin’s wife.

Something unorthodox must’ve plagued the mind of your parents this morning because there is simply no way they’d worked up such an audacity to happily relay this information to you. You were to be wed in six months time and yet, this is your first time hearing of such a proposal.

Hell, you hadn’t even received a literal proposal from this alleged fiancé of yours so, who exactly was orchestrating such a wedding and why had you no say nor awareness in it before now? 

“You two are humoring me right now, yes?” Your voice had carried throughout the space of the throne room with such grace that all the attendees of this rather small gathering couldn’t help but have their eyes drawn to you.

The few maids, guards at their posts within the room, your own mother and father who sat oh-so-comfortably upon their thrones, and the few others who were allowed to be in this space as such information was presented to you. Being the one to have ripped the bandage off and relayed said information to you recently, your mother cannot help but find her eyes drifting over to her husband for help.

The two exchange a knowing glance and you watch as they swallow down whatever nerves may have rested center in their throats. Then, your father’s shoulders raise ever so slightly and he averts his eyes over to you.

Voicing your name in that aged gruff tone of his, followed by a slight clearing of his throat, he begins to break the wafted air of silence. “You must understand that this is for the betterment of our nation. We rival none aside from the eastern nation so, naturally, it is only in our best interest to have you wed with the heir to the Zenin family throne.”

You scoff, openly. Eyes widen around the room and looks are exchanged by many but how do people expect you to react to this? Are you meant to be joyous about marrying the most pompous individual across all the lands, a man of which you have only ever encountered maybe two or three times in all your years of living?? Yeah, fuck that.

“So, I am meant to marry this man in six months' time, the engagement will be officially announced at tonight’s ball, and I haven’t a single say in this entire ordeal?” You breathe out carefully, your head tilting and eyes narrowing at the worried eyes of your parents.

Your mother responds with a shaky sigh, “Darling, we hadn’t any choice in this either. Our only options were to marry you off or go to war and we do not have the defenses to—”

“They threatened us?” You interrupt, another act that receives appalled looks from those spectating. “Please tell me you jest, mother. What could the East possibly hope to gain from going to war with us? We’ve been at peace for years and now all of a sudden—”

“Permission to speak,” Chimes another voice. Your eyes flick to your father’s left, landing on the one man he trusts with his life more than anyone else, your nation’s military general; Masamichi Yaga. “Your Highness.” He finishes off, gaze firm on the area of which you stand.

You take a moment to stare, taking in his roughened appearance despite the uniform that fits him so snuggly. Without realizing it, your eyes rake over his form up and down about twice before he clears his throat to break your lingering stare. “Granted,” You eventually allow with a nod of your head.

Yaga straightens up where he stands and exchanges a look of knowing with your father before he speaks loud and clear, “You are the princess of the second largest nation in our continent.” He states with a slightly quirked brow. 

Which prompts you only to roll your eyes a bit.

“I believe you out of anyone else should understand the natural target that is placed on your back. Especially considering you are also the only princess in said continent. You’ve been at the age liable for marriage for a few years now and the reality of this has finally set in. The marriage itself is to join the East nation and the West into one. Should you refuse Naoya’s hand, he would simply join the two nations by…” A slight grimace is noticed within his expression, “Force.”

Yet another scoff falls softly from your lips, “You say this to me as if he is incapable of marrying a man. Surely, someone like Prince S—”

“Now is not the time to joke, my lady.” Yaga interrupts as gently as he can, “He could very well go on and marry into one of the other royal families but they do not rule over our nation, now do they? The east is the largest of them all, our sole rival. Do you not see the importance of this marriage taking place? It is either that or war and, as our queen has so clearly told you, we do not have the defenses to—”

“And what of the other nations? The north? The south? Hell, even the smallest out there; Middom? Is it not possible for us to rally our defenses with them and..” Your voice trails to an eventual fall as you notice the look on Yaga’s face. He doesn’t even have to cut you off this time for you to realize this conversation isn’t going anywhere. 

You exhale and turn to your royal adviser who’s at your right side. Wide-set eyes and all, Higuruma merely offers you a nod of his head to silently console you. Like everyone else in this damn room, he was pleading for you to simply let this go and follow along with things like some pawn in everyone else’s game. 

“You would rather go to war and risk the lives of thousands than marry this man?” Yaga adds on to question.

Your lips quirked and you looked at him again, “Do you want my honest answer to that?”

“No, I would like your noble answer.” He replies dryly.

“Tch.” You huff, your face flattening. “Of course I would do anything to avoid war, I am not cruel. But I do hope all of you realize what joint nations entail for our future—their laws and customs will be indoctrinated into our society overnight. And if you think I will have any influence over that then you clearly know not of the man I am to marry. The words of a woman carry no weight with him.”

Your father is the next to speak up, “We are well aware of what this means for our future. But, it is either that or… death.”

With a crisp, yet obviously faux smile, you nod to that. “Right. Well, if that is all,” You begin to bow your head for respect, “Mother, Father, I shall excuse myself.”

Then you swivel around to make your exit, only to be stopped by the queen’s voice once more. “That is all?” She asks.

You paused in your steps but did not turn back to face her. “I’m unsure of what other argument you expect from me, mother. I either marry him or we go to war, what more could I possibly say to that?”

The sound of her sighing can be heard. It was almost as though she’d truly expected or maybe even anticipated a longer refute from you. “...Just,” Her words come out in a slow fashion and you get the feeling that she may be able to read your thoughts. “None of your schemes tonight, please? If you’re truly on board with this then don’t do anything brash—”

“I wouldn’t dare.” You cut off rather rudely, turning slightly to then cut your eye at her. “Now, if you will excuse me.”

No more words are exchanged as you hastily make your way out of the room, only the sounds of your heels echoing through the large archways and halls heard as you do so.

· · ──────── ·𖥸· ──────── · ·

Moments after you’d made your exit, two people had now taken your sides and followed rather closely behind you. Too nervous to say anything just yet, they both simply follow your hurried steps toward wherever you were off to without a word. 

One was your knight, who’d always followed close behind you since your teenage days, willing to throw herself into the face of death at any given moment simply for your sake. Tall, fit, blond, with a set of brown eyes any person could easily find themself lost in, stood Yuki Tsukumo proudly wearing that pristine royal guard uniform as her steps mirrored your own in speed.

Beside her was that pleasant royal advisor of yours, Higuruma Hiromi. Also quite tall (who wasn’t these days), wide, tired eyes, and a voice that typically drives you insane with annoyance given the number of lectures you’d received by it—he was careful to trail after you, given all that’d recently transpired. 

It’s a long walk of silence before your beloved knight breaks it. “I assume things went unwell back there?” Yuki hums cautiously as she fully takes your right side, leaving Higuruma slightly behind you.

“Your assumption would be correct,” You huff almost instantly as if you’d been waiting for either of them to say something to you. “I am to be wed in six months.”

Seeing as Yuki wasn’t exactly in the room while things were explained to you, she’d hardly a clue as to what had you pacing down the halls in such a determined fashion as you did currently. “Wed? Six months?? To whom?” She rushed out in alarm, her expression quick to contort into deep concern and alarm.

“The heir to the Zenin throne,” You say with a long sigh following shortly after.

“You can say his name y’know,” Higuruma comments before appropriately taking your left side.

You roll your eyes, “I would rather drop dead.”

At that, his feet come to a sudden halt and you and Yuki follow suit. “My lady, I know you are not fond of your… situation, but, what else can we do by this point? He will officially propose tonight and unless you can find another prince to do so before him in the next few hours then—”

It was like a literal lightbulb had gone off above that tiara-adorned head of yours, sparking Yuki’s eyes to rake over the excitement that washed against your features.

“Oh my, that’s brilliant.” You gasp with a turn to your recently spoken advisor.

“I simply cannot imagine how—pardon?” He choked, “You do know he is the only member of a royal family attending tonight, right? You couldn't possibly hope to… find a better suitor beforehand and even if you did, his highness would not have it.”

Every word of his seems to go through one ear and out the other as you take a step closer to him, flash a smile, and then move your hand to his arm. “My finest of gratitude to you, Sir. Higuruma.”

His eyes seem to widen with pure confusion. “...I do not understand.”

“You play your role as my advisor well, thank you.” You proceed, not caring to elaborate in the slightest. Then you turn away and begin walking again, “I know what I must do.”

His feet stammer to follow you once more, “And what might that be, my lady? You promised your mother–, the queen, that you wouldn’t do anything brash.”

“It willn’t be ‘brash’ at all.” You chirp simply.

“Then what—”

Pausing only one last time, you glance back at your awfully confused advisor and send him a reassuring grin. “Have my lady-in-waiting arrive to my room within the hour, I have a ball to prepare for.”

With that, your walk continues. Higuruma tries to follow you but he’s stopped by a hand meeting his chest. His brows pinch together just as he looks down, finding Yuki’s palm hovering over his chest in a silent motion to get him to stop. 

He then looks at her and opens his mouth to protest against everything that’d just happened but with a simple shake of her head before he could even get a word out, his shoulders sink and he ends up turning away with a huff.

· · ──────── ·𖥸· ──────── · ·

An hour does, in fact, fly by before you find yourself in the confines of your bedroom. With your feet meeting the soft cushions of a small stool, your head held high, and your mouth moving at such a rapid pace, you’d been venting to your lovely lady-in-waiting from the moment she’d arrived in your room.

“And the worst part of it all? If I am to marry that man then I will later be expected to carry an hier—fuck,” Your voice is cut short with a low curse as the strings securing the corset part of your dress are only pulled tighter from behind you. Your back straightens up a bit more than before and your voice pitches to a higher and breathier degree, “‘Hime, that’s… hah, too tight-, I can hardly breathe.”

She perks up from behind you and releases the strings from her grasp entirely, “Ah, I am so sorry, my lady!” The maiden gasps softly. Her fingers then trail upward along the fabric weaving through the corset holes and you feel her making steady adjustments. “I was so caught up in that story of yours that I uhm,” She loosens an area or two, allowing you a moment to breathe. “Got carried away… How’s this—better?”

You release a long exhale as your shoulders relax, “It’s much better now, as far as breathability is concerned. But,” Your eyes linger on the nearby propped up mirror and you ogle your figure closely. “Well, now it is too loose.”

In the mirror’s reflection, you notice those violet locks of hair resting atop her head sway to the right as her head tilts to study your figure from her angle better. “Hm. I see.” She utters to herself before taking hold of those strings once more. “I’m going to tighten it again, are you ready for it this time?”

With a nod, you glance back at her and raise your thumb up. “Mhm, pull until I say stop.”

Her hands begin to do just that, slowly pulling the strings to tighten the piece once more. As she gives her softened tugs, her eyes lift to your face and she watches the way a hitched breath leaves your lips. “Too tight?”

“Did I say stop?” You ask lightheartedly.

She shakes her head, “No, but–”

“Utahime,” You breathe her entire name so suddenly that her hands come to a halt immediately. “Keep pulling.”

Probably with some form of nervousness under your direct gaze and commanding tone, her head drops and she focuses her eyes back down to her hands—giving you one firm tug that makes your body jerk backward ever so slightly. You gasp, again, and this time a hand of yours moves back to grab her wrist.

“Right there,” You utter, “That is perfect, thank you.”

Utahime stares at your grasp on her wrist for a moment longer than necessary before clearing her throat and sealing that tightly pulled fabric with an appropriate knot. Then, she removes her hands from your dress entirely and takes a step back. “Well uh-, as you were saying, my lady?”

You’re busy twisting and turning slightly to gather your appearance in the mirror before you respond, oblivious to the nearby eyes also gathering your frame. “Oh, yes, I would be expected to deliver an heir not too long after I am married. Knowing my parents and the Zenin family, both I and the man I am to marry would ascend the throne mere weeks after the wedding. The very next thing that follows that would be…”

“Having his child,” Utahime finishes for you, her voice disappointed—for your sake. “I’m sorry to hear of this, truly. I wish there were something I could do to help.”

You chuckle before stepping off of that small stool you’d been posted upon, striding over to your nearby dresser, and popping open a box of jewelry. “Fret not, ‘Hime,” You console with a dismissive wave of your hand. “I will not marry any Zenin man. Not in this life, nor the next.”

She paces over to you and dips her hand into that recently opened box, “So, what will you do?”

“Good question.” Protrudes Yuki, who’s been leaning against the doorframe of your bedroom listening for quite some time now. “I am really just dying to know what that big plan of yours is.” She scoffs, earning your glance. She nods her chin to you slightly, “I saw the look in your eyes earlier so, tell me, princess… what’re you plannin’?”

The smile that spreads across your face was much too bright for you to fight, “Like everyone else, you two will find out tonight.”

Your knight’s eyes roll as she pushes off the frame and begins to approach you and Utahime. “Awh, don’t do that. The last ‘scheme’ you pulled off—”

“Got you your current position as my knight, if I’m not mistaken, Lady Tsukumo.” You adjourn as Utahime swipes up the corresponding jewelry to your dress and begins to assist in accessorizing you. 

Yuki only gets closer before posting herself against the wall nearest to the dresser you stand at. She gives you a firm stare, receiving a matching one from you, before instead focusing her gaze on the necklace currently being fastened around your neck. “Touché. But it was reckless.”

“Harmless,” You correct with a shrug. “I mean, really, God forbid a woman gets what she wants through slightly drastic measures.”

She looks around the room for a moment before tutting. “You put yourself in harm's way just to test my capabilities.”

“I put myself in harm’s way to prove your capabilities to those who doubted,” You correct for a second time, flawlessly. “Plus, that was years ago. I won’t go to any lengths like that this time around, the safety of my nation is on the line. Just know I have an idea I may act on.”

Yuki can’t help the worry etched onto her face as she only questions you further, “And this idea is safe?”

Smiling still, “No ideas are ‘safe’ for women in this day and age.” You remind her.

Silence befalls upon the room and even Utahime’s fingers pause on the clasp of your necklace that she’d been struggling with for the past few minutes. Her eyes soon glide over to Yuki and they exchange a look, their thoughts mutual within the quietude.

After that briefness passes, Yuki’s voice softens and she leans toward you ever so slightly, “So then, perhaps you shouldn’t act on it?”

Your face twists up as if you were offended, “And marry that coxcomb?” To which Utahime snorts. “Over our dead bodies.” You huff.

The air seems to have lightened up and Yuki grins, “‘Our’..?”

“You’ve said you would die for me, yes?”

She hums, “Without hesitation.”

“Then, yes, our.”

Utahime’s accessorizing comes to an end as she finally gets that clasp in order and takes a step back—pulling you to turn around to face her, and then taking in your prepared appearance. “Perfect.” She chirps.

“Gorgeous,” Yuki adds beneath her breath with a faint cock of her head.

You’re left smiling at the hushed compliments from the two before hearing a telling knock on your bedroom door, followed by the voice of someone informing you that guests are beginning to arrive for tonight's event. You hadn’t even realized how much time you’d spent venting to Utahime and getting ready for the dreaded ball and now, the sun was on its journey to set and it was time for said ball to actually take place.

Sometimes, you forget how fast time seems to move when you are in distress. You soon reply to the quick announcement you’d been given and you and your two accompanying ladies begin to make haste toward exiting your bedroom.

Faint worry remains on both Utahime and Yuki’s face as they follow your lead but they make no more vocal arguments about it. Yuki trusts your judgement, to some degree, and Utahime is moreso frightened for what the future holds for you regarding this arrangement.

· · ──────── ·𖥸· ──────── · ·

All doubts and worries entirely aside, by the time you indulge yourself in the festivities of the ball graciously hosted by your parents, your internalized fear for how things may go seems to fade. That timeless ballroom music you’d been surrounded by all your life floats through the air along with the sound of laughter and chatter from the lavish guests who’ve traveled from all over just to be here.

These glorified parties are a repetitive cycle you’ve been forced to grow accustomed to but, you’ve never minded them much until today. The entire time you socialized with the many aristocrats and members of high-class families, you couldn’t help but feel anxious. No one seemed to mention Naoya or his family to you, which led you to wonder if earlier that morning had merely been some lucid nightmare of yours…

Surely if this engagement were to take place tonight and had been planned out long before you were privy to it, someone would have mentioned it or even asked if you were excited for it by now. Unless all those around you were just as aware as you are of how dreadful a family the Zenins were..?

Or hell, maybe people were told not to say anything to you—

It’s then that someone bumps into your back, nearly causing you to choke on the bubbly beverage you’d been sipping on for the past few minutes. And just when you thought you’d scored a moment of peace for yourself…

An overwhelming sum of cologne slithers into your nose and although the smell is quite pleasant, clearly its wearer had sprayed far too much on themself—leading you to cough in an attempt to clear both your nose and your throat. Then, with an arm raised slightly over your face, you turn to whoever just bumped into you.

You don’t know what hits you first, the abrupt sight of him or that grating tone of his. “I swear you people have no sense of awareness. Has your sense of sight failed you, leaving you unable to see that I was clearly—oh,” Naoya grouses, his upper lip lifting faintly in a twinge of disgust. “It’s you.” He diverts, silently revoking his words prior out of what little respect he holds for you.

As unfortunate as it is, you have to drag your gaze upward to meet his. Just then, you mentally curse whoever's responsible for his mere existence because it should truly be a crime to be that painfully attractive, especially considering how all that typically flies out the window the moment he opens his mouth. You think your breath hitches at first sight of him.

Perhaps it was the proximity, considering he’d just bumped into you and made no efforts to back away after but, either way, he is undeniably… quite handsome. You have to blink thrice to register that this is the same rude man you’d last seen years ago, who you definitely do not remember being this… yeah, you won’t be throwing him any more compliments—albeit they’re all mental, as of now.

In the same way you seem to be taken aback by his appearance, he unconsciously weighs his head to the side as he drinks-, more like, gulps in your appearance. His eyes run up and down your face at least four times before he looks further down, in an attempt to glance at the necklace you have on, only to find himself leering at your chest and whatever cleavage you had visible. And, to say the least, if anything is mutual between the two of you, it’s definitely the attraction.

You decide to work up your usual confidence to speak, having reminded yourself who exactly you're looking at right now. “My eyes are up—“

“I know where your eyes are, woman.” Naoya cuts off with such a quickness that your head cocks back in immediate offense. But, before you can say anything else, he clears his throat and you watch him squeeze his eyes shut. “Pardon me,” He grits out, the words sounding as though it pained him to speak them. “I wasn’t expecting you to be so…” His eyes flutter open and he inhales strongly before cutting his intake off with a cough. “Close.” Is the last word he breathes out to you.

Your eyes remain on him and his every facial shift—the way he pulls his head back, takes another deep breath, bats his lashes elsewhere for a moment, brings his fist to his lips to cough again, and then shakes himself out of whatever that all was. You’re left unsure of what his body language translates to but you don’t believe you have it in you to care considering the way he starts talking again.

“Anyway,” Noaya straightens up where he stands and finally looks down at you (literally and mentally), “Let’s make this quick since I’ve finally found you, yeah?”

You raise a brow and move to cross your arms, “Does that imply that you were searching for me?”

His lips twitch, “No.”

“Some fiancé you’ll be…” You grumble out to him, to which he snorts.

“Just lend me your hand so I can propose, we’ve eyes on us.” He tells you rather quickly and quietly. You didn’t even realize how long your attention was on him before you blinked and looked around, finding the eyes of many lingering on you and him.

Oh. So people were aware of his upcoming proposal…

With a heavy sigh, you glance at him once more and he’s got this cunning look plastered all over his face. “I believe a man is to drop down on one knee to propose, no?” You ask almost dryly.

Naoya’s brows twist up, “You expect me to get on my knees for the likes of you?”

You shrug off his rudeness, “How else are you to propose?”

“You give me your hand and I slide this ring on your finger,” He tells you with a steadily lowering voice, dipping a hand into his pocket.

You honestly cannot believe the constant audacity that simply oozes off of this man. It’s as though he expects everything in his life to be served to him on a silver platter. “I will offer out my hand to no man who refuses to at least get down on one knee for me.” You tell him simply, your confidence not wavering in the slightest.

His left eye twitches in pure irritation. “I refuse to do anything ‘for you’.”

“Then I refuse to marry you.” You shrug.

He scoffs right in your face, “You haven’t the liberty.”

You huff back, “How can I be expected to marry a man who’s yet to propose?”

“You—“ Naoya grits his teeth and looks to the high ceilings for a moment before groaning slightly. He eventually returns his eyes to you and you can tell he’s over this entire thing. “Does compliance come this difficult for all women?”

“Does arrogance come this naturally from all men?” It’s from here that the two of you glare each other down while bickering back and forth as if it were second nature.

“Must you have a rebuttal for everything I say?”

“Depends on how long you take to propose to me like a proper gentleman.”

He pauses for a split second before sassily rolling his eyes, “You irritate me.”

“I’ve hardly done anything,” You reply with a lighthearted chuckle.

“Is shutting up something you’re incapable of?”

Dismissing him for the first time, you begin to look elsewhere. “Are you going to propose or not? I don’t have all night.”

Naoya swears he’s seconds away from tossing the ring in his hands into the nearest trashcan and declaring war because surely that would be much simpler than getting you to go along with things, “Don’t rush me.”

“You’re the one who said to make this quick,” You remind the man, noticing the distant gaze of both your parents and his.

The prince in front of you grits his teeth again, “I—“ 

“So hurry up.” Your hand waves in a dismissive manner as you turn your head back to him, “Get on your knees, Zenin.”

He’s clearly physically incapable of accepting any sort of orders from you without having anything to say so, “Address me by my first name.” Is what leaves his lips shortly after.

“I will not.” You deny.

He flashes a knowing smirk, “You must.”

“Or what?”

“Or I will discard this act of peace and declare w—“

“Fine,” You choke out, almost in fear. “Naoya… if you wish for me to be your wife in six months' time then you will drop to one knee and propose to me, properly.”

He finally begins to lower down to one knee, speaking in a harsh whisper, “The excess was unnecessary.”

“I care little of what you deem unnecessary.” You utter right back.

“I care little about you.”

“Good.”

Whipping the ring out quickly and assuming the perfect position below you, he glares, “Be my wife.”

You wish you had a way to capture how he looks right now. Naoya being on his knees is a sight no one can say they’ve ever had the pleasure of seeing before so, naturally, many of the onlookers begin to gasp and share gossiping whispers to one another. 

You keep your voice low but many watch your mouth move, “Is that how you propose? No wonder you’ve yet to find a woman before me…”

Naoya’s fingers pinch the ring held up to you tighter and you notice a vein pop out along his sharp jawline, “This arrangement was not by my personal choice. Now, do me… the honor, and…” He waits a moment before raising his voice so that those nearby can hear, “Marry me.”

You deadpan, “It sounds like you’re demanding me—“

“Jesus-, fuck, woman!” He curses unintentionally with a momentary drop of his head. Before you can let out the laugh his reaction invokes, he flips his gaze right back up to you and looks you dead in the eye as he speaks in a firm tone, “Will you marry me?”

For the first time since he’s ever known you, you smile at him—causing his body to feel… weird. He thinks he hates that stupidly gorgeous spread of lips and flash of teeth that starks across your face. Then, your hand is held out to him and you nod. “I suppose.”

He narrows his eyes at you and doesn’t move.

You roll your own. “Yes, I… accept your proposal.”

Not wasting any more time whatsoever, Naoya practically shoves the ring onto your finger, his touch oddly as smooth as silk against you. “Finally. Now—“

“Under one condition.” You add on with a very slight retraction of your hand.

“Condition??” His brows meet and his eyes frantically travel over to where both your parents stand, “I was not informed that this would come with any—“

“No one knew of any until now,” You say as you lean down a bit.

He groans, “What is it?”

It’s almost as though there was some sort of shift within your tone. As Naoya moves his eyes back to you, he finds your entire presence wildly different in comparison to a few seconds ago. And the darkened look you hold in your eyes, the way that smile of yours had yet to fade—just what could you possibly have planned in that feeble mind of yours??

“I would like to curate a harem for myself during our engagement,” You requested.

Naoya fights internally to hold back the shocked laugh he’d almost let out in your face, “Why am I not surprised the wench wishes for a harem of all things…”

You let out an offended breath, “Excuse me—“

“Sure,” He scoffs, sizing you up and down as he quickly raises to his feet. “You can make your lil’ harem. Run around and tarnish your reputation all you want but, that will not be enough for me to end this engagement.”

Back up to his feet, he finds himself looming toward you and surprised by how unmoving you are, “I don’t plan on it.”

Naoya only inches closer, “Must every last word be yours?” He asks, breath fanning over your skin with a faint scent of… mint?

You respond silently with a thin-lipped smile, mentally discarding how you keep picking up on such small details.

To which a vein in his forehead makes a sudden appearance, “Oh you little—“

“Let us all congratulate the happy couple!” A voice, Higuruma’s, chimes in, “A joyous union this’ll be for our nations!” He announces quickly.

People rush to swarm you and Naoya within seconds, celebratory wishes and congratulations thrown at you from left and right as if this was truly some big surprise. Perhaps it was the fact that Naoya was actually able to propose to you and you were able to accept it without… anything else taking place instead.

So, you suppose you have something to celebrate now. Your request for a harem was approved without any question whatsoever. Perfect. You may not have had the time to get anyone of royal status to propose to you before Naoya did, especially considering it would take an act of love for someone to do so in the first place but, you sure as hell just bought yourself some.

m!list | next chapter |

tags 1/2;

@angellliqua @celestial-lunar  @withcheese @itoshi-r @silvarys @everything-red @fishosezo @haesify @sassybananaweaselpsychic @orange-juice-is-ass

@notjustagirlinthisworld @sushiimara @larkson0 @di-in-al @sxnkuna @hanuh @cayla0000 @helloxkittylo @idkmanshrugg @chocolatecheer

@michelintopic @cinaminroll @french3xit @valleydoli @broimherebcsimboredok @sleepisforpuzzies @cuti3patooti8 @sukunadckrider @f0r7una @ventila98

@vixionix @levislug @mauve-gojo @chosomi @semi-lover @bee3l0v3r @noooo-onee @r4sh3li @yenayaps @chososbestgirl

@smutyturtle @simp-plague @pnkblueberry @stargirl-mayaa @kunareads @tojisdollx @gojoslefttoenail @forbiddenblog @glittercherry777 @samm1e13

[adore-laur]

Can you make a blurb focusing on the second baby? I don't know something like her needing a moment with Harry or her getting sick

IN SICKNESS & IN HEALTH

——

"Open your mouth, honey."

You obeyed, and Harry gently slid an oral thermometer under your tongue. When you closed your lips around it, the metal tip provided a coolness that briefly offset the fever blazing through your immune system. Frankly, you didn't need an official temperature check to recognize you were fighting a viral infection, but Harry had insisted every aspect of you be monitored closely. He was currently whisking around the bedroom, ensuring you were being doted on like a princess. In your febrile state, where surreal thoughts flowed freely, you wondered if he'd been a doctor in one of his past lives. Those large, veined hands in skin-tight exam gloves. Manspreading on a swivel stool while listening intently to a patient's concerns. Diligent, respectful touches during routine checkups. Was it deranged to be jealous of the faceless people in your fever-induced fantasy? Maybe. All you knew was that it heated your body even more.

A bout of rigors had roused you in the middle of the night, which left you violently shivering in Harry's embrace. While semi-conscious, you had thought nothing of it. Hours later, after miraculously falling asleep in a cocoon of two thick blankets plus a heated one, you had awoken in a pool of sweat with a fever on the horizon. Now, in the early morning darkness, there was no choice but to try to break it. You had plenty of fluids nearby, comfy pillows for your heavy limbs, and a husband who was at your beck and call. And best of all, the sleep-aid medication you had taken earlier was working wonderfully.

After a silent minute of Harry staring at you sympathetically with his knuckles pressed against your unusually warm forehead, the thermometer beeped. He took it out, and when he read the result, a frown appeared on his lips.

"Am I dying?" you asked hoarsely, your eyelids drooping shut. Every part of you felt weak with exhaustion. The sinus pressure was a sucker punch whenever you moved your head.

"One hundred point seven degrees. Not good." Harry sighed and quickly left the bedroom on a mission to cure your symptoms. You laughed a little, which turned into a wheezy cough. The only real cure was rest and hydration, so you were curious what his magical remedy could consist of.

Distantly, you heard sounds in the kitchen. Cupboards shutting and utensils clinking. Was he making something? Your illness diminished any appetite for breakfast. Granted, it was five in the morning, not the typical time you ate.

The girls were still sleeping, and in the intimate shadows before dawn, when only you and Harry were awake, it felt like the old days. Back when you'd kiss him goodbye in his one-room apartment before he left for work earlier than any man had a right to do. Young, scraping by, and smitten with each other. He'd shown you what infatuation felt like. In those otherwise minor moments, you'd seen glimpses of the promising years ahead. A man who'd be devoted to healing your wounds during every tribulation life presented. A gentle presence, full of pure intentions, tender love, and perceptiveness. And all of it had translated beautifully into marriage and fatherhood.

You drifted off with sweet thoughts prancing around your mind. An hour later, Harry returned. The subtle scent of ginger and garlic lured you back into consciousness. By the foot of the bed, he held a bowl of soup, and you sniffled while sitting up. A dizzying rush of blood pulsed against your skull.

"I want you to eat this and drink an entire glass of water before sleeping," Harry ordered, rounding the bed to your side. He set the bowl on the nightstand, steam wispily wafting up toward the amber lamplight. You decided not to tell him you already indulged in a snooze.

"Copy that, Dr. Styles," you said. Soup for breakfast? Sure, why not?

He met your gaze, unhumored. "I'm serious. The ginger will hopefully soothe your throat. There's lemon juice in it for some vitamin C. Red lentils for a protein boost. Let me know if it isn't savory enough."

You smiled to yourself, knowing he thrived off refining his culinary creations until they were nothing short of excellence. "I'm sure it's perfect. Thank you."

"It might be too hot to eat yet," he said, fluffing the pillow beside you and pulling the comforter further up your legs. "Can I get you anything else? Where's your cold compress?"

"Why are you so worried?" you asked. "You've seen me sick dozens of times."

He placed his hands on his hips, maybe as a way to stop himself from fidgeting. "Doesn't mean I like it. In fact, I hate it."

"It could be worse." You shrugged, thinking of all the times you had held a puke bucket. If you had one thing to feel good about right now, it was that you didn't have food poisoning. Hallelujah.

Harry ran a hand through his hair, the curly ends sticking up among his natural bedhead. "I'm wondering if one of the girls passed it on to you."

"Probably," you murmured. "All kids are germ magnets." Your eldest was currently getting over a cold. No fever, thankfully, just the sniffles and a wet cough that made you wince every time you heard it.

"I should check on them," he said, seeming hesitant to leave you. He gestured to the nightstand. "By the time I get back, I want half that water gone and three spoonfuls of soup in your belly. Okay?"

"Wow, you're a no-nonsense doctor." You picked up the bowl of soup, its warmth spreading across your palms. It smelled deliciously herby. "Mmm, and a very talented chef. Have you ever thought about becoming one?"

Fondly, Harry shook his head with a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "You're strangely vivacious for a woman bedridden with a fever."

"Maybe I just like it when you dote on me," you said candidly. It was often outwardly shown through his actions, like today when he cooked soup from scratch for you and kept track of your symptoms, but his subtle attentiveness was your favorite. As a husband, it was how he would lead you through a crowded room, his hand tightly grasping yours to ensure you never strayed far. How he would carve out time for conversations together, whether they were ones of reminiscence, ones revolving around the future, or ones of harmless banter. How he would touch you with purpose, making you feel safe, adored, and most of all, like the most important person in the world. In public and at home with no one watching. He had chosen you in this life, and you reaped the benefits of his devotion every day.

"Just fulfilling my marriage vows," Harry replied, grabbing the baby monitor and turning to leave. You smiled, set the soup back in its place, and sunk into the mattress, feeling the strong urge to sleep the day away. It would take too much energy to lift a spoon or glass to your mouth, so you disregarded Harry's sensible advice and closed your eyes against the rising sun.

——

Harry took slow steps down the hallway while typing a note on his phone that reminded him what time he had checked your temperature and the unfortunate result of 100.7 degrees. You'd been right about him witnessing you under the weather on many occasions before—from the flu to hangovers to stomach bugs to pregnancy nausea—but it still pained him to see you weak and lethargic. He was doing everything he could to nurse you back to health as soon as possible.

A sound coming from the baby monitor wedged under his armpit stopped him dead in his tracks. He heard a couple of coos, followed by the buildup to a piercing cry that made his heart drop. They weren't the usual cries that his six-month-old baby girl woke him up with. And considering it was still before six a.m., the time she commonly needed a feeding, something was amiss.

Rushing to her nursery, Harry's mind went to the worst-case scenario. Had she escaped her crib? Was there a chance she had hurt herself? It had been nerve-wracking enough transitioning her from sleeping in a bedside bassinet to her own room. Harry feared not being right next to her during the night, but the positive was that it allowed for a smoother bedtime routine—both girls in their separate rooms, away from noise and other distractions. His mantra to help him sleep at night was, They're safe, they're safe, they're safe.

When Harry reached her crib after turning on the ceiling light, he was relieved to see her still there, looking mostly the same as the last instance he checked on her a few hours ago. This time, though, her face was screwed up as she wailed at full volume. She was communicating a need he wasn't sure of yet, and while he prided himself immensely on being able to translate her cries and swoop in with a remedy within seconds, this one was foreign. It alarmed him.

"What's the matter, my love?" He picked her up, and instantly, the answer became clear. The damp spot on her sheets. Her skin warm and clammy to the touch. Her refusal to breastfeed at her usual schedule yesterday. "Oh, no."

He had hoped the infection wouldn't be contagious and spread to everyone in the family. But, like you'd said, kids attracted germs from just about anywhere and anything.

"Please don't tell me you have a fever," Harry whispered, cupping her head and pacing around the room helplessly. "I can't handle all of my girls being sick."

She continued crying, and Harry pinched his eyes shut as he mentally went through a list of how to reliably bring her fever down. The first step was to take her pajamas off—the precious fleece onesie with snowflakes that he'd bought for the winter season. He set her on the changing table and undid the snap fasteners until she was left in only her diaper. The fever was apparent in the way she was flushed from head to toe.

"Let's ask Mommy what to do," Harry murmured to himself. He didn't want to proceed with any remedies without your consent, so he placed his daughter back in his arms and walked out to the hallway. "We'll make it better, I promise."

Unsurprisingly, you were already halfway to where he was, no doubt having heard her crying lasting longer than normal. You looked dog-tired, but the motherly instinct you possessed always overpowered it. "What's going on?" you rasped.

"I think she might have what you have. She sweat through the sheets and is burning up."

Your expression transformed into guilt as you slumped against the wall. "Great."

Harry came closer, bending to meet your eyes. "Hey," he said softly, "don't blame yourself. It's hard to avoid."

"I know, but... I really tried to be careful." You sighed, stroking his daughter's back. "I washed my hands before I touched her. Bathed her twice a day."

"You did everything right, baby," he assured. "She has a tiny immune system that's still developing, so it doesn't take much to catch a bug."

When you didn't respond, he said, "Let me take care of her. You should be in bed resting. Did you do what I asked?"

"No, I fell asleep," you muttered with a rueful wince.

Harry couldn't bear to be disappointed when you looked so miserable. "It's okay." His baby girl released another cry, and he pivoted to the serious matter at hand. "I was going to take her temperature."

You sniffled and rubbed at your forehead, which was probably aching with pressure. "If her temperature is higher than one hundred, we need to call the doctor. For now, open a window and feed her a bottle. If that doesn't cool her down, let me know and we'll try giving her some Tylenol."

Harry nodded. A part of him knew all of this information by heart, but he always sought your advice in these urgent moments. As the old saying went—mother knows best.

He kissed your cheek while gently squeezing your wrist in gratitude, not caring if he got sick—it was inevitable at this point. "Water and soup, please. Then rest."

"I promise."

Heading to the kitchen with a fussy, feverish baby wriggling in his arms, Harry opened the patio door to let the crisp January breeze in. The first streaks of light were brightening the space little by little. He got to work by taking a bottle of breast milk out of the refrigerator. He took her outside on the porch, positioning her in the crook of his arm to feed. To his relief, she latched onto the nipple and began drinking. She recently learned how to hold the bottle by herself, so Harry used the opportunity to get the ear thermometer from the bathroom.

Back outside, he took her temperature on the wicker patio chair. After a few seconds, it gave him a reading of 99.3, which thankfully meant no doctor visit today. Harry could breathe a little easier as he slowly rocked her in his arms, observing her behavior. The milk seemed to help hydrate her and alleviate her distressed cries. Her skin was still warm, and he felt like natural remedies only worked to a certain degree. He planned to give her a dose of medicine before her next nap. It would cure what he couldn't.

Once the bottle was half empty, Harry stepped back inside and closed the door behind him. He was working up a sweat with all this running around the house, but he enjoyed tending to everyone's needs.

He returned to the bedroom. The sunrise's soft glow shed over your frame curled up under the comforter, and he could see that you were awake. Looking at the nightstand, he smiled when he noticed a good portion of your soup and water gone.

"I think she'll be all right," he said quietly, setting the empty baby bottle on the dresser and sitting beside you on the mattress. His daughter whined, but for now, her shrieks were no more. "Just a low-grade fever. We'll keep an eye on it."

You nodded and whispered, "Thank you for everything."

Harry didn't say anything in response. He didn't have to, because this was what a family did—take care of each other in sickness and in health. And he had vowed to do it for a lifetime.

——

[maskedbyghost]

"… do you take Mr. Riley as your lawfully wedded husband?"

Who could possibly say no to that?

Who could say no to a man marked by battle scars yet capable of holding you with hands so soft, so tender, that they seemed untouched by the world’s cruelty? The hands that had become your favorite place to rest.

His eyes, his hair, the way it fell messily yet perfectly, every detail of him felt like home.

Who could say no to the person who proved that life still held something worth fighting for? The man who became your light in the darkest corners, your beacon of hope.

Your gaze traced Simon’s form, memorizing every line and shadow of the man you knew better than yourself. To you, he wasn’t just handsome—he was the most beautiful man to ever walk this earth.

The love of your life.

You met Simon when you joined the Task Force as the newest member. Captain Price had heard enough about your work to know you were the perfect fit. At first, the brooding Lieutenant kept his distance, wary of your sunshine persona. But it didn’t take long for you to slip past his walls.

It was your smile that caught him first—before he even knew it. It crept under his skin in ways he couldn’t explain. It got to the point where if he didn’t see you smile at least once a day, he’d grow restless, snappish, his mood souring without realizing why.

You remembered the first mission where things nearly went wrong—pinned down, backs to the wall, with no clear escape. Simon had shielded you without hesitation, his voice steady even when bullets rained around you. That was the moment you realized his silence wasn’t coldness—it was protection. And when you patched him up later, his quiet gratitude spoke louder than words ever could.

Nights spent in faraway places, sharing quiet conversations under starless skies, confiding in each other when sleep refused to come. You learned about the weight Simon carried, the ghosts that followed him, and still, he let you in. Slowly, carefully, piece by piece.

You thought back to a night colder than most, deep in enemy territory. The mission had gone longer than expected, supplies were running low, and exhaustion hung over the team like a thick fog. The others had turned in for the night, but you and Simon remained by the dwindling campfire, its glow casting soft shadows on his mask.

Without a word, he had shrugged off his heavy jacket and draped it over your shoulders, the same way he always did when he thought you wouldn’t argue. You caught him watching you, gaze softer than usual, the crackling fire reflecting in his eyes.

When you leaned your head against his shoulder, he didn’t flinch or pull away. He simply adjusted his stance so you could rest more comfortably, his hand resting lightly over yours. No words were needed. His presence, solid and warm, spoke everything. In that fragile stillness, you realized how deeply you had come to trust him—not just as a soldier, but as a man who had quietly made a home in your heart.

It was in these quiet moments, away from the chaos, that you both found something neither of you thought you’d ever have: peace.

You remembered your first kiss with Simon on a quiet evening at his flat. The team had gone home hours ago, but neither of you wanted the night to end. You sat side by side on his couch, half-watching a movie, half-teasing him about his terrible film choices.

At some point, the laughter faded, and you caught him staring.

Without a word, he leaned in, and his lips met yours in a kiss that was gentle. No rush, no hesitation—just the realization that this was always meant to happen.

When he pulled back, he simply let you lean into him, pulling the blanket around you both, as if nothing had changed.

But everything had.

One afternoon, after a long stretch of missions, you found yourselves sitting on the couch in Simon’s apartment, the sound of rain softly tapping against the windows. Neither of you had said much, both still adjusting to the stillness after the chaos. Simon, usually so guarded, had finally let his guard down just enough to let you in.

You leaned against him, your head resting on his shoulder, and he absentmindedly ran his fingers through your hair. It wasn’t rushed—just a quiet gesture of comfort, as if that small touch was enough to ground you both.

The world outside felt distant in that moment, and there was a peace in the stillness, a feeling that, for once, you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

You recalled a day after a particularly grueling mission, when the weight of everything seemed to linger in the air. The team gathered around the mess hall; each person exhausted but silently supportive of one another. You and Simon sat side by side, as you always did now, that bond between you both felt by everyone in the room.

It wasn’t until a quiet moment passed, with the team easing into a comfortable silence, that you noticed it. The way they looked at you—there was pride in their eyes, not just for your work, but for your relationship with Simon. It wasn’t said aloud, but the approving glances, the slight smiles, and the soft nods said more than words ever could. They respected the way you’d found something genuine amid the chaos, something that gave both of you strength. It was their way of showing that they saw you as more than just a teammate—they saw the love that had grown between you, and they were proud of it.

Everyone had always believed you and Simon were endgame. The way you complemented each other, the quiet moments, the way he looked at you when he thought no one was watching—it all pointed to something inevitable. Your bond felt like it had been written in the stars, as if you were always meant to find each other amidst the chaos.

So, as you sat there, watching Simon at the altar, the truth settled into your bones. You had imagined this day a thousand times, but never like this. His eyes, once so full of warmth when they met yours, were now focused on the woman beside him. The woman in the white dress who wasn’t you.

The words “I do” hung in the air, and you realized, with a sickening twist in your gut, that Simon was married to someone else.

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

lets cry together.

@daydreamerwoah @blackhawkfanatic @spicyspicyliving

[jov1ii]

Sleepy Mornings

♡⃕.pairing: Husband!Salesman x Wife!Reader

♡⃕summary: a sleepy morning with your husband.

♡⃕.a/n: am I the only one who thinks he would be a super sweet husband?😭

The marriage you had with him was not one you had originally wanted for yourself. You always wanted something... slow. You always imagined yourself to marry your high-school sweetheart but when your father arranged a marriage with him, could you really deny it? For love bloomed from even the thorniest of gardens.

He was away most of the time— doing whatever he did to earn a living. But that did not mean that he was one who shyed away when it came to showing you the affection you deserved.

He would slip under the duvet whenever he'd find you alone, lying on his bed. Then he would plant gentle kisses on your shoulder, knowing that you weren't sleeping.

Even though the marriage was arranged, falling in love was inevitable.

He never wanted to feel emotions, but there he was, burying his face in your neck.

As the morning sun streamed through the windows, you found yourself enveloped in the warmth and comfort of his embrace. His strong arms held you close, and the steady rhythm of his breathing against your skin created a soothing lull.

"Don't move." He grunted, his chest pressed against your back, his lips caressing the crook of your neck.

"You're not going to work today?" You ask and his grip around you tight.

He nuzzles his nose into your neck, closing his eyes. "No." He murmurs, his voice hoarse due to sleep. He holds you closer to his body, not ready to let you go.

He loved your skin. The way it felt under his fingertips, when he held your hand, caressing your fingers, or when you moved underneath him.

His nose was buried in your neck, a place that smelled like you, that smelled like home.

As you tried to get up again, he protested again. A low grumble leaves his lips, a rumble that sounds almost like a growl. "I told you to not move." He says.

"And why is that?" You ask, smiling to yourself. Your hand finds its way to his much larger ones, covering them.

"Because I want to have a morning in bed with my wife." He murmurs, his breath brushing against your skin.

He hated to admit it, but he needed you — and he didn't want to be away from you.

He loved your curves, the way your body arched under his touch whenever you were beneath him, how your body felt against his.

He kisses your shoulder, your neck, and a shiver shoots down your spine, making your heart skip a beat.

He buries his face into the crook of your neck once more, inhaling your scent deeply. He loves that smell. Your smell.

You smiled, giving in to his pleading. You knew you wouldn't be able to leave with him practically glued to you.

You turned your face so that you could look at him. He was pouting as usual, looking so damn adorable that you wanted to kiss the pout away.

"Don't smile at me like that." The man muttered, as if reading your mind.

He held you tightly against his chest, as if worried you might slip away if he loosened his grip even a little.

His eyes were still closed, but you could feel his fingers tracing patterns lazily on your skin.

And just like that, you knew that he had no intention of letting you go anytime soon.

[multific]

His and His Alone: A Smile Only for You

Emperor Caracalla x Reader

Summary: The Empress was known for her cold demeanour towards everyone but her husband, reserving smiles and warmth solely for the man she loves.

The grand hall was loud with conversations as officials gathered for a special occasion, another successful war. 

You sat by Caracalla’s side, your expression composed and distant, a stark contrast to the warmth others might expect from someone of your position. 

Your gaze rarely wandered, but when it met his, a smile appeared on your lips, an expression that existed only for him.

Caracalla leaned toward you slightly, his hand brushing yours. 

“You’ve been rather quiet tonight,” he remarked, his voice pitched low so only you could hear.

“There hasn’t been much worth saying,” you replied, glancing at him. 

Yet, as you did, your demeanour eased, and your lips curved in a smile.

He chuckled under his breath, his amusement hidden from others but not you. 

“And yet, somehow, you say plenty.”

Before you could respond, a Senator approached, his posture respectful as he addressed Caracalla. 

“My Emperor, might I steal a moment of your time?”

Instantly, your smile disappeared, replaced by the cold composure you usually displayed.

The Senator hesitated under your icy stare, his confidence disappearing before Caracalla motioned for him to speak.

“Go on,” Caracalla instructed, his tone calm yet authoritative.

The Senator launched into his petition, but you paid little attention, your focus returning to Caracalla.

Your eyes soon wandered as Geta lifted his cup and held one out for you to take. You offered no smile to him but again, your composure changed to a much calmer one as you took the cup from Geta and offered him a nod before you lifted the cup to your lips and drank the wine from it.

Once the evening ended and the last of the officials left, you and Caracalla retreated to your chambers. 

The fire was lit in your room, the crackling flames the only sound in there as you changed your clothes.

You sat at the edge of the bed, unpinning your hair, while Caracalla watched you. 

“You’re always so... detached with everyone else,” he mused, his voice carrying a trace of curiosity.

Pausing, you looked at him. 

“Should I not be?”

“Don’t pretend you don’t notice. Tonight, for example. Smiling at me one second, then turning as cold as winter the moment a Senator approached.”

You turned fully to face him, your features softening as you met his gaze. “I don’t care for them,” you said plainly. “Why waste warmth on people who mean nothing to me?”

“And I? Why am I the exception?” His brow arched, his interest piqued. 

A small smile curved your lips once more, the kind reserved just for him. 

“Because I love you,” you said simply. “You’re the only one who matters. My smiles, my kindness, they belong to you, and only you, Caracalla.”

For a moment, he said nothing. Then, with a simple movement, he climbed on the bed and he reached for you, pulling you close.

“You never fail to surprise me,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple.

He kissed you then, a slow and tender kiss on your lips. 

It was the kind of kiss that left no need for words because in his kiss it was clear how much he loved you and you loved him.

He soon laid down, pulling you with him.

As you rested against his chest, his arms encircling you. 

You heard his heartbeat, steady and reassuring. Much like your smiles for him, his heart was beating only for you.

“I’ll always treasure your smile,” he whispered into your hair.

“And I’ll always save it for you,” you replied, your eyes closing as you knew you were safe with him.

And only him.

Gladiator II Collection

Taglist: 

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~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

/YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE, TO STEAL OR TO REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[burningembers91]

The Gangster's Wife - Hwang Jun-Ho x Fem!Reader (NSFW)

Follow up piece to:

Sleeping With the Enemy

Please note that this storyline will deal with situations depicting domestic violence.

Synopsis: As your relationship with Hwang Jun-Ho deepens, your husband becomes suspicious

It was getting late, the sun beginning to set in a blaze of colour that stained the sky red. You shouldn’t be here, you should be at home, playing the ever-doting wife, waiting for her husband to return. But you couldn’t bring yourself to leave, couldn’t seemed to tear yourself away from the man nestled between your thighs. Hwang Jun-Ho traced the most exquisite circles over your clit with his tongue, his fingers softly stroking your sensitive core. Your fingers entwined in his hair, holding him in place as you arched your hips further into his touch; you couldn’t leave yet. Every day you spent with him, you found it harder to leave, found it harder to return to a man who didn’t love you like Jun-Ho did. Your ragged, shaking moans intensified, culminating in a sound that would bring a God to his knees as you came.

His lips trailed their way up your body, his tongue tracing a line from your breasts to your collarbone. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he pulled you close, taking in every inch of your perfect features. “We need to get you home,” he whispered, peppering a line of kisses along your jaw. He didn’t want you to go, he couldn’t keep you safe when you were at home. He spent every moment apart from you worrying for your safety. He wished he could take you somewhere far from the city, somewhere where no one could hurt you. “Five more minutes,” you begged, “please. I need you one more time.” Jun-Ho could never resist you, could never deny you anything. He made love to you again, his lips swallowing your moans as your trembled against him.

He dropped you back at your designated meet up spot, leaving you to take a taxi home. You would pretend you’d been out all day shopping, your arms ladened down with bags of designer clothes and accessories. “Until next time,” you smiled sadly. You never quite knew when you’d see him again, your meets up depending entirely on your husband’s schedule. He’d been spending more time at home lately, hosting more meetings in his office. You’d grown worried that he perhaps suspected something, that he was keeping a closer eye on your because he knew you were up to something. You knew you should care about getting caught; your husband was a dangerous man who wouldn’t hesitate to inflict on you a punishment far worse than death if he found out you were cheating, but you were powerless to resist the detective who’d been assigned to your case. You never imagined that by going to the police for help, you’d have fallen so maddeningly in love with the man tasked with bringing down your husband.

The taxi ride home felt like an age, your mind whirring with thoughts of Jun-Ho. You longed for the day when you didn’t have to sneak around, when you didn’t need to be apart. You’d spent so long being mistreated by your husband, and Jun-Ho had showed you love that you never knew was possible. What you had with him, that was real love. What you had with your husband was built on a foundation of fear and intimidation. You’d spent too many years cowering in his shadow, locked in a vicious cycle of beatings, apologies, expensive gifts and then more beatings. You knew you were doomed to repeat this nightmare until you died of old age, or he killed you. That was why you went to the police for help, not because of the harm he was doing to the others, but because you were scared of dying. Of course, you hated the way he prayed on innocent victims, the way he took whatever he wanted regardless of the pain he inflicted. But you were terrified of having your life cut short. Of having it ended by someone who was supposed to love and protect you. That was no life for anyone. Now that you’d experienced what real love was supposed to feel like, you were more determined than ever to get out.

You arrived home, dropping your bags in the hallway before padding through to the kitchen for a glass of wine. You didn’t notice your husband, not until you’d taken a large sip of Sauvignon Blanc. He was sitting at the kitchen island, silent and unmoving. “Where have you been?” He asked quietly. He had such a presence about him, such an ominous aura and you could feel your hands start to shake. “I was shopping,” you lied, not daring to meet his eyes.

Pushing himself off his stool, he casually walked over to you. The tension is in the air was palpable, the fear rising through you like a wildfire. “Why is your lipstick smudged?” he asked, running his thumb roughly over your lips, smearing the berry-red colour down your chin. “I had a burger for lunch. Must have smudged while I was eating.” You closed your eyes against the fear, hoping that if you kept them closed long enough, he’d just leave you alone. Instead, he pushed himself into you, enjoying the terrifying hold he had over you. “I can smell his cheap cologne,” your husband growled, backing you into the fridge with a force that knocked the breath from your lungs. He didn’t say another word, leaving you to tremble in the kitchen like a scared little mouse. He’d come back later, when the fear had really set in. He’d show you what happened when you disrespected him.

You stood on the cold tiled floor, clutching the countertop for support. Your head span, your heartbeat pounding in your ears. Grabbing your phone, you sent two words to Jun-Ho. Two simple words that made every ounce of colour drain from his face. He knows.

[dark-night-hero]

Imagine, I kept thinking about a Kamisato Ayato in a modern day AU in which him and the reader were going through a divorce because things are not going the way it was supposed to be and the marriage is just not working out anymore. When suddenly, suddenly he had an amnesia.

Imagine instead of his mistress, it was you whom he kept looking for, demanding to see upon waking up after the accident. Leaving his mistress baffled and confused just as you are upon arriving at the hospital, hoping that little shitty of a husband dead only to find him demanding and desperately looking for you in the midst of this messy and chaotic moment.

"Anata." His voice soften in contrast to his shouts earlier before you enter the room, doctors, nurses and his mistress all inside. "Anata." He called out again but you just stood there as he desperately tried to call your attention. "Anata, who are these people inside the room? What's happening?" He called out and question you, you knew he was calling you because he was looking at you, not anyone but you. Which is pretty funny because he haven't called you that for years, ever since the marriage started falling apart.

"He must have hit his head pretty hard Doc." You spoke nonchalantly, not in the mood to deal with all this bullshit. "It's been years since he called me like that. Can someone explain to me what's happening with my husband?" "Husband? Then who-?" "His mistress." You replied. "As I'm saying- asking rather, can someone explain to me what happened to this guy over here?" "... Very well, Mr. Kamisato over here is involved in a car accident and had brain concussion. As we can see..."

Imagine walking into the room, not that you want to. But upon walking into the room, you are quite surprised to find him alone in there. You were quite expected him to have his mistress with him but turns out that was not the case. "Who's that?" "Who's who?" "That person who was here earlier calling me her lover." "Oh. Well she is exactly who she said she was, she's your lover." You answered, sitting on the sofa inside the private room. Looking away and pulling your phone to check out your notifications. Because goddammit, how dare he look so hurt by those words?

"She what-? Why? Tell me you're joking." You have never seen him look so confused before. Looking back and forth to the notifications on your phone and to the man right in front of you. You sigh, causing him to flinch. "The doctor told me you can be dismissed in two days because you're still under observation. And while you're current suffering from amnesia, they said there was still a possibility of you regaining your memories so don't treat her pretty harshly. I know it could be confusing at first but you'll het over it." You explain and then stood up, "Then, I'll get going now."

Imagine glancing at him only to see him look so broken, like he was waiting, begging for someone to wake him from his dream, from his nightmare. You look away, it's not like it hurts to see him like that. It stopped hurting years ago. Nevertheless, once again you sigh. "Anata-" "I can't have children." "It doesn't matter-" "Well it does now, Ayato." You smile softly at him. "And that explains everything." You added before turning your back at him and walking towards the door. "Oh right, please sign the divorce paper. You wouldn't want your future child to be labelled illegitimate, no?"

Imagine hearing him call out- scream after you but you just kept walking without looking back. You ignore his cries and call with all your might, and walking past the corridor, "Go on, comfort him." You said as you walked pass the woman. "I'm sorry." She said, sounding like she was about to cry and you couldn't help but to smile a little, "No, I'm sorry." You replied as you continue to walk your way out of the hospital.

Imagine going inside the car, your cachuffere already waiting for you inside. And in the middle of the ride, "Want to smoke?" "Nahh" You declined as you look at the city lights. "Are you sure you wouldn't regret this?" "What are you talking about." You chuckle. "He might remember everything one day." "He won't. And even if he did, he wouldn't be able to do anything by then." You answered. "He would hate you." "Then much better." You replied.

"Is it?" "Hmm?" "For the better?" Well in comparison to the amount of suffering he has to go through cause by his elders just because he has yet to produce a heir to the clan, questioning and criticising his title as the chairman and chief of the Kamisato clan, it would be much better to get rid of his one of only flaw. His spouse that couldn't give him a heir. Closing your eyes, this is nothing, "Yeah, for the better." I'm sorry, my love.

[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2025°

: I'm getting a hang of this crocheshit. Ily may pasok na ko bukas yawa ayoko na pumasok. Also, this imagine escalated real quick like no sht. I was writing this for fluff but???

[envy-of-the-apple]

ngl the gojo x stepmom reader sounds 🔥🔥. like i can 100% see gojo trying to seduce his stepmom lmaooo

LMAOOO idk why cuz I normally don’t like pseudoincest/incest buuuuut stepson Gojo just gets me

I can just imagine a non curse au where Gojo is the heir to some billionaire ceo yada yada. He’s gotten everything on a diamon platter so he’s naturally narcissistic and very very full of himself (to hide his crippling daddy/mommy issues). Neither his mom or his dad cared for him all that much so he was pretty much left to fend for himself. As long as he isn’t jeapordizing their reputation by getting arrested they don’t give a shit on what he does.

when his mom passes, Satoru grieves as much as a stunted playboy can. After an appropriate mourning time has passed, his dad remarries and that’s where all the problems start.

youre in your late thirties to his late fifties. It could be worse, honestly. It isn’t exactly a love marriage, but it’s an easy convenient thing. Companionship more than anything. You get the comfort of wealth and he gets a pretty little thing on his arm.

Satoru is pissed. PISSED. He can’t believe dad moved on this quickly, can’t believe he found a new ‘replacement’. He lashes out, practically spits on your likeness, tells you ‘you’ll never be anything more than a warm body for his dad’ etc etc.

despite how cruel he is to you, you get it. He’s just a kid, barely in his twenties. It must be such a shock to him. So you try to be nice. You don’t want to replace his mother, but you try to be there for him. You cover for him, so his father doesn’t find out about him skipping classes, the heavy drinking. Somehow you know your new husband wont be empathic to his son’s clear spiraling. The kid just lost his mother, no wonder he’s so distraught.

Unbeknown to you, Satoru never had a mom-figure, so he clings to you immediately when you reach your hand out. It’s…strange having someone coddle him, care for him. No ones ever done that, at least, not without an ulterior motive. It’s…nice

and then in satoru fashion, he can’t help but want more.

It’s just not fair that his dad gets all your attention! He’s like what fifty? You deserve someone younger, who can actually keep up with you.

again his dad is old. Anything could happen. Anything.

once your husband passes away, you grieve. Of course you grieve. You may not have loved him, but you’d slept beside that man for years. The bed feels so empty now. You’re so lucky you have an empathetic stepson who picks up your broken pieces and puts you together. he does everything for you: makes you breakfast, cares for you, lets you cry in his arms. Satoru is so patient and caring. You don’t deserve him.

On Satorus end, it won’t be long until he’s sharing your bed with you.

[kabuki-writes]

Aeternitas Nunc Est

chapter: 7 chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

pairing: emperor geta/emperor caracalla x acacius' daughter!reader

summary: Your wedding night with Emperor Geta.

warning(s): heavy smut warning | partially non consent | Geta being Geta | semi-edited | english is not my first language, faults may occur | please let me know if i missed anything

Note: Yes, i kinda back after it took me nearly an eternity before i was able to present this smut-heavy chapter. I am not super-experienced with writing smut, but i tried my best and hope you'll like it! :) Also big thanks to all the sweet beans, who sent me well-wishes over the last weeks!

word count: 2.8

You watched the lights of Rome in the dark veil of the night, which had layed itself upon the hills of the eternal city. The royal palace sat upon one of those sacred hills, watching over the gigantic capital of the growing Empire, just like the Greek believed that the Olymp watched over their lands. This palace here was not only the residence of the Emperors Geta and Caracalla anymore, it was your home now too. You'll never get back to your families home, to your parents. With this marriage now, you were no longer in the hands of your father, but became the property of Geta. He was able to do with you as he pleased, which included an order to kill you or your family in an instant. A sword that was over your head from the day that your father betrayed the Emperors - and somehow you needed to find a way for yourself in this dangerous situation now. No privilege would save you now, your mind and your wits were your only weapons left.

Empress. It still felt surreal that this was the way you were called now. The title felt heavy on your shoulders just as the golden tiara crown of Empress Poppea on your head, while you listened to the footsteps of your husband behind you, echoing on the clean marble floor of his personal chambers as he approached you. Just as it was tradition, he'd taken you away from the celebration at one point, so that you to were able to seal this bond off with the mandatory wedding night.

Geta's hand reached out to you, taking one of the strains of your hair between his fingers, while his eyes lingered on your form, your curves hugged by the fabric of your beautiful wedding dress. Even though the thought of simply ripping your gown off your body and taking you right here right now, was an urge in his mind, he knew quite well that he had to treat you different like he did with his concubines. He needed you to surrender yourself to him, so that he could shake off the feeling of desperation he had, when he thought of you. Geta wanted you as a whole, not just your body, but your mind as well - an Empress that served him and loved him like no one else did.

„You can hate me as much as you want now. It doesn't matter", he whispered, standing close to you so that you were able to feel his hot breath against your skin. "I could kill you and your family, everything is in my hands, depending on how you play your part." Your eyes went silently to him, but you were not backing off in any way. "Then why don't you do it right now, my Emperor? Kill me and we're done with it. This wedding celebration becomes nothing more than dust and ashes then."

It were those words in this very moment, when Geta understood that he wasn't able to get you through fear. It surprised him, his irritation clearly written on his face. No one ever dared to speak with him like this, no one ever defied him in any way and yet you did - without hesitation. And while it would usually anger him, somehow in your case, he found it intruiging. Yet it also reminded him about the fact that he didn't just married you because he was able to bind General Acacius to his and his brother's rule.

His hand reached out and he traced the details of your jawline, before he placed his thumb and index finger at your chin, the tall young man basically towering you as he stood right in front of your form.

"That would be too easy, don't you think? I just presented Rome its new Empress. But let me remind you of the fact that you're nothing without me now. When my brother and i fall, so do you, which is why your father should follow our hand instead of chasing a dream that is long forgotten."

His thumb slowly ran over your lips, touching them softly as if he couldn't wait to simply kiss them. You stood still, eyes locked with him, as if you waited for him to make the first move. Maybe he thought you were a sheep, something to easily pray on like all the other women he usually got with one snap of his fingers, but despite your situation, there was still pride in you - hope even. "My father serves no one but Rome", you answered, but suddenly Geta tightened the grip on your chin. "Then you should hope that his definition of Rome is right this time. But let us stop talking about him, shall we? This is our wedding night and we both waited enough."

With those words his hands went to the brooches that held your dress together. Even though your body tensed, you knew you couldn't do anything about him being the first man to lay hands on you as he was now your husband. His dark eyes lingered on you like a wolf ready to consume his prey, especially once your dress fell from your shoulders to the ground, revealing the beautiful curves of your body.

"From the very first day i saw you, i was sure that you were the incarnation of Venus...", he mumbled, while his pale fingers traced your collarbones, the curves of your now exposed breasts, down to your hip. He took his time with it, as if he was looking at a marble statue in front of him. "Perfection."

His words rang in your ears and although it was an honor to hear those words from the mouth of an Emperor, it felt different. Otherwise, you instantly thought about the fact that his attention, his desire for you could be something useful. And you should at least try to keep him pleased if you didn't want him to think back to your father's betrayal. So out of a sudden, your hands went up to cup his cheeks, while your eyes met his. For a second he even froze in place, surprised by your sudden action. From the day you knew that a marriage with Geta was inevitable, you had to befriend the thought of induldging into something you couldn't change in any way. It was better to adapt in order to survive, better do play your part in order to gain peace - and through this, you might find a way to change the course of history?

Maybe this idea in your mind fired your bravery as you swallowed your pride and placed your lips on his. It was almost a provocation, rather than a romantic form of showing your devotion. "I might not change so quickly into the woman you expect from me", you whispered against them, his lips curving up into a wide smirk, amused by your tone shift. "Why should i want this? I enjoy our little game way too much..."

His hands suddenly grabbed your neck at the sides as he hold you in place, forcing you into another kiss, a more intense one this time. He quickly broke your hesitation with a straight entry of his tongue into your mouth, invading it like a conquerer and pushing you into a dance. You couldn't step back, you couldn't turn your head away, his fingers, the cold metal of his rings, drilled themselves into the skin on your throat and neck, imprison you in this position. It felt like an eternity until he released his lips from yours, before he brought them to your ear. "If i'd wish to fuck a submissive servant, i simply fuck one of my concubines, or a slave. You however,...", he whispered with a devilish grin on his face, which sent shivers down your spine. "It brings me much more joy, when you fight me... although i know you'll come to the point of loving me soon enough. And i will wait for it".

He didn't waste any time as he grabbed your arms and pushed you down on the the four poster bed, which was prepared for you two. A sea of pillows and blankets under the sky of heavy velvet drapes. Geta pinned you down onto the mattress as he placed kisses all over your neck, marking you as his own by leaving dark bruises on your skin. His words weren't a lie, because every time you tried to push him away with the way your body moved, he only took it as a motivation to continue in an even more craving and demanding way. There was no reason for you to keep this up for long, as it was not changing anything. Slowly his one hand creeped between your legs before he touched your sancturary, which was never been owned by any man before. With a grin, he coated his fingers with the wetness on your entrance, as he felt how your body shivered under his touch. "So you are not devoted to me yet? Then why are you wet like the ocean down there?", Geta whispered teasingly into your ear, while he pushed two fingers into you, causing you to gasp.

In fact, Geta was no brute. He could come off as a cruel man, but he knew that you were untouched, so he took his time to enjoy your body, while also preparing you for what's to come. In a way, he didn't want to hurt you, even though it was hard for him to hold back. His lips found their way from your neck to your breasts, while he stimulated your clitoris slowly with his fingers. There was no doubt that Geta was experienced, no surprisingly given the horde of concubines he called his own. But none of those women ever gave him the same satisfaction as you did in this moment. The feeling of your soft, skin under his lips was electrifying for him, while he went down to place kisses on your chest and lick over one of your nipples before he teasingly bit it with his teeth.

You couldn't clench your teeth together forever, while you tried so desperately to resist. There was still a form of resistance in you, as you didn't want to surrender your body so easily to the touch of a man that had threatened your family and force you into marriage. But it got harder, when the first sounds of pleasure escaped your lips, which incited Geta to keep going. The way your nipples grew hard under the touch of his tongue and the sucking of his lips was a divine example for him how you would soon tear down your wall freely. Out of a sudden, he reached for your wrist and forced your hand to the hem of his robes. "Go on, take them off", his demanding whisper catched your ear and you couldn't explain why your body simply followed his orders. Maybe a twisted 'excitement' guided your hands as you shoved his toga off his shoulders, following his belt and his tunica, the heavy brocade fabrics falling down to the white marble grounds, before you were able to see his body for the very first time.

Geta was the embodiment of the dissolute Emperor, whose main role from his early childhood was to become the most powerful man in all of Rome. The days his father had forced him onto the battlefield where long over, he hated the mere thought of dirt, hard work and the smell of a camp of legionaries. His body was pale as if he'd never seen the sunlight, a reminder how priviledged the Emperor's truly were in difference to the rest of Rome. Even though he wasn't seen as a strong man, who could fight against a gladiator, his slender body was still decorated by light and defined muscles. All those parties, the drinking and whoring aside, Geta did care for his body out of the fear to end up ill like his damned father, who died pathetically in his bed. But the most present part for you now was Geta's hardened erection, ready to have his moment, pre-cum already glistening in the dim light of the oil lamps that surrounded you. Your heart pounded against your chest, almost as if it would rip out of your skin at any given moment - like a prey in front of a predator and yet you stared into his eyes in defiance.

Oh how he was turned on by this beautiful defiance in your eyes, the thinking that you will never surrender yourself to a God. It motivated him to turn those tables, to make you scream his name as he would fuck you to elysium. And with that in his mind, he grabbed your wrists and pinned you down, bringing his body between your legs as he spreaded them. His hips blocking your possibility to push your legs together again. His face went down to your face, as he forced a hungry and predatory kiss onto your lips, your tongue fighting against his, before your suddenly bit his lip during the battle of dominance. Geta's head shot back, his dark eyes staring at you before a laugh escaped his lips again. "I have a pretty bold wife, so hesitant!"

"Call me your wife, but i will never love you!", you quickly hissed back, showing him the hate that had built up in your stomach with every second passing, but he didn't care at all. His grin spoke more than a thousand words. Without a warning, he slowly pushed himself into you. He could've simply thrust in you, not caring for your pain in any way which was hard to avoid when a woman lost her virginity. But it was softer than he inicially intended to be. You wanted to curse him, but all you were able to get out of your mouth, when you felt how the stinging pain got replaced with a different feeling, something more carnal, was a moan through your clenched teeth. Geta didn't need to hold himself back, the dark moan that came from his lips only mirrowed the pleasure he felt, when a tight cunt held his hardened cock. "I don't need your love, it'll come sooner or later. What i want now is your body, surrendered to me... and trust me, you will stop fighting me". With those words, the young Emperor began to thrust into you, starting with slow movements, while his one hand was still holding his position beside your head, the other was holding your wrists above your head to avoid any form of resistance.

Not that you could resist anyways, there was never a way out from the day your wedding got announced. Seeing his lust shimmering in his dark eyes, which were focused on your face, watching how you tried so desperately to not show him any form of pleasure, it felt like a torture. Geta knew what he did, he knew how to treat your body to get his desired reaction. And once he felt your resistance cracking down under the deep thrusts, while your bodies were starting to move in unison, he loosened the grip around your wrists. "I might've made a mistake... you're not so bold as you think you are", he groaned, before your eyes shut open and you grabbed his shoulders. Not bold enough... His voice haunted your head. You didn't surrender, maybe it was time to set new rules. With a devilish grin, he wrapped his arm around your hip and switched the positions with one movement. You found yourself on his lap, but one of your hand already found its way in his short gingerblonde hair, which you grabbed and pulled, before your hip moved against his. In this position, you were the one to look down on him, while he was able to easily hit your deepest core with his dick. "Now you got claws?", he whispered, but you didn't fall for his provocation and continued to ride him with a newly fired self-esteem, that even surprised him. But it wasn't as if he was able to think more about it in this very moment, when his fingers pressed into the skin of your ass, while he hold you down, the moment he shot his load in you. The semen that may carry an heir into your womb, a legacy Geta wished for himself - and not for his brother. A lineage that started from him and him alone. It was a good timing as your body 'surrendered' as well, your moan filling this room with your shared high, the only true implementation of a marriage.

Now you were truly his wife. Married to an Emperor. An Empress.

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[dulcescorderitas]

𝔀𝓮𝓭𝓭𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓷𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 C.Kent

author's note: inspired by Alicia and Clark; s4 e11 unsafe

warnings: 18+, smut

clark kent had never been one for impulsive decisions. a man of immense power and responsibility, he carried the weight of the world with calculated precision. but when it came to you, logic often lost to the sheer, undeniable pull of his heart. and that’s why, without much more than a single shared glance, he’d whisked you away in a blur of speed to the dazzling, sinful lights of las vegas.

the city sprawled below, a vibrant oasis of excess in the middle of the desert. you were breathless, both from the ride and from the realization of what was about to happen. clark stood there, hands in his pockets, looking almost shy despite the boldness of his actions. his deep blue eyes reflected the flickering neon as he turned to you, his smile nervous yet utterly charming.

“i know this isn’t the way you probably imagined it,” he said softly, taking a step closer, the gravelly tone of his voice sending a shiver down your spine. “but i couldn’t wait. i don’t want to wait.”

your heart thudded in your chest as he dropped to one knee, the glimmer of a modest ring catching the city lights. his hands, so capable of incredible strength, trembled slightly as he held the ring up to you.

“i don’t need a big wedding, or a long engagement. i need you, here and now. will you marry me?”

the world seemed to tilt as tears blurred your vision. you nodded, laughing through the happy sobs, and as you whispered your yes, clark rose, pulling you into a kiss so passionate, it left you dizzy. without wasting another moment, you were whisked away again, this time inside the little wedding chapel that glowed in shades of pink and purple.

the officiant, amused by your whirlwind romance, led you through the vows, but you could barely focus on the words. clark’s eyes never left yours, his grip on your hands firm, reassuring. when the question was finally asked, clark didn’t hesitate. "hell yes," he said, his voice rich with emotion. his lips were on yours again before the officiant could even pronounce you husband and wife.

the world outside blurred once more as clark scooped you up, carrying you across the threshold of a hotel room that could only exist in vegas. it was a gaudy explosion of red and pink, leopard print clashing with velvet hearts, and yet it was perfect. it felt like a place for lovers who couldn’t bear to wait, just like you and clark.

he set you down gently, the smile on his face a mix of joy and desire. his hands traced your arms, sending goosebumps rippling across your skin. "i think we should make this official," he murmured, his voice thick with intent.

you laughed softly, your fingers already working at the buttons of his shirt. "i couldn’t agree more."

his lips found yours, slow at first, savoring every sensation. but the slow burn quickly grew, his need palpable as he pulled you closer. his shirt slipped from his broad shoulders, revealing the hard lines of his chest, the muscle flexing under your touch. his hands moved with a reverence, sliding up your sides, under the fabric of your dress, lifting it in one smooth motion.

the dress pooled around your feet, leaving you in the delicate lingerie you’d chosen that morning, never anticipating it would be seen in a room like this. clark’s eyes darkened, his breath hitching as he took in the sight of you. "you’re stunning," he breathed, his hands finding the small of your back, pulling you against the heat of his body.

your fingers fumbled with his belt, desperate to free him from the confines of his jeans. his hands joined yours, brushing them aside to shed the last barriers between you. his cock sprang free, thick and ready, the sight of it making your core clench in anticipation.

he guided you to the heart-shaped bed, the plush velvet cool against your heated skin. clark settled between your thighs, his body pressing into yours, the weight of him grounding you in the moment. his kisses trailed from your mouth, down your neck, lingering at the hollow of your throat before moving lower, his lips finding the peak of your breast, his tongue swirling around the sensitive nipple before he sucked it into his mouth.

you arched into him, a soft moan escaping as his hand slid down your stomach, fingers dancing along the waistband of your panties before slipping beneath. his touch was electric, fingers parting your folds to find the slick heat waiting for him. he groaned at the feel of you, his thumb circling your clit with agonizing slowness.

“clark,” you gasped, your hips lifting to meet his hand, the need for more making your voice tremble.

“i’ve got you,” he promised, sliding a finger inside, curling it just right, making you cry out. “i’ll always have you.”

his lips returned to yours as he added another finger, stretching you, preparing you, his thumb never ceasing its torturous circles. your hands roamed his body, nails dragging down his back, relishing the shudder it elicited from him. he withdrew his fingers, making you whimper at the loss, but he was already positioning himself at your entrance, the head of his cock pressing against your slick folds.

he pushed in slowly, giving you time to adjust, every inch filling you more than you thought possible. the stretch was delicious, the burn a reminder of just how much you wanted this—wanted him. clark stilled once he was fully seated, his forehead pressed to yours, his breath ragged as he fought for control.

“you feel incredible,” he whispered, his hands gripping your hips as he began to move, the slow drag out and the deep thrust back in making stars dance behind your eyes.

each stroke was deliberate, each thrust a declaration of his love and need. you met him thrust for thrust, the rhythm building, the pleasure mounting with every movement. his name became a mantra on your lips, whispered between gasps and moans.

“faster,” you urged, your nails digging into his shoulders as you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper.

clark’s control shattered at your plea. he snapped his hips harder, faster, the sound of flesh meeting flesh filling the room alongside your combined moans. the headboard tapped against the wall, the bed creaking under the intensity of his thrusts.

“god, you’re perfect,” he groaned, his hand slipping between your bodies to rub your clit, pushing you closer to the edge. “come for me, baby.”

his words, the desperate, almost pleading tone, sent you spiraling. your climax crashed over you, your body trembling as you cried out his name, your walls clenching around him, drawing his own release. clark’s hips stuttered as he buried himself deep, spilling into you with a guttural moan, his body shuddering with the force of his orgasm.

you lay there, tangled together, hearts pounding in unison, the room still spinning from the intensity of your lovemaking. clark kissed your temple, his arms wrapping around you, holding you close as your breathing slowly steadied.

“i love you,” he murmured, his voice soft yet full of conviction.

you smiled, nuzzling into his chest. “i love you too.”

[unhealthyvendetta]

☆ YOU'RE A NEEDY GUY, BUT I GUESS I KIND OF LIKE THAT ☆

♡ overview. you broke up with your boyfriend who always treated you like dirt. now that you're gone he can't seem to live without you

♡ caution. satoru x reader, toxic relationship, cheating, angst, new and improved reader, not proof-read, no use of Y/N, sadist reader

➩➩➩➩➩➩➩➩➩➩➩➩➩➩➩➩➩➩➩➩➩➩➩➩➩➩➩➩➩➩➩

You held a huge gift in your hand. It wasn't expensive, no, but it had sentimental value.

Satoru always talked about how much he loved gifts like that, ones that came from the heart; at least that's what he said. It was your wedding anniversary and you wanted to do something for him.

You crept towards his office when you heard Satoru and his friends having a chat. "When are you going to divorce her? She's so cheesy and corny. It makes me sick!" One of his friends scoffed. Your heart dropped to your feet.

"Exactly. Why would you marry her?" His other friend snickered.

"I love her but this mundane life is boring." Satoru sighed, "I know a divorce would break her heart, so I'll just have to be secretive."

You stood frozen, looking through the cracks of the door. You probably would've confronted him, but to be honest your marriage was filled with holes that you desperately attempted to fill.

Satoru had been acting odd for the past year now, but you loved this man to death. So you ignored the countless girl "best friends" he had and the amount of times he came home with the scent of womens perfume on his shirt.

What could you do? Nothing.

But to come face to face with the thought of divorcing him was something that could make you deathly ill.

You quickly tried to think of something to do, anything ti get your mind off of this. Without thinking, you grabbed your car keys headed toward your car and started driving.

You kept driving, your hands shaking with anger and pure sadness.

You stopped at your parents house and knocked on the door. Your mother opened the door and looked surprised and excited to see you, although it was cut short due to the expression that you wore.

Before she could ask if you were okay, you burst into tears and gave her a huge hug.

After explaining the situation with your mother, she let you stay for as long as you needed. You thanked her and walked into your old bedroom.

It was a hit of nostalgia and sadness. You wished you never met Satoru. If you didn't you'd still be here, in this very bedroom.

Just then, your phone rang. Satoru was calling.

You reluctantly answered the call. "Honey, where are you? Your location is off." He asked, feigning anxiousness.

"I'm at my parents," You answered dryly. "Is everything okay?" Satoru asked, picking up on your dry response. "I don't want to call right now." You said bluntly. Satoru didn't speak for a few seconds, probably due to shock.

"That's okay, bye babe." Satoru assured, making your stomach twist with anger. He was playing in your face like a jackass.

You hung up, feeling nothing but rage. You decided to ignore your feelings and just go to bed, it was late after all.

Your eyes fluttered open but were quickly shut from the sudden sunlight. Once your eyes got used to the brightness you sat up and stretched. "How'd you sleep?" A familiar voice asked.

You turnt your head and saw your (soon to be ex) husband Satoru.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" You yelled, which made him laugh. "I was worried about you, you can't just leave like that." He smiled.

Satoru went to kiss your hand but you pulled away before thinking, making his smile drop.

"Hey.. is something wrong?" Satoru asked, looking almost hurt at the fact you pulled away. The sight made you feel.. almost satisfied? You decided to ignore him and he looked disappointed.

'"Hey, come on.. don't do that.. what'd I do?" Satoru asked with a frown. "Nothing, I'm just tired, okay?" You replied coldly. "No, no, come on.. don't be this way.. are you mad at me?" Satoru whined. "Leave me alone," You said as you got up from the bed.

Satoru looked so confused. Why do you keep pulling away from him like that?

You went downstairs to question why your mom would let Satoru in after you told her what happened but you saw your dad instead. "Awh," Your father sighed contently as he saw you. "It's been so long, I wish you told me you were visiting!" He smiled greatly.

You smiled back but your happiness was cut short by Satoru coming downstairs as well.

Your father went to greet him so you took this time to quickly slip out the door. You got in your car and tried to calm yourself. Why would Satoru follow you? What a jackass. You checked your phone and saw several missed calls from Satoru at the ass crack of dawn.

You decided to get out the car for a moment and saw Satoru. "We should head home," He said.

"I don't want to," You replied sharply. "Why are you so angry at me? I can feel tension between us. Please don't ignore me like this." Satoru confronted anxiously. You scoffed at him and ignored him, making him place his hands on your shoulders.

"Please talk to me, w-we can work some-" Satoru stuttered before you cut him off. "There's nothing wrong." You scoffed, making Satoru frown. "Let's just go home at least." Satoru suggested.

You would say no, but you miss your cat, so you reluctantly agreed.

You walked into your house and went to cuddle your cat and Satoru tried to talk to you, but as usual you made it difficult.

Eventually when nighttime came by, you reluctantly slept next to Satoru, or so you thought. He was gone. Where? You checked the closet and saw his suit missing. You checked his location and saw that he was at a restaurant. Just then, a notification popped up. Satoru uploaded a new story, which wasn't shocking.

You accidentally clicked the notification which pissed you off but we move.

But your anger subsided once you saw him taking a selfie with a girl which obviously wasn't you. You didn't really care, but quickly the post was taken down; accompanied with a facetime call you let ring.

You didn't even wanna think about his bullshit, so you went to sleep. But unfortunately you woke up to a suprise breakfast in bed from Satoru. You gave a slight frown, "I'm not hungry." You rejected, making him frown too.

"You're mad at me," Satoru said. "I'm just tired," You replied. Satoru eventually gave up and left you alone.

He invited his friends over and you knew they were probably going to talk about you again so you quietly peeked through the door and tried hearing their conversation.

"She's been acting weird, huh? Maybe she's playing hard to get?" His friend suggested. "But why would she? Do you think she heard or went through my phone?" Satoru asked. "Did we leave the door open?" His friend asked. He turned towards the door and before you could run away, he opened it and saw you.

Satoru looked really shocked to see you and you both stared at each other for a few moments.

"What.. what were you doing here?" Satoru asked as if he didn't already have an answer.

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

hi guys.. i know it's been like 2 months and i apologize! i've been so busy :(( i know this sucks and! frankly i feel like i lost by ability to write but this kind of took forever so pretend its good for my ego pls :') anyways, hi guys!!

[dearstvckyx]

Another Piastri? - OP81 (ft. JB9 + Piastri Family + Lily Zneimer)

summary: Mia distances herself from her family, leaving them worried, but Joe reassures them she’s okay. After secretly welcoming their son, Joe calls her family to Cincinnati, claiming Mia needs support. When they arrive, they’re shocked to meet baby Sebastian Oscar Burrow. Oscar gets emotional holding his namesake nephew, and the family shares a heartfelt reunion. Surrounded by love, Mia feels complete, beginning her new chapter as a mother.

pairings: older sister! oc! Mia Piastri x younger brother! Oscar Piastri / wife! Mia Piastri x husband! Joe burrow / oc! Mia Piastri x Piastri Family / newborn! Sebastian Burrow x everyone

. 　⁺ 　 . ⁺ 　 . 　⁺ 　 . ⁺ 　 . 　⁺ 　 . ⁺ 　 . 　⁺ 　 .

The months after the wedding had been strange, a mixture of joy and distance. Mia had slowly withdrawn from everyone—ignoring texts, dodging calls, and disappearing from social media. Her family had noticed, of course. Hattie and Edie texted constantly, trying to reach her. Her parents, Chris and Nicole, called Joe frequently, worried about why their usually bubbly daughter had gone so quiet.

But every time they asked Joe, his response was always the same.

“She’s okay,” he’d say in that calm, steady voice. “She just needs some space right now. Trust me, I’ve got her.”

And for a while, they trusted him. But as the weeks turned into months, the worry deepened. Even Oscar, who was usually too busy with racing, noticed. He called Joe more often, subtly pressing for answers.

“Is she really okay, Joe? She hasn’t answered me in weeks,” Oscar said during one call, his voice strained.

“She’s fine, man. I promise. Just… focus on your season, alright?”

Oscar wasn’t convinced, but he had no choice but to leave it alone.

What no one knew was that Mia and Joe had been keeping a secret. The pregnancy was something they wanted to savor privately, away from the noise of life and the whirlwind of her brother’s F1 career. Mia wanted the moment to be just theirs—for now.

. 　⁺ 　 . ⁺ 　 . 　⁺ 　 . ⁺ 　 . 　⁺ 　 . ⁺ 　 . 　⁺ 　 .

It was late one quiet evening in Cincinnati when it finally happened.

Mia had been restless all day, pacing their home with one hand on her belly. When the contractions started, Joe jumped into action, calm and collected as always. Hours later, they were in the hospital, and Mia was cradling a tiny, pink-cheeked baby boy in her arms.

“He’s perfect,” she whispered, her voice trembling as tears slipped down her face.

Joe leaned over, pressing a kiss to her temple. “He is.”

For a moment, it felt like the world had stopped. It was just the three of them—peaceful, complete. But as Mia looked down at their son, her heart ached. She’d pulled away from her family for months, and now, in this moment, all she wanted was for them to be here.

Joe noticed the hesitation in her eyes and gently took her hand.

“I’ll call them,” he said softly.

Mia blinked up at him. “But we wanted to keep this just us—”

“I know,” Joe interrupted, smiling. “But they’re your family. They’ll want to be here. Let me take care of it.”

. 　⁺ 　 . ⁺ 　 . 　⁺ 　 . ⁺ 　 . 　⁺ 　 . ⁺ 　 . 　⁺ 　 .

By morning, Chris, her mom, her sisters, and Oscar were all on their way to Cincinnati. Joe had called them late the night before, spinning a carefully crafted story.

“She’s in the hospital,” he’d said. “She’s fine, but she’ll feel more comfortable if you’re here.”

No one had questioned him. They booked flights immediately, arriving at the hospital the next morning with a mix of worry and relief. Oscar even brought Lily, who was Mia’s closer person outside their family.

When they stepped into the hospital room, the last thing they expected was the sight before them.

Mia was sitting up in bed, her hair a mess and her cheeks flushed, but she was smiling brighter than they’d seen in months. In her arms, wrapped in a soft blanket, was a tiny baby.

The room fell silent.

“Surprise,” Mia said softly, her voice trembling with emotion. “I wanted you all to meet him.”

Her father, Chris, took a shaky step forward, his face a mixture of shock and disbelief. “Him?” he asked, his voice cracking.

Mia nodded, tears spilling down her cheeks. “Your grandson.” She spoke, looking between both of her parents.

For a moment, no one moved. Then the room erupted in emotion. Hattie and Edie burst into tears, rushing to Mia’s side. Chris and her mom followed, their hands shaking as they gently touched the baby’s tiny fingers.

Oscar, however, stood frozen in the doorway, his wide eyes fixed on the little bundle in Mia’s arms.

“Are you just going to stand there, Ozzie Bear?” Mia teased, her voice soft and affectionate. “Come meet your nephew.”

Oscar blinked, snapping out of his daze. Slowly, he stepped forward, Lily nudging him gently from behind. When he reached Mia’s bedside, she carefully handed the baby to him.

Oscar’s hands shook as he cradled his nephew, his lips parting in awe. The baby squirmed slightly, letting out a tiny sigh.

“Oscar,” Mia said, her voice breaking. “Meet Sebastian Oscar Burrow.”

Oscar’s head shot up, his teary eyes locking with hers. “You… you named him after me?”

Mia nodded, her own tears falling freely now. “Of course I did. You’re my baby brother, and you mean the world to me. It just felt right.”

Oscar let out a shaky laugh, his tears falling faster now. “Mia…” he whispered, his voice cracking as he looked back down at Sebastian. “Thank you. He’s… he’s perfect.”

Lily, standing beside him, leaned over to stroke the baby’s cheek, her own eyes misty. “He really is,” she whispered.

Chris, standing off to the side, chuckled through his tears. “Looks like we’ve got another Piastri crybaby in the family.”

The room erupted in laughter, the tension melting away as joy filled the air.

. 　⁺ 　 . ⁺ 　 . 　⁺ 　 . ⁺ 　 . 　⁺ 　 . ⁺ 　 . 　⁺ 　 .

The rest of the day passed in a blur of happy tears and quiet moments. Everyone took turns holding Sebastian, marveling at his tiny fingers and soft little nose. Joe stood by Mia’s side the whole time, his hand never leaving hers.

As the sun set, Mia watched Oscar sitting in the corner of the room, cradling Sebastian with a tenderness she hadn’t seen before. Lily sat beside him, her head resting on his shoulder as she smiled down at the baby.

Mia’s heart swelled. For months, she had felt disconnected, lost in her own world. But now, surrounded by her family and her son, she felt whole again.

Looking up at Joe, she smiled through her tears. “We did good, didn’t we?”

Joe leaned down, kissing her softly. “Yeah, we did.”

And as Sebastian let out a tiny yawn, his family gathered around him, Mia knew this was just the beginning of something beautiful.

. 　⁺ 　 . ⁺ 　 . 　⁺ 　 . ⁺ 　 . 　⁺ 　 . ⁺ 　 . 　⁺ 　 .

Read Part One Here

[freezerbrldes]

onanist - s.r. (teaser)

PAIRING. Vampire!Spencer x Fem!reader

SUMMARY. Overcome with intense loneliness, you seek solace from any spirit that could hear your prayers. An ancient dark entity answers those prays, only his obsession with you is more than you can handle…

WARNINGS. lots of mentions of blood, biting, dom!spencer, slight somnophilia, fingering, oral (f receiving), pnv sex, spencer is extremely possessive (none of these warnings are in this teaser)

AUTHOR’S NOTE. This is a teaser for my newest fic which is heavily inspired by Nosferatu (2024)! The title is from one of my favorite songs off ethel cain’s newest ep, which I listened to a lot while writing this. I’ve never written dom!spencer or anything this dark so I had some help from @primomover. She helped me get this started and I left in a section that she wrote. The full fic will be out this friday as an early bday present from me to you.

credit to @cafekitsune for dividers

For as long as you can recall, you’ve had this recurring dream where the most captivating and beautiful man you’ve ever seen appears in your room late at night. This man embodies all your deepest, darkest, and perverted desires, and he brings out a side of yourself that you never knew existed.

He revealed to you once that his name is Spencer Reid. You know nothing else about him, yet you’re irresistibly drawn to him.

You shouldn’t even entertain these thoughts. You were married, and you shouldn’t be dreaming about anyone except your husband. However, the enigmatic man from your dreams haunts your every waking moment.

All is quiet in your empty townhouse, save for the soothing sounds of the creaks and groans of the house settling into the night.

Your husband is away on a six-week business trip, and you can’t help but feel a mix of emotions: fear of having to face the intensity of your dreams alone, but also excitement at the possibility of giving yourself up to the darkness you so desperately craved.

As you descend into a deeper sleep, the familiar dream starts. You’re standing by the balcony door as it swings open, and the curtains sway gently in the wind. A large, dark figure enters the room, towering over you as the smell of decaying flesh fills the room.

“Why do you keep visiting me every night? Who are you?” you asked, your eyes memorizing every feature of his gorgeous face, your eyes stopping at his sharp, razor-like teeth.

Spencer chuckles at your words, his loud voice reverberating through the house, causing it to shake slightly.

“Don’t you recall me? Don’t you remember calling out for me?” He spoke, his icy fingers gently caressing your face, sending shivers down your spine.

"I do remember,” you replied. “I prayed to the Lord to end my solitude." I said gently. "To send me an angel."

"Is that what I am? An angel?" He asked. As cold as his lips were, his breath set you on fire.

You looked at him - his eyes seemed to glow as they looked at your supple flesh.

"I fear you are not." You told him. He let out a huff of a laugh.

"What is to say l am not an angel that was cast out by an unforgiving god?" He swept you around in a twirl, one arm keeping your waist pulled tight against his.

“No,” you replied, your voice trembling not out of fear, but with an overwhelming sense of desire. “You are something far more sinister than a fallen angel.”

His laughter turned into a low, menacing chuckle as he spun you back around, pinning you against the wall with his body.

"Darker?" He repeated, his voice dripping with seduction and danger. "Perhaps... but you find yourself drawn to it, don't you?" His hands roamed down your sides, fingers trailing along the curves of your hips and thighs.

"This darkness within me, it stirs something primal inside you," he whispered, his breath hot against your skin. "A desire to be consumed, to surrender to the shadows."

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

"And I will devour you whole, my child. Body and soul." His words sent shivers down your spine, both from fear and exhilaration.

You knew you should resist, but the pull towards this dark, mysterious being was too strong to ignore.

OUT JANUARY 17TH!!

[coyotelip]

starchaser microfic: smoke || old married couple jeggy again || @into-the-jeggyverse || wc: 690

When James comes home, he smells like smoke. And alcohol. And a mixture of other smells that any man brings with him from a bar in the middle of the night.

It doesn't drive Regulus mad. He knew what he was signing up for when he agreed to let James go alone to Frank's party, and now his husband is crossing the threshold of their home with tentative steps, trying not to get tangled up with his own feet.

“I'm home, Reggie,” James says, barely able to make out what he shouldn't have said. Because Regulus is already standing in front of the door with his arms folded across his chest. “Are you angry?” James asks, his eyes round and sparkling.

“No,” Regulus replies shortly, his jawline tense.

He doesn't waste time talking, but simply picks up his husband by the elbow, helps him take off his coat, and leads him to the bathroom. On the way, he tries to breathe as little as possible through his mouth.

“Honestly, you're all grown up and make enough money to choose a better bar,” Regulus grumbles under his breath as he sits James down on the edge of the bathtub.

“Oh, you don't understand, Reg. It's not just a bar, it's a memory,” he tilts his head back and says the last word louder than the others. “It may be the cheapest beer in town, but it tastes like honey when you share it with your good friends, you know?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Regulus replies in the manner that parents use to small children who talk nonsense. He is now more concerned with pulling off the man's shoes and old jeans from his college days.

As the years go by, James' attempts to dress like he used to during his college football team days start to look more and more ridiculous. “Maybe next time you should wear something… more familiar to you, okay?” Regulus says carefully, pulling James' football jersey off his shoulders.

“But you said yourself that I look hot in this, didn't you? Everyone dreamed of a football player boyfriend back in the day, but you hit the jackpot,” James' head falls back on his shoulder, unclear whether it's from its weight and the effects of alcohol or from an attempt at drunken flirting. His lips stretch into a wide smile, and his eyes look up at the man from beneath his heavy eyelids.

“That was twenty years ago, James.” Regulus sighs heavily and grabs at his shirt, leaving James in nothing but his underwear.

“So… you don't think I'm sexy anymore?” the smile disappears and James' lips pout in a childish manner.

Taking a step back, Regulus looks down at his man's body in front of him, puts a finger to his lips as if thinking. “Hmm…”

No doubt, he would say without hesitation that he considers the forty-year-old James to be no worse than the twenty-year-old. In some ways even better - his hair is now covered with gray just like Regulus'. Part of his face is covered with a beard that James rubs so often against his husband's delicate skin, but Regulus still loves it.

His muscles are still as visible as ever, because James doesn't allow himself to turn into a typical man on the couch with a can of beer in his hands. Even though he doesn't say it out loud, the appearance of his body is still very important to James, which is why Regulus doesn't let him forget that he loves him with or without this body. But with this body, of course, it is more pleasant.

“Maybe if you sit down in the tub and let me rub you all over, I can give you an honest opinion, okay?” Regulus says, taking James' face in his hands and lifting it up to his.

Looking into those sparkling and pleading eyes, he can't help but leave a kiss on the tip of his man's nose, but instantly regrets it - the smell of the rotten bar still permeates his skin and James should get in the water now if he wants to get another kiss in this life.

[yoonjae20]

Batfam + Danny go on vacation [Bruce/Danny; Spirit Halloween]

Finally we are here at the Beach episode! /joking (well mostly lol). Also we get a much needed conversation between Damian and Danny.

Read on ao3. Masterpost

Previous.

“So I have been thinking,” Danny starts as they are laying in bed, both of them winding down after a long day. Bruce raises an eyebrow when his husband doesn’t continue. 

“Yes?” he prompts and closes the book he had been reading, settling it on the nightstand.

“I feel like we deserve a nice vacation,” Danny finally says.

Bruce knits his eyebrows together, but doesn’t disagree. 

“We’ll have to coordinate the patrols, but I guess we should be able to make a trip for a few days.”

Danny exhales, shaking his head as he smiles at Bruce. 

“I meant with the whole family.”

Bruce’s eyes widen and he just stares at Danny. 

“Yes, that means even Duke and Alfred,” Danny adds. “Barbara and Steph too if they feel like it. They should get a chance to relax.” 

Bruce presses his lips into a fine line. 

“We can’t let Gotham stay unprotected.”

Danny sighs like he expected this. 

“We could always ask Clark-“

Bruce bristles, narrowing his eyes as if he can’t believe what Danny just said. 

“No way I’m letting him protect my city!” 

Danny rolls his eyes before he pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Do you trust Clark?” he questions, staring his husband down. 

Bruce squirms in his spot.

“Yes, but-“

“And if Clark asked you to protect Metropolis for him, would you deny him?” Danny interrupts. 

“No of course not-“

“Then why don’t you extend him the same trust?” Danny huffs out a breath. “He’s literally your best friend Bruce, and we both know you don’t have a lot of those.”

Bruce doesn’t pout — for the record he doesn’t pout. He grunts, not meeting Danny’s eyes. 

“I thought the sessions with Jazz were helping?” Danny asks as the man doesn’t answer. “You know you don’t have to keep pushing away people just because you are afraid of them getting hurt. You and I both know that if something really bad happens I can transport us back to Gotham in a blink.”

“It would be nice to have a vacation once in a while,” Bruce finally admits. “It’s just with everything going on lately… I feel uneasy.”

Danny lets out a fond huff as he kisses the man's cheek. 

“See, that wasn’t so hard, right?”

“I hate that I don’t find that patronizing.”

Danny chuckles.

“The perks of being your husband, I guess,” he says cheekily before he reaches over to the lamp on his nightstand, turning it off. “I’ll bring up the idea to the rest of the family tomorrow.”

“I guess I don’t have a say in the matter,” Bruce sighs but it’s fond. 

“You know the saying — Happy husband, happy life.”

“That doesn’t even rhyme.”

Danny hushes him and Bruce rolls his eyes before he also turns off his lamp. 

“Danny?” he extends into the dark.

His husband hums as Bruce finds his hand under the blanket. 

“I love you.”

Bruce can hear Danny’s smile in his voice.

“I love you too.”  

They draw a lot of attention as they arrive at the airport despite them taking a private plane. They stop for a moment outside the Gate as Danny does a headcount — making sure nobody got lost (or more like they saw something suspicious and decided to investigate. Yes, Danny is talking about Tim or Bruce.) 

Danny claps to get everyone’s attention, the squabbling and banter finally stopping.

“Does everyone have their luggage?” Danny asks. “I know we can easily replace any clothes and essentials, but I know for fact that some of you went behind my back and packed your costumes and weapons nevertheless.”

Danny’s gaze heads to Damian and Tim, the latter who doesn’t meet his eyes. Damian just stares at him with a neutral expression. Danny sighs and shakes his head.

“But I guess it’s asking too much to expect a family full of vigilantes to go anywhere without a safety blanket.”

“Not everyone can simply transform Magical Girl style,” Jason snarks.

Danny narrows his eyes. 

“We both know you are the one who is the most strapped to hell,” Danny says. “Do you want me to confiscate everything?” 

Jason takes it as the warning it is and shuts his mouth. Danny huffs out a breath. 

“I thought so,” Danny states. “Then let’s get out here before the paparazzi flocks here. Everyone on social media must know where we are by now.”

The kids fall in line and Danny and Bruce form the final light. Bruce chuckles. 

“I never thought I would miss your bossy side,” he says. “You used to nag me constantly.”

Danny raises an eyebrow.

“Are you sure you want to stir that hornets’ nest?”

Bruce laughs as he puts a hand around Danny’s waist as they walk. 

“Of course not — it’s more amusing to not be at the end of it.” 

“Well Alfred told me quite some interesting stories-“

Bruce leaves his side and quickly hurries with long strides to catch up with his kids. Danny shakes his head with a smile while Alfred looks at him and Bruce with a knowing smirk. I guess some things never change, Danny thinks to himself fondly.

They arrive at their rented penthouse, all of them going to their assigned rooms to sleep off the jet lag until dinner. Danny pulls out something more comfortable to wear from his suitcase when he sees Bruce settled on the balcony, anxiously staring at his phone.

He lets out a sigh, abandoning the clothes as he steps out. He snatches his husband’s phone, ignoring his protests.

“I told you no social media or reading business emails while we are on vacation,” Danny chides. “Clark will be fine. Steph and Barbara stayed behind as well. Stop catastrophizing.” 

Danny glances at the news headlines for Gotham, snickering when he sees the prank Jason and him did on Joker. The graffiti almost looks even better than during the night. It had been quite a rush job to make sure they would have enough time until the flight, but somehow they managed. (It might have helped that Danny used some doppelgängers too.) 

They are hoping to draw the rogue out of hiding. He’s been suspiciously quiet the last few months. 

“I should have known it was you,” Bruce sighs, “Did it have to be on the Wayne Enterprises building?”

Danny shrugs with a fake innocent smile.

“How can I deny our son?”

Bruce shakes his head, but his lips perk up into a fond smile as he hums. 

“Our son,” he murmurs. “I quite like that.”

Danny snorts.

“Of course you would,” he teases before shooing the man inside their room again. “Now let’s go take a nap — I know you are tired too, you can’t fool me.”

“I changed my mind,” Bruce banters. “I don’t like your bossy side.”

“Too late,” Danny says as he pushes him onto the bed, caging the man inside his arms as he smiles.

His core purrs under his chest as Bruce looks at him with obvious adoration. He leans down and kisses the man, sleep quickly forgotten.

Danny sits down on the pier next to Damian who has his knees tucked under his chin.

“Not enjoying the vacation?” Danny asks softly.

Damian doesn’t really react to hearing his voice other than his eyebrows crinkling and Danny has to hold back a coo at the sight of it — he could never be angry at Damian despite what Ra’s did, the boy was just too much like his father. He hums, contemplating if he should give the boy space or push through his obvious discomfort. 

He decides to do the former — Danny doesn’t know the boy long enough to truly understand him. While he might act similar to Bruce, there is no 28 year old relationship between them. No unbroken trust. He also has a feeling that Damian would find it patronizing if he treated him a child — no matter that he is one. (And how much anger Danny feels at the fact that he grew up having no real childhood.) 

He moves to stand but before he can Damian catches his wrist. Danny freezes, but the boy still doesn’t look him in the eyes as he obviously tries to collect himself. 

“Aren’t you angry?” Damian questions. “At what Mother and Grandfather did? At me?”

“I’m angry about a lot of things,” Danny says, keeping his voice calm. “You’ll have to specify on what.”

Damian frowns, dropping his wrist as he pulls his legs even closer.

“I should have never existed,” he says, voice monotone. “How can I call myself the heir of Father’s mantle, when, if it weren’t for Grandfather’s meddling, I would have never been created?”

Danny takes a deep breath, suppressing the rage welling up in him.

“I know for a fact that your father never regretted taking you in,” Danny says. “He always wanted biological children — yes what your grandfather did was despicable, but you know that Bruce doesn’t blame you, right?”

Damian gulps audibly. 

“Why wouldn’t he regret it?” he questions. “I’m feral, angry and violent. I can’t read social cues and I don’t trust people. I treated Drake and the rest horribly…” His voice breaks. “I’d rather call people by their surnames than admit that they are important to me.”

“You didn’t call me by my surname,” Danny interjects gently.

Damian finally looks up, struggling to keep his composure and the expression in his eyes is something Danny is way too familiar with. He lets out a sigh as he projects his movements, giving Damian enough time to draw back if he doesn’t want to be touched. When he doesn’t even twitch, Danny crouches down and tucks his head into his chest.

“You don’t have to feel guilty,” Danny soothes as the boy breaks down. “No matter what you think you did, I forgive you.”

Damian clutches Danny’s shirt — for the first actually crying and letting it all out. 

“He cried himself out,” Danny whispers as he leans at the door frame, looking at Bruce who strokes through the boy’s hair, where he is settled on their bed. Bruce trembles with barely suppressed fury.

“I should have confronted Ra’s and Talia when I took him in.”

Danny sighs as he crosses his arms. 

“You know that wouldn’t have changed a thing,” he says, walking over to the man and Damian, rubbing Bruce’s shoulder. “Damian would have taken it as an attack on his honor.”

“Then after this vacation-” Bruce's voice rises.

��Bruce,” Bruce closes his mouth at Danny’s tone. “He has made so much progress. Do you really want to set him back?”

Bruce presses his lips together.

“You can accompany him if he wants to do it himself,” Danny adds. “But what he really needs right now is you.”

Bruce lets out a heavy sigh.

“I know,” he accepts. “It's just not fair” He squeezes his eyes close. “Not only did they take away the chance of having my first biological child, but they didn’t even tell me about him until it was almost too late. I never saw his first steps. I never heard his first words. I never held him in my arms when he was a baby.”

Bruce balls his left hand into a fist, gritting his teeth. Danny takes his hand, slowly prying it open and holding it before he can hurt himself, carefully brushing over crescent shaped indents. 

“You saw him making friends for the first time. You heard his first real, happy laugh. You held him, showing him that touch can be something other than violence,” Danny counters. “We can always make new memories.”

Bruce turns, hugging his stomach as he buries his head in it.

“What did I do without you for 22 years?” the man asks and Danny chuckles, blinking back tears.

“I wonder the same.”

They are relaxing on the beach loungers watching over the rest of their family goofing off in the water, splashing each other as they laugh when Danny gets the alert. He frowns as he looks at the contents. Instantly Bruce notices, looking away from Damian who for once also participates — him and Tim teaming up against the rest — knitting his eyebrows together.

“What’s wrong?”

Danny sighs before he forces a smile on his lips. 

“Kingly duty calls,” he lies. “I’ll try to be quick.”

He gives Bruce a quick peck on his lips before he opens a portal, disappearing in it.

It’s only later that the rest of the family realizes that Jason disappeared after he excused himself to get himself a cold glass of water too. 

Both of them only return a day later, covered in blood. 

Bruce’s hands had shook when he saw them, trembling over their forms when he checked them for any injuries. It was only when Danny gave him a smile that he relaxed. 

“It’s not either of our blood,” Danny explains, “Or did you forget that both our blood is contaminated by ectoplasm?”

He grasps Bruce’s both hands, settling one of them over his heart and the other over Jason’s — who surprisingly doesn’t even protest.

“We are fine, Bruce.”

Bruce still clutches both of them close. (He knows what they did, but the only important thing to him is that they are safe.)

“Group hug!” Dick exclaims and runs up to them, quickly forming a cuddle pile as the rest join. 

Danny ruffles Damian’s hair when the boy leans against him. Yes, they are safe. (And nobody will be able to change that — Danny will make sure of it.)