#Both use a different kind of flow

[edwardwonghaupepelutivrusky4th]

technically if it's not simmered in the champagne region of france it's a sparkling best boy friend

[amplexadversary]

I wonder if a really dedicated collection of book nerds could get those Elaine Duillo style cover illustrations a foothold in the publishing industry again. There are certainly enough artists who can achieve that level of intricacy that a really really popular Trend might be able to do it.

Perhaps any of those bookbinding hobbyists might want to try to go pro and pair up with an artist to refurbish something well enough to hook the really rich art snobs into buying unique, custom pieces for a fuckton of money.

[sceletaflores]

SINK IN ME WITH YOUR DOG TEETH!

ೃ⁀➷ pair: logan howlett x fem!reader

ೃ⁀➷ wc: 7.0k

ೃ⁀➷ contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, established relationship, feral nasty unhinged logan yes god, logan only slightly losing his humanity but like it’s a lot less sad than it sounds, maybe some toxic relationship dynamics but who cares it’s porn, predator/prey dynamics, p in v, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, HEAVY scent kink (like don’t make me say it…but beware of some very subtle armpit stuff), pain kink, biting is just another form of sexual penetration guys, blood, so much come and come talk, creampie, squirting, this is just gross, porn w/o plot, no use of y/n.

ೃ⁀➷ nat's note: hi…hi y’all…so here’s the winner of the poll and i need everyone to just hear me out for a second! walk with me! this is probably the most unhinged thing i’ve ever written, like omg those tags. this upsetting depravity was inspired by this post by @stupidfuckingwindow and this post by @monimccoythings which both altered the chemical balances of my brain so fiercely i blacked out for a while and when i came to this was in front of me. merry christmas and happy holidays! take this not at all christmas themed fic as my present to you my precious angels. kisses!

dividers by lovely @saradika-graphics!

you notice a strange shift in logan...

There’s something off with Logan.

The changes were subtle, but you’ve been with him long enough now to pick up on them. And while he's always had a raw, untamed edge to him, a sort of wildness simmering just beneath the surface, this feels different.

It started with the way he would go quiet for longer than usual, like his mind was too far away for you to reach—lost to somewhere distant.

Logan has always been quiet, but this was a different kind of silence. Conversations that used to flow with ease now hang in the air, unfinished. All of his responses reduced to nothing but low grunts and clipped words.

And he was more territorial over you, so much more.

His hand has started to linger at the small of your back or the curve of your waist for a lot longer when you’re in public, his strong grip firm enough to remind you—and anyone nearby—that you’re his.

He would fume at even the slightest hint of someone else's interest in you, a low warning growl escaping his throat to anyone who spared you a second glance.

It wasn’t just the physical closeness, though. It was also in the way Logan has started to watch you—his sharp gaze a never ending constant. An all imposing, heavily looming shadow.

There were even times late at night when you thought he was asleep, that you’d find him staring at you in the dark.

Not the usual, protective gaze he’d have when he thought you were vulnerable, but something deeper, more intense. His breathing would be slow, measured, but there was this energy, this tension that hummed between the two of you.

The nights he did manage to sleep, he’d hold you close to him, his grip iron-tight, his face buried in your hair. If you tried to shift away, even for a second, he’d stir, his arms pulling you back with a quiet, possessive growl that sent a shiver down your spine.

There were bite marks on your neck when you'd wake up, small enough to pass off as nothing—at least, that’s what you tried to tell yourself, but each one felt like a brand. They were deeper, more deliberate.

Then there was the scent—his scent.

You swear it’s gotten stronger, more potent. It clings to you like a second skin, lingering in your clothes, your sheets, even your hair. An intoxicating blend of leather and pine and musk that makes your head spin.

Each time you left the house without him, he’d pin you to the mattress and rub himself all over you before begrudgingly let you walk out the door. His hands or his face running along the delicate skin of your neck, of your stomach, of your wrists.

Everywhere.

He was claiming you in ways—new ways—that left you both exhilarated and confused.

There were other things too, smaller but no less odd things that were starting to add up.

More and more of your clothes have slowly started to go missing over the past few weeks. Each morning when you open any of your dresser drawers, it seems like there are less and less filling them.

Shirts, shorts, socks, bras, panties. All things you’ve found shoved under his side of the mattress or tucked under his pillow. The most memorable hiding place was the front pocket of his leather jacket, your favorite pair of panties haphazardly stuffed inside.

You haven’t said anything about it yet, unsure if you should be concerned or amused.

It isn’t like he’s truly hurting anyone.

He’s just acting…strange.

A part of you can’t help but be drawn to it—the new intensity, the new rawness. There was something undeniably magnetic about the way he clings to you, like you're his anchor in a world constantly shifting beneath his feet.

You’ve seen Logan at his worst—bloody, broken, and lost. But this? It’s never been like this before.

Whatever it is, it has its claws in him deep, and by extension, you.

You just got home from a run, barely walking through the door and kicking your shoes off when a call of your name rings out from the bedroom.

Logan’s tone stops you in your tracks—low and rough, like gravel crunching underfoot.

Your reaction is nearly instant, breath hitching in your chest, heart skipping a beat as a warmth that has nothing to do with the temperature outside starts to pulse through you steadily.

It’s like you’ve become reprogrammed to respond to him this way, your body reacting before your mind can even catch up as his deep, familiar voice rolls over the sweaty expanse of your skin.

You drop your bag at your feet and slowly make your way to the bedroom, a bead of sweat trailing down your temple as you push the door open.

All the curtains are closed, the only light in the room a yellow glow that shines from your bedside lamp. 

Logan is sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning back on his palms, but there’s nothing casual about his posture.

His gaze is locked on you, dark and intense, tracking every step you take, like a lion stalking a gazelle as it drinks from a watering hole.

“Didn’t tell me where you were going.” His eyes gleam as the lamp’s rays reflect off of them, his pupils dilated so he can see you better in the darkness that shrouds your room.

You swallow hard, trying to be as nonchalant as you can as your feet carry you to your dresser. “I went for a run,” you reply, your voice a little too steady, a little too casual.

You tug open the top drawer, rifling around for a clean shirt with a little more focus than necessary to distract yourself from the way his eyes burn a hole into your back.

“You didn’t tell me,” Logan repeats, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that sends a shiver down your spine. “You know I don’t like it when I don’t know where my girl is.”

There’s a sharp edge to his words, but it’s not anger—it’s something far more primal.

The energy in the room crackles like a storm about to break, and you feel it in your bones, in the way your skin prickles under his gaze.

"I was only gone for an hour," you say, your voice measured, careful. "You were still asleep when I left, I didn’t want to wake you." 

You chance a glance over your shoulder, and the sight of him steals the air from your lungs.

Logan hasn’t moved an inch from his perch on the edge of the bed, but the sheer force of his presence keeps you rooted in place, heart hammering in your chest.

“Hmm, that’s real sweet, baby,” he drawls, sitting up straighter now, leaning forward.

The motion makes him seem larger somehow, shoulders broad and imposing in the dim light. His tongue drags slowly across his bottom lip, and the way his gaze rakes over you feels like a physical touch, leaving a trail of heat in its wake.

Your fingers still in the drawer, fabric slipping from your grasp as your pulse pounds in your ears. You can’t bring yourself to look away from him, caught in the snare of his sharp, predatory focus.

You turn slowly, arms falling to hang limply at your sides. "I wasn't gone long."

Logan tilts his head, a low, amused sound rumbling in his chest as he rises to his feet with a fluid, deliberate ease that makes your stomach flip.

“Didn’t feel that way to me, darlin’.” His voice is a deep, gravelly purr. It sends a shiver down your spine. “Felt like forever.”

His eyes never leave yours as he crosses the room, the green completely swallowed by the dark black of his pupils as they seep into the color like oil spilling out over the surface of a lake.

You’ve never seen him like this before, so hungry.

"Logan," you say slowly, back pressed tightly against your dresser. "You're really starting to freak me out." 

Logan hums idly, head cocked to the side as he watches you. "I can hear your heartbeat." 

His tone is calmer now, but there’s still a dangerous edge to it, like a knife pressed just lightly enough against the skin not to break it.

Your pulse races, heat simmering in your stomach despite the slight edge of fear clawing its way through your chest.

He stops in front of you, so close that his scent invades your senses strong enough to make your knees feel like they’re about to buckle beneath you.

“There’s nothin’ to be scared of baby,” he mutters quietly, thick arms coming up to cage you against the dresser. 

Your hold on the wood tightens, your knuckles turning white with the strength of your grip.

It’s almost chemical, the way you can feel your body start to give in to him. The thought fills you with as much arousal as it does unease, a heady combination that churns in your stomach.

You muster up enough will to breathlessly nod in agreement, a quiet submission.

Logan’s lips quirk into the faintest smirk, his heavy gaze dipping to the curve of your neck, lingering on the rapid flutter of your pulse. “That’s my good girl.”

Any words you might say get caught in your throat as you stare up at Logan, wide eyed and steadily leaking wetness into the gusset of your panties. 

His nostrils flare, and a knowing sound rumbles from somewhere dark and low in his chest as his eyes flutter shut on a deep inhale.

Your thighs clench together instinctively, the overwhelming need to be filled wracking through your body like thunder.

When Logan opens his eyes again, there’s no trace of anything but pure animal need. The muscles in his jaw working furiously under his skin in time with the strain of his forearms still caging you in place.

“Yeah…” he trails off slowly, tone both condescending and soothing all at once. “I know you’re not all that scared, honey.”

He leans in, tearing a small whimper from your throat at the way his beard scrapes against your cheek as he crowds you.

His breath fans over the shell of your ear, hot and enticing as they brush against your skin when he speaks again. “I can smell how fuckin’ wet you are.”

Logan’s words send a sharp jolt through you, a broken moan falling from your parted lips as your cheeks heat up so fiercely it’s as if you’ve been slapped.

Your body moves without thinking, pressing up into his hard, unyielding frame like you can’t help it—and maybe you can’t.

“L–Logan…” Your voice trembles, a weak thing that dissolves in your throat as he noses along the skin of your neck.

His hands come down to rest on your waist, palms rough and possessive and warm and a perfect fit where they lay over your curves, anchoring you in place.

“Shhh.” His lips trail down your jaw, leaving wet kisses in their wake. “You don’t gotta say a thing, princess. I know what you need.”

Logan’s hands slip lower, cupping the backs of your thighs with ease before hoisting you onto the dresser like you weigh nothing. The sharp edge of the wood digs into your legs, but you can’t find it in yourself to care about the discomfort.

Your hands go to his shoulders without much of a second thought, nails digging into corded muscle as you try to keep your balance. 

Logan’s hands stay on your thighs, his grip strong enough for you to feel the power behind them without hurting you.

He noses along your sweaty skin like a hot-tempered hound, desperately inhaling greedy lungfuls of your scent wherever he can get it.

Behind your ear, in the crook of your neck, along your collarbone, the exposed swell of your breasts, dangerously close to your underarm.

He groans against your shoulder, a full body shiver jolting his frame. “Smell so fuckin’ good darlin’, drives me goddamn crazy.”

You can’t form a coherent thought, let alone a response. His mouth finally finds yours, claiming you with a ferocity that steals your breath.

Logan's tongue slides against yours, a messy, desperate kiss that has you moaning into his mouth, your fingers tangling in his hair to pull him closer.

It’s filthy, fueled by nothing but raw need and desperation. Spit drips from your chin to trail down the length of your throat until it gathers in the valley of your breasts. Whether it’s his or yours, it doesn’t matter.

It’s a perfect mix of the both of you, lewd and messy in the way it claims your skin.

Logan breaks the kiss with a low moan, his chest heaving the same as yours as you both inhale harsh lungfuls of air.

His lips are red and raw, swollen in a way that your own must mirror. A string of saliva keeps you connected, drooping thinner and thinner in the space between you until it breaks under the weight of gravity.

Logan doesn’t give you long to catch your breath. His lips trail down your jaw and latch onto the sensitive spot just below your ear, teeth scraping against skin before he sucks hard enough to leave a mark. 

Your head falls back against the wall as his mouth moves lower, dragging the strap of your sports bra down with his teeth.

The way he’s acting—like a man crazed, like he needs you more than he needs air—has you dizzy with need. But there's a part of you that’s still trying to hold onto some semblance of control, to hold onto something familiar in the chaos.

It’s only then that you realize this may be a bad idea. 

Whatever this is, is clearly an accumulation of all the things you’ve noticed over the last couple of weeks.

Maybe indulging Logan will only make things worse, like giving in to him when he’s in such a state could be the tipping point to a much deeper and all consuming issue buried somewhere inside of him.

It can’t possibly be healthy for him to act like this, and it can’t be healthy for you to bask in it as much as you are.

“W–wait.” Your thighs slip shut, hands coming up to push at Logan’s shoulders weakly.

There’s no real force behind your ministrations and you keep your neck bared to him all the while, but he stops anyway, rearing back with a displeased noise. 

His face hovers inches from yours, and for a moment, you swear he looks almost pained—his brows furrowing, jaw tightening as though reigning himself in is a Herculean effort.

His hands remain on your thighs, trembling slightly as he keeps himself rooted in place, clearly fighting every instinct roaring through him to just take what he wants.

“You don’t want me to stop, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice low and gravelly, a stark contrast to the restraint in his expression. His thumbs stroke idly against your skin, his touch soothing even as his words drip with pure, feral confidence. “I can smell the way your pussy’s achin’ for it. I can feel it. You’re shakin’ for me.”

You are—your whole body feels like it’s on the verge of unraveling under his touch, your resolve crumbling faster than you’d like to admit.

Everything you were going to say gets clogged in your brain on the way out, leaving you silent as you hold his gaze.

You don’t even have the capability to feel embarrassed at the way you blanch, lost in the way his scent attacks your senses, in the rough drag of his palms over your bare thighs, in the way your lips still tingle from his kiss.

Logan sighs, long and all suffering as his hands come to rest on both of your shut knees. The impatient raise of his brow paired with the dissatisfied curl of his lips is enough to shake you to the core.

“Now, you gonna show it to me?” His fingers drum along your knee, his patience thinning. “Or am I gonna have to make you.”

And it may sound like one, but you know it’s not a question. 

It’s a choice.

Your mind races, hands clenching and unclenching on Logan’s shoulders as you weigh your options. His own hands squeeze your knees, just hard enough to let you feel it in your bones.

You spread your legs.

Logan doesn’t waste a second, dropping to his knees in front of you with a satisfied rumble and a predatory gleam in his eyes. His hands grip your thighs, pushing them even wider. Wide enough to make you feel exposed, vulnerable in the best way. 

Your head dips, chin falling to your chest as you watch the way Logan takes up the space between your legs. Your shorts are soaked, fabric so drenched that it’s melded to the shape of your cunt, your puffy folds on display for his greedy eyes.

“Fuck,” Logan breathes, his voice cracking like a whip in the quiet room. His hands find your waistband, and the dull sound of fabric ripping rings out.

The sturdy cotton tears like tissue paper in his hands, the scraps of your shorts falling carelessly to the floor, leaving you in nothing but the light blue panties you slipped on before your run. 

The way he gazes at the space between your thighs is feral, unrestrained, like he’s a man starving for his next meal—and you’re it.

“Look at that…” Logan mutters, almost to himself as he runs his knuckle along the wet cotton of your panties. His touch is featherlight, barely any pressure at all, but it’s enough.

Your breath hitches, a sharp intake of air at the teasing touch, and your hips instinctively cant forward, silently begging for more. 

Logan's eyes flick up to yours, a dark smirk curling his lips like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you—and how much you're already falling apart.

“Eager fuckin’ thing,” he drawls, voice rough with arousal. He leans forward, his hot breath ghosting over your soaked panties, sending a shiver racing down your spine. “You want me to give your pussy some kisses, baby?”

You open your mouth to respond, but the words never make it out. Logan’s lips press against the damp fabric, placing a kiss right over where your covered clit throbs with need.

Your head falls back to rest on the wall behind you, a shocked moan bursting from your lips.

“Logan.” His name is pulled from your mouth like a plea, but he doesn’t let up, the sharp edge of his teeth scraping over the sensitive bundle of nerves hidden beneath the soaked barrier of your underwear.

“Hmm?” He hums against you, the vibration sending shockwaves through your core. “Thought you wanted me to stop?”

The taunt is maddening, the rasp of his voice and the teasing flicks of his tongue combining to unravel you piece by piece. 

You shake your head furiously, thighs trembling where they rest on his broad shoulders. “N-no—don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”

Logan chuckles darkly, his hands sliding up your thighs to hook his fingers into the thin waistband of your panties. 

“That’s more like it,” he taunts. With a single, sharp tug, the ruined fabric joins the scraps of your shorts on the floor.

Logan groans at the sight of your bare cunt, slick with your juices and flushed with arousal. His mouth waters, his tongue running along the sharp points of his canines in anticipation.

You’re already so ready for him.

“You smell so fuckin’ good,” he growls, leaning in to drag his nose along the slick seam of your folds. The deep inhale he takes is obscene, sending a ripple of anticipation through your entire body. “Know that you taste even better.”

Logan licks a broad stripe through your folds, groaning like the taste of you is enough to satisfy him completely. His hands grip your thighs tighter, keeping you spread and utterly at his mercy as he begins to work in earnest.

He alternates between laving the tip of his tongue over your clit and dipping down to fuck into you, his beard scraping along the skin of your thighs in a way that’s almost too much. Your head falls back, hitting the wall with a soft thud as your vision blurs.

“God, Logan.” You squirm on the vanity, but he holds you steady, growling low and deep into your core like your moaning only spurs him on.

“That’s it,” he mutters between licks, his words unmistakably smug. “Make those pretty little sounds for me, baby.”

Logan circles your clit with the flat of his tongue, alternating between firm, deliberate strokes and light, teasing flicks that leave you gasping for air.

You cry out, fingers tangling in his thick, unruly hair as he repeats the motions, your thighs starting to tremble on either side of his head.

Every time your hips buck against him, he growls, the vibrations of it sinking into your skin and amplifying the pleasure coursing through your veins.

“Stay still,” he orders, his voice muffled against your dripping core but no less commanding. His hands tighten on your thighs, holding you in place with an unrelenting grip. “You’re not in charge, sweetheart.”

You whimper, your whole body trembling as you fight the urge to grind against his face. But it’s impossible to stay still when he’s licking into you like a man possessed, his mouth working you over with an intensity that has your vision going hazy.

“I know, you're just so damn needy, aren’t you, baby?” He drawls , pulling back just enough to speak, his lips glistening with your arousal. “You love this, hmm? Lettin’ me take care of you?”

You can only nod, words failing you as his fingers replace his mouth, sliding through your spit soaked cunt.

“You’re so goddamn pretty down here.” Logan mutters, almost to himself, spreading your puffy, abused folds obscenely wide. 

He teases your entrance, fingertips dipping into your warm heat only to retract a second later. You whine, high and embarrassing as your hips twitch with want.

Logan watches your face closely, his expression equal parts smug and adoring as he finally sinks one thick finger inside you, curling it just right.

“Fuck,” you breathe, your head lolling back he adds a second finger, stretching you in a way that has your toes curling. He pumps them slowly at first, each deliberate thrust sending waves of pleasure radiating through your body.

“Takin’ me so well,” Logan murmurs, his thumb brushes over your clit, drawing tight circles that make your thighs tremble. “So tight and wet for me. You’re makin’ me crazy, darlin’.”

Your moans grow louder, unrestrained, as he picks up the pace, his fingers plunging into you with a rhythm that has your skin burning hotter and hotter.

Logan’s mouth returns to you with renewed fervor, tongue and lips working in perfect tandem as he drags you closer to the edge. 

He shakes his head back and forth like an animal, his nose rubbing up against your clit deliciously as buries his tongue as deep in your cunt as it’ll go. The coarse hair of his beard scratches the sensitive skin of your inner thighs red and raw.

You can’t think, can’t breathe, your entire world narrowing down to the feel of his mouth on you. 

“Logan—” Your voice cracks, your head falling back against the wall as the spring of pleasure inside you winds tighter and tighter, threatening to snap at any moment. “I’m—fuck—I’m so close—”

“Good,” he growls, pumping his fingers in time with the flicks of his tongue. “I can feel you squeezin’ me. I want you to come for me, baby. Wanna taste every fuckin’ drop.”

You’re powerless to resist.

You cry out, thighs clamping shut on either side of his head as you come on his tongue. Your body shakes so violently you knock a few things off the vanity, the distant sound of glass shattering hardly registers. 

Logan growls, low and dragged from the back of his throat in such a way that makes it reverberate in the space between your legs. His own arms come up, grip strong and encouraging as he forces your legs around his head even tighter than before.

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up, licking and sucking and pumping his fingers to drag you through the aftershocks like a man obsessed. 

When you finally come back to yourself, panting and trembling, Logan’s holding your shaking thighs apart, his mouth still pressed to you in soft, languid strokes.

“Fuckin’ perfect,” he mutters, voice rough and gravelly as he presses a final kiss to your oversensitive clit. 

Logan’s hands slide up to your hips, gripping tight as he rises to his feet, towering over you with that same dark, predatory gleam in his eyes. 

His lips are even redder than before, swollen and slick with your juices. His beard is damp and shining in the low light, and the smug, satisfied smirk on his face sends another pulse of heat through your already spent body.

“Good girl,” he purrs, not even bothering to wipe his mouth before leaning in to capture your lips in a kiss that’s all heat and possession. 

You can taste yourself on his tongue, the salt and musk mingling with the raw hunger. It’s filthy and intoxicating, and it leaves you gasping for air when he finally pulls away.

But Logan’s far from finished.

His hands slide under your ass, lifting you off the dresser with ease. Your legs wrap around his waist instinctively as he carries you to the bed and tosses you on it with little preamble.

Your back hits the mattress hard enough to have you bouncing on it once, twice, three times before Logan is crawling up to blanket your body with his. 

The heavy weight of his metal laced bones sink you into the soft plushness, keeping you stuck beneath him with nowhere to go.

Which you know is exactly where he wants you.

He slots his hips between yours, dragging the straining jut of his cock along your sensitive cunt. You can feel the warmth of him even through the thick material of his sweats, a scalding plane of heat that makes your cunt ache with need. 

You can feel the damp patch where his clothed tip nudges against your clit, and you know from that alone he’s already soaked through the cotton with pre-come. His cock leaking like a faucet in the harsh confines of his bottoms while he ate you out.

“Feel that?” Logan asks, voice hoarse as he buries his head in your neck. “That’s all ‘cause of you, baby. Got me drippin’ like I busted a damn pipe.”

The sharp intake of air you suck in at his words does nearly nothing to help your breathlessness, your desperation bleeding through as your frantic hands push at the waistband of his bottoms. “Off. Off.”

Logan huffs a rough laugh against your neck, his warm breath skating across your skin as his lips ghost over your pulse. “So fuckin’ bossy.”

He doesn’t move to help you, not right away, savoring the way your hands fumble and tug, your frustration bubbling over in breathy little gasps.

“You want it that bad, huh?” he teases, the rough timbre of his voice a stark contrast to the gentleness of his lips pressing along your jaw. “Look at you, so damn needy. Can’t even wait for me to get my cock out.”

You only tug harder, patience nonexistent as your fingers curl into the waistband. “Please, Logan. Don’t tease.”

“Alright, alright.” Logan finally gives in, sitting back just enough to push them over his hips, freeing his cock.

It springs free, slapping against his stomach heavy and slick with pre-come, the ruddy tip glistening in the low light.

The sight alone has you clenching around nothing, a devastatingly desperate noise falls from your lips as the ache between your thighs builds to an almost unbearable throb.

He makes quick work of ripping his shirt over his head, carelessly tossing it behind him before he’s back on you.

This time, when he bullies his hips in between yours, there's nothing separating you.

You feel every inch of his cock as it grinds along the seam of your cunt. The velvety skin is almost scalding as it drags against your own, the drool of pre-come only adding more to your own wetness.

Logan presses you into the mattress harder, rutting against your cunt almost desperately as he noses along your damp, overheated skin.

His mouth is everywhere. Sucking marks where the junction of your neck meets your shoulder, lapping up the sweat that pools in the valley of your breasts, licking a filthy stripe across the side of your face that has your cheeks burning.

He buries his nose in the sweaty skin of your underarm, whining and panting like a surly dog all over again. Each breath is hot and wet against you, and it only seems to make him hungrier, greedier. His cock blurts even more pre-come onto your skin with every inhale he takes.

It should gross you out. 

It should be utterly mortifying, but the sight of Logan like this only leaves you thrumming with want. 

His desperation, the raw, unfiltered way he takes you in—like he can’t get close enough, can’t have enough of you—has your pulse racing and your mind spinning out of control. 

You feel his nose press harder against your skin, the heat of his breath fanning over you as he groans, a deep, guttural sound that reverberates right through you. 

“Fuck,” he rasps, voice gravelly and broken. “You smell so goddamn good. Can’t help it. Can’t fuckin’—” His hips jerk, the weight of his cock sliding slickly against your cunt, bumping up against your clit in a way that makes you shiver. 

“Logan,” you whimper, your hands clutching at his broad shoulders, nails digging into his skin. Your hips lift instinctively, chasing the friction, the relief, the unbearable stretch you know only he can give you. “Please, I can’t take it anymore. I need you—need you so bad.”

He smirks, his lips curling against your skin as he nips at the curve of your jaw. “Need me, huh?” he murmurs, his tone dark and teasing. “Need my cock inside you, stretchin’ you open? Tell me, baby. Tell me how bad you need it.”

“So bad.” Your hips tilt up instinctively, desperate for him to push inside. The head of his cock catches at your entrance, the blunt pressure sending a jolt of electricity through your body. “Need you so bad it hurts. Please—please don’t make me wait.”

Logan growls, a feral sound. “Such a good girl when you beg for me.” he snarls, big hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise so he can flip you on your front, gently manhandling you until you're on all fours. “Gonna fill you up, princess.”

His hands knead the soft flesh of your ass as he lines himself up behind you. The weight of his cock presses against your entrance, slick and ready, and for a moment, he just stays there, teasing.

Your arms shake beneath you, elbows locked as you force yourself to stay still, patient.

The head of his cock nudges against you, spreading your slickness, and your body trembles in anticipation. He sinks himself into you in one deep, unrelenting thrust.

The stretch is instant, the burn delicious as he pushes inside, inch by inch, filling you in one fluid, devastating stroke. A choked gasp spills from your lips as he bottoms out, his cock seated so deep you swear you can feel him in your stomach.

“Fuck.” Logan stills, his cock pulsing inside you as he lets you adjust, but the restraint is fleeting. 

His hands glide up your back, palms rough and grounding as they map every curve, every quiver of your body. He starts grinding his hips in slow circles, pressing every inch of his cock along your velvety walls. 

Your head drops between your arms, brows pinched together as you take in greedy lungfuls of air. You’ll never get used to this, the way Logan fills you so perfectly, no matter how many times it’s been.

“Come on, baby.” Logan leans down to press a soft kiss between your shoulder blades, his lips fever hot. “You wanted to fuck me so bad you could hardly wait. Now’s your chance, fuck me.”

It takes a few long seconds for his words to cunt through the molasses clouding your mind, the small thrust of his hips hinting at what he wants you to do.

You let out a pitiful whimper, hands digging into your bed’s puffy comforter as you start rocking your hips. 

You start slow, letting yourself build up a nice, steady rhythm as Logan purrs words of encouragement from behind you. His hands never leave your hips, thumbs rubbing soft circles over your skin as you start to pick up the pace.

“That’s it,” he encourages darkly, giving the rippling muscle of your ass a sharp swat. “Find the fuckin’ spot, baby. Write your name on this cock, tell everyone who it belongs to.”

You cry out at the sting of his palm, bouncing yourself on his length impossibly faster. Your arms burn under the strain of your movements, but you can’t stop chasing the high of pleasure that shoots up your spine.

The sound of skin on skin fills the room, a lewd slap slap slap as you fuck yourself on Logan’s cock like he’s a replacement for the cheap suction cup dildo collecting dust in a box hidden away in your closet—like he’s nothing but a expertly shaped lump of silicon molded solely for your pleasure.

You can feel yourself getting close to the edge, and in nearly no time at all. The telltale coil buried deep in your belly winding tighter and tighter as you work yourself on Logan’s cock hard enough that the cheap frame of your bed thumps against the wall.

It might be embarrassing if you weren’t so far gone already, so fuck drunk that the too loud moans falling from your lips hardly phase you.

It's like there's nothing but the feel of Logan inside you, bumping against that spot inside you that has stars shining behind your closed eyes. 

“Close already?” Logan taunts from behind you, voice just the tiniest but breathless, but the way his cock pulses and jerks where it’s sheathed in your cunt lets you know he’s right there with you. “I know you are, honey. I can feel how she’s squeezin’ me, so damn tight.”

His hands dig into your hips, not even waiting for a response as he starts thrusting in time with your bounces. He pounds into you, hips snapping against your ass hard enough to sting.

“Fuck, I’m gonna come too baby,” he bites out, the rhythm of his hips getting sloppier. “Gonna come so fuckin’ hard, fill you up so good. Shit–”

Logan pulls out enough that only the thick tip of his cock stays sheathed in the warmth of your cunt, his body falling to hunch over yours as he pumps his come into you with a feral growl.

You whine at the feeling of his release filling you, painting your insides with spurt after spurt of thick come. It’s so much, it’s always so much. A rush of warmth that floods your insides each time without fail.

And just like that, the feeling alone has you coming.

Your back arches as your cunt gushes over the tip of his cock, drenching his thighs and the rest of his shaft in your essence. You think you may scream, but it’s hard to tell over the white noise rushing through your ears.

Your arms finally buckle under you as Logan helps you ride out the last few tremors of your orgasm with a few slow rocks of his hips, and your spent body collapses onto the mattress.

Logan’s low noises of pleasure barely register as your chest heaves almost violently, your lungs desperately trying to get as much air as they possibly can.

But you barely have time to catch your breath before Logan plants his knees back firmly on the mattress and starts thrusting, again. 

“Logan!” Your hands scramble for purchase on the mussed sheets of your bed, the overstimulation making your legs kick out frantically.

“You thought we were done?” Logan asks, his tone equal parts amused and mocking. “You popped twice already, baby. S’only fair that you let me catch up.”

With no warning, he takes you in his arms, pulling his cock out just long enough to flip you on your back. He throws your legs over his shoulders before plunging back inside your fucked open cunt with a filthy squelch. 

He feels even bigger like this, yet your body swallows his cock like it’s nothing. The spongy warmth of your walls melding to the shape of him like it’s what you were made for. 

The coarse hair of his happy trail drags across your clit each time he thrusts, adding to the blistering feeling where the knife's edge of too much too much too much meets not nearly enough.

His come stuffed in your trembling cunt only makes it all the more filthy, his cock plunging inside you and coming back out slick and wet on every thrust. 

Your lips fall open on a broken moan, eyes screwing shut as you work your cunt around him, feeling the way his release gets fucked deeper and deeper inside you.

Logan notices, of course he does.

A dark chuckle rumbles against your own as he leans down enough to whisper into your slack mouth. “You like havin’ someone come in your pussy, baby?”

You moan into his mouth unabashedly, loudly. Both of your eyes burning as tears threaten to fall down the flushed skin of your cheeks, your throat going dry and scratchy in the best way possible. 

“Shit–” Your hands claw at the rippling muscles of his back desperately, nails digging into his skin hard enough that you feel the unmistakable slickness of his blood coating the tips of your fingers.

The pain spurs him on, his head tips down on a low groan and his eyes squeezing together for a split second before he’s spewing filth again.

“You want some more?” Logan asks, tone going dark like he already knows the answer as his hips speed up impossible faster. “You want me to come again?”

You don’t respond, you can’t respond. You can barely make a coherent thought. 

All you can manage are whiny moans that fall from your slack lips, broken little uh uh uh’s that get punched out with each new thrust. Your nails rake down his back mercilessly, leaving behind deep red welts that heal as you go.

“Yeah, I know you do.” He turns his head to nip at the skin over the delicate bone of your ankle where it bounces near his head, sharp teeth digging in enough to have you whining pitifully. “You love havin’ a messy fuckin’ pussy, don’t you? Love being stuffed so full of my come you can’t even hold it all, huh?”

His words hit you like a physical blow, lighting up your body from the inside out. Your thighs shake where they’re wrapped around his hips, ankles locking over his lower back so he couldn’t pull out if he wanted to.

His come mixes with your juices to coat his cock, completely drenched all slick and shiny in the dull light of your bedroom. It drips down almost leisurely compared to the near feral snap of his hips, trailing all the way down his length to his heavy balls. 

“Yes.” He groans, reverent. “Give it to me, baby. Wanna feel you come on my cock again, feels so fuckin’ good. Can’t ever get enough—”

You’ve never heard him like this, so high of pleasure that his speech slurs and his words all meld together into one filthy stream of ramblings that has you sinking your nails even deeper into his back and coming on his cock with a loud wail.

Your cunt convulses around him, shaking with the force of your release, milking him. 

“Fuck, princess.” Logan pitches forward, his sweaty torso covering yours as he keeps fucking into your shaking body, desperately chasing his own release.

Finally, with a muted roar of your name, he sinks his teeth into the tender skin of your neck and comes for you.

You cry out at the sharp sting of his teeth bearing down hard enough to draw blood, your vision whiting out with the pleasure of being claimed in every way imaginable.

Logan’s hips only stop when he’s drained of every last drop, his body shaking where it lays over yours. He laps at the broken skin of your neck, a soft gesture that isn’t quite an apology for making you bleed—because you know that he isn’t sorry whatsoever—but it’s nice nonetheless.

Your arms come up to circle around his neck, eyes fluttering shut as the exhaustion hits you all at once. You get lost in the steady rhythm of Logan catching his breath, in the way his heart pounds against his ribcage where his chest is pressed to your own, in the way his fingers twitch and flex on your hips.

The last thing you hear as you drift off, his come starting to leak down your thighs in thick streams of white, is a hushed whisper of “I got you, baby. I’m right here, I’m always right here.”

It puts you at ease, all the worry you felt over the last few weeks slipping from your mind like grains of sand through your fingers.

Maybe, this new side of Logan isn’t so bad after all.

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

[irisintheafterglow]

itoshi sae has no idea how you do it.

classwork, homework, midterms, exams, two jobs, and a lively group of friends? it all sounds so unnecessary to him, these things that would be distractions from his dream. but for you, it sustains you and encourages you to keep going. how differently our minds work, he thinks to himself when he has a rare day to spend on your couch and you're typing away at some assignment on your laptop.

"why do you do that?" you don't respond the first time he asks and he gently calls your name, even though you're barely three feet away. you turn to him with a tired look and something pangs inside his chest. "why bother doing that?"

"bother doing what?"

"whatever it is you're doing right now." he nods at your glaring laptop screen filled with words he can't even begin to understand, some final before your university goes on winter break.

"because it's part of my degree?" there's no malice in your words, just genuine confusion, just like there's no accusations in his words, just concern. "if i fail this class, i don't graduate."

"why do you need to graduate, or have a degree in the first place?"

"because i need a job, my love," you explain patiently. "we've had this conversation before. going to school means i can get a well-paying job to sustain myself."

"why do you need to sustain yourself when you have me?" you blink at him and his blank face. the only sign of emotion is the slight pinch between his eyebrows; he was truly puzzled why he couldn't just set you up for life. dating itoshi sae is like being an unwilling sugar baby.

"i'm not going to leech off your earnings," you chuckle in disbelief. "i'm not going to use you to make sure i have a comfortable life. i love you, and my kind of love stays whether we have money or not." he shifts awkwardly in his seat and his mouth pouts the tiniest amount. he obviously didn't like your reply.

"whatever i'm doing, it isn't enough for you," he states quietly.

without another word, you exhale through your nose and shut your laptop. you place it on the coffee table before crawling over and maneuvering your way into his arms. he gladly accepts you, sliding down the couch's armrest so that you're nearly lying on top of him. it's quiet for a few moments, not in an uncertain way but in a way that said both of you were figuring out how to articulate your thoughts.

"i just think that--"

"you don't need to--" you both begin your explanations at the same time and the huff of his laugh vibrates against your cheek. "you go first," you tell him.

"i was saying that, if you wanted me to," he inhales and tries to tiptoe around what he wants to say before deciding to just crush it with his foot, "i can take care of you without you needing a degree." a certain selfish part of him wanted you there for every single victory and ladder rung he ascended, not because he thought you owed him, but because he owed you. you, who weathered his darkest of moods and harshest of snaps. he owed you for dealing with his bullshit, so he figured, why should you need to lift a finger when you've already done so much for him? "i owe you that much for everything that you've seen me through."

"you don't owe me anything, itoshi sae. loving you is not transactional, nor have i ever wanted it to be."

"everything is transactional, mi amor," he argues and the pet name makes your heartrate increase. "give and take, it's how the world flows. shouldn't your university classes be teaching you that?" your eyes have fluttered shut on his chest, but you still hear the smirk in his joke.

"believe it or not, mister 'fame is the only thing that matters to me,' there are transactions beyond material goods."

"i know that," he says indignantly. "i also know that you're wrong."

"am i?"

"yes," he affirms. "i don't only care about fame. i care about you too, obviously."

"see, sae? give and take. i give you all i am--"

"and you take all i am."

"body and soul?"

"and everything in between," he finishes, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before settling into the pillows. "rest, mi amor. you've paid more attention to school than to me lately, and that's an unequal transaction."

[eikotheblue]

How do you *accidentally* make a programming language?

Oh, it's easy! You make a randomizer for a game, because you're doing any% development, you set up the seed file format such that each line of the file defines an event listener for a value change of an uberstate (which is an entry of the game's built-in serialization system for arbitrary data that should persiste when saved).

You do this because it's a fast hack that lets you trigger pickup grants on item finds, since each item find always will correspond with an uberstate change. This works great! You smile happily and move on.

There's a small but dedicated subgroup of users who like using your randomizer as a canvas! They make what are called "plandomizer seeds" ("plandos" for short), which are seed files that have been hand-written specifically to give anyone playing them a specific curated set of experiences, instead of something random. These have a long history in your community, in part because you threw them a few bones when developing your last randomizer, and they are eager to see what they can do in this brave new world.

A thing they pick up on quickly is that there are uberstates for lots more things than just item finds! They can make it so that you find double jump when you break a specific wall, or even when you go into an area for the first time and the big splash text plays. Everyone agrees that this is neat.

It is in large part for the plando authors' sake that you allow multiple line entries for the same uberstate that specify different actions - you have the actions run in order. This was a feature that was hacked into the last randomizer you built later, so you're glad to be supporting it at a lower level. They love it! It lets them put multiple items at individual locations. You smile and move on.

Over time, you add more action types besides just item grants! Printing out messages to your players is a great one for plando authors, and is again a feature you had last time. At some point you add a bunch for interacting with player health and energy, because it'd be easy. An action that teleports the player to a specific place. An action that equips a skill to the player's active skill bar. An action that removes a skill or ability.

Then, you get the brilliant idea that it'd be great if actions could modify uberstates directly. Uberstates control lots of things! What if breaking door 1 caused door 2 to break, so you didn't have to open both up at once? What if breaking door 2 caused door 1 to respawn, and vice versa, so you could only go through 1 at a time? Wouldn't that be wonderful? You test this change in some simple cases, and deploy it without expecting people to do too much with it.

Your plando authors quickly realize that when actions modify uberstates, the changes they make can trigger other actions, as long as there are lines in their files that listen for those. This excites them, and seems basically fine to you, though you do as an afterthought add an optional parameter to your uberstate modification action that can be used to suppress the uberstate change detector, since some cases don't actually want that behavior.

(At some point during all of this, the plando authors start hunting through the base game and cataloging unused uberstates, to be used as arbitrary variables for their nefarious purposes. You weren't expecting that! Rather than making them hunt down and use a bunch of random uberstates for data storage, you sigh and add a bunch of explicitly-unused ones for them to play with instead.)

Then, your most arcane plando magician posts a guide on how to use the existing systems to set up control flow. It leverages the fact that setting an uberstate to a value it already has does not trigger the event listener for that uberstate, so execution can branch based on whether or not a state has been set to a specific value or not!

Filled with a confused mixture of pride and fear, you decide that maybe you should provide some kind of native control flow structure that isn't that? And because you're doing a lot of this development underslept and a bit past your personal Balmer peak, the first idea that you have and implement is conditional stops, which are actions that halt processing of a multiple-action-chain if an uberstate is [less than, equal to, greater than] a given value.

The next day, you realize that your seed specification format now can, while executing an action chain, read from memory, write to memory, branch based on what it finds in memory, and loop. It can simulate a turing machine, using the uberstates as tape. You set out to create a format by which your seed generator could talk to your client mod, and have ended up with a turing complete programming language. You laugh, and laugh, and laugh.

[retiredteabag]

The eyes of the beholder

my masterlist

Sukuna genuinely does not understand the concept of physical insecurity.

He has pride unrivaled by any, his assurity never wavers, and despite his unique appearance, he does not consider himself strange.

Additionally, Sukuna has a hard time putting himself in the shoes of others. He deems himself perfect. You are his favored one, so he attributes the same to you.

He sees you as the height of beauty and never entertains a different notion. It would never come to his mind.

What? You think he's wrong when he says your beauty is unparalleled? You think him a liar? You don't trust his judgment? Truly, he does not comprehend insecurity.

"Not everything is about you, Kuna." You spin around in one of the estate's halls of mirrors and run you hands over the subtle stretch marks that appear on your hips.

You had been trying on formal attire for one of the estate's events, something both you and Sukuna hated. He could likely feel any unhappy emotion that permeated your space.

You never enjoyed having to critique whether or not something was flattering on your body and Sukuna was no help as he wouldn’t allowed criticism of you.

He thought it was a waste of time because to him, it all looked appealing.

That, and you both hated events. Balls, Galas, Auctions, the whole gambit. None of it suited your interests, and The King thought them a disturbance.

You finally pulled on your original clothing, ruffling it this way and that so it would fall just right, and stepped out from behind the hall's flowing curtains.

"You wound me when you say things like that." Sukuna had his head leaned back against the wall with his eyes closed.

"I'll let everyone know just how well I can wound their King." You scoff and roll you eyes.

"Heavens, don’t they know?” He sits up. All four of his red eyes glower at you as if you've cast some kind of spell his way. "Why does this upset you so? Haven't I said that flaws hold no residence within you?"

Your lips are pulled into a frown. You know he couldn’t possibly understand, at first, it felt somewhat invalidating. His mindset was so far from yours, of course he would think it skewed.

"Don't you just think that because I have unfortunately found favor with you?" You begin to fold the options that the seamstresses had brought you as he huffs at your choice of words. "You were sculpted perfectly as you know, you and I are different."

He grumbles, having heard your complaints before. But you continue before he can take issue with it.

"My skin has these markings, and my thighs touch when I stand, my frame is far from ideal-" You turn to him now, "-and I cannot always love how things fit me as you do."

It's not that you're actually upset, just somewhat flummoxed by The King of Curses mindset.

Sukuna had sat up as you spoke, and now his posture bends toward you. He wears the silliest face you have ever possibly seen him produce and it almost makes you laugh.

His mouth is slightly open, lip arched, his eyes are wide but his brows are pulled together at your words and you could guess that he has never been so confused.

"What?" You almost giggle.

"By God, you care entirely too much."

You have to take a deep breath before he continues, "Your skin? What is it wrong with your skin? I quite like your skin. Would you rather I find you a furry pelt you can wear?"

It's moments like these that remind you of how silly this man is. You shake your head, but he continues, slowly, bewildered.

"Your... thighs touch? I see not how that could be an issue. Do not my thighs touch as well? How is it you are able to invent these things to be bothered by?"

Although you had been frustrated a moment before, you know he has a point. He had lived through many more centuries, it very well might have seemed strange to worry over such things.

Sukuna stands, coming closer without pause, and tugs on the draping of your garb. "What formula are you using to decide what looks good and what does not?" His hands find your body and squeeze over you in an almost ticklish way.

It was not sexual, it was not uncomfortable either. He was simply feeling you. He loved your being, whatever shell you presented in. Eventually, his palm came up and engulfed the top of your head, his fingers dangled by your eyes. "Hmmm, I cannot understand. Anything would be flattering if it was put on you."

A part of you wanted to murmur, "That's just what you're saying." But you knew Sukuna, and you knew he meant it. The concept that you might hold his same mindset was an impossibility at that moment in the hall of mirrors.

But you had many other moments to share with your King and believe me when I say, that man could be convincing.

[genderqueerdykes]

had the consult for my gallbladder surgery. the doctor told me i need to "lose 10 - 15 pounds" before they'll perform the surgery on me, and that I would need to wait 2 - 3 months before they would schedule it. i told her i have PCOS which makes it difficult to lose weight. she told me that does happen, and offered to refer me to a bariatric surgeon who is used to bigger bodies who could perform the gallbladder removal instead. i asked her for the referral to them instead

i was very angry at her for this, as 10 - 15 pounds do not make any difference when you are 300 lbs. my weight fluctuates between 280 - 340 lbs depending greatly on what i've eaten, how much i exercise, and so on. this will also vary greatly depending on if the stone is blocking my gallbladder completely or partially- if it's fully blocking the neck of my gallbladder, i cannot get enough digestive juices into my stomach to properly digest my food, so i will begin violently vomiting to get the undigested food out, and to get bile flowing into my stomach again. i begin to lose tons of weight when this happens, and i put it back on during the periods where i can get enough bile in my stomach to properly digest my food.

i can't digest my food properly. eating "healthier" will not change this- i can't digest food at all, period. healthy or unhealthy, i can't digest anything, because a good half of my digestive juices are completely missing from my guts. there is a functional issue with the way my guts work, of course i will lose weight drastically and put it back on at times. of course the issues will be episodic.

both her and the student that was working with me kept assuming that i said that my pain got worse after "high fat" meals. both of them put this in my mouth-

the student did it first. she asked when the pain gets worse and i said sporadically, but sometimes after i eat. she literally asked me "so you said it gets worse after fatty meals, right?"

i got frustrated and said "no, it's really random." i didn't get to tell her that raw leafy vegetables and lightly steamed or cooked vegetables make me vomit. broccoli and cauliflower that aren't heavily cooked, salads, raw vegetables, lightly cooked carrots, applesauce and apples in general are all problem foods.

the doctor then came in and said "it gets worse after high fat meals, right? you said that" and i went, again, "no it just kinda happens."

i don't even eat a high fat diet. i cook at home now for every meal now that i have all the tools i need to do so. i make rice, fish, pasta, and certain vegetables that i can digest like potatoes, sweet potatoes, onions, mushrooms, and so on. i eat bread, seeds, nuts, dried fruits, and drink oatmilk. i don't eat land meats, eggs, or dairy. i don't have any of those things. i do eat french fries and fish sticks, but not for every single meal. i don't eat chips because they're too salty and irritate my stomach. i don't eat candy or sweets unless the food bank delivers them to me. i don't eat much sugar other than pancakes and certain fruits

she wouldn't listen to me and went "well when you eat fatty meals, your gallbladder has to contract more and it can cause you a lot of pain." you would not believe how many times she came back to "you need to eat a lower fat diet." "the pain gets worse after you eat a high fat meal, so eat lower fat meals and your pain will go down." "just eat a lower fat diet and it'll help."

i just kind of sighed. there were tears in my eyes. i felt defeated. they made a bunch of assumptions just because i was sitting there, being fat. i was wearing long sleeves due to it being cold and they didn't get to see that i have a lot of muscle in my body mass. quite a lot. i wanted to tell them that i'm on testosterone and physically active when and where possible, and that i frequently lift heavy objects and move, but i never got a chance. i wanted to tell them my BMI isn't what they think it is, but i just didn't bother to try

i despise that people assume that fat people are fat because they eat "unhealthy" foods. i ate high fat foods for a few months while i was homeless because i didn't have the resources to cook every single meal. it affected my liver, i'm dealing with some fatty liver. but my gallbladder has more important issues in the form of the literal stone inside. she would not stop pushing for me to eat lower fat meals. all because i was sitting there, existing, as a fat person. i wish i would've told her i can only eat fish and plant matter

i don't understand how a patient telling you they're vomiting and can't keep down certain foods does not sound like a more pressing issue than an arbitrary number. weight as a number means nothing, it tells you nothing about that person's actual body composition. i have trauma with vomiting and yet i'm going to have to keep doing it anyway despite the fact that it could kill me via dehydration or if i just. can't stop

either way i'm very unhappy with result as i already waited for a month for this consult. now i have to wait for a referral for another surgeon to go through, and to do the consult with them, too. all while being in pain and having GI issues the entire time. just because a surgeon doesn't want to take the time to learn how to operate on fat bodies. i'm tired. what a joke

[softjeekies]

Waiting After The Rain

↳ chapter 1

next chapter

Pairing: ot8!stray kids x pregnant omega!reader

Synopsis: An omega pregnant and alone after being kicked out by their alpha stumbles upon a pack willing to take them in and care for both the omega and their pup as if they were their own, because now they are.

Genre: strangers to lovers, angsty but lots of fluff to even it out.

Warnings: a/b/o, past abuse physical and verbal, past sexual abuse(mentions of past non-con), mentions of past violence, trauma, self esteem issues, pregnancy, aftermath of abuse, panic attacks, anxiety, pack dynamics, angst but it will be okay, polyamory

A/N: ah this is my first time writing and posting a multipart fan fiction in years, it feels so nice to be back! I hope you enjoy this, please be kind <3

It’s cold. You need to get warm. It wasn’t this cold last night, It’s only your second night being homeless and you’re already failing. You thought this coat would be enough when you ran out of the house away from the heated alpha, but alas, it was quite chilly this October night.

You continued to walk through the suburban streets as the houses became more and more separated, trying your best to stay in residential areas, the city wasn’t safe and the forests surely weren’t either. You laugh at the thought, nowhere outside is safe for a pregnant omega. A different kind of chill ran through your body when the smell hit your nose, alpha. Placing a protective hand on the curve of your stomach that was barely visible you whipped your head around looking for the alpha, You found him jogging up the street, coming towards you. Your hands began to shake fear flowing through your veins, you knew he would smell it on you. Before you could even decide if you should even try and run, he caught up to you and made a hard stop maybe six feet away from you.

“Are you okay?” his voice made me go still. Find your words. You have to say something, you can’t upset another alpha, lord knows if you’d make it out of this one alive.

“Yes. Just walking.” You nod and keep your head down trying not to make eye contact and offend the alpha.

“Doesn’t smell like it.” fuck, you think, you should of grabbed scent blockers. The alpha pauses for a moment before taking a step forward causing alarm bells to go off in your head and you jolt backwards. He puts his hands up and stops walking.

“I won’t hurt you. Do you have a pack? Can I call someone for you?” You don’t smell any malice on him but his words feel like a punch to the gut.

“N- No. You can go.” you whimper out, hoping the alpha will move on so you can go find a place to sleep tonight, and maybe cry.

“I can smell that you’re pregnant, you don’t have a mate?” the alpha looks genuinely shocked and you look at him pitifully.

“No, and if you’re going to hurt me please don’t, I may not have a mate but I want to keep my pup safe, please leave us alone.” you whimper out again taking a step back. The alpha’s scent which moments ago smelled like a warm fireplace now smelled burned, it was the smell of anger. At you?

“I would never hurt you or your pup. Omegas are meant to be protected. Do you need help? Are you homeless? I can call my pack alpha, I know he’ll let you come stay with us while we figure out how to help you.” Your mouth opens and closes before you shake your head aggressively, This was a trap.

“Well I can’t leave you alone out here.” he alpha pulls out his phone and makes a phone call, You hear him talking to a male voice before he hands the phone to you, In an effort not to upset him further you take it.

“Hi there, I’m Chan, I’m the pack alpha. Can you tell me your name?” a sweet voice spoke over the phone and it almost made you feel safe, but you quickly remembered how alphas can’t be trusted and that thought disappeared.

“Y/N.” If you all weren’t wolves nobody would have heard you, that's how quiet you spoke, afraid that any noise you made would trigger the alphas.

“Okay Y/N, Changbin was telling me about how you’re an omega carrying a pup all alone out there, that’s not safe yeah? I have a big pack house with some extra rooms, Can Changbin take you here? It’s right up the street from where you are right now. We have four alphas, two betas, and two omegas, everyone would be more than willing to welcome you even just temporarily.” Chan’s voice remained leveled and sweet, you thought deeply for a moment, a protective hand remained on your stomach, if the alphas were going to hurt you they were going to do it regardless if you went to their pack house or not, but if they didn’t want to hurt you, getting out of the cold would be good for your baby. You had to do this for your pup.

“Okay,” you mumbled weakly, handing the phone back to who you now know as Changbin. He spoke into the phone with a gentle smile before hanging up.

“Just follow me, it’s right up the block.”

You did as you were told and that’s how you found yourself walking behind Changbin into what you presumed was their pack house. You were immediately hit by so many smells but only saw two new faces.

“Hi Y/N, I’m Chan. We spoke on the phone, and this.” he gestured towards the blonde omega standing next to him. “is Felix.”

“It’s nice to meet you Y/N, I’m here so you can have an omega around for comfort, if you want the alphas to leave say the word” the omega spoke and gave the brightest smile you had ever seen but you shook your head no, omegas aren’t allowed to tell alphas what to do.

“You can meet the rest of the pack tomorrow, Why don’t we take you up to where you’ll be sleeping tonight?” Felix smiled and led you upstairs to a room, which was well decorated but basic. A guest room. Felix gestured for you to take a seat on the bed, taking a seat next to you.

“Do you want to talk about what happened? You don’t have to but it would help us know how we can help you.” Felix placed a gentle hand on your leg and for once you didn’t flinch at someone’s touch, Instinctively you knew you were safe with Felix at least. So you nod, willing to speak not only for Felix but also to not upset his alphas and get him in trouble.

“I come from a family that is very, uh how do I say this? Primal? We didn’t come from money or anything but they were very conservative. All of the subgenders have their place and you don’t stray from that. When I presented, they sent me off with their friend’s alpha son, It was fine at first but I think he was just trying to butter me up.” You took a deep breath, the scent in the room was sour and it wasn’t just your own scent either. “I would upset him and he’d toss me around, some slaps here and there to put me in my place. He- he got me pregnant about two and a half months ago. Yesterday he found out because he saw me looking in the mirror caressing my stomach when I thought he was asleep. He obviously wants kids because that’s what we are made for but he didn’t want kids this young so he was angry at me for conceiving. After a few hits he- he kicked me out. I haven’t tried to go back yet but I’m sure if I can just talk to him I can fix this.”

You didn’t even realize tears were streaming down your face until Felix gently took his thumb and wiped them away. You looked up and saw tears in his own eyes as he pulled you into his chest.

“You’re not going back.” You pulled your head from Felix’s chest and whipped your head around to see two furious alphas, spiking fear in your chest.

“Guys calm down, you’re scaring her.” Felix took your hand gently, squeezing it.

“I’m sorry. Fuck- I just can’t believe an alpha would treat an omega like that, especially one carrying his pup! I can’t let you go back there.” Chan ran a hand through his hair.

“I- I can’t stay with you guys. You’re a pack! I’m already pregnant with another alpha’s baby. You don’t want me, I’m used goods. I can’t get rid of my baby.” you spoke with panic laced in your voice.

“Woah, woah, woah, who said anything about getting rid of the baby?” Changbin spoke up, confused by your words.

“Alphas don’t take care of another alpha’s babies, especially not ones that aren’t in their pack. If I joined you guys I would have to get rid of my pup!” You cried as Felix gasped and rubbed your back for comfort.

“No. Absolutely not. That’s bullshit. I don’t know what kind of alphas you’ve known but me the alphas in my pack aren’t like that. You don’t have to join my pack, we will never force you to do anything you don’t want to, but if you choose to, we will take care of you and your pup, all of us, your pup will automatically be family as well.” Chan spoke assertively and it almost convinced you but you knew the effects an alpha voice had on omegas, that was simply biology making you think that way. You know how you grew up, it’s all you know actually.

“I can’t, I have to go, I have to go back home, oh he’s going to be so pissed I didn’t come back last night, he’s probably looking for me right? I’m his, I have his baby.” Fresh tears roll down your face while you panic again. You run a hand through your hair before trying to get up to leave before the most intoxicating scent hits your nostrils making you sit back down.

“I’m sorry, I just wanted you to calm down a bit. Your panicking isn’t good for the baby, yeah?” Felix speaks softly while taking your hand into his once again continuing to push out his calming omega scent.

You take a deep breath, the room suddenly too hot making you remember you still have your coat on. You keep your head down and fidget with the hem of the coat, unsure how to proceed with all this.

“Why don’t you take your coat off and get comfy? Do you want a change of clothes? Changbin hyung, go grab something from my dresser!” Upon Felix’s request Changbin leaves no questions asked, You look up at the door and then back at Felix shocked, You’d never been able to ask your alpha for anything like that, The scene broke your heart just a little. Before you could overthink it Felix helped you take off the coat only to gasp once he saw your arms littered with bruises, something you rarely even thought about was causing him enough distress to sour his smell again.

“Yeah no you’re definitely not going back there.” Chan huffed. “Is there more?” He asked with urgency, making you flinch.

“Not a lot, I promise. Most of these are from last night when he found out about the baby.” You lower your head thoroughly embarrassed that this alpha now knew how bad of an omega you were. Before anyone could speak again Changbin returned, For a moment his eyes lingered on your arms before silently handing the clothes to Chan and leaving the room, taking his burnt firewood scent with him.

“Okay, may I stay here and help you get changed? I’d like to check your other bruises and potential injuries.” Felix gave you a big smile before speaking again. “I believe Chan would like to stay as well, but of course you can always say no, never forget that.” Felix took your hands and looked into your eyes waiting for an answer, You tried to give a nod in response but Chan’s voice cut through the heavy silence.

“We need words, please. We don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to. We won’t do anything without your explicit consent okay?” For the first time, you looked Chan in the eyes, and for a moment you felt a tug in your heart. Shaking it off you answered. “Yes, you can both stay.” You speak firmly, almost trying to convince yourself as well. Chan stays in place while Felix begins to help you take the clothes off. A gasp escapes his pink lips once more, he runs a hand over your delicate skin like you’d break even under his soft omega touch. His hand travels over a particularly fresh bruise on your upper arm causing you to flinch and whine, this in turn causes him to start crying.

“I’m sorry, fuck, I am so sorry this happened to you. Nobody deserves this okay? Please let us prove that to you.” Felix whimpered as he looked over your bruises checking for anything that may need extra care. You were at a loss for words, you can’t trust this pack. Everything in your body is screaming at you to go back to your house and try and fix things with your alpha, you can’t keep his baby from him, can you? Was he even looking for you? A small voice cuts through your rapid thoughts, your omega. Pack. No. No no no. This is not your pack, this will never be your pack, don’t get your hopes up like that, think about your baby, you have to protect your baby. Your thoughts are once again cut off by Felix’s trembling voice again now that you are fully dressed in Felix’s clothes.

“So, your bruises seem to be as okay as they can be, I can’t see any other injuries so that’s good! Have you been to a doctor yet?” You put your head down in shame, you were a horrible parent already.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. He was in charge of all of my health stuff and he kept strict tabs on me. I haven't been able to go to a doctor.” you cried out in what felt like a plea with yourself to be better.

“Oh sweetheart, don’t cry. We will get you set up with a doctor’s appointment this week. When we said we would take care of you both we meant that okay? No more crying, it’s not your fault.” Felix rubbed a gentle hand against your back and led you into bed.

“I think that’s enough for tonight, Chan is going to go to bed now right Chan hyung? Would you like me to stay with you? I’ll keep all the alphas away.” Felix ran his finger through your hair as he shooed Chan out of the room.

“Goodnight Y/N. We will figure this out tomorrow.” Chan leaves with a gentle nod leaving you to answer Felix.

“Can you stay?” you look up at Felix with wet puffy eyes, a look in your eyes that Felix could only describe as broken and pleading.

“Of course sweetheart. Anything for you.” Felix shuts off the light and makes his way under the covers next to you. His instincts are telling him to hold you close and scent you, make sure you know you are safe here with him, but he doesn’t push, no he would never. You both lay in bed separately, Felix trying his best to keep a watchful eye on you without you noticing, waiting for the signs of your sleeping form before retreating to his own dreamland.

[gurugirl]

DILF [2] | older!harry

→ MAIN MASTERLIST ←

Summary: Harry and Y/n meet again months later on Valentine's Day. It's unexpected, but very much welcome.

A/N: First part here! This isn't really super focused on Valentine's Day, it just happens to takes place on Valentine's Day.

Word Count: 6.4k

Warning: age gap, smut, alcohol consumption (light), spanking, a touch of jealousrry

. .

Y/n wasn't big on Valentine's Day. She'd never dated anyone long enough for it to be of much importance. Though she did fondly remember the little heart-shaped candies and tiny Valentine's cards that would get shared in school when she was little, things were different as an adult.

So, instead of celebrating the holiday (if it could be called a holiday), she'd be going out with her single girlfriends and celebrating being a single girl instead. A single girl with a few drinks in her belly and a little dancing to get the blood flowing. Tara tried to do some kind of seductive dip to the beat of the song while Warren and Y/n laughed.

"This is how you do it!" Warren shouted over the loud club music and grooved her way down with the beat. She was the one with all the rhythm. Y/n and Tara were fighting for their lives to keep rhythm, but they were having fun, nonetheless.

"Priya commented on the post. Look…" Tara held her phone out to Y/n to look at the comment on her Instagram account.

"J said Y/n's looking yummy tonight!"

Y/n laughed and looked at Tara. "J? Oh my god, I haven't talked to him in ages. Let me respond!"

She took Tara's phone and typed a comment.

"You both should come out with us!"

After another round of drinks and dancing, Priya and J had joined the group at the club. Y/n wasn't necessarily interested in J. In fact, she hadn't really been interested in anyone since Harry. It'd been a couple of months since she'd seen him. Their night together was engraved under her skin and in her brain. She thought that with some time she'd forget about the older man, but her fingertips tingled and her chest grew tight whenever she thought about him, which was daily.

She didn't know why she had never called him. Maybe she was just stubborn, hoping he'd find her somehow and reach out himself. She had his number, but he didn't have hers. When he dropped her off at her place the morning after, he gave it to her and told her to call him.

And the more time that had passed, the more awkward it felt to randomly reach out to him. Now the window was surely closed, and she'd blown it. Which she regretted. She regretted that she was stubborn and wanted him to chase her that time. Wanted him to work to find her—which wouldn't have been all that hard. She had every social media account known to man, and everything was public. All he had to do was type her name into a Google search bar, and he'd find a dozen ways to contact her.

But she didn't call, and he didn't search her up, and that felt like the end of that. Unfortunately. It was unfortunate because he'd been so good. So exceptional compared to every other man she'd been with (if she could even call anyone who came before Harry a man). She was way more into him than she realized. Of course, by the time she realized it was too late, and now she was kicking herself.

"Hey, you here with us?" Tara took Y/n's hand and moved her away from the dance floor.

"Yeah. What do you mean?"

"You were zoned out there for a sec. Staring off toward the exit. You okay?"

Blinking her eyes and looking around, she nodded. "I'm good. Just started thinking. Sorry. Maybe I need a water. Probably should slow down a little anyway."

"Of course. Yeah, go get water. And stop thinking. I know who you're thinking about. He's in the past now. Okay?"

Tara knew that Y/n was kind of stuck on Harry. She'd confided in her a couple of weeks later. She hadn't wanted to admit it, but it was eating away at her.

"You're right. I'll be right back."

No sooner had she stepped away from Tara than J was on her heels. "I'll come with you!"

The oak bar was cast in reds and pinks for Valentine's Day. A sappy, upbeat song played loudly as she waved toward the bartender to order a water. J stood next to her, leaned into the veneered wood. "Just water?"

Yn nodded. "Need to cool off a little. Not interested in getting sloppy, ya know?"

She tried to ignore the way he was looking at her, turning her head to peer around the space and pretend she wasn't aware of where his eyes were wandering. She could deal with J. He was nice enough, and she knew he wouldn't push or anything. He was a bit too mild for that.

When her water was handed to her, the pink straw inside was tucked next to a stirrer with a heart at the top. Lifting the glass to her mouth, she took a drink as J slid in a little closer. "Do you wanna dance?"

She really didn't want to, not with him. It wasn't that he was ugly or unlikable or anything… she just didn't want to give him the wrong impression. Leading men on wasn't her style.

But before she even had the chance to tell him no, she saw a familiar hand attached to a familiar arm placed down on the bar next to her. She slowly turned, looking upward at the man whom she'd just been thinking about. He wasn't smiling as he leaned closer to speak. "You never called."

Turning so she could face him, she placed her elbows behind her on the bar top and lifted her brows in an attempt to feign complete control and calm. "Correct."

She watched as Harry looked past her to J and then back down at her. "Who's this?"

"A friend. Why? Jealous?"

She didn't know what angle she was going for with her hard-to-get act, but that's all it was—an act. Deep down, under her cool facade, she wanted to finish unbuttoning his shirt, the top three buttons already free, so anyone could see what he was working with underneath.

"Jealous of a boy? No."

Y/n reached for his button and pressed at it, her eyes on his. "Now, Harry. Honestly… He's my age. Isn't that what you wanted? For me to find someone my age. Thought you'd be happy for me."

"Thought you said he was just a friend."

She laughed and looked back at J, who was just standing by silently, looking between Harry and Y/n. Far too mild. She turned back to Harry. "See? You are jealous."

"Why didn't you call?"

Clearing her throat, she shifted her footing to get a little closer. "Because I wanted you to find me. I worked so hard to get you to crack that night we met and thought maybe you could put in a little effort if you were interested."

"That's not how it works," he spoke as he dipped his head closer, placing his other palm down on the edge of the bar to cage her in. "I gave you my number. You didn't give me any of your contact info. Didn't want to overstep. Ball was in your court."

"I'm easy to find, Harry. All you had to do was Google my name."

"I know. That's why I'm here. Saw your post on Instagram."

She lifted her brows, and a smile pulled at her mouth. "Is that so? And did you select this outfit just for me?" She reached again for his shirt, letting her pointer finger trail down the cotton edge along the button slits before she ran the pad of her finger on his warm skin.

Harry looked down at her hand and then back into her eyes. "Was gonna go on a date tonight. That's why I'm dressed like this."

She blinked, moving her hand away.

"Hey, uh… should we like… go back? Or, uh…" J spoke tentatively as he stepped closer.

"She's with me. You're welcome to go wherever you please, though," Harry responded, his gaze locked on Y/n's.

"I think—actually, um…" J stumbled on his words.

Y/n lifted her hand and looked over at J. "It's fine. Harry and I have a lot to discuss. You can go back to our table."

J opened his mouth and searched Harry's face, then looking back at Y/n and nodding, he scuttled away like a dog with his tail between his legs. She felt a little bad. Clearly, he thought he might have had a chance even though he never did.

"See? A boy. Couldn't even form a sentence. What are you doing with him anyway?"

"We were having fun is what we were doing. Hanging out with people my age. Why do you care anyway? You said you were gonna go on a date. Where is she?"

"I don't know where she is. Maybe at home. I didn't want to go out with her, so I cancelled."

"Then why did you plan a date?"

"So I could try and move on from you."

She hadn't expected that level of honesty from him, but his confession had her heart thumping hard in her chest.

"Coming here to find me doesn't make it seem like you want to move on."

He shook his head, his eyes shifting downward over her dress before pinning them back on hers. "I didn't think we were done yet. Really expected you to call."

"And I really expected you to figure out how to find me. Should have been easy."

"You like the chase, then. Is that what you want? For me to chase you? Follow you around like a puppy dog?"

She laughed softly. "I don't think being a puppy is quite your style. But I do like that you came all this way just to see me."

He edged his hand toward her arm, running a thumb over her skin. "I'm too old to play games, Y/n. If you expect me to run after you, jump through hoops just to see you, and beg you for your time, then I'm not your guy."

"But you came here to see me."

"Yes, I did. Consider this your freebie cause I won't do something like this again. Ball's in your court now. What do you want? To go back and play with that little boy I sent away? Or to stop fucking around and come back home with me tonight again?"

Her lips parted as heat rose up her spine. A wanton need wrapped itself around her throat as she swallowed thickly. She enjoyed being the one with all the power and feeling like she was in charge. But it was different with Harry. Despite everything, he was the one calling the shots. And she wanted him so bad she could taste it. After all, he'd ditched a date so he could come find her.

"You like me." She grinned.

The tension outlining his posture softened as he rolled his eyes, and she watched as the edge of his lips turned upward. "What gave it away?"

"I like you, too. But my place is closer this time."

Y/n's friends were already watching the whole thing go down before she returned and told them she was heading out. Tara smiled. "We'll talk tomorrow."

Her apartment was only a few minutes' drive away. The small talk they'd been making before they stepped inside her place all but vanished the moment Harry pushed her to the wall and placed his knee between her thighs with a desperate kiss.

She even gasped in surprise when he moved her and she felt the plaster of her wall behind her back. He ran a rough palm up her bare thigh, the skirt of her dress shifting upward until the stretchy material was at her hips and he groped her ass.

"Wanted to do this the second I saw you standing at the bar. Show everyone who's taking you home…" he spoke against her mouth as his thumb caught on the slinky elastic string of her thong. She felt his thigh inching up between her legs as he moved in closer.

She was pinned to the wall as he worked his mouth down her neck and continued kneading at her ass. But then she felt the material of his pants against the crotch of her panties as his thigh pressed solidly into her.

A small, weak-sounding whimper fell from her mouth when he nudged against her, signaling for her to move her hips. The spot where his mouth kissed and sucked over her throat had her head spinning and it was almost involuntary as she began to rub herself on his thigh. She gripped onto his shoulders when he began to guide her hips.

It was kind of pathetic, the way they hadn't even made it into her bedroom. Barely'd made it past her door before they were all over one another. And now, there she was, grinding her pussy against his thigh like she was in some kind of dire need, a pitiful girl so wrapped up in desperation that she was reduced to humping his thigh like a pup in heat.

The most embarrassing thing was how good it felt. His lips on her skin, his thick thigh pressed against her, his hands on her ass. "Oh god…"

Harry moved his face and looked down at her with a smirk. "Making a mess, Y/n. Guess your tough girl act was all fake. Now look at you…"

Slowing her hips, she reached up to his face. "You started it."

A boyish dimple scored into his cheek as he lifted his brows. "Did I now? Clearly, you like it. Soaking right through my pants."

"Mmm… You like it too, though. Love how wet I get, don't you?"

He licked his lips and shook his head like he couldn't believe how tenacious she was, even when pinned against her wall. "So sure of yourself, Y/n. When my day started, I imagined I'd be doing this with someone else by the end of it. Bet she'd get just as wet for me."

Y/n let out a serrated breath, though she never stopped grinding over his thigh. "Doubtful. You wanted me. Practically dragged me out of the club 'cause you knew that other chick wouldn't do it for you like I can."

"Do what for me? Huh? Hump my thigh like a desperate, horny little girl?" He teased as she moaned at the way he nudged his leg up harder.

"You wanted me a little desperate, and that's what you got. You knew nothing was gonna feel as good as me. You missed it."

"Maybe. Maybe I kept imagining you every time I got off for the past two months. Maybe the only reason I agreed to a date with that other woman was because she kind of resembled you. Wanted to pretend I was fucking you again."

Y/n let out a moan. "I want you to fuck me."

"Do you deserve that, Y/n? After that little stunt you pulled? Huh? Leaving me high and dry like that? Wasn't nice."

"I wanted to call you. I'm sorry I didn't."

"Hmm… but you wanted to play games. Not sure sorry cuts it."

He moved his leg away, and Y/n stumbled forward, her hands on his shoulders as he pulled her dress back down over her thighs.

"What can I do to make you believe me?" She looked at him with rounded eyes, hoping that he wasn't changing his mind as he pushed away and took a step back.

"Not sure. Maybe that's something you're gonna have to have to figure out. This is a lot of work, you know? Telling you what to do and how to do it. Might be nice for you to try and use that brain of yours for once."

She scoffed as he grinned at her. She knew he was mocking her, and it was meant to be playful, but still. "For once? You don't think I use my brain?"

He shrugged as he paced into her living room, and she watched him look around like he was assessing. Following behind him, she kept her eyes on his strong build and turned a light on. It was clear he was sporting a thick erection under his pants at that point. She smiled when she stepped toward him.

Taking his belt, she gripped at the leather and pulled it through the buckle before she opened his pants and cupped around his length. "You can fuck my mouth. I won't even complain. I'll let you use me however you want."

She got onto her knees and kept her eyes on his as she peeled his underwear down. His big cock had been straining against the material of his boxers and it nearly hit her in the face when it was released. She cooed and gripped around the base of him to lift it upward and began kissing gently along the underside and down to his sac.

Harry stitched his brows together, and his lips parted as he watched her. He placed a hand at the back of her head and moaned. He didn't really care about an apology, but he was going to make damn sure she understood he wasn't into the little games. He'd had plenty of that kind of thing when he was younger. When he was closer to her age, and he'd never been a fan of it.

If she really did want to be with him, or at least date a while, she'd need to learn that he wanted things clear and well communicated. "That's a good girl. Keep going."

She stroked from root to tip as she tongued along his skin, making a wet path as she went. But suddenly, he grasped her chin and tilted her head back before he shoved his thick head past her lips and slid it down her tongue, bumping against the roof of her mouth as he went. She steadied herself, quickly, gripping his muscled thighs as he held the back of her head and worked himself in and out.

He was going easy on her, not pressing his full length down her throat. Not yet. "Let's put that pretty mouth to good use. Show me you can work for it, yeah?"

Harry thrust in, his mushroomed crown glided over her tongue and back out to her soft lips before he did it again, a little deeper that time, the slit of his cock kissing the back of her mouth just before it curved into her throat. He kept his eyes on her face and the way her lips wrapped around him just right.

"Fuck you're so pretty, Y/n." He thumbed at the edge of her lip as he drove into her, feeling the saliva from her mouth coating his cock. He moaned when she blinked her eyes up at him. "Didn't want anyone else to suck my cock but you. Didn't want to even touch anyone else. Know that?"

She hummed over him in answer as he pushed deeper, making her gag lightly as the metal on his buckle clanked with his movements. "I know you know that. Proved it to you by making a fool of myself, stalking your Instagram so I knew where you were gonna be. Got me all wrapped up in you after just one goddamn night."

Y/n felt her eyes blur as tears roll down her cheeks when he nuzzled his dick in deeper and she swallowed around his tip with an embarrassing wet spluttering sound. She'd let him choke her with his cock if that's what it took. After hearing his confession, she only wanted to show him how much she had missed him and how sorry she was for not calling.

So, she leaned into him further, squeezing her eyes closed as she tried to force the rest of him into her throat. The gagging and gargling noises she made were loud. It sounded like someone was being waterboarded.

"Fuck…" he gasped as she sputtered around him. He bent his knees the slightest as he let her suck and swallow around him. She was treating his cock so good he didn't know if he should just let her continue milking him like that until he was nutting down her throat or if he should reward her by returning the favor.

But damn did she feel good on his dick. She was giving it her all, and he'd decided she was forgiven.

Pulling her back, his wet dick slid past her lips and hung heavy in front of her face as he helped her stand up. She inhaled sharp breaths between little coughs as she wiped her face. "Was it okay?"

"Better than okay. You're a fuckin' star, Y/n. I need you in your bed, though. Got a condom?"

Knocking her head up and down affirmatively, she blinked her bleary eyes. Harry followed her to her bedroom and watched as she pulled a small box of condoms from her underwear drawer, and he took it from it before he pointed at her dress. "Clothes off. Then get your ass on the bed."

The thrill of having him there made her shaky. She yanked at her dress and removed the fabric before shedding the rest of her underthings.

Harry kicked his pants and his boxers off before his shirt joined the pile of clothes on the floor. He watched her climb onto her bed and sit at the middle in wait. He tossed the box of condoms onto her mattress (secretly pleased it was unopened, unused) and crawled after her on the bed, adjusting her legs and pushing her thighs apart before he thumbed her clit smoothly.

"Do you deserve to come? Think you deserve my cock?"

Y/n blinked at him as she nodded. "Yes. I just want to be good. Make you come too. Please…"

He grinned as he let his eyes coast down her denuded body. She rolled into his thumb before he took his other hand and pressed his middle finger inside. Everything that touched her pussy was glistening wet. The gushy sound his finger made as he fucked into her was lewd. She spread her legs apart further for him and dropped her mouth open as she kept her eyes on his.

She was so pretty like that. Naked and spread apart for him, lusting for him, wanting him. He added another finger and pumped into her harder. Her tits swayed as her pussy swallowed his fingers whole. She was so confident and bold it had his insides pulsing with need.

With his eyes pinned to hers he dipped down to replace his thumb on her clit with his lips and his tongue. Y/n fell backward to her mattress and moaned from the pleasure. His tongue stroked her clit and pressed flat over it before he pulled at it and repeated all while he fucked her as deep as his fingers could reach.

He held her down as she arched her back. His chin and his nose were wet, slurping and groaning into her as he worked her so close to the edge she was already seeing stars. "Yes… right there… right there…"

But he suddenly moved away. His fingers, his mouth, his body. She sat up to look at him and watched in satisfaction as she saw him digging into the box of condoms. His face was flushed and matched the shade of heat on his heaving chest.

He rolled the tight rubber down his shaft and then looked at her with dark eyes. "Turn over. Hands and knees."

With a smirk, she got to her knees and made sure to let her eyes linger on his cock before she turned and placed her palms flat onto the mattress. "Like this?" She wiggled her ass at him.

Harry moaned deeply and placed his hands on the curve of her hips, smoothing his palms over every inch slowly. "Exactly like this."

She felt him lean over her back, his mouth at her ear as he palmed at her tit. "How do you feel about me spanking you a little?" His dick was warm between her thighs as she pushed back against him.

"Whatever you do, I'm gonna love." She reared back again and turned her face to look at him as he sat back. She watched him raise his arm before his palm struck her bum with a sting.

She keened sharply and jolted forward. He did it again in the same spot as he locked his irises with hers. "Other side now."

As promised, he landed his hand over the globe of her ass again, once and then twice, a burning sensation left behind making her inhale sharply.

Then he kneed in closer and she felt him line up his dick with her entrance, fitting himself into her slowly before he plowed in with one thick, harsh thud that had her bending forward face down.

She yelped into the soft comforter when he issued her another spanking, one to each side, as he began to thrust in and out of her, long and languid with heavy palms burning into her skin.

The bite of pain blossomed with heat and curled outward, spreading along her flesh until she could almost feel the detail of his fingerprints searing into her, marking her. He groaned as he drove in deep, glutes flexing as he forced his cock through her sensitive insides.

Her bottom was stinging, aching, burning with every smack of his hand… until it wasn't. Until the gooey, pleasurable warmth of her walls that stretched around his cock deliciously melded with the sharp barbed pain of his swats… That was—it felt like her body was thrumming with a lusty, satisfying ecstasy that sent liquid fire through her veins.

"Fuck, oh god, fuck…" she mumbled into the blankets as her body was spanked and fucked and swatted and pounded. She loved it.

Harry halted, planting his palms down on the mattress to catch his breath, cock buried whole into her. They were both panting, reeling… Y/n's muffled moans pulled a smile onto his lips.

"Apology accepted," he spoke quietly as he kissed the center of her back between her shoulder blades and then reached forward to gently wrap his big hand around the front of her neck to lift her head.

"Hear me?" His deep voice sounded in her ear.

She nodded, the column of her throat bobbing into his palm, eyes still closed as she let out a feminine grunt that was probably meant to mean yes.

"You okay?"

Again, she nodded slowly, this time her eyes fluttered open. "Mmhmm. Yes."

"Hurt?" He punctuated his question with a rock of his hips forward, nudging into the end of her sharply.

She hissed, and her spine bowed. "Yes."

Slowly, he began to thrust, sliding out and in when he felt her swallow thickly before her moans vibrated into his palm. She was dripping. Every time his hips met her skin, it wetted his lap and the front of his thighs.

She had been all he wanted. Ever since the morning he dropped her off. Thought for sure he'd hear from her by the way she was acting around him. All flustered and soft and dreamy-eyed as she looked at him. Pouted when he said he couldn't come in but gave her his number. And then she just never called.

That was a hit to his ego. That he thought he somehow had the upper hand with her. But now he had her drooling, moaning, and sobbing his name as he railed her deep. He would see to it that she didn't leave him hanging like that again. He'd give it to her so good she wouldn't be able to even think about another man. At least for a little while.

But Y/n was feeling the same kind of way about him. And now he was at her place, in her bed, fucking her with his big cock like he had something to prove.

"Mmm… Harry…"

"Yeah?" He pushed in firmly, swiveling his hips to let her feel all of him. "Is that good?"

"Fuck… it's deep—sh…shit!"

Letting go of her neck, Harry used both hands to guide her rhythm as he fucked into her, tilting her into an angle that had the big crown of his cock hitting a tender spot inside her. She tensed and clawed at the blankets in response to how he commanded her movements.

He loved watching her pussy slickly spread apart on his cock, how tight it wrapped around him, how wet she made everything, the way her ass wobbled. He was tempted to give her another swat but thought better of it, knowing that he'd already done a number on her backside. Her skin was raised just enough that he could feel the small welts from his hands. He didn't want to break the skin.

His abs clenched as he plowed his dick through her, their bodies clapping together, her bed wrenching under them from the force of his thrusts. She was mumbling nonsense, straining to keep herself steady as he worked her over him with his hands gripping the meat of her hips tight.

But he slowed his motions, loosening his hold on her as he pushed in deep and stilled. He stared down at the space where they were connected as he thumbed softly at the flesh of her ass. When he was buried in like that, he couldn't see the end of the condom at the base of his shaft, so it looked like he wasn't wearing one. The dirty thought trickled warm down his chest and made his cock throb before he pulled himself out.

He pulled her up and helped her turn before he positioned her flat on her back, her tits spreading softly as she looked up at him with a dazed expression. He sat back on his haunches. "Still okay?"

She nodded, a smile slowly turned her lips upward. "I'm fantastic."

"Good. Gonna pull you up like this…" He took her thighs and dragged her up so her hips were off the bed and the backs of her thighs were draped over the tops of his. "Fuck you nice and deep, work your clit til you come. How's that sound?"

"Mmm…" Y/n nodded and squeezed her tits as she bucked her hips upward. "Yes."

He grinned down at her. He loved how confident she was. How unashamed of her body she seemed to be. Liked the way she carried herself. It was sexy to see a woman happy in her own skin.

He reached down and slowly stroked her clit, eyes connected to hers to watch her expression soften and then her brows arch as she parted her lips and moaned. "Yeah?" He murmured with a grin.

"Yes… You're so good. Fuck…" she turned her head to the side and closed her eyes, a soft gasp fell from her lips as he slid his fingers in circles on her clit and mushed into her swollen hood. She pushed her breasts together and arched her back before shifting her head to look back up at him. "Fuck me. Please."

"Want my cock, Y/n?" He nudged his hips forward, poking his condom-covered tip to the tight ring of muscle that would stretch nicely around him once he pushed his way back in.

"I need it," she pleaded in a breath, canting her hip toward him.

The harsh line of his brow as he took all of her in, spread out for him, was that of a man ready to devour. Y/n watched as he wrapped his long fingers around his base and shifted his pelvis, dipping his thick cock head just inside of her.

"Fffuck…" she stretched her neck and moaned as she took every inch he fed into her.

He slid deeper, taking his time as if he hadn't just been pounding into her and pushing her to her limit moments before. He moved his thumb over her bud as he went, her arousal smeared filthy on his fingers and all over her pussy lips.

Y/n shifted her sight to Harry's face, admiring his handsome features and the way his lips parted, how his muscles tensed as he rolled into her. He was enjoying her body, reveling in the way he felt inside of her. "Does it feel good? My pussy's good for you?"

"Your pussy feels incredible. Even with this fucking condom…" he laughed softly. "The kind of pussy I'd chase after and make a fool of myself for."

With their eyes connected, Y/n felt her heart ravaging behind her ribcage. She understood what he meant. Because, while she didn't think he'd made a fool of himself, he had chased after her to find her at the club. And he said that wasn't something he normally did. She was grateful he had, though.

His rough palm pushed her hand to the side so he could grope her tit. He continued working at her clit as he stuffed himself in to the brim and they both panted hot breaths as their connected bodies throbbed in unison.

He pressed down as he circled her wet bud, and the extra friction had her skin buzzing, pulsing with desire. Heat stretched over her thighs and curled viciously through her insides.

Harry slowly inched back and then pushed in deeper, his thighs flexing as he plunged wetly, gently smacking into her. A breathless sob fell from her mouth as she took him to his root over and over again.

His slow thrusts were deliberate, calculated. Every stroke of his rigid cock through her soft walls, every press of his thumb on her sensitive clit, every brush of his fingertips on her nipple had her rippling around him, trembling. The luscious stretch of her pussy around him as he drove in and dragged out made his tip leak into his condom.

Y/n began circling her hips to press harder into his thumb, using her leverage to get him deeper, to feel the biting pressure of his thumbprint. The soft, wet spread of her pussy around his shaft ached and squeezed and slushed.

His moan vibrated deep from his chest as he felt his balls tighten when he buried in and pressed himself flush to her. The shadows in her bedroom cast a moody expression over his features. He tilted his neck back, angling his face toward her ceiling as if he were in ecstasy.

And the languid thrusting suddenly turned into a heated pace. Harry's eyes darkened on hers when he looked back down at the girl he was fucking. He stroked her clit and released her breast, yanking her hip to meet his powerful thrusts. He battered her tender insides with his brutally thick column of rigid flesh. The sounds of plapping skin, her mattress springs bouncing, Harry's rhythmic grunts and groans as he drove in faded to a white noise as Y/n realized she was going to come from that, just from the expert thrust of him inside her.

She cried his name and her body shivered with every harsh plunge of his cock, the orgasm dotting white stars behind her eyes. Harry's own desperate moans were a giveaway that he was about to come just as hard.

"Fuck!"

Her body bounced and gushed as he drove in and in. The deep, ragged sounds he made were erotic, and a convulsive shudder wracked his powerful frame, followed by an agonized sound of ecstasy. His cock jerked inside her and then he was coming long and hard, spurting hotly into her clutching cunt.

Somehow, she'd found herself lying on top of him. He'd brought them to lie back together, and her chest was pressed to his. She felt his hand on her naked back, slowly caressing her skin as their hearts began to slow and calm.

"Mmm…" Y/n smiled as she nuzzled into his chest.

His hand drew down over her ass gently. "How's this feel?"

Lifting her head to press her chin into his pec, she raised her brows. "Sore. But that's what you wanted. To show me I was a bad girl. I deserved it."

Harry pushed a breath through his nose. "You're not a bad girl. Just stubborn. But now you know better than to play games."

Y/n shifted her gaze toward the edge of the room and pushed herself up from him as Harry watched her get off her bed and traipse to her dresser. "What are you doing?"

She turned to him and lifted her phone before pressing a few buttons, and then Harry's phone rang from his pants.

"There. Now you have my number, too. We've got no excuses anymore."

He reached his hand out toward her as she walked back to her bed and curled up next to him. "You shouldn't need an excuse. If you want to see me, then that should be enough."

She placed her palm on his chest and angled her head back to look at him. "I'm sorry I didn't call. I mean it when I say that. I regretted not reaching out. I promise no more games."

"Mmm…" He ran his hand down the back of her head. "Sounds like I finally fucked some sense into you then."

Y/n laughed. "Guess I needed that, too."

"I think you did. So did I, to be honest."

"You needed some sense fucked into you?"

Harry chuckled, his handsome smile making her heart flutter as he shook his head. "No. I meant I needed to fuck some sense into you. I'm already chock full of good sense. Don't need any more."

"Can't argue with that. So what now? You gonna stay the night with me?"

"Yep. Then, tomorrow, we'll make plans for a date. A real one."

"Why not make plans now?"

"Because we're gonna do it tomorrow. Cause I said."

"What if I'm busy tomorrow?" Y/n teased and bit her lip.

"Are you busy tomorrow?" He grinned.

"Hmm… It looks like all my plans have suddenly been canceled. Guess I'm all yours."

. .

Feedback/Thoughts | Ko-fi | Main Masterlist | Patreon

Thank you for reading! I appreciate any support so remember to comment, reblog, & like 💕

Tags: @yousunshineyoutempter @tenaciousperfectionunknown @swiftmendeshoran @tiaamberxx @closureesny

@angelbabyyy99 @malwtilda @itjustkindahappenedreally @onlyangellucifer @harryistheonlyoneforme

@butdaddyilovehim-hs @lc-fics @hannahdressedasabanana @babegoalsreads @harrrrystylesslut

@elidoho @gotdrxnkonu @cathy-1997 @imgonnadreamaboutthewayyoutaaaa @angeldavis777

@lillefroe @monicaalexandraaa @hsonlyangelxo @brittanyzelazno @caynonmoondreams

@mellamolayla @ladscarlett @heartateasee @littlenatilda @finelinepie

@michellekstyles @harrysredroom @harrydeary @mrs-anna-styles211994 @devilsqueen722

@bananabk9756 @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @idkkkkkkk123lgb @freedomfireflies @fruity-harry

@avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @mema10 @gmikaelson

*if i missed your tag please let me know so I can re-add you to the tag list! xoxo

[literaryvein-reblogs]

How to Describe Clothing in Writing

Creating vivid descriptions for a story or character is a mark of a great writer. One specific form of descriptive writing that particularly affects setting and characterization is the portrayal of characters’ clothing.

Writing Tips: Describing Clothes

Clothing descriptions work best when they appear organically in the course of the narrative. The story should never halt in place so that you can shoehorn in a bunch of sartorial descriptions. Here are some writing tips to help you use clothing descriptions in your creative writing:

Integrate clothing into your initial character description. The first time readers meet a character, they should get a sense of how they dress.

Study articles of clothing to make sure you know what they look like. This will help you choose the right words to describe them. For example, it would be appropriate to describe a chiffon dress as “sheer” or “thin,” but it would be clumsy to describe it as “threadbare” because chiffon is not cheap.

Pick outfits that fit the setting you’re writing about. If you’re describing an elegant ball, you might want to place a character in a form-fitting strapless evening gown, as this is a common piece for formal dances. Describing the clothing reinforces the setting you’ve chosen.

Blend clothing into job descriptions. If you’re describing a monk at work, you could note how the loose-fitting sleeves of his frock draped onto a table. If you’re describing a superhero in an action scene, describe the flow of their cape or the stiffness of their boots.

Let your characters change outfits. Show a character arc by marking how a character’s clothing changes over the course of your story. If a character in a YA novel starts out wearing ill-fitting khaki slacks with enormous pleats and ends that same novel wearing a denim jacket with an “anarchy” pin on the lapel, we know they’ve undergone some major changes.

Use clothing to set characters apart. Represent the difference between two characters by describing the differences in their clothing. Let’s say you’re describing two characters interviewing for the same job: One wears a sporty, ruched, A-line dress, and the other wears jeans and a sweatshirt. The reader can infer aspects of both characters’ personalities and make a comparison between two characters.

Reasons to Describe a Character’s Clothing

A character’s clothing is a window into so many aspects of their lives. From a character’s clothes, readers can make inferences about the following:

Clothing reveals a character’s personality. A knee-length fur coat and a corduroy jacket are both forms of outerwear, but it’s quite unlikely they’d be worn by the same kind of person. Readers can deduce a character’s style and personality from the clothes they wear.

Clothing implies a character’s wealth. Is your novel’s main character comes from a working-class background, it’s more likely they’d wear a t-shirt and jeans than a lavish and expensive piece of clothing. Just as in real life, clothing indicates status and wealth.

Clothing shows a character’s point of view toward the world. Clothing can reveal a character’s views on the world. If someone puts on a graphic t-shirt with the sleeves cut off, it implies that they could hardly care less about offending other people. Meanwhile, a character who wears a dressy button-down shirt with a single-breasted plaid jacket seems like the old-fashioned type. Maybe they’re heading to a mixer at the country club?

Clothing suggests the time and place in which a character exists. As part of your worldbuilding process, you’ll want to be as precise as possible about your book’s setting and time period. This doesn’t just apply to historical fiction; it applies to all forms of writing. For instance, if you’re writing a battle scene set during the Revolutionary War, you might need to study the physical descriptions of britches and pantaloons. But if your scene is set in a present-day battlefield, you might describe a soldier as wearing camouflage with a tag hung from a necklace. Simply by changing the clothing description, you’ve marked a massive distinction between these two war stories.

Source ⚜ More: Notes ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs ⚜ References: Fashion

[neferaskingdom]

♡ Too Precious | LN4

NEFERASKINGDOM

Summary: Lando loves the party life. She prefers quiet nights in. When their differences start to build, so does the tension.

A/N: This is part of my Playlist Roulette series, where I shuffle my playlists and write a story inspired by the first song that pops up. This story is inspired by the song Too Precious by Em Beihold.

Previous | Series Masterlist | Next

'Cause according to you, I'm too precious You're wishin' that I was more reckless You're wishin' that I would smoke 'til I'm high And play with the guys, regret this You're wishin' that I was more trouble Sorry for being a struggle I do what I want and may not be your type Sorry I can't be a person you like

Lando had always been the type to take things too far.

He lived for the noise. Loud music, louder people, places where the drinks never stopped flowing and sleep was something you caught on a plane. It was easier that way. Fill every second, don’t let your mind slow down enough to catch up.

Since he was sixteen, life had been a blur of tracks and cameras and fake smiles at dinners with sponsors. So when the weekends came, when the pressure finally let up, he wanted to feel like he had some control. He wanted to drink, to laugh too hard, to forget.

And at first, she hadn’t minded. She was different from everyone else in his circle. Calm. Private. Comfortable in silence. Lando had thought it was refreshing. Being with Lando meant fast flights to Ibiza, impulsive parties, nights where the sunrise came too soon. But the novelty wore off. Now she just felt tired. Like she was always trying to catch up to a version of him that wouldn’t sit still. She’d thought maybe he’d slow down for her. He thought she’d go along with him.

They were both wrong.

"Just try it," he said, holding out the glass. "It’s literally one drink."

She didn’t even look at it. "I’m fine."

"You always say that."

"And I always mean it."

Lando leaned back against the kitchen counter, the glass still in his hand. "You’re kind of allergic to fun, aren’t you?"

She glanced up, eyes narrowing. "Excuse me?"

He took a sip and shrugged. "Nothing. Just... you’re too precious sometimes."

She blinked, like she wasn’t sure she heard him right. "Too precious?"

"Yeah." He grinned, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "Too good for all this. For drinks, for staying out past midnight, for letting loose like the rest of us."

She crossed her arms. "That’s not fair."

"It’s not an insult."

"It sounds like one."

Lando tossed the rest of his drink back, ignoring the way her face tightened.

"I’m not going to pretend I’m into something I’m not. That’s not fair to either of us."

He pulled back slightly. "Right. Of course. You're too precious."

"Stop saying that."

He smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "Why? If the label fits."

Another night, another party.

She sat in the corner of the room, watching him move through the crowd like he belonged to everyone. He was surrounded by friends, or at least people who laughed when he made a joke and handed him a joint without asking questions.

One of the guys passed it to her.

"I’m good," she said quickly, waving it away.

Lando saw from across the room and walked over, slightly buzzed and way too confident.

"Come on," he said, voice low against her ear. "One puff won't turn you into a delinquent."

"Can we not do this here?"

He straightened, irritated. "We’re just having fun."

"I know. It’s just... not my idea of fun."

His smile faded. "Right. I forgot. You don’t like anything messy."

"That’s not true."

"You say that, but every time things get a little wild, you check out. You sit on the couch and stare at your phone until it’s time to leave."

"Because I don’t want to pretend to enjoy something that makes me uncomfortable."

Lando’s mouth opened, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he turned back toward the crowd. She watched him go, heart sinking.

The fight came later that week.

He showed up late to dinner, still wearing a wristband from some club he never mentioned he was going to. She had cooked for once, tried to make something that wasn’t takeout.

Lando kicked his shoes off and tossed his keys onto the table like nothing was wrong.

"You look nice," he said, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

"You’re late."

He pulled back. "Traffic."

She just stared at him. The lie was too easy.

"You said we’d have a quiet night."

"And we are."

"You went to a party."

He grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. "For like, an hour. Don’t make it a thing."

"You could’ve told me."

"I didn’t think I needed permission."

She bit the inside of her cheek. "That’s not what I said."

Lando set the bottle down harder than necessary. "Is this really about me being late, or is this about how I live my life again?"

She met his gaze. "It’s about you never being fully present unless there’s a camera on or a drink in your hand."

He scoffed. "There it is."

"There’s what?"

"The judgment."

"It’s not judgment."

"You keep saying that, but every word out of your mouth is just a more polite way of saying you think I’m a screw-up."

"I just think your... lifestyle. It isn’t healthy."

He blinked, like she’d slapped him. "Wow. That’s what you think of me?"

"It’s just I think you’re constantly burning the candle at both ends and pretending it doesn’t affect you."

He laughed, but it wasn’t light. "So now I need saving?"

"That’s not what I said."

"You didn’t have to."

She stepped closer, trying to stay calm. "I’m not trying to change you, Lando. I just want you to see that this isn’t sustainable."

"You think I haven’t heard that before?" His voice was rising now. "From my team, my parents, everyone who wants a piece of me? I don’t need to hear it from you too."

"I’m not trying to pile on, Lando. I just—"

"What? Want me to grow up? Stay in? Light some candles and watch a movie like everything’s normal?"

"Yes," she said softly. "Sometimes I do."

He stared at her, something shifting in his face. "You want to fix me."

"No," she whispered. "I want to reach you. But you’re always somewhere else."

He laughed, bitter. "That’s rich, coming from you."

"What’s that supposed to mean?"

"I want you to stop treating me like some broken kid who needs to be fixed."

"That’s not fair. I didn’t mean anything like that-"

"You know what’s not fair? You walking around acting like you’re better than all of it. Too perfect to ever mess up. Too perfect to actually live a little."

"I don’t think I’m perfect."

"You act like it. You sit there with your tea and your books and your damn moral compass, and every time I step out of line, you look at me like I’m some kind of disappointment. And now you’re trying to control how I live?"

"I’m not trying to control you."

"You told me my lifestyle isn’t healthy. You basically just said you’re embarrassed by the way I live."

"I said I’m worried."

"Yeah, sorry you can’t mold me into someone you like."

Her throat tightened. "I don’t want to mold you. I want to feel like I’m not losing you to a version of yourself you don’t even like."

"Don’t psychoanalyze me. You don’t get it."

"Partying every night isn’t healthy!"

He went still.

"There it is again!" His tone turned sharp, defensive.

"I think you’re drowning and pretending you’re swimming."

His jaw clenched. "And I think you’re a control freak who’s afraid of anything she can’t schedule two weeks in advance."

"Wow."

"Yeah. Wow."

There was a long pause. Neither of them moved.

Finally, she spoke. "I can’t keep pretending I’m okay with this."

Lando’s jaw tensed. "Then maybe you’re not the person I should be with."

She swallowed hard. "Maybe I’m not."

The silence between them stretched out like a chasm.

He picked up his keys again.

"Let me know when you’re ready to stop looking at me like I’m a problem. I’ll leave you to your quiet night" he said, and walked out the door.

She didn’t cry. Not right away.

Instead, she sat on the couch alone, staring at the plate of food that had gone cold hours ago.

She hadn’t meant to make him feel small. She just wanted him to slow down long enough to see that not everything good had to be loud and fleeting.

But maybe that was the problem.

He didn’t want quiet. And she couldn’t keep pretending to love the noise.

[munsonsmixtapes]

A Guiding Hand

Simon "Ghost" Riley x virgin!fem!reader

You call a sex hotline looking to get some relief Ghost is happy to help.

cw: MDNI (18+) masturbation, dirty talk, use of nicknames

special thanks to @robinfeldt98 for giving me this idea!

Your hands shake as you type in the number on your phone. Your roommate gave it to you when you told her about your…problem. But now you’re afraid to commit, to actually call the number that you’ve typed in. You just stare at it, willing yourself to hit the green button but you just can’t. 

You finally press it and the speaker button then hurry across the room, hoping that they’ll hear that no one is on the line and hang up. That’s what you’re hoping for but all of that goes out the window when you hear that husky, British voice. 

You slowly come over to the phone after he’s greeted you, approaching it like you would a strange noise in your home. 

“Hi.” You finally get yourself to speak and your heart rate picks up when you hear a deep chuckle. 

“There she is,” he replies. “What’s your name, sweetheart?” You know you should give your name out to random men over the phone but this is his job, certainly he wouldn’t do anything creepy with that information-at least you hope not. 

“Y/n.”

“Y/n,” he repeats, the name coming out slowly like he’s getting a feel for it on his tongue. It sounds so…hot when he says it. ”I like that. I wonder what it would sound like during climax.” It sounds like he’s close to the receiver and it’s almost like he’s whispering it to you in your quiet bedroom and it causes a shiver to skate down your spine. 

Simon is never usually this forward. There’s usually a script that he created to make the calls flow easier, but you seem so nervous that he feels like he needs to take a different approach. He’s treading lightly, not wanting to scare you off. 

He doesn’t know why, but you seem…different from all the others. You’re not flirting with him like everyone else does. This is clearly your first time and since he started this job, this is the only time he’s wanted to be sweet and gentle. 

“So what’s the reason for your call, y/n?” He asks, his voice somehow getting even lower and you feel yourself getting wet already. How is he able to do that? 

“Aren’t you going to tell me your name first?” You ask and he chuckles again, making your heart leap again. 

“Oh, where are my manners? I’m Ghost.” 

“Ghost.” You don’t want to admit that you like it. That you can imagine yourself moaning it over and over even though you’ve never done that before. You’ve never done-well, anything. And that’s why you’re calling. To hopefully get some relief. 

“It sounds even better when you say it. So, what’s the reason you’re calling, sweetheart?” The nickname causes your cheeks to heat and you can’t believe how easily you’re playing right into his hand. 

“Well-“ you cut yourself off, unsure to tell him the truth without sounding weird. “I’ve never-I’ve never had sex before.” 

“I see,” is all he says in response, waiting for you to finish your explanation. 

“And I’ve never…masturbated either so I guess I’m just looking for some relief. To take some edge off.” 

“Well, you’ve come to the right place. How would you like me to help? You call the shots.” 

“Me? Why me?” You hate the idea of being in control. You want to be told what to do and how to do it. You’ve never done well in an authoritative role and he clearly has all the experience so you’d much rather have him take the reins. 

“Hey, let’s take a deep breath, darling.” he says. “In,” he says and you both suck in some air. “And out. Good,” he says once you’ve breathed all the air out. “I’m happy to take control if you want me too. I’ll do whatever you want. I’m yours for the night.” 

No one’s ever said that to you. No one has been so…eager to please you in this way and now you kind of wish you knew what Ghost looked like. If he’s as hot as his voice. You’re sure he is but you don’t know why. You want him to be here with you, knowing that it would ease your mind to have him standing in front of you.

But maybe it’s for the best that this is over the phone. You’d hate for him to see just how nervous he’s making you. How hot your skin feels, how your heart hasn’t stopped racing since he answered the phone. 

You’re so grateful that your roommate isn’t home. The wall between your room is so thin that you just know she’d be able to hear everything and you shudder just thinking about  her overhearing this conversation. 

“You take the lead,” you tell him and even though you can’t see him, Simon is grinning from ear to ear, loving the suggestion you’ve just made. He’ll be submissive some other time. Tonight, he’s going to make you his whore. 

“I thought you’d never ask,” he chuckles. “So you’ve really never touched yourself? Let’s start there. What are you wearing, y/n? Something hot?”

“Unfortunately not. Just a big t-shirt and panties. I-I was about to go to bed but I just can’t sleep.”

 Even though Simon has no idea what you look like, the outfit you’ve described is making him hard beyond belief. He closes his eyes, imagining sitting you down onto your bed, spreading your legs wide as he kisses you gently, pulling down your panties before fingering you until you beg him to stop, until you clench around him, screaming his name as you orgasm. 

“Ghost?” You ask and he’s immediately snapped out of his little fantasy. For the most part, doing this doesn’t really do anything for him. He’s done it so often that it’s just starting to feel like his job. But the fact that you want him to help you get yourself off-and for the first time-well that fills him with the kind of confidence he hasn’t had in a long time. 

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he apologizes. “I lost focus imagining you in what you described. What I’d do if I was there.” His voice is deeper, more seductive and you feel your panties getting progressively more wet the longer the conversation goes on. He’s imagining scenarios too? God, you wish he was here. “Where are you?” 

“In my room.”

“Alright, first, I want you to lie on the bed.” You do as he asks and wait for his next instructions. Your phone is by your head now as you imagine him hovering over you, whispering into your ear. 

“Are you on the bed, sweetheart?” He asks, his voice so gentle and you feel your heart warm at how gentle he’s being with you. You just know that other men wouldn’t be so nice.

“I am,” you confirm with a nod even though he can’t see you. 

“Now I want you to take your panties off and spread your legs wide for me.” You slowly take your panties off and toss them to the side before pulling your t-shirt up to your waist so it doesn’t get in the way. You then spread your legs wide, already wet as can be even though nothing’s happened yet. That’s just the effect that Ghost has had on you, suppose. 

“And once you’re ready, I want you to press your ring and middle fingers together then insert them. Your pace doesn’t matter. Go as fast or as slow as you’d like. This is all about you.” 

You bring your dominant hand up and hover it over your face as you do as he asks, you then take a deep breath, letting your eyes flutter shut as you slowly bring your hand to your cunt. You make a sound when they make contact, just the tips of your fingers sliding inside. 

You make a whimpering noise at how foreign it feels and Simon feels his cock straining against his jeans at the pretty sound. God, he thinks he’s going to come. 

“Does it feel good, princess?” He asks in a whisper and this nickname is your favorite of the ones he’s called you tonight. 

“So good,” you reply, pushing your fingers in and out of your cunt. You can’t believe you’ve never done this before. If you had known how good it felt, you would have done it a lot sooner.  

“A little faster. Can you do that for me?” You pick up your pace and all of these noises you’ve never made before start spilling from your mouth as your free hand bunches up the sheets that are underneath you. You spread your legs wider to give yourself more access and it makes all the difference when your fingers get deeper, reaching a spot that feels better than all the rest. 

“That’s it, princess,” Simon responds. “Just like that. Doing so good for me.” He’s now palming himself, so close to whipping it out and getting himself off, but he can’t. This is about you and he doesn’t want to get distracted from helping. Maybe if you call again, he can convince you to switch roles. “Fuck you’re so hot.” 

You’re close already, you can feel it. The movement mixed with Ghost’s encouraging words is making your head spin, making you feel dizzy. This is unlike anything you’ve felt before and now you understand why so many people do this regularly. 

“Ghost, oh my god,” you whine as you finally reach your peak, back arching, your cunt clenching around your fingers. Hearing you moan his name, he lets out a little whimper, knowing that he’s going to take care of himself as soon as the call is over. He has no idea how the hell he’s going to be able to do any calls after this. It’s the best one he’s ever had and now he hopes you call him all the time just so he can hear your pretty nosies again and again. 

“Fuck,” is all you’re able to say as yoou’re coming down, your body sticky with sweat as you remove your fingers.

“You did so good,” he says, his voice soft again, sounding so different from just moments ago. “How do you feel, princess? Bet you feel so good, don’t you?”

“So good,” you agree. 

“Well, I guess my job here is done. Same time tomorrow?” His tone is making it sound like he’s joking, but he really does want you to call tomorrow. And every day after that.”

“It’s a date,” you reply, your voice sounding a little tired.

“Alright, same time tomorrow. I’ll keep the line open so you just call this number again. Now go clean up and get some rest, princess. You’ve earned it for being such a good girl.” The line goes dead and you just lie there, not sure you can go to sleep after that, already counting down the minutes until you can call Ghost again. 

part two part three

[well-of-divine-if]

Well of The Divine - a work in progress Interactive Fiction Story

Well of The Divine is a 18+ fantasy text-based game built using ChoiceScript. Rated 18+ for explicit language and optional sexual content.

The Well of The Divine has been compromised. Once the source of the Gods strength, it is now closed off to them leaving them truly vulnerable for the first time in their long existence. They are scared.

What does this have to do with you?

Found as a new-born, abandoned by those that brought you into this world, you never knew your birth parents. Only those who took you in. The problems of the Gods had never involved you until now. Divine blood flows in your veins. An encounter with your Godly parent brings death to your village. Those who hunt the Gods have come for you too.

Now, who are you?

Features:

Play as male, female, non-binary or trans, straight, gay, bisexual or asexual

Customise your character's appearance and personality

Learn who your Godly parent is from one of five options

Gather allies, both divine and mortal to travel with you

Forge relationships with your companions, friendships, rivalries and more

Choose from five romance options to pursue, creating a deep romantic or platonic bond

Improve your skills including your control over your demigod powers

Discover who is hunting you and decide the fate of the Gods

Theresa Colt - She/Her - 25 - The Childhood Friend Only child to the village's herbalist, Theresa grew up alongside MC. When not working with her mother, Theresa was most likely to be found by MCs side getting up to all sorts of adventures. Some might mistake her softness of weakness but it takes a certain kind of courage to be kind in the face of hardship. Appearance: Theresa is a young woman fairly short in height, 5'3, with curly brown hair typically tied up in brightly coloured scarfs. Honey eyes framed with thick lashes on a round face with olive skin. Delicate hands that are surprisingly rough from years of work.

Maddox Rowe - He/Him - 27 - The Demigod Maddox Rowe has always been angry. From a young age he’s been told it’s in his blood, in his nature. He may be a bit of a hothead but anger isn’t all that’s left in him, but when you aren’t given the chance to be anything else you fall back on what you know. Appearance: Golden skin and angry red eyes, Maddow Rowe stands tall at 6'3 casting an intimidating figure to most. Broad shoulders and a powerful form gained from a life of combat only add to it. Dark shaggy hair and a strong jaw complete his look.

Cormac Winters - He/Him - 28 - The Charming Rogue Talking himself in and out of trouble, Cormac flits about from city to city never setting roots. If you set roots you get attached. To some, honeyed words fall from his lips. To others, he’s selling nothing but snake oil. And when trouble finally does catch up to him, like many before he’ll slip away in the night. Appearance: Long wild, wavy red hair is the first thing people notice when they see Cormac. The second is the sly grin that seems to have found a permanent place on his face. Lean in build, 6'0, and forest green eyes, some think him cocky but who can resist a pretty face?

Lucien Corvus - They/Them - 23 - The Hunter Alone from a young age, with no one to protect or care form them, Lucien learned that the only person you can rely on is yourself. Strangers will use and hurt you. Keeping this mantra close to their heart helped them survive. Besides, if you begged to the gods for aid none would answer. Appearance: Piercing ice blue eyes on a cool white angular face that rarely shows anything different to cold indifference. Short blonde hair that rests against their forehead. They stand with shoulders back to a height of 5'10. Is that a dimple when they smile?

Sabine - She/Her - ??? - The ??? Wise beyond her years in the matters of the divine and history of the world. There’s an energy about her the exudes a sense of calm. If you look closer, behind the golden eyes you may catch a glimpse of the power that runs beneath them. Appearance: Eyes of liquid gold, skin a rich deep black, and ebony coils styled into long twists. Holding herself with a sense of regal poise, Sabine stands to a height of 5'9. She keeps a calm countenance even in unfavorable situations.

[DEMO]

[ROs]

[Ko-fi]

This is my first time writing anything in ChoiceScript (first time coding in general) so please bare with me as I learn and thank you for your patience 💛

[crescenthistory]

can u do a remus x reader where they are best friends and remus has been in love with reader forever, and reader is kind of a player because she also loves remus but didnt know that the feeling was reciprocated

i did a bit of a different take on this, hope you enjoy it babe

Words: 4.8k

Warnings: suggestive references and themes (talk of shagging, etc.), drinking and partying in hogwarts, fem!reader, use of y/n, sirius' pov for half then your pov (with all the mental tirades that includes), partier!reader more so than player, you have snogged james and mary (in the past), platonic!sirius but borderline fwb at one point, platonic!wolfstar, pining!remus, secretly pining!reader, no slutshaming, background jegulily, confessions, happy ending ofc

a blurb about everyone's reaction

Sirius was in a bit of a difficult situation.

On the one hand, he had a beautiful girl all but crawling into his lap in the middle of an admittedly good party and he knew she would be a hell of a great time.

On the other hand, he was absolutely certain that his best friend was in love with her, despite his many denials, and he was not sure if she herself knew yet.

She had to, right? You had to know that Remus was in love with you with how he had been making puppy eyes at you more or less since first year. The two of you were the best of friends and went everywhere together – it was simply impossible that you had not had a conversation or two about it. But then again, Sirius and Remus were also the best of friends and he had not heard so much as a squeak about any such conversation taking place, let alone him admitting his feelings.

Could you truly be so oblivious? You had to know, and are choosing to live your life as you wanted regardless, as is your right. Would Sirius be an arse if he rejected your current casual advances because of Remus? If he was, would he be an arse for telling you about Remus' feelings or for dictating how a woman conducts herself based on the feelings of a man?

Sirius was way too drunk to be thinking any of these thoughts.

Yet, immediate action was required in order to handle the situation at hand. You and Sirius had been sitting beside one another for a while now, your leg thrown over in between his thighs, his arm wrapped securely around your shoulders, your hand on his chest. The music was absolutely blaring, the alcohol was flowing freely through your bodies, making the places where you touch that much hotter, in all semblances of the word. Sirius knew that if he was to tilt his head down to look at you, your lips would surely smash together.

It was not uncommon for you to shag some lucky bastard at these parties. You were carefree and fun in that way that made you fit seamlessly into your group of friends when Remus introduced you. It was never serious or deep on either front, Sirius knew as much – you and Mary had an arrangement of mutual fun going on for a while and you had even snogged James once before he got with Regulus and Lily.

Sirius participated equally as enthusiastically and the two of you were good friends, so really, it made sense that you ended up in this situation at last.

Still, sirens were blaring in his head screaming "BAD FRIEND, BAD FRIEND" the longer he sat with you like this. Because whenever you did find someone to hook up with at a party, you always left Remus' side to do so, as you were otherwise attached at the hip. And Sirius was the one left to watch him struggle to keep his face from crumbling every time. He was also always the one to poke the bear – or the wolf, if you please – by confronting Remus about his feelings for you constantly, both in a playful and serious manner.

As the designated campaigner for "Remus get your shit together and kiss her yourself", he should not be making that more difficult for his best mate.

He also should not get involved in whatever delicate situation you two had going on, but when his eyes flicked across the room, terrified to make eye contact with Remus wherever he was, determination grew in his chest. Something had to be done.

"Are you good, Siri?" you asked from beside him, words slurred just enough for him to know you were tipsy but not so much that he was concerned.

He took a deep breath. "Actually. Can we talk? Alone?"

Your body grew a bit tense against his, enough that he knew you understood this was not some scheme to get you alone. "Sure," you said wearily, already detangling your body from his.

The two of you got up and hastily made for the portrait hole. Sirius hoped that the cool stone walls outside would help him sober up enough to be able to communicate effectively.

His heart sank just a little bit when he caught sight of familiar tawny hair leaning against the wall by the exit. He knew all too well how this looked. Remus' eyes lit up when they landed on you, his mouth opening to make some sort of greeting when the words died on his tongue at the sight of a guilty Sirius trailing behind you.

You seemed nonplussed. "Oh, hi Rem," you said brightly, almost giggling around your words from the alcohol. You stepped off your path for a second to press a kiss to his cheek, smiling softly at him. "You having fun?"

Remus' face seemed strained, but he kept his smile up, even if just for you. "Yes, dovey. Are you?"

You nodded and squeezed his hand before taking a few steps back and away from him. "Very much so. We're just heading out for a quick chat."

He looked quickly between you and Sirius, never quite meeting his eyes, and Sirius felt as if he was being incriminated just by standing there with his hair slightly tousled from you playing with it. The hurt he could see play across his best mate's face was exactly the type of thing he was hoping to avoid by the awkward conversation he was about to have.

Remus' smile grew more thin-lipped than before as his gaze settled somewhere on your cheek. "Great. Have fun."

You just nodded once more before turning on your heel and making a beeline for the door, seemingly unaware of what just transpired between the three of you. Sirius stalled for a moment, wondering if he should say something, but decided against it in case Remus tried to stop him once he realised what the chat actually would be about.

It didn't much matter, though, because Remus stalked off without ever meeting his eyes.

With a heavy sigh, Sirius hurried over to the door to the common room that you were holding open from the outside, smiling back at him. You truly were such a lovely girl, and he hoped to Merlin he was not fucking anything up for you right now.

Stepping through the portrait, he let the Fat Lady’s frame slam shut behind him, cringing at the sudden silence that enveloped the two of you. Though, the air was as much of a welcome reprieve as he had expected it to be, and he breathed in a huge chunk of it to steel his nerves.

"Listen, Sirius, if things got too touchy in there then I'm sor–" you tried to begin, but he all but threw his hands up between you in a display of innocence.

"No, no, dollface, don't you worry about that one bit," he laughed out nervously. "I was very much enjoying myself. I just realised– fuck how do I say this?"

He tried to think clearly and find a way to communicate what he knew in his heart to be true.

"No swearing in my halls!" The shrill voice he knew to belong to the portrait that had tortured him for seven years sounded behind him.

"Sorry, ma'am," he said rather petulantly and held out his hand for you to take so that he could lead you down the hall and away from her. He also hoped you read it as the display of well-meaning friendship that it was.

You accepted his hand gracefully and his heart did calm down just the slightest from it.

The two of you hurried down the hallway, feeling every bit the teenagers that you were, settling down in a corner just far enough away for privacy. The cool stone did marvels for his overheating, and Sirius took full advantage of it by leaning his head back against them.

"What did you realise?" you asked then.

"Huh?" he answered, admittedly quite dumbly.

You had the decency to laugh at him instead of mock him. "Earlier. You said I didn't do anything wrong, but that you realised something."

Sirius heaved a deep breath. "Right, right," he murmured before clearing his throat. Was he overstepping? Possibly. Would he be ripping the bandaid off anyway? Absolutely. "See, I was having fun earlier and saw it as what it was – just two friends having fun, yeah? But I fear not everyone feels the same."

"I swear to Godrick, if you accuse me of having feelings for you, Black, I will chuck you off the Astronomy Tower," you said through a laugh.

"I'm thankfully not that conceited, babe. It wasn't you I was referring to."

You looked at him as if to say who, then?

"I think– or no, I actually know for certain, even if the stupid sod won't admit it. Erm, okay, so. Wow, how do I explain that? He's my best mate, you know, and I–"

"Sirius, you are making no sense right now."

"Remus is in love with you."

You had opened your mouth to volley back, clearly expecting him to still be stumbling over his words, but now it was just left hanging open as you stared at him, baffled. The two of you sat in silence for much longer than Sirius could have expected, or perhaps that was just his nerves dragging out the moment. You seemed to be fighting for breath.

"Excuse me, what?!" you breathed out, voice increasing in crescendo throughout your sentence. The what ricocheted down the hall; Sirius grimaced.

"So, you didn't know," he surmises, having answered his mental tirade from earlier. "I honestly don't know how you haven't seen it, that boy has literally been mooning for you for years. I'm surprised we haven't had to keep the actual Moony from tracking you down and wagging his tail at you once a month."

Your face told him that this was not a time for jokes, yet somehow you still laughed at that. Sirius realised with horror that your laugh sounded rather wet and saw you aggressively wiping at your face, as if you were about to start crying. "I'm so confused," you whispered.

Sirius sat there rather dumbly, unsure how to make it any more clear. "I don't know what to tell you, babe. He has feelings for you, always has. I don't blame you if you don't return them and I'm sure neither will he – but, yeah no, I figured you should know. And while I totally respect you shagging whoever you want, I just don't think he could handle it if it were me. So I have to back out."

Miraculously you nodded in understanding, despite his ramblings. Your movements were slow, as if you were trying to let his words settle in your bones, processing years of misinterpreting in a matter of seconds.

Sirius wanted to help. "I've tried to get him to tell you himself, but he hasn't even admitted it out loud yet."

That seemed to snap your attention back to him, a fierce look growing rapidly in your eyes. "He hasn't told you? Then how do you know?!" You waved your hands between the two of you to emphasise your point.

Not quite what he expected, Sirius found himself scrambling for words. "Everyone knows! It's literally written all over his face whenever you're near!"

"I've been looking at that same face a lot and I haven't seen that?" you question then, wielding your argument as if you were about to disagree with him.

"Y/N. Baby." Sirius tried to articulate his words clearly. "Remus has feelings for you. I swear on my life. You don't have to do anything with that information, I just had to tell you."

You narrowed your eyes at him, seemingly scrutinising every inch of his face. "If this is a prank, you're dead, Black."

"It's not a prank. I swear on Effie and Monty Potter, the absolute angels they are." He held his hands over his heart for emphasis.

"You could be wrong."

"I'm not though."

You hummed in consideration, still not letting him out from the hold of your inspecting eyes. "I have to go find out." You said it as if it was plain and simple, and before Sirius knew it, you were standing above him.

"What?" he said, again dumbly. He should never drink again.

"Thank you, Siri, I'll see you later," you called as you were already moving down the hallway at an impressive speed, given you had been shocked still mere seconds ago.

Sirius remained sitting on the floor letting his head drop back against the stone and his eyes fall shut. He has either taken one for the team or massively fucked up – the best part is that he still had no idea which one it would be.

This was bound to be an eventful evening.

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

Your heart was resounding through your entire body and you could barely feel the tips of your fingers – not at all because of the alcohol, you were actually quite certain you had more or less sobered up by now.

No, it was because Remus loved you. Remus Lupin, the best friend you could ask for, the unrequited, unattainable love of your life, for some unidentified reason loved you.

According to Sirius, at least.

Merlin, how you would skin him alive should he be wrong.

The party had picked up its pace in the few minutes you and Sirius spent outside in the hallway. Someone had conjured up a light fog to roll around on the floor, allegedly to help with the atmosphere but no doubt it was really because the floor was becoming too filthy to look at directly. Warm bodies pressed into each other everywhere and there was a smell of sweat and drinks that on another day might have been enticing. Right now, you only had one focus.

"Where's Remus?" Your words were rushed as you latched onto the nearest arm you could find, grinning brightly when the familiar face of James came into view.

"Hiya, love," he greeted merrily, his other arm wrapped protectively around Lily. "What's up?"

"Remus. Where is he?" you repeated, albeit a bit more abashedly as you saw Lily glance at James sideways.

"Oh," James said and furrowed his brows, as if he was thinking. Then, he turned his head down to look at Lily who was already regarding him. "Where do we think Moony is, darling?"

Lily shifted her gaze between the two of you while biting her lip. She seemed to be making a quick appraisal. "I believe he headed up to the dorm early. Something about feeling tired?"

Nothing got past Lily, and you could tell from her somewhat smug yet concerned expression that she knew something you did not. Or, perhaps you did.

You let out a quick breath. "Oh." You couldn't help the slight guilt that settled in your stomach – even though you still couldn't know for certain that it was because of you. "I'll go find him, then."

"Are you sure?" Lily asked. "He might want to just sleep it off."

Sleep it off?

You nodded, confidence in your choice growing with every second. "I'm sure, yeah, but thanks Lils."

There was not a speck of judgement in her eyes, though her smile remained apprehensive. "I mean, he always wants to be with you, so it should be fine." She winked at you and suddenly your stomach was dropping because did everyone but you know?

Well, perhaps not James because he looked between you and Lily, entertained confusion written all over his face. "Okay, then. Great? See ya later, yeah?"

You squeezed both of their forearms in thanks before stepping backwards away from them, almost knocking into two people on the way. God, this place was packed. You threw some general sound of agreement that hopefully sounded as warm as you intended before all but running towards the stairs to the boys' dormitory. On the way, you swear you almost lost your life twice, tripping over feet that grew invisible in the fog.

By the time your steps landed on the stairs, you were able to squeeze into the stone wall and quickly run up while avoiding those hanging over the railing. Truly hazardous, these Gryffindors.

The trek down the hall to the dorm Remus had shared with his friends for all seven years of your friendship was as practiced as it was easy. Yet, as your mind was replaying your conversations with Sirius and Lily over and over at record speed, it felt like it stretched on for miles, your own road to Calvary.

Your fingers acted off of instinct as they reached up to quietly rap on the door with two knuckles.

"Sod off," you heard Remus' muffled voice call through the door. You couldn't help the small smile that spread across your face.

You cracked the door open just enough to poke your head through and catch sight of him sprawled out on his bed, face down. Your smile widened. "Me too?"

It was as if his body was a push poppet that suddenly had its strings drawn taut again – his spine straightened and his head whipped around to look at you wide-eyed. He clearly had not expected you. He made some sounds that could probably classify as guffawing before he snapped his mouth shut to sit up and collect himself. The whole process was barely a few seconds, but the syrupy effect on time from the hallway seemed to have joined you into his dorm. Relief washed through your body when he smiled at you, even if it seemed somewhat strained.

"Of course not dove, sorry."

You slipped the rest of your body in through the door and shut it quietly behind you. The silence in this dorm had never felt so complete before.

In your rush to get to him, you hadn't once thought to think of what to say to him. How could you ever possibly breach the topic? It seemed like he could sense your hesitation because he sat more comfortably on the edge of his bed, woolsock-clad feet planted firmly against the floor. He had an inquisitive yet somewhat nervous look on his face.

He beat you to it. "You alright? Shouldn't you be out there, having fun?"

You couldn't help reading some judgement in that, knowing what you now maybe know. "What's that supposed to mean?" you asked, not quite able to hide the potential hurt in your voice.

Remus could pick up on your every mood and his eyes widened comically and he raised his hand as if he was about to talk to a scared wild animal. "Nothing! No, not like that, I just meant – it's a party. You love parties. Did someone hurt you?" His voice grew small by the end of his sentence. You feared someone was referring to Sirius, the only reason he could imagine you leaving a gathering to go be alone with him. You hated the idea.

There were probably a hundred better ways to go about this, but your mind felt muddy with the overwhelming feelings, your earlier drinks and the damn fog that somehow had made its way into your lungs. And you just could not believe any of it.

You were not proud of what you said next.

"Remus, are you in love with me?"

If it had been quiet before, there were no words for the shift in atmosphere after that question. It was like you were alone in a black hole, just the two of you.

Remus' head actually reared back from shock, both from your suddenness and the question itself. His pretty mouth hung slightly open, bottom lip making a slight jerky movement you could only describe as quivering.

"I– what?" He let out, somewhere between a gasp and an exclamation.

You took a few steps closer, so that you were standing in front of him, feeling the sudden need to be near, to hear, to know. "Sirius told me."

Remus jerked up too, standing upright within arm’s reach. His eyes were fluttering and his mouth opening and closing in a way that almost confirmed it on its own. "Y/N, I–"

"Remus." You interrupted quietly, sensing his continued shock and oncoming fib. "Don't lie, please."

"I'm so sorry," he whispered then, eyes growing glossy as they flicked all over your face. "I– I'm sorry."

Your eyebrows furrowed as you took in his pained expression. "I don't understand?" you said weakly. Why was he apologising? "Remus, are you in love with me?"

He shut his eyes and turned his head to the side. Your fears were confirmed when he brought up a hand to wipe at the part of his face you couldn't see. "Please," he begged. "Don't."

Don't make me say it.

You have to.

"Remus." Your tone matched his despairing one – his name was your plea.

He turned his head back to you and met your eyes head on with his own red-rimmed ones. A slow sigh was let out through his nose, the sound of defeat, giving in to you as he always did.

Gods, he always did.

"I'm in love with you," he whispered then. Clearly, without any hint at insecurity or deceit.

You took one small step closer, bringing your trembling fingers up to lightly ghost over his cheeks – not quite holding his face, but almost, millimetres apart. You were sure you looked half-crazed as you stood there in silent shock, studying his face in a flurry.

There was no contempt in his face at your stupor. Just guilt and sorrow.

"Why?" you breathed out.

"I'm sorry," was all he offered, once more.

"No, no, don't say that," you insisted, voice suddenly growing stronger. More certain. Your hands made proper contact with his cheeks, and you could feel him deflate beneath your touch. "Please don't be sorry."

At last some confusion drifted into his eyes as he regarded you. "Don't tell me not to apologise; that just makes me want to apologise for apologising." There was light humour in his tone, a smidge of hope. Hope that you wouldn't believe him awful for falling in love with you.

He was in love with you.

You laughed then, not just at his poor attempt at a joke but at the situation, at the prospect.

"You love me?" There was no hiding the absolute awe in your voice.

The guilt was still there, but it made room for softness as he gave you the smallest, saddest smile. "Of course, dove."

You breathed a sigh of relief and leaned forward to kiss his smile into a happy one.

Remus’ body immediately stiffened beneath your touch, shock radiating through him. Then, beautifully, you felt him soften once more beneath you, felt his eyelashes brush your cheeks as his eyes fluttered shut, felt him blow the air from his lungs through his nose in a long sigh, breath warm and inviting against you. Slowly, you parted your lips and brought his between yours, deepening the kiss. Unlike your movements earlier, there was no urgency, there was just him in your hands, him against your lips, his tongue against yours.

You let one of your hands travel to the nape of his neck where you played with his shorter strands of hair, breaking the kiss to lean your forehead against his. Your eyes remained closed as you soaked up the moment, but you could feel his own burn through your skin. Could hear him guffawing again. A smile settled permanently onto your lips.

“You love me?” you repeated, knowing the answer, but wanting to feel the words on your tongue once more, mixing with him.

He nodded fervently against you, jostling your head slightly to which you let out a soft giggle.

“You– I–” he began, cutting himself off. “You’re not… Do you…?” he trailed off, unable to finish his sentence.

“I love you,” you whispered, in awe at getting to say the words aloud in this context. “I’m so in love with you, my sweet boy.”

His body disconnected from yours briefly, forcing you to open your eyes and support your own weight, as he leaned back to stare at you incredulously, confused, shocked. His eyebrows were furrowed almost as if he were mad, but you knew in your heart that he was not.

“I– no, that makes no sense,” he whispered almost to himself, shaking his head as he tried to process your words. You fought not to laugh at that – because it would seem like you were laughing at him and that was not nice. You would have more than enough time to be not nice later, for now he needed your patience. “You? Love me?”

You nodded with a smile. His body was still close to yours and you took the opportunity to wrap your arms around his waist, interlocking your fingers at the small of his back.

There was so much emotion and vulnerability swimming in his eyes, you would almost feel bad if you weren’t so unbelievably happy.

“I never thought you could have feelings for me,” you confessed breathlessly, grinning wickedly despite the pain you were sharing. “Here I’ve been, running around thinking the greatest love I had ever felt was wholly unreciprocated.”

This only seemed to confuse him further, though he was relaxing beneath your touch. “You… This whole time?”

“I suppose so,” you mused. “I only realised two years ago, though.”

Remus let out a groan and a laugh at the same time and then – thanks to any and every god – he leaned his forehead on your shoulder, burying his face in you. “I cannot believe I’ve been torturing myself and you’ve been… in love with me too. This whole time.”

You dared to kiss the side of his head from where he was leaning against you and tightened your hold on him. Something you had done a thousand times over as his friend, yet this sent entirely new sparks through you.

As if he just thought of something, he lifted his head suddenly to furrow his brows at you. “Why would you ever think I couldn't love you?”

You tilted your head at him. “How many times have you not brushed Sirius off when he makes jokes about us? Or said you would never want to be in a relationship? I thought you might view me as a sister by now.” Despite your teasing, residue hurt still clung to your words.

The grimace was instant and Remus shook his head as if that is the worst thing he has ever heard. “Gods, no, I sure do hope not.” 

You both laughed quietly, carefully. His hands were slow as they went up to hold your jaw, fingers brushing the side of your neck in reverence. “I’m sorry I made you think that, dovey.”

“Don’t be. Then I have to be sorry for snogging our friends in front of you.”

Remus flushed slightly at your words, but the awed affection plastered all over his every feature did not waver. “I don’t want you to be,” he murmured while still caressing you carefully. “I just… I just want you. Will you be mine, dovey?”

Your face inched closer and closer to his, your grins growing mirrored against each other. “I am yours,” you whispered against his lips before closing the distance once more.

The most heavenly kisses you ever shared would be those with your lovely Remus.

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

“Oi! Pads!”

Sirius flinched with his whole body, looking over his shoulder with a sheepish smile to face his inevitable death in the form of one Remus Lupin. He had been waiting for it all night as he partied with James, and had managed to get halfway through his second game of butterbeer pong before it was time for his execution.

Reaching out for James’ hand, he shook it firmly and matter-of-factly. “Lovely knowing you mate, take good care of my brother, yeah?”

James seemed entirely nonchalant to the whole ordeal, shaking his hand in return. “Yeah, sure, safe travels Padfoot.”

Sirius then turned to Remus who was descending the stairs from the dormitory, holding his hands up in defence. “Okay, hear me out–” he begins but he was cut off.

He was cut off by a hug. 

Remus borderline slams into him, locking his arms over his shoulders and dragging him close to his chest. Awkwardly, Sirius returns the favour, patting him on the back and making what the fuck eyes at Mary over Remus’ shoulder.

“You’re a meddling bloody bastard,” Remus said into his ear. 

Here we go.

“But thank you.”

Oh. Oh.

He reared his head back so that he could see Remus and the shy yet pleased smile he wore, and Sirius’ whole face split into a painful, beaming smile. “It worked?” he asked giddily, jostling Remus where he was still trapped in the hug.

“Yeah, yeah,” Remus mumbled, though his grin grew.

The victorious, screeching holler Sirius let out was so loud it could be heard down to the dungeons.

[missadangel]

⊱ AMOR MEUS AETERNUS ⊰

(Marcus Acacius x Ofc)

VI. Memento

prev chapter series masterlist

Chapter Summary:  Rhea or Rose? Or both? Were you really reincarnated? The questions are confusing, the answers are unclear, the doubt is painful. It felt like a third presence lingered between you and Marcus…or maybe it was your incarnation? Chapter W. Count and warnings: 15k (sorry not sorry; SMUT (+18) IT'S HAPPENING GUYS!!, unprotected sex (don't do that!), shameless smut, oral sex, fingering, breast play, multiple orgasms, kissing, mention about death, rom-com, falling in love, fluffy, lying, sharing a room, mention about reincarnation, praising kink, sharing a bed, ancient latin language authors note: The reincarnation mentioned here is based on ancient Roman beliefs, and more information will be provided in future episodes.Spondeo: promising, ‘I promise.’ Viduus: Viduus is the god said to separate the soul and body at death. Gaudium vitae meae: joy of my life Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Ofc!Reader (Her name is Rose, and her hair is dyed) Rating: Explicit, 18+ MDNI, Smut General Warnings: Harsh, cold, grumpy Marcus, and the reader is NOT innocent a little bitchy, Lucilla is mean, Lucius is a jerk(but falls in love with reader), its Septimius Severus' era but Geta and Caracalla are the prince of Rome, time travel, modern-ancient era travels, falling in love, slow burn, rough sex, smut, sex, oral sex (both f&m receiving), all sex, dirty talk, gladiators, battle, war, violence, blood, ancient time language, fluffy, injury, forced marriage, arranged marriage, sexism, haters to lovers, first love, angst, vestal virgins, vestal priestesses, age gap; reader is 25 Marcus is 42, reincarnation my masterlist

Rhea...

Marcus had whispered that name before—right before he slipped away, arrows piercing his body in your arms. You had felt a shiver then, just as you were feeling now. But this moment was entirely different.

Time seemed to flow in a way you couldn’t quite grasp.

Why was that?

Gazing into his warm brown eyes, his hands cradling yours as he said, “You are my Rhea,” you felt as if you had stepped into another world, if only for an instant.

The name rang out in your ears several times—brief, yet it felt achingly real.

“Rhea, where you’ve been?” a woman’s voice inquired, warm and kind, though accompanied by a hint of concern. It was a tone that was unfamiliar to you.

“Rhea, it is imperative that you fulfill this duty. You have obligations to Rome; it relies on your commitment. Do not disappoint me,” stated a deep, authoritative masculine voice, which was also unfamiliar.

And then, countless other voices began to call your name, an overwhelming chorus that sent your mind into a spiral.

But then, amidst the chaos, there was that voice...

“Rhea, you are my Rome. Nothing else matters to me, my love.” This was Marcus’s voice, but it sounded different—softer, more tender... younger.

The way he said that name set your heart racing.

It was only then that you realized Marcus was gently shaking you, concern etched across his face. You suddenly felt the familiar surroundings of your room wrap around you, as if you had taken a fleeting mental journey in mere seconds.

What was happening?

You felt lost, struggling to comprehend it all.

“Rosa? Please, say something, anything.”

Rosa...

Rose...

That was your name.

You were this person, in this moment. But who was that other one? Why had those voices haunted you?

It all felt too overwhelming, crushing down on you like a heavy weight, leaving you frozen in place.

Suddenly, you became aware of your chest heaving as you gasped for air. Dizziness swirled around you; if Marcus hadn't cupped your face in his hands, you might have collapsed.

“Rosa? Please, are you well? What’s wrong?”

You swallowed, trying to moisten your dry throat, and managed to whisper, “Anxiety... Attack. M-medicine.”

Marcus understood right away; it was the same medicine you had taken before, one he had seen you use many times. “Where? Is it in your bag?”

He reached for your bag hanging on the chair while still holding your hand, but at that moment, darkness closed in, and you lost consciousness, falling back. Fortunately, he was quick enough to catch you, pulling you into his arms just in time.

The smell hit you first—pungent, overpowering, and distinctly medical. Ah, that unmistakable scent of a hospital.

As you blinked your eyes open, the bright white light overhead and the IV bottle and tube confirmed it: you were in the emergency room. Hospital beds surrounded you, and there stood a nurse, leaning over with a look of concern.

“Are you okay, ma’am? Are you awake?” she asked gently.

“Was it all just a dream?” you muttered, still disoriented.

The nurse furrowed her brow. “Pardon?”

“You know how it is in movies—you wake up and everything that happened was just a dream,” you giggled uncontrollably.

“Rose?”

“Rosa, are you alright?”

Turning to your right, you saw your sister Lizzie, and beside her... Marcus.

No, this wasn’t a dream.

The moment you noticed him, anger flared up within you.

Just then, the supermodel doctor from your last visit entered the room. “How is our patient?” she asked, her heavily made-up face scrutinizing you.

“How am I?” you snapped back, laughter turning into disbelief. “How do you think I am? I’m in a hospital bed!” Your gaze shifted to Marcus. “This man—because of him, nothing good has happened to me. I hadn’t seen a doctor in three years, never stepped foot in a police station until he came along. Every day is a trip to the hospital, every day is a run-in with the cops. One morning, I wake up in ancient Rome; the next morning, it’s 2025 Rome, and there’s another man in my room! Because of him, I lost my job, he forced me to marry him supposedly for my protection, and just when I finally started to come around to him, the Praetorians shot him with an arrow and killed him! I saved his life, but somehow, I’m the one to blame. I thought he had changed; I thought he felt something for me. Now he’s saying there’s someone else in his heart and that I’m her reincarnation! What the hell do you want from me, Marcus?”

The nurses and the doctor exchanged glances, rolling their eyes as they listened to your rapid-fire rant. Lizzie blinked in disbelief, while Marcus seemed taken aback by your whirlwind of words.

“Should we check for a head injury, doctor?” the nurse asked with a hint of sarcasm, eyeing you as if you were a bit off-kilter.

The doctor sighed. “No, this is her normal state. She was weird last time too, probably still high on sedatives,” she remarked, looking at you with a mixture of amusement and annoyance.

“She mentioned a head injury before, but the results were normal,” Lizzie added.

“Your sister is fine. You can go home once the IV is finished,” the doctor said, turning her attention to Marcus. “I wish you luck with your wife, sir,” she said before exiting the room, followed by the nurse stifling a laugh.

Marcus furrowed his brow at her implication and stepped closer to you.

“Are you truly well?”

“I think she’s lost it enough to mix up movie scripts with real life,” Lizzie said dryly.

You propped yourself up in bed, but the sudden movement made the IV tube pinch your hand. “I’m fine,” you murmured.

Before you knew it, your eyelids grew heavy again from the medication, and you drifted off to sleep. When the IV finally finished and the doctor checked on you one last time, she cleared you to leave. The tranquilizer still lingered in your system, making it hard to stay awake in the taxi as you avoided Marcus's gaze. You weren't prepared to confront the reality of his words or the haunting echoes that filled your mind.

All that you had been through recently felt like a heavy burden; perhaps this was just your body’s way of coping. Lizzie didn’t ask more questions—that was one of your favorite things about her. She had an uncanny ability to sense your mood and adjust accordingly.

Marcus didn’t take his eyes off you the entire ride home. He carried you from the taxi, through the entrance of the apartment building, and gently laid you in your bed. Lizzie paused at the sight of the bed on the floor, the one you had made for Marcus, and a cloud of suspicion enveloped her.

Lizzie stood in the doorway, watching as Marcus tucked the bedcover around you. She called out softly, “Marcus?”

He turned to her.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” Lizzie asked, her voice steady yet friendly.

He nodded, and Lizzie headed into the living room while he took one last glance at you before closing the door to your room and following her inside. As Marcus entered the living room, Lizzie shot him a look, motioning for him to sit down.

“Listen, I don’t know what’s going on with you, but you clearly don’t know my sister well enough yet,” Lizzie began. “You got married in a rush, and I still can't figure out why she did it, but it seems she truly loves you. Trust me, I’d understand if she didn’t.”

Marcus managed a weak smile.

“I can tell you love her too, even though I don’t know you all that well.”

“Very much so, Elizabeth,” he replied softly, referring to her by her name. “I love your sister, Rosa, with all my heart.”

“She can be a bit of a handful. She's too much talkative, makes snap decisions, and can be difficult at times. But at her core, she’s kind. Things changed for her after we lost our parents in that accident. She took on all the responsibility at such a young age—I was barely a child. She became both a mother and a father to me, working tirelessly to care for both of us. She's also really so stubborn, like, she wouldn't even take help from our aunt. That's a whole other story she’ll fill you in on later. But it’s been tough. She's been on anxiety medication since then, and whenever she gets really upset, it can trigger a crisis. She still takes them occasionally.”

As Marcus listened, his heart ached at the realization of what you had silently endured all this time. He felt the weight of responsibility for the turmoil you faced and never imagined it would be this difficult for you.

“Marcus, please don’t leave my sister. If she married you, it means she really loves and cares for you. After Nicolo, she lost faith in men and in people in general. But she chose to trust you, and that's a big deal. You seem like a decent guy, even if you’re a bit odd. So whatever it is you’re facing, don't walk away from her. If you do, I can’t even imagine how she’d cope, and I won’t be able to lift her up this time. Do you get it?”

Marcus nodded, deeply moved by Lizzie's words. “I promise you, Elizabeth, I’ll never leave Rosa. I live for her, and I’ve done so for a long time. From now on, I’ll do everything I can to make her happy.”

Lizzie raised her eyebrows; his words struck her as incredibly sincere, almost like a solemn promise. “Um, I hope that’s true. And I really hope you can work through whatever’s wrong between you,” she murmured, standing up and remembering the bed on the floor, though she chose not to dwell on it.“Good night,” she said with a smile as she made her way to her room, leaving Marcus in the living room, wrapped up in his thoughts and emotions.

When he returned to your room, he moved closer to the bed. His gaze lingered on your features, as if he were imprinting your face in his memory. Carefully, he sat down beside you and lay next to you, letting his hand softly glide through your hair, which was tousled from the pillow.

“Mi aeterne amor. As if you hadn't faced enough suffering in your past life, pain seems to have found you again in this one,” he whispered to himself. “But as long as you allow me to remain by your side, I won’t let you endure any more pain, spondeo (I promise).” He leaned a little closer, inhaling the soft scent of your hair while watching you sleep until exhaustion took over, his head resting on the pillow beside you as he closed his eyes.

The first thing that greeted you in the morning was the sweet sound of birdsong. As you slowly woke up, you realized you had slept exceptionally well. Perhaps it was the tranquilizer, who knows? Looking back, you recalled that you rarely managed such deep sleep without medication. Just how long had you been sleeping like this? Before opening your eyes, you scoured your memory. The initial thought that crossed your mind was that lovely morning when you awoke feeling truly refreshed—was it in Marcus' bed?

Strangely enough, despite all the nights spent in the villa and in ancient Rome, you had always had trouble falling asleep. But in Marcus' room—even including that night at Claudia's villa—you always woke up to the peaceful embrace of morning light. Yes, all those tranquil mornings were spent in his room, in his bed. Was it possible that the reason you woke up so peacefully in your own room, where you usually jolted awake to the sound of an alarm, was because of his presence?

Could that really be true?

Suddenly, you opened your eyes to a soft sound nearby. It was someone’s breath, close enough for you to feel the warmth on your cheeks.

Your heart raced as you noticed Marcus’ face just inches away from yours. Had he slept beside you?

A smile crept onto your face as you studied his exquisite features. He was undeniably handsome; the more you gazed, the more you felt captivated. His long eyelashes, the contour of his forehead, the fullness of his lips, the dark and silver streaks woven into his beard, and that perfectly shaped nose —even the scar on his cheekbone— made him look like a real-life version of those ancient Greek and Roman statues in museums.

And yeah, he really was here in the flesh.

Perfect.

You swallowed hard and instinctively sat up, resting on your elbow. The urge to kiss him was overwhelming.

But then, your thoughts drifted back to the previous night. You remembered your heartfelt confession, the kiss you shared, and everything he had said afterward. Yes, everything—including your words in the hospital.

Damn it.

You couldn't help but feel your jaw drop at the memory.

As you swung your legs out of bed, you noticed his arm draped around you.

Oh no.

Trying to slip away without waking him, you gently lifted his arm and bit your lip, willing yourself to move. “Come on, Rose, just a bit further,” you whispered to yourself as you edged towards the edge of the bed.

But the moment you attempted to slide out from under the covers, Marcus stirred, his hand finding your leg and pulling you back towards him. He lifted the covers, and you couldn't help but struggle beneath it. He snickered, a low, teasing sound that sent shivers down your spine. Frustrated, you pulled the covers over your face, attempting once more to make your escape, but to no avail.

“You feeling better now?” he asked, concern evident in his eyes as they rested on your face.

“Let go, Marcus,” you replied through gritted teeth, still fighting against his hold.

“Why are you hiding your face?” he queried, gently pulling the covers down again.

"I’m not hiding my face; I just don’t want to look at you. Two completely different things," you retorted, avoiding his gaze.

"Is it?" He frowned and pressed further. "You don’t want to look at my face. Why?"

You let out a big sigh and leaned back on the bed. "I’m so embarrassed, alright?"

Marcus laughed quietly and ran his fingers through your hair. "There’s really no reason to feel that way, Rosa," His smile kind of rubbed you the wrong way.

Crap.

Determined, you tried again, sliding your leg to escape and finally standing up with your back to him. "Let’s forget about last night," you insisted.

Marcus jumped out of bed, grasped your arm, and turned you toward him. The abruptness took your breath away, and your eyes widened as you met his intense gaze.  “How could I? I won’t let that happen,” he replied firmly. Then his expression softened. "Is it because of what I shared with you? I had to be truthful. I never meant to hurt you."

"But that’s exactly what you did, Marcus. I told you I loved you, and you…" Your voice faltered, struggling to articulate what you felt, fearing your words would sound ridiculous.

Storming into the closet, you grabbed your sports leggings and a tank top, then headed for the bathroom.

"Rosa, can we please talk?" he pleaded, following you until you slammed the bathroom door in his face.

"I can’t hear you," you called from behind the door. "I don’t want to talk."

Even after getting dressed, Marcus was still there, waiting. "Please, Rosa."

He shadowed you as you slipped on your shoes, but you chose to ignore him.

"Are you leaving?" he asked, a hint of concern in his voice.

"I'm going for a walk," you replied, tying the laces firmly. "By myself," you added after standing up.

"I can’t leave you alone, Rosa," he said, putting his own shoes but clearly struggling with his laces.

"I will be fine on my own, Marcus," you insisted, and before he could respond, you slammed the door behind you.

You turned around as you left the apartment, noticing Marcus trying to catch up. Enzo, the owner of the restaurant below, greeted you with a warm smile. “Good morning, Rose. Out for a morning walk, I see?”

You returned his smile and continued up the steps, while Enzo looked at Marcus with a wider smile. "Oh, look who’s here—our hero, Marcus! I knew you were a good man from the moment I met you. I'm so glad you married Rose,” he said, shaking Marcus's hand.

“Thank you, Enzo,” Marcus replied, his gaze fixed on your increasingly distant figure. After saying goodbye to Enzo, he hurried to catch up to you.

“Oh, like a puppy, he’s following me,” you muttered as you glanced back and spotted him trailing behind.

While keeping a reasonable distance, Marcus couldn't help but stare at around in awe until you reached the Tiber River. Everything he once knew had transformed, and he struggled to adjust. He paused, taking in the sight of Ponte Rotto, now appearing like a distant ruin. When you looked back, you noticed the sadness on his face, and a sense of concern washed over you. If you kept walking without stopping, you feared he might lose his way back to the apartment. Suddenly, you felt a wave of responsibility; it was clear he needed you.

Witnessing ancient Rome, you could imagine how he felt. Yes, some structures had endured, their silhouettes still recognizable against the skyline, but they could never revert to their former glory. It had to be incredibly difficult for him. You decided to pause your walk and return to his side.

“Pons Aemilius…” he murmured, his gaze wandering across the ancient structure.

“It's called Ponte Rotto now,” you corrected him. “The Broken Bridge.”

“It’s been repaired several times in throughout my youth,” Marcus said, squinting as he continued to gaze at the remnants of the bridge.

You didn’t want to delve into the history of the bridge—or all of Rome—as it had changed over time. He didn’t press the matter either; he likely wasn’t ready for that conversation.

It was a very complicated situation.

Traveling to the past was daunting and incredibly difficult, but traveling to the future must be even harder—a formidable challenge that would test his limits in ways he never imagined. Oddly enough, you both were experiencing this from entirely opposite perspectives. As you strolled along the Tiber, you chatted with Marcus about morning exercises people engaged in now, the influx of tourists, and the various newly built structures around you. Marcus, being a smart man, had already pieced together how Rome had transformed over time, based on what he saw and heard. It was justified for him to be surprised.

At the end of your walk, as you regaled him with the story of the Trevi Fountain, Marcus couldn’t help but chuckle. He certainly didn't buy into the idea of associating the fountain with love, considering he was the only living witness to its history. But still, he agreed to toss a coin into the water.

“You tossed a coin into the fountain; congratulations, you’re a true Roman now,” you teased him.

He laughed too, though you noticed a flicker of sadness in his eyes. You both locked gazes on the spot where you had read the parchment, the very spot where you travelled to the ancient Rome and came back. You wondered what was running through his mind. Was he contemplating a return to his time?

“Are you thinking about Julius?” you asked tentatively.

His eyes wandered over the statue of Neptune, and he sighed. "Julius, my soldiers, Emperor Severus, even Lydia,” he said, glancing at you and managing a faint smile. “I hope they prevent Geta and Caracalla.”

You hesitated, debating whether to reveal that Caracalla had indeed ascended to the throne and later had Geta killed. “I’m sorry, Marcus. I hope everything is fine,” you said, trying to sound reassuring but not quite convincing even yourself. After a deep sigh, you decided to ask the next question. “Do you wish to go back?”

He looked at you, smiled, and gently caressed your cheek. “No, Rosa. Not anymore,” he said softly, locking eyes with you, making your heart flutter. “I will miss Julius dearly, and the streets where I grew up—the familiar Rome that shaped my youth, I know so well. If Julius knew that I found you, he would wish me to stay here, with you.”

“You're right; he’d want what's best for you,” you murmured. “But Marcus, who are you choosing to stay for?”

He frowned at your question.

You pressed on. “Last night... Who did you kiss? Rhea or me?”

“Rosa, I told you, you are her,” he replied.

“Marcus, look, this is super confusing for me. I mean, in the middle of a kiss, I've just bared my heart to you, and then you throw this at me… How can we be the same person? Rhea was from your time. I’m Rosemary Louise Anderson; I’m from here. We can’t be the same just because we look alike—it’s absurd.”

“What do you truly know about reincarnation?” he asked.

“I see it as soul transmigration,” you answered.

“That’s not it.” He continued, “In my faith, it's viewed as something that the god Viduus orchestrates with his power. Personally, I've never encountered it, and I’m not a believer, but perhaps I’m starting to.”

“Viduus? I thought it was Janus, at least that’s what Katie said.” 

“Yes, the parchment bears his symbol and his name.” 

“That’s really odd. So why can’t I remember anything?” 

“That’s another question I can’t answer, Rosa.” 

Should you have mentioned the voices that briefly echoed in your mind? It lasted only two or three seconds, then faded away.

Even if you did tell him, what would it change? “You must really want me to remember, don’t you?” You turned your gaze back to the fountain. “If I can’t remember, if it turns out I’m not Rhea, what then? Will you still love me?” 

“Rosa—” 

You interrupted him, “Or let me put it another way, Marcus. If I weren’t the girl who looks like your first love, if I were just Rose, could you still love me? Or would I still just be the girl you were cold to, the one you married for protection only?” Tears began to spill down your cheeks, and you could feel the sobs building up. 

Marcus didn’t respond; he couldn’t find the words. It seemed he didn’t know the answer either. 

“Because Marcus, I love you for who you are, regardless of everything. No matter how you treat me. But if you can’t give me a straightforward answer, don’t expect me to ask you to stay or to love you any longer. I can’t do that with someone else occupying your heart.” 

He took your hand, but words escaped him. He was struggling to articulate his thoughts.

“I think you can find your way back to the apartment from here,” you said, turning and walking away. 

Marcus just stood there, staring after you. 

Like a statue, frozen in place— a statue filled with emotions and confusion. 

He was taken aback by your words; he hadn't considered those possibilities until now. As he stood by the fountain, he searched his own heart, forcing himself to find the answer. But it felt insurmountable. He had been convinced for 24 years that he would never love anyone like he loved Rhea -you-. The question stirred frustration within him. He had treated other women as mere acquaintances, certain he could never feel that way again. 

When you got home, tears streamed down your face uncontrollably. You were angry with yourself; why were you crying? This wasn’t the first time you shed tears for a man but this time everything was so painful. Just as you were about to unlock the door, Lizzie swung it open from the inside, keys in hand.

Oh no, she had seen your tears. 

“Are you off to school?” you asked, tucking the keys back into your pocket. 

“Yeah. Are you okay? You didn’t look too good yesterday. Was a walk really a good idea?” 

“I’m fine, dear, don’t worry. Sorry, I was… just feeling anxious about work and everything.” 

“Nothing to do with Marcus?” 

You knew she would catch on the moment you lied. And you did enough already. “That too, but we’re fine now.” 

She narrowed his eyes, studying your face. “I’m glad to hear that. He was pretty worried yesterday. I mean, he’s odd, but he’s a good guy.” 

“Yeah, he is.” 

“By the way, Aunt Victoria called,” she said while slipping on her shoes. 

“What did she want?” you asked, stepping inside and removing your shoes. 

“She thanked us for not calling her even once since she left,” she replied with sarcasm. 

“Oops,” you mumbled. “What else did she say? I bet she did.” 

“Well, she invited us to Milan this weekend.” 

“You should have turned it down,” you said as you loosened your ponytail.

“Try yourself. She’ll call you soon; don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She kissed you on the cheek and bounded down the stairs. 

You instinctively took your phone out of your pocket.

Phone. 

Marcus. 

You sighed when you walked into your room and saw his phone on the desk. He still wasn’t used to it— it would take time for it to become as familiar to him as his sword. 

You couldn't help but laugh at the state of your room. On the bed and desk, there used to be just paper sketches of designs you were working on, along with fabrics, scissors, and a sewing box. Sure, you were messy back then too, but that wasn't the main change. What had really shifted was the pile of Marcus's clothes neatly folded on your little armchair. You opened your wardrobe and started taking out some winter clothes to store in the communal dressing room closet. You wouldn't need them for a while, but Marcus's clothes needed a home. It was hard to believe you were doing this. You had always thought that if you ever got married, you'd live in the house of your husband. But this was a whole new concept, and oddly enough, you liked it. Most of the clothes in your closet were things you had sewn yourself, often transforming a plain pair of trousers or jeans with some added detail. You loved the idea that the outfit was uniquely designed for you; it had been your favorite pastime since childhood. That’s why you seldom went shopping for new clothes. However, shopping for Marcus was a different story, and you enjoyed picking out new outfits for him. As you hung his clothes on hangers and placed them in the spaces you created for him in the closet, a sense of fulfillment washed over you. You couldn’t wait to see his reaction when he arrived to find them.

Speaking of...

Why was he taking so long?

Suddenly, panic washed over you.

He hadn't taken his cellphone with him; what if he got lost? You dashed to the living room, flung open the window, and looked down at the street below.

He was nowhere in sight.

Perfect—just what you needed, another anxiety attack.

You rushed to the door, slipped on your shoes, and felt guilt gripping your entire being. “Why did I leave him alone?” you muttered to yourself.

As soon as you opened the door, you froze at the sight before you.

Daisies.

A bouquet of them was offered to you from a hand reaching out, and that’s when you spot Marcus.

Seeing his smile made you place your hand on your chest and take a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart.

“I was thinking the flowers for Rosa should be roses again, but then I remembered you said you liked daisies,” he said, looking straight at you.

He frowned at your expression. “Are you well?”

Instead of taking the flowers, you reached out and hugged him tightly. “Marcus, you scared me! I thought you got lost or that something had happened to you.”

He gently patted your back. “Don’t worry, I know my way home now. This is my city too, remember? I’ve made a mental map of the new city by recreating the buildings I remember from my time. I don’t think I’ll get lost easily.”

Taking a step back, you observed him closely. “Really? That's quite clever. But you still need to have your phone with you, so make sure you answer when I call.” 

“You're right, I will,” he replied. 

You took the bouquet of daisies from his hand. “But how did you manage to buy these? You don’t have any euros.”

"Enzo," he replied with a grin. "He mentioned that he owed me a payment from last time but couldn't give it to me directly, so he handed me some... um, how do you say it?" 

"Cash?" 

"Yes, that's it... cash," he said with a smile.

Ah, that's right.

Last time, Marcus had spent the night outside Enzo’s restaurant, stalking you. Enzo had mentioned that Marcus-dressed as a Roman general-drew in a lot of customers, like a living mascot for his shop. What a great guy. Even though Marcus hadn’t asked for anything, Enzo had gifted him some of the money he earned thanks to his charm.

“Wow, you’ve got about 400 euros here,” you said while counting. “So you’ve made your first earnings and your first purchase. Congratulations.” You smiled and looked at the daisies. “And thank you.”

Marcus sighed as he walked in. “I wish I could make more ‘cash’,” he said, clearly struggling with the new word. “I’d give it all to you. Then you wouldn’t have to work at all.”

“Whoa, hold on. Are you trying to play the macho card, General?”

“Macho?”

“Well, some men want their wives to stay home and raise kids instead of having any jobs.”

Marcus crossed his arms. “That doesn’t sound so wrong to me.”

“Oh, right, who am I talking to? What does a man from ancient Rome know about modern life?”

"In this place, men allow their wives to work while they remain at home without any responsibilities?"

“Well, it’s a bit complicated actually. Societal norms vary.” Suddenly, an idea struck you. “You know, the best way to understand modern life is by watching TV series and movies. Since we’re both jobless right now, why not watch a movie together?”

Marcus narrowed his eyes, clearly clueless about what you meant.

You sighed and began explaining the TV and movies to him.

Watching a movie with the -ancient- Roman general turned out to be even funnier than you had anticipated. Your style leaned towards romantic comedies and dramas, so when you introduced him to your favorites, Marcus ended up asking more questions about the actors, the atmosphere, and the costumes than about the plot. Showing him a historical film wasn't the best idea, but somehow, those movies kept cropping up. In reality, the films were like a crash course in modern history for Marcus, packed with insights about everyday life. Yes, the thought of watching a movie made sense; it conveyed so much more than you could ever explain. He seemed genuinely delighted to be introduced to popcorn and coffee during your movie marathons.

But during the last film, *Pride and Prejudice*, you both found yourselves staring at each other, as it mirrored your own situation. You had always felt a connection to the character of Elizabeth, and you couldn't shake the feeling that Marcus had some resemblance to Mr. Darcy too—his initially cold demeanor had gradually softened over time. When Mr. Darcy finally confessed his love to Elizabeth, you couldn't hold back the tears. “Every single time,” you murmured.

Marcus turned his gaze towards you. “It seems that you have viewed this movie on several occasions.”

“I’ve read the book as well, but this movie is wonderful. My favorite stories are the ones where love triumphs in the end. Ironically, Jane Austen, despite her own unhappy love life, supposedly gave each of her characters a happy ending to spite her circumstances.”

“Happy ending,” he echoed, locking eyes with you.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “Do you think our story will end happily too?”

He nodded. “It will be, Rosa.”

There was a silence between the two of you.

“Have you thought about what I mentioned earlier?”

Even Mr. Darcy had found the courage to express his feelings; now it is your turn, you thought to yourself.

Just then, the door swung open and Lizzie walked in from school. “Hey, guys!” she greeted, glancing at the credits of *Pride and Prejudice* rolling on the screen.

“I would have come later if I knew you were watching a romantic movie,” she laughed before heading to her room.

Marcus didn’t look at her right away; his eyes remained fixed on you, so you waved Lizzie off and turned your attention back to him.

But that night, he didn’t really say anything.

He just couldn’t bring himself to do it.

Milano.

After all these years…

How did it happen?

How did you find yourself here?

It all started with an endless phone call from your aunt, one you thought you would never receive again—a call that might have been the longest of your life.

Despite saying no and resisting her insistence, she managed to wear you down; here you were. Lizzie also played a big part, constantly talking about how much she needed a break now that her school was on vacation. The manor house, a 400-year-old historical monument nestled in a large garden, was just a short distance from Lake Como. Your aunt’s husband, Vincenzo, in his fifties and the CEO of one of Italy's top fashion brands, owned the family fortune worth billions, so it was only natural for him to own such a grand home. It had been quite some time since you had last seen him. He typically worked long hours, and even when you came here with your dad and mom, he was often nowhere to be found.

Victoria had repeatedly urged you to move in with her after the tragic loss of your parents, but you never accepted. You held a grudge against her for the history between her and your mother. You loved Rome; leaving for another city felt unimaginable. You didn’t want to uproot your life—your college, Lizzie's school, and your work all tied you to that city. Moreover, it was risky to transfer your father to another hospital since he lay in a coma after a severe brain hemorrhage.

Perhaps because of all this, your aunt didn’t push you hard. She understood your stubbornness well. Now, though you felt a little uneasy about coming here, a few days wouldn’t hurt, especially with Marcus by your side. For some reason, he made you feel incredibly safe. You realized that waking up next to him felt wonderful, even without any physical intimacy. Yet, you found yourself still angry with him, confused by his feelings and the lack of clarity about his love for you.

What was he waiting for?

You wondered if reincarnation stuff was real, somehow you found yourself wishing for that.

The thought of being the only woman in Marcus's heart was beautiful, though doubts haunted you—did he love you or her?

It was tough to wrap your head around that.

During his first plane ride ever, Marcus surprised you with his calm demeanor. He wasn't scared or nervous at all; instead, he smiled at you while you sat by the window, holding his hand. He was fascinated by the sights of Rome and all of Italy from above.

“All these years, I’ve battled and conquered new lands, I have engaged in numerous endeavors and explored new territories. I believed I had witnessed the full extent of the world. Now, it has become clear to me that the world is indeed much larger than I thought,” he murmured.

“The Roman Empire truly was one of the greatest,” you said, squeezing his hand. “And you’re one of the great generals who contributed to its glory,” you whispered, leaning closer.

He smiled.

Thankfully, Lizzie was absorbed in her headphones and tablet, uninterested in your conversation.

As you opened your eyes and became aware that you had dozed off against Marcus's shoulder, he gently kissed the top of your head. You exchanged a fleeting glance, silently acknowledging the emotions that lingered between you. That's when Lizzie caught a glimpse and smiled at you both. Still, she sensed something was off, and her thoughts drifted to that night she was preoccupied with the bed on the floor.

A driver sent by your aunt picked you up from the airport and escorted you to the mansion in a private car—an unnecessary luxury, one of your least favorite things and a favorite of hers.

Such contradictions defined your relationship.

By the time you arrived at the mansion, evening had settled in, and dinner awaited you. Unfortunately, your aunt's sister-in-law, Beatrice, was present. Unfortunately, because you didn’t like her; she talked too much and meddled far too often. She bombarded you with questions about Marcus during dinner. Luckily, you had prepped your story with Marcus in advance. Although you disliked lying, you had to; after all, the truth was far worse than the worst lie.

After dinner, sitting in the spacious living room, you exchanged smiles with Marcus as Vincenzo poured wine from his private cellar. You both knew the ancient Roman falernian wine was exceptional. Yet Marcus favored the taste of Château d'Yquem, sparking a lengthy conversation about wine between him and Vincenzo. Fortuitously, the ancient world and modern age sharing a common fondness for the wine.

While Vincenzo, Beatrice's husband, and Marcus engaged in their lengthy discussion, your aunt invited you and Lizzie to sit on the veranda in the back garden. You glanced back at Marcus before leaving; he gave you a reassuring look that said it was okay.

He seemed to be getting used to all of this.

Sitting on the veranda with Beatrice, Victoria, and Lizzie, the chatter about Marcus flowed freely. Not only did you have to field their endless questions, but you also had to listen to their opinions. As they reminisced about Marcus's parents, Balbina crossed your mind, and you couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought of your aunt meeting her.

“I like Marcus so much. He seems like an amazing guy,” Beatrice said with a grin as she sipped her wine. She adored chatting about men—perhaps that was why she had been married five times before hitting her forties. She was practically an expert on relationships, or so she claimed. “His way of speaking and his demeanor—they really set him apart. He’s a very noble man. Quite different from you, Rose,” she added with a teasing smile. “They say opposites attract, and it looks like it might be true.”

Victoria took a sip of her drink. “But he’s older than Rose. So, is the age gap 18 or 20 years between you?” 

“It's sixteen, but that’s not really your business, ladies,” you shot back with an attitude, rolling your eyes.

“Oh, that’s fine. Older men know what they want,” Beatrice said with a cheerful manner.

“Do they? And what exactly is it that they want?” you asked sarcastically.

“A serious, low-key relationship. And children. He married you in his forties, after all, and he seems like he’d make a great family man.”

The mention of children sent a wave of anxiety through you, almost making your chest tighten.

“Rose is just the woman to have kids,” Victoria giggled, poking fun at you. “But I’d love to see you as a mother,” she continued. "Who knows, maybe you could be the one to give me some grandchildren," she sighed.

Lizzie rolled her eyes and opened her tablet, slipping on her headphones.  She knew what your aunt would bring up next. Yes, Victoria and Vincenzo hadn’t had children despite wanting them deeply, and she had occasionally viewed you and Lizzie as her own child—maybe a bit too much over the years. You hadn’t allowed that connection to flourish since you disliked interference in your life. The constant tension between your mother and her was enough to deal with on its own. You could attribute some of this to the fact that you had broken your aunt’s heart numerous times during your teenage years, but she insisted on keeping you close. Guilt wasn’t why you were here, though.

You were thankful she was looking after Lizzie in your absence. But it didn’t mean you wanted her discussing your personal life with Marcus any further, at least not that evening.

When you got up to excuse yourself to your room, your aunt turned to Lizzie, eager to hear more about you and Marcus. As Lizzie recounted the events of the night, including what she had observed, Victoria reacted with unexpected shock.

“Did you say they were sleeping separately? Jesus Christ!”

Beatrice clutched her chest. “That’s awful.”

Lizzie raised her eyebrows. “I don’t understand what’s so bad about it. They clearly had a fight and didn’t go to bed together. Why are you blowing this out of proportion?”

“Oh, my Lizzie,” Beatrice began, “You’re still quite young, and it’s hard to grasp, but this is a disaster for a newlywed couple. Couples should always share a bed, no matter the situation.”

“I think Rose must be lacking some compassion for Marcus. Silly girl, she’s never been one to be tolerant or respectful, not even toward the man she loves.”

“Let’s not exaggerate. Isn’t Marcus at fault too? Maybe he has something to do with this?”

“He’s a gem,” Beatrice insisted. “I can read a man well just by looking at him. That man is crazy about Rose. Poor Marcus; he’s probably more in love with her than I realized. What man can endure this?”

Lizzie grimaced. “I think you’re overstating things.”

“Overstating? Darling, when we were alone with my husband during our newlywed times, we were at it every minute—”

“Beatrice,” Victoria interjected with a warning. “Lizzie is 17 and a virgin, so let’s tread carefully.”

Lizzie rolled her eyes once more. "Even a six-year-old knows about that kind of stuff."

“We can’t let this go on,” Victoria declared. “Rose can’t endure another breakup after all the heartache. We need to step in. But how?”

“Wait, what do you mean we need to step in? You’re not planning to meddle in their private lives, are you?”

“No, we won’t interfere. We’ll just help them. We have to reignite their love.”

“Oh, I know just what to do!” Beatrice clapped her hands together excitedly. “After all, as a woman of passion, I’m an expert in this.”

Lizzie stood up. “Count me out of this. I’m sure Rose wouldn’t appreciate any intrusion into her life. I don’t want to face her wrath.”

The room they gave you was larger than your entire apartment—possibly even bigger than Marcus' room back in Ancient Rome. The mansion had a classic charm, complete with small fireplaces in each room and beautifully restored wall details that spoke of its history.

“You and Vincenzo seemed to hit it off,” you remarked, glancing at Marcus.

“He's a decent man. His passion for wine surprised me—I never knew there were so many varieties. It's hard to believe people are still so interested in wine these days,” he replied.

“It’s great to see you adapting to my time and people.”

“Despite my efforts, I can't say I've succeeded,” he muttered, sounding a bit down.

You paused with your suitcase half-unzipped, sensing his unease. “What do you mean by that?”

“It’s tough to fit into this world, Rosa. I was supposed to take you to the hospital that night, but I didn’t know how to drive a car. Your sister called a taxi. I still struggle with some conversations, but I pretend I understand. Most of all, I feel like a burden.”

You left your clothes as they were and moved closer to him. “Marcus, don’t think like that. You’re not a burden. Just being in the same house—and sharing a room—with you has brought color to my life," you said with a smile. "Who else can say they’re roommates with a Roman general? I consider myself lucky."

Marcus smiled gently, his fingers brushing against your cheek. “This Roman general feels fortunate to have a woman like you by his side. However, as your husband, I know I have responsibilities. I can't simply stand by while you search for a job. While it may be acceptable here, in my world, a man provides for his woman, ensuring that all her needs are met. I don't want to tell you not to work; I don’t think I have that right. And please, don't use that word when referring to me.”

“Macho? Bigot? Psycho? Misogynist?” you teased.

He laughed. “Yes, those… Rosa; if I’m going to settle in this place, it’s vital for me to have a sense of responsibility.”

“Okay, I get it. Right now, you’re in a Generation X mindset. I have to think of it that way."

“Generation X?”

You laughed at his reaction. “I mean, I won’t call you ancient. You’re in your 40s or 50s now. Anyway, to make you feel better, I promise I’ll help you find a job. But first, you need to adapt to this world a bit more—like learning to use your phone and drive a car--”

Suddenly, he took your hands and pressed both to his lips, making your heart race. “Gaudium vitae meae (joy of my life). I will adjust to anything as long as you’re by my side."

He kissed the top of your hand and leaned in closer, resting his forehead against yours. Your eyes were locked, both following the movement of his lips to yours. When he cradled your face in his strong hands, it felt like you could hardly breathe. He placed a tender kiss on your temple, slowly moving his lips down your chin aiming your lips. Each kiss felt like he was carefully gauging your reaction, tracing a sweet path until he fully captured you.

“Rosa,” he whispered, his breath teasing your lips.

“Marcus,” you murmured back, feeling the same intense feelings.

But just as your lips were about to meet, your phone began to ring. You pulled back reluctantly to answer, seeing the number you had been waiting for.

“I have to take this,” you said, glancing at Marcus.

He nodded and went to the suitcase to grab his clothes. It was the head costume designer discussing an upcoming project, but your focus remained on Marcus as he stripped off his shirt, nearly making you forget the call.

“Hey, what are you doing? Use the bathroom,” you whispered to him while still on the line.

Marcus shrugged. “Could we end this? Besides, you mentioned your aunt shouldn’t realize we’re not married.”

“Ending this?” you almost raised your voice. “Oh no no, I didn’t say to you to ending anything,” you said with a nervous smile at your phone while shooting Marcus a warning glance. “Okay, I’ll be there," you said before hanging up.

“Did they offer you a job?” Marcus asked.

“Yes, but first, I need to attend a meeting. I’m sure she’ll have me come up with a million designs. But I can handle it,” you sighed, feeling confident.

“I believe you can do it, Rosa,” he said with a smile that made him look irresistibly charming, especially without his shirt.

“I-I should get in the shower,” you stammered, pointing toward the door as you turned and hurried out of the room.

Marcus chuckled at your reaction, ready to change his pants when a knock interrupted him. He sighed, giving up and opening the door. Victoria and Beatrice stood there, grinning widely.

“Oh honey, sorry to drop in at this hour. We just wanted to check if you needed anything,” they said, eyes gleaming as they took in Marcus’ bare chest.

Beatrice nudged Victoria inside, and they rushed into the room. With arms crossed and brows raised, Marcus watched them warily. “We don’t need anything, thank you, Lady Victoria and Lady Beatrice.”

“Oh, he says ‘Lady’ beautifully, doesn’t he, Beatrice?” Victoria remarked, a sparkle in her eye as she admired him.

“Yes, yes. He looks like a noble gentleman out of a medieval movie,” Beatrice chimed in admiringly.

Marcus smiled vaguely at their compliments, his gaze dropping to the bottle of wine she held. “You and Vincenzo talked about wines, and this one was your favorite,” she said, pointing to the bottle.

“We thought you might enjoy a drink,” Beatrice said with a cheeky wink at Victoria.

As she poured wine into a glass, Marcus stepped closer. “Actually, I’ve had quite enough to drink already—”

Before he could finish, Beatrice popped a piece of chocolate into his mouth, almost making him choke. "Top quality, from Sweden," she explained with a grin.

“Oh, come on, just take it. You’re a strong man; you can handle it,” Victoria said, playfully patting his chest and laughing as she handed him the wine glass.

Meanwhile, Beatrice sauntered over to the edge of the bed, seemingly aiming for the suitcase with another glass. She pretended to drop it accidentally, gasping, “Oh no!”

As Marcus continued to chew the chocolate, an unappealing taste lingered in his mouth, he turned to see the wine spilled all over the suitcase and ruin almost everything inside.

“Oh Beatrice, what have you done?” Victoria exclaimed, rushing to her side with exaggerated concern.

“I’m so sorry, my dear,” Beatrice said, pouting her lips apologetically.

Marcus frowned, feeling something was off. “Rosa’s clothes,” he said, lifting up the wine-soaked pajamas that had been meant for after your shower. Unfortunately, the t-shirt he planned to wear was soaked too.

With a gleam in her eye, Victoria reached for the suitcase and snapped it shut. “I’ll have them washed right away. Carmen!” she called out, her voice ringing through the hallway.

Moments later, Carmen, the housekeeper, appeared at the door.

“Yes, Mrs. Albano?”

“Take this with the clothes inside and wash them to keep any stains from setting in,” Victoria said.

Carmen hesitated for a moment, but quickly took the suitcase and left. Turning back to Marcus, Victoria continued, “We truly apologize again. I’ll find something for you and Rose to wear.”

Marcus felt a mix of anger and suspicion towards their odd behavior. Then, to his surprise, they dashed out of the room faster than he could process. Leaving him bewildered in the room, two women in the hallway, giddy and playfully high-fiving each other.

“Isn’t he handsome?”

“Oh, especially with those scars.”

“I wonder how he got those though. Do you think he might have done stunt work in the set?"

“Who knows? But I think scars make a man look more rugged. If I were younger, I’d be head over heels for him,” Beatrice sighed.

“Goodness, you naughty woman. Keep it down, or your husband will hear you,” Victoria scolded lightly.

“That big bear? He’s already snoring away in bed,” Beatrice said, rolling her eyes.

“God forgive us, you're so bad."

They both burst into laughter as they made their way back to their rooms.

"What do you mean they took all my clothes to wash them?"

When you stepped from the bathroom into the bedroom, only wearing a towel, and asked Marcus why he still wasn't wearing anything on top, his response left you stunned.

As if it wasn’t enough that your aunt and Beatrice had barged into your room in the middle of the night and spilled wine all over your clothes, now you found yourself in this embarrassing situation. Marcus, it turned out, was in the same boat—he had no clothes left either. It seemed suspicious that all your clothes in the suitcase were stained with wine.

But why would they do such a thing?

When Carmen arrived with a bag of new clothes, the answer became crystal clear. “You old dirty bitches...” you muttered under your breath. Inside the bag were a few ridiculously sexy nightgowns that were undoubtedly expensive, clearly from Vincenzo's fashion brand. Those brand-name dresses your aunt had sent you before, along with the overly revealing items you would never dream of wearing. It wasn’t your style, yet your aunt seemed oblivious to that. Lizzie shared your taste, but they both always loved to meddle in your lives—just as they were doing now.

“I can’t believe she did this.”

“You should wear something; you’re going to catch a cold,” Marcus said, coming closer and making you even more nervous.

“If I wear this, I’ll catch an even worse cold, trust me.”

“They look like that clothes we saw in that store,” he remarked, peering into the bag. You knew exactly what he meant—those sexy nightgowns he had spotted while you buying him underwear, only causing him to look away in embarrassment. “This meant for me, isn’t it?” he asked, pulling out a black linen nightshirt from another bag.

You reached over and snatched it from his hand. “I’ll wear this one."

“But this is men’s clothing.”

“So what? You didn’t think I’d wear those other options, did you?”

“I think it would look great on you,” he teased, a crooked smile on his face.

You narrowed your eyes in response. “You might be waiting a long time for that—”

“Please let go of your hold, Rosa,” he said, pulling at the shirt, but you held firmly onto your end.

“But I can’t sleep in these. I’m cold, please.”

With a sudden yank, Marcus pulled the shirt again and drew you closer, wrapping his arm around you. “I’ll keep you warm,” he said playfully.

You widened your eyes but managed to pull back just in time; the towel almost slipped away, but you caught it at the last moment. You couldn’t see clearly, but your back was exposed, and you shivered as a draft hit you.“Marcus, please, just give me the damn t-shirt.”

He chuckled, “Even if you wear this, your legs are still going to be exposed. Come now, don’t be stubborn—wear that dress instead.”

You didn’t want to give in to your aunt’s game, but there seemed to be no choice. Your body was still damp, and the wet towel and hair were making things worse. Plus, you could warm up under the blanket. Gripping the towel tightly against your chest with one arm, you took a bag with the other and slipped behind the screen.

You tossed the towel onto the screen as you muttered a curse. The nightgown was sheer lace, while the other options were even more revealing. The most modest one was red satin with a plunging neckline. But that didn’t change the fact that it was incredibly short. Oh, and there was also a lace panty so thin it might as well have been a whisper.

Great.

Each piece still had tags on them, as if they had been handpicked just for you. It seemed a long chat with your aunt was in order for the morning. After putting on the nightgown and panties, you felt a wave of relief on your skin, likely due to the fabric’s quality, but your body suddenly felt aflame.

How were you going to face him dressed like this?

You peeked around the edge of the screen; he was busy tearing off the tag from his T-shirt. “Now I need you to promise me something.”

“Hm?” He turned his head in your direction, curiosity sparkling in his eyes.

“You won’t stare at me. And definitely no touching. We’ll just get into bed and sleep. Okay?”

“Rosa, you’re asking me to do something pretty tough,” he replied with a sly grin.

You frowned. “I said promise me. As a Roman general, this is one of those life-or-death promises... so promise me already.”

"I apologize, but I'm afraid I have to decline."

You blinked in surprise. “Why?”

"I cannot make a promise I can't keep," he said with a smirk.

“Oh c'mon! I’m not asking you to cut yourself or something.”

"What you are requesting is harder than that, Rosa." As he approached with intent, his focus remained steady on you. "I wish for you to be my true wife. In fact, in my time, we are already married, so let us proceed with finalizing the necessary documentation here."

You raised your eyebrows in disbelief, heart fluttering. “Excuse me?”

“Marriage license,” he said, remembering the movie you watched together.

“Whoa, so you think you know everything now, huh, Mr. General? Then tell me this: why should I marry you?” you asked playfully, caught up in the moment without realizing you had stepped out of the screen to face him directly.

He narrowed his eyes as you approached, taking in your appearance, visibly captivated.

He swallowed hard. “You said you loved me. You kissed me, saying you wanted me.”

“That was before you said those things to me,” you replied, struggling to keep your gaze from drifting to his bare chest. Marcus leaned in closer, and you instinctively took a step back. “What are you doing? Don’t come at me like that,” you warned, retreating further. “Marcus, stop.” Suddenly, the back of your leg hit the edge of the bed, and you lost your balance, falling onto your back.

He leaned over you, but as you tried to pull away, he grabbed your wrists and pinned you down, watching your attempts to struggle with an amused expression.

“If I hadn’t said those things, you would’ve been ready to give yourself to me, wouldn’t you?” he whispered, his warm breath brushing against your face.

“Let me go. That won’t happen,” you insisted, striving to free yourself. But your efforts were futile.

"Don't be so sure of yourself, Rosa,” he said, leaning in to kiss you.

“I can’t,” you protested, causing him to halt. “Yes, I love you, but I can’t do this. It feels like there’s something—or someone—between us. I can’t move forward feeling this way.”

Marcus frowned, tightening his grip on your wrists just enough to almost hurt. “You’re mistaken. There’s no one else, Rosa. It’s only you and me.”

"Is that so? Then why do I feel this way? Maybe there are things you haven’t told me yet. How can I trust you?"

In an instant, a shift occurred in his expression, and he released you, sitting up on the bed. You followed suit, straightening yourself as well.

“Rosa, I’ve told plenty of lies for you, but I’ve never lied to you. I swear it,” he said softly and sincerely.

You fell silent, knowing deep down he wouldn’t deceive you.

He took your hands, placing them in his palms as if to measure the difference. “I understand why you’re taken aback by everything I’ve said, but I truly believe with all my heart that you are the only woman I love. I don’t know how to prove that to you, but it’s the truth. I’m certain of it.”

You pulled your hands back. “I need to be sure too. If I’m a reincarnation, I should remember my past, right? Otherwise, I can’t move forward with this, Marcus. I’m sorry.”

In one swift motion, Marcus wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer. Your bodies brushed together, sending a rush through you as your hands instinctively clung to his shoulders. “You obstinate woman. I’m pouring my heart out, telling you that I love you and that my heart is yours alone. What more do you need to hear? Do you take pleasure in tormenting me?”

“Am I really the woman you love?” you asked, breathless as your lips almost touched his.

“It’s you, Rosemary,” he said, using your name for the first time in its true form. Taking your hand, he placed it on his chest, just above his heart. “You can’t easily change what your heart feels. This heart has loved only one woman, and that's you—regardless of the time difference. Believe me, it is you. I swear by all the gods I believe in, and even to your god, that it’s true. How else could I have found you again? How could you summon me? This can’t be mere coincidence. I If you doubt me, listen—feel my heart. It holds the answers you seek. I love you, Rosa.”

“Those words…” you whispered.

And then it happened again. It felt as if your thoughts, reasoning, and logic were dancing with the wind. Marcus' voice echoed in your mind once more: “Listen —feel my heart. It holds the answers you seek. I love you, Rhea.” These were familiar words, yet they resonated anew.

How had this come to be?

Where were you?

A memory, yes, a memory. But not just any memory.

This one was far more vivid, revealing a younger Marcus, hair free of grey, no scar marring his cheekbone. He wore a different kind of armor, and your hand rested on his chest just like now you do. The memory was so clear that you could almost feel the texture of the leather under your palm. With the sweet sounds of chirping birds and a gentle breeze, you could tell that you were younger too—your hand resting on his chest seemed smaller.

Everything felt different, yet somehow the same.

His touch, the way you looked at each other, and the emotions swirling around—it was all familiar.

“Marcus,” you breathed, echoing the tone from that vivid memory, even surprised yourself. The very words from your memory took shape and spilled from your lips. “Marcus," you whispered once again. "I feel your heart with mine. I hear your words—I love you with every fiber of my soul, completely and unconditionally."

Marcus's eyes glistened with tears, a mix of surprise and overwhelming happiness at the recollection of that moment. “Mei amor,” he said, his voice deep and trembling, mirroring the feelings you both shared in that cherished memory.

Then he kissed you, just like he did in there.

Yet this kiss was different—more passionate, more tender, filled with longing, need, as if his very existence depended on it.

In an instant, you broke the surface of that treasured memory, leaving behind the sunlit meadow of ancient Rome and returning to the grand room in a Milan mansion. Your eyes fluttered open as you gradually pulled away from the kiss, both of you surrendering to the reality that surrounded you.

You locked eyes with him, hearts racing, breaths mingling in the charged silence. His deep brown eyes, rich and dark like gems, bore into yours with a profound intensity, as if he could peel back the layers of your soul to uncover every concealed thought. The fire in those eyes ignited something deep within, flooding your veins with warmth.

“What just happened?” you whispered.

“You remembered,” he smiled, his hand resting gently over your heart, feeling its rhythm beneath his palm. “You recalled our first kiss, my love.”

It was true—an unshakeable certainty washed over you, as if the universe itself had whispered the truth into your ear. Yet, amidst the emotional rush, a quiet realization settled within you.

You understood that this kiss was the only physical connection you shared, and you knew the truth behind it—she, or rather, you, was still a virgin.

This became evident in his gentle touch and the unspoken electricity crackling between you. The eager pulse of his hand above your heart spoke volumes without requiring a single word.

But all of that was about to change. You were no longer a virgin in this time or life, and your longing for him intensified, a desperate need coursing through you.

Head bending down, he nuzzled his nose into your neck, placing peppers light, sweet kisses in the crook where your throat meets your shoulders. However, with his strong body pressed against you, and your mind still traitorously wandering off to his naked body, you felt your body automatically respond to him. Involuntarily, liquid heat pooled between your thighs - a sudden wanton desire to feel him inside of you overtook your senses.

“M-Marcus,” you gasped out - his name tumbling out of your mouth before you could even stop it. There were a deep need to your voice, and when his body froze, you know he heard it.

“Rosa?” he replied, his head tilting to the side in question.

“Please,” came your breathy response. His gaze roved over you, and noting the slight breathlessness, and how your fingers curled into the muscles of his arms, his eyes widen in understanding.

His other arm curved around you, hand still resting on your breast. When you breathe, it made the calluses on his sword-hand rub against your skin which sending pleasant little shivers down your spine, causing your nipples drew tight.

“Rosa, what is it you want?” he asked, his gaze locking onto yours with a hint of desperation, longing for the response he yearned to hear. 

“You,” you replied, your tone sharp and direct. "I want you."

A sly smile danced on his lips. “Are you truly certain?” 

You nodded vigorously, “One hundred percent,” your fingers digging into the firm contours of his shoulders, the strength of his muscles only fueling your eagerness further.

Filled with happiness and joy at the answer, he pulled you in close and kissed you with such passion that your heart raced wildly in your chest. As your lacy-covered breasts brushed against his bare skin, a small moan of excitement escaped your lips.

He used your open mouth to his advantage and slipped his tongue inside, dragging it along yours. You crumbled, kissing him back with as much vigour as your body would allow.

The second kiss was like him, powerful but gentle, fierce but beautiful, and completely intoxicating. The touch of his tongue dancing with yours, the press of your lips, his hands on your body…it felt natural.

So natural as if you were always meant to be this.

To be his.

He moved to allow you to catch your breath, but his lips never leaving you. Instead, his mouth traced your bottom lip before moving along your jaw.

"You can not imagine how deeply I've ached for this moment, how many quiet prayers I’ve whispered to the gods themselves," he murmured softly, his breath warm against your skin as he paused between the gentle caress of your kisses. With tender care, he laid you back onto the soft, inviting bed. He leaned over, you wrapped your arms around him, your fingers first brushing against the arrow wound on his shoulder, then trailing down to explore the jagged line that marked his skin below it. Each scar was a testament to a life rich with battles fought, silent witnesses to the struggles he had endured—years that spanned nearly double your age.

Those painful years spent longing for you. 

"You are my answered prayer, Rosa," he whispered, his voice deep and resonant, as he leaned down to capture your lips in another fervent kiss.

“I love you,” he whispered. Then, he ran his tongue down the length of your neck again causing a gasp of pure desire leaving you.

He repeated those three words as he peppered your chest with light strokes of his lips.

Body completely wired, your nerves burning with the ravenous heat of desire, you sank deeper and deeper into his presence; ignoring the slow burn that creeping into your lungs and focusing more on the intensifying heat that pools between your thighs. Gripping his locks, you kissed him back just as ferociously; the muscles of your thighs simultaneously flexing as you grind into his abdomen - in a bid to alleviate the deep ache in the pit of your stomach. Neck straining, you tried to press your lips harder against his. With a soft whine escaping your lips, your hands wrapped around his neck, then slid over his shoulders and down to his arms, gripping his biceps, pulling him closer, drawing him further down toward you.

His large hand slipped beneath your nightdress, grazing the laces of your panties—a strange yet incredibly alluring invention he had ever encountered. You couldn’t help but giggle at his reaction and playfully assisted him in slipping your panties off.

Kneading the flesh of your ass, his digits flex over your skin, and you moaned in pleasure - the sound muffled by his kiss. Gripping your ass harder, Marcus let out another low groan at the movement before he pulled you even closer. his other hand quite busy touching, stroking softly where he hadn’t yet explored. Where you felt burned. Every touch, every simple gesture, his eyes -god those eyes, they never left you, never stopped trailing a burning path on your body. 

With a searing vengeance, the dull ache in your lungs suddenly ignited, and unable to resist its burn, you reluctantly tear your lips away from his. Gasping for oxygen, your breathes intermingled together - entwining between each others, and circulating the air between you.

He was staring at you, mouth soft and reverent, like you were holy, like you were the word made flesh. "You're so beautiful," he sounded awestruck, kneading you so gently, thumbing your nipple through your nightdress, and he was actually killing you.

You never knew his hands on you could feel like this.

“M-Marcus, please,” you mewled - the desperation evident in your tone.

With Marcus living with you, sharing your room, bathroom, even bed; not to mention the fact that he was almost always practically glued to you, it was not often that you’ve had any alone time. Thus, it’s been a long, long time since you’ve had any sexual release. And Marcus walking around your room half naked with his glorious body certainly hadn’t made matters any easier.

Feeling the bulge of his clothed erection against your heated sex, your head lolled back and let out a deep, keening mewl, your hips grinding against his a little faster. Through the fabric of his pants, you could almost feel him: long, thick and pulsating with need.

For a fleeting moment, the thought of Marcus' cock flit through your mind - and just the thought had your core throbbing in tandem with his shaft. Because you weren’t prepared for what he feels like and you were dying to find out. Briefly, you wondered if he’ll fit inside you: he was much larger than you, there was no denying it, and just like the rest of him, his cock must be equally large. Nonetheless, the slight concern that strums through you is overshadowed by your lust-filled anticipation: your body wanted nothing more than for him to fill you up and stretch you out - in a way no one else could.

Or would.

Removing your nightdress, he breathed out, his gaze honing in on the way your breasts move with each breath of your lungs, the peaks standing erect and pert. Wasting no time, Marcus sweep his head down and took one of them in.

The moment his mouth enclosed around your nipple, you whimpered out his name - your hips bucking into his. Flicking his tongue out, he licked to the hardened bud; and reflexively, your fingers fisted more of his curls - his ministrations drawing soft mewls of pleasure from your lips. Smirking against your breast, he grazed his teeth against your nipple - lightly nibbling on it and licking again - and immediately, you felt your arousal trickle out of your core.

“Oh, mmm, M-Marcus,” you groaned - tugging his hair and pulling him closer into your breasts. Releasing your nipple with a wet sound, he turned to the second one before repeating his action. This time, however, his large hand finds its way to your neglected breast, and palming at the soft mound, you feel deft, calloused fingers tease your wet nipple.

Delicate fingers danced over the underside of your breast, his digits reverently roving over your flesh as his thumb toys with your nipple - the pad of it repetitively caressing the hardened nub. His ministrations are incredibly tender, and despite the ravenous desire that burns within your stomach, you find yourself letting out a soft sigh as you relished in the attention he lavish on your tits.

Thighs flexing, you thrust your pussy against him; the molten heat between your legs growing uncomfortable and too much to bear. With every surge of your hips, his hard cock brushed against your wet folds, the head teasing your neglected clit; but the material of his pants smooth - and you can’t create enough friction to alleviate the deep ache.

Hearing your moan was like an audible aphrodisiac given to him by the gods of fertility.

From that moment on, Marcus changed profoundly. His eyes burned with an intense hunger, radiating a carnal need as they roamed over your body. His hands, no longer gentle, moved with a fervor that reflected the awakening of deep thirst, yet they still conveyed an undercurrent of control, resisting the wild urge surging within him.

You felt that same fire coursing through you; nothing in your life had ever ignited such an all-consuming desire. Every fiber of your being pulsed with an exhilarating passion, deeper and more intense than anything you had experienced before. In a moment of urgency, you reached out with fervor, impatiently tugging at his pants and underwear. He chuckled softly, surrendering control to you, as if sensing your escalating hunger. Until that point, he had been gentle, almost teasingly slow, but now you could barely contain yourself. Gratitude mingled with an insatiable craving—you yearned for more. You wanted to cry out for him to be rougher, to unleash all his strength to claim you and have you completely.

And soon he did it.

“Gods above, woman, your beauty casting a spell over me,” he muttered; with his gaze still fixed onto your exposed folds, you couldn’t help the ripples of embarrassment that flitters through you. Turning bashful under his stare, you curled into yourself slightly and tried to close your legs. However, Marcus was having none of it, and immediately, the hand holding onto your thigh flexing, his grip turning firm and halting your movements. Meanwhile, his free hand moved from your thigh to brush against your dripping core. Dexterous fingers teased the outline of the soft, dewy petals of your sex, causing your timidness into wanton need once again.

“Marcus,” you moaned once again. Hearing his name, Marcus' brown eyes darkened and in instant, he surged forward - his lips pressing against your folds. "So soft," he whispered against your sensitive skin, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine and causing you to bite down on your lower lip hard in response.

Tongue sliding out, he finally ran it over the entirety of your pussy: circling around your throbbing clit, over the outline of your folds before he teased the twitching entrance of your pussy. When he lightly flicked the honeyed muscles that make up your cunt, you cried out in pleasure; your inner walls involuntarily clenched around the tip of his tongue. The motion caused a fresh wave of arousal to trickle from your core; the thick wetness bathing his tongue.

Your heady taste coated his taste buds, and lapping at your entrance once again, he let out a moan. It was better than he could have ever imagined. Skin flashing with heat, spikes of pleasure prickled at your flesh, causing you to rock your hips into his face - in a bid to get his tongue deeper within you. Nonetheless, Marcus continued teasing your entrance - delicately tracing the ring of muscles in long, repetitive circles.

With your hands reaching out, you sank them once more into his hair, and a moan escaped your lips that sounded almost like a soft sob. "Marcus, please," you pleaded.

Smirking, he responded, "Patience, my love, patience," as he hummed softly.

Slowly, you felt the digit sliding into your velvet depths, and with each inch that pushed into you, your walls contracting around his long and thick finger. Releasing your clit, Marcus hissed at the sensation, “I see you are so tight and sensitive Rosa. Allow me to make you ready for me.”  When the hilt of his finger hit your outer walls, he curled it - the motion causing your thighs to quiver as he stroked the sensitive zones inside of you.

Eyes rolling into the back of your skull, your hands tugged at his hair as your thighs shook: pure, unadulterated euphoria coursing through your veins.

Another finger teased at your entrance, before you feel him slip it into you - stretching you out wider. Crying out in pleasure, you bucked your hips into his mouth. Swirling his wet tongue, he licked at your inner walls - lapping, practically drinking in the wetness that seeps from your cunt. His amazing tongue moved deeply inside you; the muscle thrusting in and out as he fucked you with it, and every time it entered you. Pleasure burned deep in your abdomen, your stomach twisting and turning with every motion.

Thighs shaking on either side of his face, you felt your throat constrict as the knot inside your stomach begins tightening.

“Cum, Rosa. Cum for me,” he urged, one of his hands moving to lie flat on your abdomen as he pressed the thumb into your clit. Between the vibrations of his words reverberating through your cunt, and his thumb rolling your clit in small, tight circles, the coil inside your stomach suddenly snapped, and with a high-pitched mewl, you wailed out his name as you came.

Sheer, unbridled pleasure took you over; your blood boiling with euphoria as your body coming alive under the mind-blowing ecstasy he lavished upon you. Uncontrollably, your body began trembling, eyes rolling back as you cum around his mouth. Cunt contracting into a vice-like grip, your pussy forced both his fingers and tongue out of you, and instead, he moved his hands to grip your ass - his tongue lapping at your quivering entrance as you leaked into his mouth, your head spinning.

"So sweet," he praised. When your contractions begin slowing, your orgasm fading into light aftershocks of bliss, Marcus began pressing soft kisses to your clit, the tender action had you sighing.

Growing increasingly impatient, one of your hand curled around his shoulders, your fingers carding into his hair, whilst your other hand slipped between both your bodies. Fingers curling around his thick shaft, you gripped his cock. Feeling you stroke his length, your hand indolently palming at it as you silently awe at the size, Marcus hissed through his teeth. Gaze flicking up, you stared at him through the thick of your lashes, and despite the lazy, elated smile on your face, your eyes simmered with fervid desire, pad of your thumb skimming over the outline of his cock: where the head meets his length. Responsively, his length twitched, and repeating the motion, you pumped your fist over his impressive thickness.

With his gaze locked on yours, he gently ran his fingers through your hair. “Rosa, are you ready for me?” 

“What do you think?” you teased, licking your lips with anticipation, your core more than drenched and ready for his cock.

“Very well,” he smirked.

Unable to hold himself back any longer, Marcus' arms pulled you into his arms. Eyes widening, you felt him easily lifting you up - almost as if you were weightless - before maneuvering you both so you were sitting in his lap; your thighs on either side of his hips. Inhaling sharply, your hands move to hold onto his broad shoulders as you felt the tip of his head brushing against your folds; pleasure darting over your nerves as it grazing your clit.

Large hands found the cheeks of your ass, and effortlessly, he hoisted you over his cock - so the crown pressing against your leaking entrance. Sitting in his lap, you were suddenly made aware of how large he is. Of course, you’ve always known - because standing at six foot one, and built of strong muscle - he had never been small by any means.

“Remain very still,” he breathed out. That was the only warning you get, because all of a sudden, you felt him lowering you onto his cock - the bulbous crown pressing against your dripping opening.

Mouth falling open, your throat hitched as you let out a silent scream. Despite how incredibly wet you are, your cum still leaking out of your core and slicking the opening in your arousal, he still struggled to enter you - his fingers digging into the flesh of your ass as he attempted to force himself inside of you. There was an intense pressure against your cunt, your fingers delving further into the hard muscles of his shoulders, causing him hissing in response.

“Very tight,” he groaned, his sweet breath wafting over your face.

Whimpering, “And you’re fucking huge,” came your soughed response. As your back arched backward, he nestled his face into the curve of your neck while gently laying you back down on the bed.

"Sshh, calm yourself," he whispered to you ear. “I believe you are able to manage it, meum delicium.”

His words were soft, and affectionate, and yet, you couldn’t help but notice the authoritative inflexion to his words. Nonetheless, the dominance in them only turned you on further, and not wanting to disappoint, you sucked in a shaky breath before nodding.

And with just a simple thrust of his erection, you saw stars. “Oh, Marcus!” 

He growled in response and did it again. And you gasped again. His mouth trailed towards your neck, grip shifting across your back deliciously while his teeth left behind little imprints near your jaw.

His mark -he was marking you.

“Are you well?" he asked.

“I-I can take it,” you whimpered. Against your skin, you feel his lips twist into a smile, and puckering them, he lavished another kiss to the base of your throat.

“Good girl,” he murmured. Continuing his descent into your velvet depths, your breath turned laboured as his heavy intrusion continued entering you, your eyes futtered at the sensation and small whimpers slipped through your lips, and just as you wondered just how long he is - just because of how much he utterly opening you up for his cock - you felt him bottom out. Your entire cunt burnt with pleasure, and you let out choked sob.

“Are you well, Rosa?” he asked again, his nose nuzzling the corner of your jaw. Eyes slowly slipping open, you blinked out, momentarily wondering just when you’d shut them, before nodding.

“Y-yeah,” you barely muttered in response, your voice coming out hoarse. Taking his time, he showered your chest with tender kisses; his large palms rolling and kneading the fleshy cheeks of your ass simultaneously.

With his cock buried deep into your inner depths, and his chest pressed against yours - your soft curves moulding against his hard torso - Marcus was all you can feel. Periodically, his cock pulsated within you, the shaft throbbing in tandem to your own quivering cunt, and slowly, the pain of his stretching you to your limit fades away - until it almost entirely dissipates.

While you've experienced intimacy numerous times before, nothing could compare to this. There were countless occasions where you set aside your own desires, but Marcus was different—he skillfully attuned to your every need, ensuring you experienced an exhilarating wave of pleasure. It was as if he had unlocked hidden doors within you, revealing sensations that felt utterly new and intoxicating, leaving you breathless and marveling at the boundless depths of ecstasy you never knew existed.

You never expected a man from ancient time -a Roman General- to be so good at fucking you.

Maybe it was just for Marcus.

He was amazing.

Left with nothing but the delightful bliss of him splitting you open around his immense girth, you softly crooned. Experimentally, you clenched your cunt around his cock, and, “M-Move, please,” you urged, your hips writhing against him. Just as he did with you, you ran your tongue up his neck -wanting to taste him, swirling it around his pulse point before moving to the sensitive skin below his ear. Without hesitating, you nibbled at his flesh before sucking, hoping to visibly mark him. Your name left him in a moan, making you feel triumphant.

Feeling your tongue on his skin Marcus growled and took a hold of your thigh and wrapped them around his waist one at a time. He planted his hands on either side of your head and pressed his forehead against yours, melding his gaze with yours. Then he leaned down to quickly kiss you, capturing your bottom lip between his teeth and bite down hard enough to make you groan. Meanwhile, he was thrusting his hips backwards, slipping his length almost entirely out of you before slamming back in. His movements sent you over the edge. Tightening your grip around him, your sudden orgasm overtook you, a loud moan coming out of you, toes curling in delight. "S-Sorry," you murmured, giggling.

Marcus chuckled and asked. ”May I—" 

Understanding his unspoken request, you eagerly replied, "Yes, please, don’t stop," You were keen for him to continue, hoping for more.

He smirked and showered gentle kisses on your breasts, leaving the both of you wanting more.

He then set a brutal pace.

You couldn’t even move your hips to meet his thrusts; your legs wrapped around his waist put you at an angle where you have no choice but to take what he gave you. He grasped your ass and angled your hips upwards, forcing him deeper inside you. You could feel every delicious inch of him as he thrust into you, hitting your sweet spot with every surge forwards. He leaned forward, taking your legs with him, almost bending you in half, and captured your mouth with his. In comparison to the movement of his hips, the kiss was soft and gentle. The contrast made your head spin. You didn’t think there was a drug in this world that could give you the same effect.

You couldn’t believe you were close to having your third orgasm. You felt exhausted, at the same time, you didn’t want him to stop. You would happily let him fuck you until he split you open; even then, you’d probably beg for more.

You felt your slick down your thighs, creeping across your ass, and took less than a second to suspect there was a large stain forming on the sheets beneath you. But you were thrown out of that thought when a particularly hard slam of Marcus' hips had you screaming his name.

In your state of delirium, you didn’t feel Marcus spun you onto your stomach. He didn’t break the connection not even single second. He planted soft kisses all over your back, sensing that you were starting to lose control of your limbs and helped hoist you to your knees. His fingers dug into your hips hard enough to bruise. But you would welcome any bruise and mark he left on your body, you wouldn’t care.

A beautiful warmth enveloped you when Marcus bent forward, pressing his chest against your back. He reached for one of your hands and interlinked your fingers. You managed to find the energy to squeeze his hand. His thrusts were slow but incredibly deep at this angle, and you felt every inch of him inside you.

"I love you, Rosa,” he spoke low in your ear.

Turning your head to the side, you took your free hand and reached up to cup the side of his face, pressing as much of him against you as you can.

“I love you, too, Marcus.”

His hands returned to your hips as he straightened up behind you, squeezing your flesh; you gasped as your hips buck. A hand on your back forceing you lower into the bed, angling your ass higher.

He snapped his hips forward, contorting your body into an almost-uncomfortable position. Then, he thrusted in and out of you at a speed that should be impossible; you screamed his name over and over.

The sound of his skin slapping against yours, the rippling of your ass every time he went forward, and the sinful noise of his cock sliding in and out of you drag you higher. You felt yourself clenching around him once again, and if the noise that left him was any indication, he felt it too. And you felt it too-- he was close.

Suddenly, it hit you that you hadn't been taking your birth control pills for some time, and you realized you didn't have a condom on hand.

“Fuck,” you grunted. “I-“

A curse in his native tongue—Latin, though you’d never heard it before—slipped from his lips as he quickened his pace. His arm wrapped around you, almost leaving you breathless. Suddenly, without warning, your fourth and final orgasm hit you like a whirlwind, leaving you momentarily breathless and forgetting who you were. A few seconds later, Marcus moaned behind you, enjoying his own release. You could sense his ragged breath brushing against your cheek.

You felt your body melt into the sheets, your limbs too overstimulated to hold you. Then, you welcomed the warm weight of Marcus as he collapsed on top of you. He wiped your sweat-drenched hair off your face and smiled down at you.

You smiled back at him and he slowly pulled out, both of you let out low moans as his thick cock retreated out of your sensitive cunt, you felt his cum follow - trickling in thin rivers out of your slidely gaping entrance and down your ass. Feeling at the sensation, your walls involutarily clenched - in a poor attempt to keep as much of feeling inside you as possible - through, the movement only causing more of him to spill out, a vivid reminder of the passionate moment you had just shared.

It was absolutely exhilarating—an incredible rush of emotions— But as the initial bliss began to fade, a worry crept in: it hadn’t been protected sex.

Well it wasn’t his fault; how could he know? He was unaware of the modern methods.

“Meum corculum (my sweetheart),” he murmured, wrapping his arms around you, drawing you close to his chest. With your back to him, his nose nestled in your hair, you slowly drifted off to sleep, surrendering to the exhaustion that had taken over.

It would be a good idea to pick up the morning-after pill at the pharmacy tomorrow.

Yes, you should have.

At the same time, near the mansion.

a man sat in a black car, sending photographs from his phone to an email address. These were your images—taken at the airport, by the Tiber River, and outside your apartment building.

When the phone rang, he answered, glancing at the mansion silhouetted in the darkness. “Yes, I’ve been tracking her since she landed in Milan. The parchment is still with her. This time, we’re certain... It’s her,” he said.

Whatever the person on the other end of the line responded made him smirk. “Don’t worry; she’ll be on set for a meeting later this week, and then we’ll make our move,” he replied confidently before hanging up.

He then drove off into the night.

hope you enjoyed the chapter babies, thanks for reading ❤️ Your thoughts are important to me, so please share them with me.

taglist

@immyowndefender @pedroslut4eva @lailathepedritofan @javiismyhsbnd @heramj @longlivekingminnn @pedroloverbilmemkac @aurorathegreekprincess @daejangandimja @pedritomylovebemyhusband @fatimayilmazzz @javiismyhsbnd @jisungandpedrolover @shinsegismylove @peelieblue @darkheartgatita @orcasoul @sunwoosbaby @madnessofadaydreamer @ultraviolence44 @balhoneysweetstuff @catofash @queenofodds @blackborndue @daydream-believer19 @stalactitekilla @croissantdefleux @sonjajames2021 @indiegirlunited @picketniffler @sesdeuxyeux @wencontre @divaofmads @mysticmorning1 @iamfandomnerd @fancypeacepersona @shinsegismylove @javiismyhsbnd @aurorathegreekprincess @possiblyafangirl @libbybalas6192 @inept-the-magnificent @zella07 @darkheartgatita @sonjajames2021 @divaofmads @longlivekingminnn @cuppajoel @klerns-birdie @thalitxa @xmaykeca @thalitxa @vetbwoah

[boyfiechan]

[Between Blinds]

…or the one where you and your boyfriend move into the apartment across from a stranger who watches you like you're his religion.

Notes: I wrote this on the bus with a very christian lady staring at my phone, we should talk about the perks of speaking more than one language more often. And this got very filthy very fast. Voyeur!Jisung, Bang Chan x Reader Content Warnings: Male voyeur, AFAB reader, explicit sexual content, established relationship (Chan x Reader), implied Jisung x Reader, implied Chan x Jisung, implied threesome, masturbation (male), penetrative sex, unprotected sex, obsessive thoughts, oral sex (M&F receiving), edging, nipple sucking, overstimulation, creampie, jealousy, possessive thoughts, Jisung is both into you and Chan but no direct mention of his sexuality. [6.9k words]

At first, it was just the package. Just a plain cardboard box, unmarked beyond the usual scuffs of transit, awkward in Jisung’s arms as he stood outside his door staring at the label like it might rearrange itself into something that made sense. A minor error, meaningless on the surface, but he lingered there anyway, blinking at it, turning it over in his hands like it might confess a secret. He almost set it down on the floor, planning to forget it entirely, when the sound of footsteps came from the stairwell—steady, unhurried, a rhythm he’d come to know too well in time. That was the first time he saw him.

Chris. He remembered the name not because it was offered, but because of how it was delivered, on the tail end of a smile that was too casual, too intimate for a stranger, the kind of smile that made you feel like you were already part of something you didn’t ask to join. Chris had that unassuming warmth that drew people in without trying, a little breathless from the stairs, curls falling over his forehead beautifully, hoodie damp where it clung to his collarbone, the fabric of his t-shirt pulling faintly across lean muscle beneath and there was nothing theatrical about him, no arrogance, just a quiet ease that made Jisung feel off-balance in a way he didn’t like. Oh—yeah, that’s mine, he’d said, reaching out with one hand, scratching the back of his neck with the other, sheepish in the way people are when they’re used to being forgiven. The old owner mentioned the delivery guy keeps mixing the buildings up. Sorry about that.

His voice was sweeter than Jisung expected, not intimidating, but steady, calming, the kind of tone that could talk you down from a panic or pull you in closer just by dropping a few decibels. And then, before Jisung could process any of it—you appeared behind him, barefoot, quiet, wrapped in an oversized sweater that slid off one shoulder like silk, your eyes found his in the space of a breath, curious but unguarded, and he felt something catch low in his stomach, a flicker of heat he hadn’t braced for. Chris turned slightly, handed you the box without looking, and your fingers brushed as you took it. Jisung saw the way your lips parted to thank him, soft, polite, something like kind, and his mind emptied out. He smiled, maybe, nodded, said something automatic. He couldn’t remember.

What he did remember was the quiet afterward. The door shutting, the way the hallway felt empty in a different way now, like something had been pulled out of it. He told himself it was nothing, just a wrong package, a wrong building. Just a smile, just a look.

But after that, he started noticing.

He realized your apartment—also 4C, just like his—was directly across from his own. The street between the buildings wasn’t wide, barely more than a narrow passage of concrete, barely wide enough for one car to crawl through. Your living room sat in perfect alignment with his, like some architectural coincidence designed to feed obsession with large windows, flowing curtains always slightly parted, not wide open, but enough.

Enough for Jisung to see the way you moved through the space like you belonged there, like you'd always belonged there. The way you padded barefoot across the rug, sometimes with a mug cradled in both hands, sometimes with your hair twisted up and a pen tucked behind your ear, sometimes mid-laugh, phone to your cheek, your body swaying with the rhythm of a life well-worn into the walls around you. He noticed how you adjusted the pillows on the couch a certain way before sitting, how you always turned on the lamp in the far corner first, how you lit incense near the window and waved the smoke with your fingers like you were blessing the room.

And Chris—Chris moved differently. Deliberate, controlled, like every step, every gesture had already been measured out and accounted for before he even entered the room. He always took off his shoes the same way, lined them up neatly by the door, his coat went on the same hook every time, folded precisely at the collar and when he sat, it wasn’t just a boyish sprawl—it was a kind of quiet command, back straight, shoulders down, fingers steepled against his lips as he listened to you speak. There was no excess in him, no wasted movement as he poured tea without spilling and smoothed the blanket over the couch with an almost unconscious precision.

Yet, with you, something in him changed. Not slackened, he was still crisp around the edges, but softened, like the sharpness of him bent inward when he touched you. Jisung saw the way Chris brushed your hair back from your face, the way he pressed a kiss to your temple like a ritual, not routine, he watched Chris hold you with a quiet thoroughness, a kind of intentional care that never once looked performative, never rushed, never careless, always with a kind of reverence that made Jisung feel like he was intruding on something sacred.

At first, he kept his distance, just watched casually, leaned an elbow on his windowsill with headphones on, pretending not to be paying attention. Until it became routine. A quiet ritual of sorts, he’d turn the lights low in his apartment when the sun dipped below the skyline, phone forgotten on the floor as he curled against the frame, sometimes with tea, sometimes just with silence. He watched as Chris came up behind you at the stove, arms winding around your waist, lips brushing your neck, watched you curl into him on the couch, your body tucked against his like a second skin, watched the way Chris would tip your chin up when he kissed you like he couldn’t stand the distance of even an inch.

It wasn’t dirty, not at first, not really. It was fascination. Jisung liked watching how you lived, how you existed together, like the world didn’t press on you the way it pressed on everyone else. There was ease in the way you laughed, grace in how Chris followed you with his gaze like he never wanted to miss a single moment of you being you. That was the part that haunted Jisung the most, that gaze, that silent hunger in Chris’s eyes every time he looked at you, like he couldn’t believe he got to touch you, talk to you, love you.

At first, Jisung envied him—envied the way Chris moved through your world like he belonged there, thinking he wanted to be Chris, to have his steadiness, his place beside you, but that wasn’t it, it just wasn't. He didn’t want to be him, instead, he wanted to be there, in that space between you, with you, be part of the golden, honey-drenched world behind your windows, where everything looked softer, quieter, warmer than anything that lived in his own dim apartment, not just watching from the outside like some ghost of a boy stuck behind glass, half-alive in the flicker of someone else's intimacy.

He knew it wasn’t healthy. Knew it crossed a line, maybe several, but every time he told himself to stop, every time he pulled the curtain shut and tried to turn away, some small part of him whispered to look just a little longer, just until the lights turned off, just until the sound of your laughter faded, just until the window went dark again and he could pretend, for a few seconds longer, that he belonged to the world inside it.

It got worse by the second week.

That was when the heat really began to coil in his stomach—slow, molten, thick with something he didn’t want to name, something wrong in a way that didn’t stop him. It curled low and deep, anchored itself inside him like a hook, tugging every time he looked too long, every time he told himself he wouldn't and then did anyway. Jisung told himself he wasn’t a voyeur. That he wasn’t the type to press his fingertips against the glass like a starving thing just to get closer to something he could never touch, never deserve, but by the second week he had already memorized the slope of Chris’s spine when he walked out of the bathroom towel-draped and steaming from a shower, the way water clung to his shoulder blades, glistening in the hallway light as he stretched his arms overhead and cracked his neck, fluid, unselfconscious, clean in a way Jisung felt filthy just for witnessing. Unaware, or maybe indifferent, to who might be watching.

And Jisung watched. God, he watched.

It wasn’t like Chris paraded around naked, he was discreet at first, but there were slivers, glimpses. Moments when he moved from the bathroom to the bedroom with nothing but a towel slung low across his hips, droplets carving paths down the thick lines of muscle across his chest and stomach, skin pale, smooth, firm. There was a kind of animal grace in the way he moved, tense but lazy, like he could snap into motion at any moment but chose not to. And Jisung found himself staring—frozen, breath shallow—when Chris ran a hand through his wet hair and wiped at the back of his neck, exposing the hard cut of his jaw and the veins that ran like subtle roads down his forearms.

He wasn't sure if you were as innocent. Maybe you didn’t know you were being watched, maybe you did, there were nights Jisung couldn’t tell—nights when the way you moved felt too careless to be entirely unknowing, too precise to be accidental, but not deliberate enough to be certain. You would drift barefoot through the apartment wearing only that thin robe, the one that clung to your body like it didn’t quite belong to you, like it might slip off at any second if you breathed too deep, the one that fell just barely long enough to be decent, and even then, barely, he could see the shadow of your thighs through the fabric, the line of your collarbone catching in the lamplight, the slow bend of your body when you set something down and the way the robe shifted with you, slipping at the chest or parting just enough to make his throat go dry. As if none of it mattered, as if no one was watching.

There were nights when the distance between you and Chris seemed to vanish completely, when the gentle undercurrent of touch and glance gave way to something heavier, something Jisung could feel humming through the glass. It would start small, Chris brushing a strand of hair from your face, his hand lingering a moment too long against your cheek, your eyes would soften, your body would lean into his just slightly, almost imperceptibly, like gravity had a preference. And then you’d kiss him. Slow at first, like a secret, like you needed him to breathe.

Like every part of you had been made to fit into his hands, and he touched you like he knew it, kisses that started soft but deepened fast, turned hungry. Sometimes Chris would press you up against the wall near the window, mouths locked together, and Jisung would sit there, transfixed, pulse hammering in his ears, so hard and aching he couldn’t even look away. He knew it wasn’t polite, knew it was a kind of sickness, this yearning, but he couldn’t help it, it wasn’t just lust—not really. It was the way you fit. The way you moved around each other like you’d rehearsed it for years, the kind of chemistry that radiated off you both like heat from a fevered body.

He wanted it. Not just to see it—he wanted to be part of it, a hand on your thigh, your mouth on his neck, Chris’s voice, low and strained, in his ear, telling him where to go, how to touch you. He thought about it more often than he admitted, hand wrapped around himself in the dark as he imagined the weight of Chris’s body above him, the sound of your breath in his mouth, soft and sweet and desperate. And It scared him a little, how vivid the fantasies became, how natural it started to feel, like your apartment wasn’t across the street, but just on the other side of a thin wall. As if he knocked, really knocked, you might open the door and invite him in with a crooked smile and a whisper of, we’ve been waiting for you. He wanted you both, wanted to taste the way you kissed, wanted to feel Chris’s hand pressed firm to the back of his neck, grounding him, wanted to sink into your warmth and never come back out.

But the curtains always closed just before it went too far, always. Right when hands started sliding beneath clothes, right when your body arched into Chris’s touch and his mouth found the curve of your throat, the curtains would draw, soft and deliberate, and the golden light would fade, leaving only the outline of movement behind linen. A tease, a dream, a punishment that Jisung would sit in for long minutes, heart beating too fast, forehead against the glass, hands clenched white in his lap.

He’d never hated anything the way he hated those goddamn curtains. Those thin, useless things always hovering in that maddening in-between, whispering just enough of what he couldn’t have. They taunted him, soft, drifting folds, fluttering like breath against glass, like a veil over something sacred. Every time they shifted, they gave him just a sliver, a glimpse of skin, a shadow moving, the curve of a shoulder, a mouth half-parted, teasing, withholding, smirking in silk. He wondered how could a man hate fabric and yet, he did, viscerally, with every inch of him.

Until that night, were the curtains didn’t close.

It was past one, well past, the kind of hour where the city outside had gone quiet, even the neon signs dulled with exhaustion. The streets emptied like something sacred had settled over them, ans Jisung hadn’t meant to be awake. He’d told himself he wouldn’t look tonight, not again, not after how raw he’d felt the night before, sitting there in the dark with his chest heaving and his hands shaking, guilt eating at him like rot. But something tugged at him anyway, something that lived in the soft meat of obsession, that whispered just check, and he did. You were there.

The lights were dim, just the kitchen ones casting a low amber wash across the apartment, warm and hushed, like a secret, and Chris was home again. He must have been gone for a few days—Jisung had noticed the difference, the quiet vacancy in the space, the way you moved slower, like the air around you had thickened in his absence, but now he was back, standing in the kitchen barefoot, his shirt discarded somewhere out of view, damp curls curling over his forehead like he’d just stepped out of the shower or maybe the rain. His jeans were slung low on his hips, unbuttoned like he hadn’t gotten around to finishing undressing, like he didn’t need to. And you were against him.

Jisung stopped breathing.

You had your back to the counter, perched slightly on the edge, legs parted around Chris’s hips, your robe was gone—just a tank top now, one of his maybe, nearly sheer with wear, clinging to your body like it belonged there. No bra. He could see the soft press of your nipples through the thin fabric, and Chris had his hands on your thighs, fingers gripping just under the hem of your shorts, dragging you closer, slotting himself between your legs like it was the most natural place in the world.

And it wasn't much, not really, just kissing. But it was that kind of kissing, the kind that made heat pool low in Jisung’s stomach, that made his skin burn beneath his clothes and his throat tighten with something ugly and sweet. Chris moved one one hand to the back of your neck, tilting your head just right, the other braced against your hip as he kissed you slow, deep, filthy, like he was trying to taste the days he’d missed, like he was going to fuck you with his mouth before he ever touched anything else.

Your hands roamed across his back, dragging fingernails lightly over muscle, down his spine, anchoring him to you and Jisung could see the subtle roll of your hips against him, the way Chris groaned, actually groaned, into your mouth and pulled you in harder, as if he couldn't stand to leave even a sliver of space between you.

Jisung sat frozen, air barely moving in and out of his lungs. He felt fevered, too hot in his skin, like something shameful and electric was crawling through him knowing he should look away, should close the curtain, turn the lights on, snap himself out of it. But he didn’t, he couldn’t and he was hard, of course he was, but he didn’t touch himself just yet telling himself he wasn't like this. Just clenched his jaw, fists white-knuckled in his lap as his gaze stayed locked on the scene playing out behind that golden window like it had been staged just for him.

Chris’s lips were at your neck now, biting soft and slow, and your head tilted back with a gasp. Jisung could practically feel it. The heat between you, the way your bodies pulled at each other like magnets, like gravity had nothing to do with it. His eyes burned from not blinking, chest tight with the ache of it.

He should stop, this was the line he promissed he wouldn't cross, but when Chris dipped his head lower, mouth ghosting over your chest, and you arched into him with your hands tangled in his hair— Jisung’s breath hitched, and he leaned forward, so close to the glass now his forehead almost touched it. The curtains stayed open.

You slid off the counter like you’d done it a hundred times, thighs brushing Chris’s hips, your mouth still clinging to his like it couldn’t bear to let go. Jisung watched your fingers curl into the waistband of his jeans, slow, teasing, deliberate. You said something—he couldn’t hear it, but the words were pressed close to Chris’s mouth, your lips brushing his jaw, and whatever it was made Chris huff out a broken, desperate sound that cracked through Jisung’s ribs like a fault line.

Chris leaned back against the counter now, his hands braced on either side, chest rising and falling in hard, uneven pulls. He looked wrecked already, barefoot, shirtless, eyes half-lidded and lips swollen from your kisses. And you were looking at him like he was something to be devoured.

Jisung’s whole body tensed when you dropped to your knees.

It was slow, intentional, like something sacred, like worship. Your hands slid up Chris’s thighs, pushing the denim lower, revealing more skin inch by inch. Jisung could see the muscle twitch in Chris’s abdomen, his head tipping back with a soft shudder, eyes fluttering closed as your mouth trailed kisses along his hip, just above the waistband of his boxers. You were taking your time, drawing it out. Making him feel every second of your mouth on his skin. And Chris let you—he stood there, shaking slightly, hands tightening on the counter behind him, letting you have him.

Jisung’s breath caught hard in his throat, his whole body rigid with heat. His cock throbbed beneath his waistband, aching, pulsing. He still didn’t touch himself—couldn’t—but his legs pressed together unconsciously, his breath stuttering as he stared, helpless and hungry and burning.

Chris finally looked down at you, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your head, not pushing, just there, tender and possessive. You looked up at him as you kissed the inside of his thigh, your mouth so close now, breath warm against him. And he nodded—just once, slow, reverent, whatever passed between you in that moment, Jisung could feel it. The intimacy of it, the trust, the unbearable heat of knowing you were about to wreck each other in ways no one else ever could.

And then your mouth was on him.

Jisung’s whole body jerked. He couldn’t see everything—Chris’s hips blocked the view—but he saw the way Chris reacted. His fingers clenched in your hair. His head hit the cabinet behind him with a soft, stunned thud, lips parting around a moan Jisung couldn’t hear but felt. His hips bucked once, instinctive, and your hands smoothed up his thighs, grounding him, controlling him. You were working him slow, deep, obscene—and Chris looked like he was barely holding it together.

Jisung’s throat was dry. His heart beat like it was trying to claw its way out as he didn’t dare move, afraid that if he blinked, it would all vanish. That the curtains would snap shut, and he’d be left with nothing but the echo of Chris’s face, tilted toward the ceiling, lips parted in silent pleasure. He wanted to look away.

He couldn’t.

Jisung’s hand moved without conscious thought—palm pressing down hard over the bulge in his sweatpants, grinding slow, just enough pressure to take the edge off the sharp, aching tension coiled in his gut. It was shameful, disgusting, and he hated how good it felt, how right, like his body had been waiting for permission, like it had known from the start this was inevitable. Across the narrow stretch of night, in the golden-lit window, you were still on your knees. Still unhurried, still devastating.

Chris’s hand was in your hair now, holding you there—not rough, not demanding, but trembling with restraint. His chest heaved with every breath, shoulders taut, head tilted down just far enough to watch you. His lips moved—murmuring something, maybe your name, maybe a string of curses—and you moaned around him, the vibration making his hips jerk forward against your mouth.

Jisung’s hand pressed harder, grinding the heel of his palm against himself with a low, shuddering breath. He didn’t pull his cock out—wouldn’t let himself—but the friction was unbearable. It felt like his whole body was drawn tight around that single point of contact. His thighs were tense, jaw locked, forehead slick with sweat as he imagined what your mouth felt like, imagined the way your lips stretched around Chris’s length, the soft glide of spit down your chin, the obscene wet sounds echoing in the warm hush of your kitchen. Imagined kneeling beside you, your hands guiding him toward your mouth, your eyes glittering with invitation.

Chris pulled you off with a gasp. Not harsh—desperate,as if he let you keep going he’d lose control too fast. His cock glistened in the low light, thick and flushed and heavy between his legs, and Jisung made a sound low in his throat, breath catching. He palmed himself harder now, head tipping back against the air, thighs spread wider as his hips rolled into the pressure.

Then you were standing again, your mouth red and shining, your eyes half-lidded as you leaned in to kiss him. It was messy now—hot, gasping, sloppy, Chris gripped your waist and hauled you into him, your legs wrapping around his hips as he lifted you onto the counter. The tank top slipped higher, and Jisung caught a flash of bare skin beneath, the soft underside of your breast dragging against Chris’s chest. He pressed himself between your legs again, grinding against you through the thin fabric of your shorts, your hips rolling to meet him with a rhythm that was building, dangerous. Chris’s mouth moved down your neck, his hand sliding up your thigh, thumb tracing maddening circles along the edge of your underwear and you let your head fall back, baring your throat, moaning something soft that Jisung imagined was abreathless plea.

Jisung’s hips bucked, his hand was moving now, slow and firm through the soft fabric, trying to muffle the twitch of his cock and the spiraling tension clawing up his spine. He was barely breathing, completely still except for that rocking grind, that pulse of shame and hunger that had fused in him like something alive. He wanted to be between your thighs, wanted Chris’s hands on him, wanted to be crushed between you, used by you, owned by you. The image burned into his brain, red and bright and holy.

And still, the curtains stayed open.

Chris's hand slipped beneath your shorts, and Jisung saw it—saw your body jolt, your thighs twitch around his hips, your mouth part on a gasp that never made a sound but looked like it could’ve shattered glass. Chris didn’t rush. His fingers moved with purpose, with a confidence that told Jisung this wasn’t new—this rhythm, this need—but that it never got old, either, he knew you, knew every inch of you and he touched you like a man possessed.

Jisung pressed his palm harder over his cock, the pressure maddening, frustrating, almost not enough. His whole body burned—skin flushed, lips parted, breath coming in soft, shallow pants as he watched Chris's fingers work beneath the fabric. Your hips ground into him, chasing every stroke, your hands tight around his shoulders like you needed the anchor. Jisung couldn’t see what Chris was doing under there, not really—but he didn’t have to. The way your body writhed against him, the way your breath hitched and your back arched—God, he knew.

And Chris—fuck, Chris looked ruined with want. That heavy, dark hunger in his eyes never wavered, fixed on you like he could burn through you with just his gaze, his arm, corded with muscle and dusted in a sheen of sweat was locked around your waist, thick veins running the length of his forearm as he held you flush to him like it cost him something not to bury himself deeper. Pale skin flushed at the neck, chest heaving with every breath, his shirt clung to the ridges of his torso, the fabric damp and stretched across his broad shoulders and his mouth was at your ear now, lips brushing skin as he murmured things too low for Jisung to hear—things that made you whimper, made your spine curve, made your fingers dig into his side like you needed to hold on. His other hand cradled the back of your neck, fingers splayed wide, thumb stroking your pulse like he needed the proof that you were there with him, alive and shaking for him.

He kept you so close, so tightly pressed to him that it looked like even a sliver of space between you would’ve been unbearable. Your tank top had slipped from one shoulder, leaving the slope of it bare, and Chris dipped his head low, lips grazing the hollow between your collarbones, his teeth followed, dragging against your skin in a slow scrape, and the groan he let out was felt more than heard—raw, hungry, like he wanted to swallow you whole too. All the while, his fingers moved lower between your thighs with unrelenting focus, working you open with the same precision in his touch as in his stare, like he was memorizing every reaction you gave him, carving it into his bones.

Your head fell forward, forehead pressing against Chris’s, and Jisung’s whole body clenched at the intimacy of it. How close you were, how much you needed each other, how was more than just sex—it was like watching gravity itself bend to keep you tethered, like neither of you could bear the thought of being apart.

Jisung palmed himself harder now, biting his lip to keep from groaning. His cock throbbed, trapped in his pants, leaking, aching, he was so close to the edge he could barely see. Every drag of Chris’s fingers between your legs echoed in his bones, every soft grind of your hips made his own twitch in response, involuntary and shameful and so good. He could almost feel the heat of your bodies, the slick friction of sweat-slick skin, the sound of your breath tangled together as Chris lifted your tank top, just enough to expose one breast, and his mouth was on you a second later—wet, hungry, reverent. Your back arched, thighs squeezing around his hips, one hand tangling in his hair as he sucked your nipple between his lips and groaned into your skin.

Jisung whimpered, actually whimpered. His hand stilled, just for a second, like the shame had caught up with him—but the ache didn’t fade. The image was seared behind his eyes, hot and pulsing and real, Chris between your legs, your hands clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping you grounded, the desperate, grinding rhythm of your hips, the wet sheen of spit and sweat and need.

He didn’t want to come, not yet, ot like this, but he was so close—his thighs trembling, stomach tight, his cock leaking into his boxers with every shallow roll of his hips against his palm as he clenched his jaw, squeezing his eyes shut for half a breath, trying to hold on. But when he opened them again— Chris had pulled your shorts to the side, he was on his knees now, and your hands were in his hair, head thrown back, thighs spread wide and trembling— Jisung couldn’t look away.

He broke.

There wasn’t a single moment he could point to—no line crossed or switch flipped, just the slow, suffocating build of it, the pressure mounting minute by minute until it shattered through him with quiet, devastating finality. His hand slipped beneath the waistband of his sweatpants, skin on skin, hot and slick and aching and his breath punched out of him like he’d been hit. He curled his fingers around his cock, finally, desperately, the contact sending a bolt of pleasure through his spine so sharp it bordered on pain.

Across the gap, through that glowing rectangle of heat and shadow, you were spread open on the kitchen counter, thighs trembling, eyes half-shut. Chris had your legs over his shoulders, arms wrapped under your hips to keep you anchored, face buried between your thighs like he lived there and you—God, you looked like you were unraveling for him. Head tipped back, mouth parted, hand clutching at your own breast through your shirt, fingers pinching and pulling in rhythm with his tongue.

Jisung’s fist moved in tight, steady strokes, his thumb catching the slick at the tip, smearing it down as he exhaled sharp through his nose, eyes locked on your trembling form as his hips bucked up into his palm, quiet curses tumbling out under his breath. He didn’t even try to stop anymore, didn’t pretend. He was fucking himself to you—because of you—and it felt like he’d been waiting his entire life to do it. He imagined the way your thighs would feel around his head, the way you’d look down at him, fingers buried in his hair, whispering praise or filth, maybe both. He imagined Chris watching, not angry, mot jealous, inviting, holding you open while Jisung fucked you with his tongue, whispering in your ear how beautiful you looked with two of them between your legs. Maybe touching himself, maybe touching him, too.

His strokes got faster.

Chris was devouring you. His head moved in slow, hungry rolls, hands gripping your thighs like they were the only thing tethering him to earth as your hips lifted off the counter with every pass of his tongue, back arching, hands grasping at anything—his hair, the edge of the counter, your own thighs. One of your legs slipped, and he caught it easily, lifting it higher, spreading you further, like he wanted to crawl inside you and never leave.

Jisung bit down on the inside of his wrist to keep from moaning. He was fucking into his fist now, panting, feverish, cock slick, throbbing in his palm, and every soundless cry from your mouth made him squeeze harder, stroke faster, chasing the edge with dizzying speed. Chris pulled back for a breath—his face wet with you, lips swollen, eyes dark, he said something—filthy, judging by the look on your face and you reached for him instantly, dragging him up into another kiss, tasting yourself on his mouth.

Jisung whimpered aloud. He was close, so fucking close, pressing his forehead to the window, breath fogging the glass, his fist pumping slick and hard. You were rolling your hips against Chris now, grinding against the thick bulge in his jeans, your bodies moving together like instinct, like gravity, like sin. He could see the outline of your soaked underwear, the twitch of your thighs, the glazed, desperate look in your eyes.

Jisung's hand moved faster, tighter, the heat of his palm soaked through with slick, every stroke sending sparks ricocheting up his spine. His breath came in shallow, broken gasps, lips parted, sweat sticking to his temples, the waistband of his sweats digging into his hips. He was right there—right fucking there—his toes curling, thighs clenching, that tight electric coil in his gut threatening to snap. One more stroke and he’d fall apart.

But he didn’t.

He couldn’t.

He stopped.

Choked on the pleasure like it was smoke in his lungs, fingers trembling as he hovered on the brink of release. The ache in his cock was unbearable, pulsing, angry, but the guilt clawing at the edge of his consciousness tasted even worse. His stomach twisted. His whole body rebelled against the denial, twitching with frustration and need as he squeezed the base of his shaft hard, biting down on his lip so sharp he tasted blood.

He shouldn't, but still, he watched.

Chris was back between your legs, one arm locked around your waist to keep you close as he rutted against you, still clothed, his cock grinding into your soaked panties through the thin denim. His mouth was back at your breast, kissing and sucking and moaning into your skin while you clung to him like he was the only thing tethering you to the world, your tank top was halfway off, your thighs spread wide over the counter, the waistband of your shorts bunched at one side, giving Jisung teasing, impossible flashes of wet lace and flushed skin. You rolled your hips with each drag of Chris’s cock against your center, your face open and needy and completely lost in it. You were beautiful, wrecked, gone.

Jisung could feel his heartbeat in his cock, throbbing, pulsing like it was trying to crawl out of his skin. His hand hovered, twitching, aching for friction as he palmed himself again—lightly this time, barely there—just enough to send another sharp, punishing jolt of pleasure racing through him. His knees nearly gave out, but he wouldn’t come, not yet. Not until he saw everything.

Chris pulled back just enough to look at you. His hand dragged down your stomach, slow and reverent, disappearing between your legs again as you cried out—mouth open, hips twitching—and Jisung imagined his fingers sliding through you, rubbing slow circles over your clit, spreading you open and working you like he owned you. He watched Chris lean in and kiss your throat, slow and tender, whispering against your skin and you said something back, breathless, smiling faintly through the haze.

Jisung let his hand fall away completely.

His cock twitched in protest, leaking, the ache twisting deeper in his belly like hunger left unfed. He wanted to scream, to beg, but instead, he pressed his forehead to the glass harder and let the edge swallow him whole, trembling and ruined and completely, utterly yours.

Chris’s hand disappeared again beneath your shorts, and this time your whole body answered with a sudden jolt, hips lifting, thighs tightening around his sides like they knew what was coming. Your arms looped around his neck, mouth brushing his, your forehead to his. The closeness between you felt unbearable even from across the street. Jisung could see the way you looked at him. Not just with want, but with this deep, surrendered sort of hunger. Like you needed him inside you just to breathe again.

Chris said something, a low murmur against your lips. You nodded.

That was it.

He reached between you again, this time with both hands, one tugging your shorts down to your knees, the other undoing his jeans. The sight was dizzying, hurried but still patient somehow, like he couldn’t help himself anymore but didn’t want to rush it either. His boxers slid low enough to free his cock, flushed and heavy, and Jisung sucked in a ragged breath as Chris stroked himself once, slow and tight from base to tip, his eyes locked on your face the whole time. You leaned back, bracing yourself on your elbows, your legs wide, panties askew, the wet shine of your cunt catching the kitchen light like something sacred. Chris lined himself up, and then—slowly, so slowly—he pushed inside.

Jisung’s breath caught like it had been yanked from his throat. His knees buckled slightly, one hand grabbing the edge of the windowsill to steady himself while the other slipped beneath his waistband again. He spat into his palm, quick, messy, desperate, and wrapped his hand around his cock, stroking slow, drawn-out pulls as he watched.

Chris sank into you with all the reverence of a man crawling into heaven. His jaw was clenched, eyes squeezed shut as he buried himself to the hilt, your body arching to take him, thighs trembling around his hips and when he bottomed out, hips flush against yours, hands braced on either side of the counter, he just held there for a second, like he couldn’t believe you were real, like the feeling of you wrapped around him was too good, too much.

Jisung stroked himself tighter, slick and slow, each movement winding that coil inside him even tighter. He couldn’t hear you so well—but he didn’t need to, he saw it, the way you gasped when Chris pulled back just a little, then thrust forward again with a slow, grinding rhythm. The way your eyes fluttered shut, your mouth falling open in a moan so soft and deep it looked like it could’ve been a prayer.

Chris set the pace, deliberate, devastating, each thrust slow and thick like he was savoring the drag, the way your body clung to him, the way you gasped just under your breath like you were trying not to fall apart too soon. He moved with maddening control, hips rolling with that signature, almost unbearable precision, like he knew exactly how to undo you and had no intention of rushing it. His brows were drawn tight in concentration, sweat sliding down his temples, jaw slack with restraint as he watched himself disappear into you over and over again, how the muscles in his thighs flexed with every grind, his abs tightening on every exhale, and there was something reverent in the way he held your hips like he needed the anchor.

And Jisung—God, Jisung wanted in. Not just to watch, not just to jerk off like some pathetic afterthought in the dark, he wanted to be there, between you, under you, with you. He wanted Chris’s hands on him, wanted to feel those strong, veiny arms pinning him down, that pale, sweat-slick chest pressed tight to his back while Chris fucked both of you open. He wanted to taste you where you were stretched around him, wanted to hear you beg with your mouth on his while Chris fucked you slow and deep and unrelenting.

But more than anything, more than anything, he wanted Chris—wanted to feel the weight of him, the heat of him, the strength in his thighs as they braced around him, the way his voice would drop when he moaned Jisung’s name. He wanted to be split apart on Chris’s cock, wanted to sob into the sheets while Chris held his hips and took him apart like it was nothing, like he belonged to him. He wanted to know how it felt to be the one under that gaze, those dark, hungry eyes locked on his face like he was the sweetest thing Chris had ever tasted. He was so hard he could barely breathe, the ache inside him sharp and deep and endless, and still it wasn’t enough—because he didn’t just want to watch, he wanted to be wanted, by you, by him.

One of your hands slipped down between your legs, fingers circling your clit in sync with his rhythm, and Jisung bit down hard on a curse, his throat tight with want. He could see how soaked you were, the way your slick spread along Chris’s cock every time he pulled back, glistening under the dim light, every inch of him sheathed in the evidence of how good he was making you feel. And the worst part—the most intoxicating—was how Chris looked at you: lips parted, eyes dark and drowning, completely gone for it, like the feeling of you wrapped around him was the only thing keeping him breathing. Jisung could feel it, the echo of your pleasure, the weight of Chris’s need, like it was his own, like he was the one being split open by that slow, relentless rhythm.

He pumped his cock faster now, his palm wet and hot with spit and precome, thighs tensing with every stroke. The wet sound of skin against skin didn’t reach his ears, but he could imagine it—could hear it in his head, along with the imagined moans, the whimpers, the broken cries of his name that Chris would drink from your mouth like they were everything he’d ever needed.

From across the dark gap of air and glass, Jisung watched, broken open.

His strokes had grown frantic. Not messy—purposeful. His palm was soaked, his thighs trembling, every pull of his hand slick and tight and cruel. His forehead stayed against the window, fogging the glass with each ragged exhale, breath syncing unconsciously to the rhythm of Chris’s hips slamming into yours. He was past shame now, far past hesitation, he couldn’t stop, couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. Inside the golden-lit kitchen, you were close—so close—your fingers gripping Chris’s back, hips twitching each time he bottomed out. Your head dropped back, eyes fluttering shut, mouth open on a moan he couldn’t hear but could feel. as Chris’s hand slipped between your bodies, and the moment his fingers touched you, your whole body arched, taut and sharp as a bow drawn tight, and you broke.

You came in his arms, gasping, shaking, your body trembling with release and Chris held you through it, breathing harshly against your neck, hips slowing but not stopping, like he needed just a little more, just a few more thrusts. He kissed you hard, sloppy, full of tongue and teeth and something deeper, and then it broke.

He came too, Jisung saw it, felt it, like a tremor in the air, a ripple that broke the tension in Chris’s body all at once. The way his spine arched, taut and straining, every sculpted line of him trembling as he sank in deep one final time, hips grinding flush against you in a slow, desperate press. His mouth fell open on a ragged gasp, eyes screwed shut so tightly his lashes trembled, sweat catching in the curve of his brow. Muscles locked, back flexed, chest heaving, he poured into you with a groan so guttural it seemed to tear from somewhere deep inside him, something unguarded and almost broken. His jaw clenched hard against your shoulder, stifling the sound like it was too raw to give voice to, while his arms caged around you like he’d fall apart if he let go. Every inch of him, his shaking thighs, his trembling hands, the way he clung to you like you were the only real thing left in the world, made it impossible for Jisung to look away, he was glowing and wrecked all at once, every breath caught on the edge of a prayer or a curse, and that—that impossible sight of Chris undone—was what unraveled Jisung.

He came with a stifled sound punched into the crook of his arm, his hand pumping hard, his cock jerking between his fingers. It hit him like a wave, violent and full, his hips bucking, breath breaking as he spilled over his palm and into the waistband of his pants, vision blacking at the edges from how long he’d held it back. It was dizzying, blinding, delicious. He tipped against the window, chest heaving, sweat cooling on his skin and inside the apartment across from him, you and Chris held each other in the dim kitchen light—still tangled together, still panting, still glowing in the aftershock of what you’d shared. Jisung wiped his hand absently on his shirt, but his eyes never left the view.

Not even when you finally reached out, smiled at him lazily, and pulled the curtains closed.