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hoe4hotchner · 6 days ago

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As a fellow Danish Hotch enjoyer (han er min lille pookie) , I need Hotch x Danish reader who starts speaking Danish when she gets tired. She also keeps insisting that Jack should watch Kaj og Andrea.

Bakke snagvendt | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Danish fem!reader | WC: 1.5k | CW: Fluff

A/N: I LOVE THIS!!!! Honestly I think I have the puppets laying somewhere in my parents' house.

This is very niche, so I added translations to the parts in danish ;)

The first time you slipped into Danish around Aaron, he didn’t interrupt. The silence of his response was as gentle as the moment itself. You were sprawled across his couch, your feet tucked beneath a soft blanket he kept draped over the armrest. Your head rested against his shoulder, the steady rhythm of his breathing lulling you deeper and deeper into sleep as your eyelids grew heavier with each passing second.

The living room was bathed in the soft glow from a single lamp, casting warm shadows across the carpeted floor. In the background, a crime documentary droned on the television, which you were surprised he had agreed to watch with you given his job.

An hour earlier, you’d been sitting cross-legged on Jack’s bed, reading Where the Wild Things Are to him with an exaggerated, vaguely British accent that sent him into fits of giggles. His laughter had echoed through the small bedroom, his small hands clutching the edges of his dinosaur-patterned duvet as he begged for “just one more page.”

Now, with Jack tucked in and the apartment settled into silence, you felt the weight of the day pulling you under. Your lips parted, and a string of words spilled out, soft and slurred, utterly incomprehensible to Aaron’s tired ears.

“–jeg kan ikke holde mine øjne åbne længere, de er tunge som bly–” (I can't keep my eyes open anymore, they're as heavy as lead)

Aaron blinked, his eyes flickering with curiosity as he tilted his head slightly, trying to parse the unfamiliar syllables. “What was that?” he asked, his voice low, careful not to disturb the peace of the moment.

You didn’t respond. Instead, you let out a contented sigh, your body sinking deeper into his side, your murmurs fading into a quiet mumble. The cadence of your voice was different in Danish–softer, more melodic, the consonants rounded and gentle.

Aaron didn’t press further. He watched you, the way your lashes fluttered against your cheeks, the way your fingers curled loosely around the edge of the blanket. There was something intimate about it, the way your mother tongue surfaced when your defenses were down. He didn’t understand the words, but he didn’t need to.

It wasn’t until a week later, in the midst of a different kind of chaos, that he brought it up. The living room was a battlefield of LEGO pieces, scattered across the rug like colorful shrapnel. You were sprawled on the floor, one of his old academy shirts on, its hem brushing your thighs as you sat cross-legged beside Jack. The two of you were deep in the construction of a LEGO dinosaur, a T-Rex with a wobbly head and a tail that kept snapping off.

Your eyes were pink-rimmed from a long day at work, but you were patient, handing Jack pieces and offering quiet encouragement as he debated where the next block should go.

Jack had scampered off to brush his teeth, leaving you alone with the half-built creature. You slumped against the base of the couch, the T-Rex dangling from your hand as you muttered to yourself, “Det giver ingen mening, LEGO er i mit DNA!” (It makes no sense, LEGO is in my DNA!)

Aaron, seated in his armchair with a newspaper spread across his lap, lowered the pages just enough to peer at you over the top. “Sweetheart?” he called, his voice carrying that familiar mix of amusement and affection.

“Hm?” you replied, your head tilting lazily toward him, your expression dazed and dreamy.

“You’re doing it again,” he said, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Doing what?” you asked, blinking as if your brain was slowly rebooting.

He folded the newspaper with care, setting it aside before crossing the room to kneel beside you. His hand found your hair, his fingers brushing it back from your face with a tenderness that felt like it belonged to a different world. “Speaking…Danish. I think,” he said, his smile widening just enough to crinkle the corners of his eyes.

You froze, your cheeks flushing a soft pink as realization dawned. “Oh,” you said, your voice small. “Sorry. I–I do that sometimes. When I’m tired.”

“Don’t apologize,” he said, his tone firm but warm, his thumb grazing your cheek. “It’s cute.”

“Cute?” you huffed, though the corners of your mouth betrayed you, curling into a reluctant smile. “Well. Det er fandme første gang nogen har sagt det.” (Damn, that's the first time anyone's ever said that.)

Aaron’s brow arched, his expression a mix of curiosity and mock suspicion. “I assume that wasn’t an insult.”

Your grin widened, bright and mischievous. “No. Just…never mind. You’re not ready for that one.”

It became a quiet thread woven into the fabric of your relationship, slipping into Danish when the world grew heavy or soft. It was never intentional, never a performance–just you, sleepy, your sweater slipping off one shoulder, your hair mussed from the couch pillow or the armrest of Aaron’s car.

The words mostly came in fragments, not full sentences, as if your brain relinquished its hold on English when exhaustion took over. Aaron began to notice the patterns: the way your voice softened, the way the Danish words carried a rhythm that felt like home to you, even if he couldn’t follow the meaning.

One evening, as summer bled into autumn, you were both out on the balcony, the air crisp and cool. You were curled up in a wicker chair, a glass of red wine cradled in your hands, the deep ruby liquid catching the light from the string of bulbs you had hung on the railing.

You were half-asleep, your head tipped back, when you mumbled, “Skal vi ikke bare gå i seng…” (Shouldn’t we just go to bed)

Aaron, seated beside you with a book he hadn’t been reading, glanced over and gently pried the wine glass from your fingers before it could tip.

“We will,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Just one more minute.”

You nodded, your eyes closed, your lips curving into a faint smile, even though you hadn’t fully registered his words. He didn’t mind.

But then came your campaign, and with it, a new kind of chaos. It started one evening in the kitchen, the air thick with the scent of garlic and thyme as Aaron chopped vegetables for dinner. You leaned over the island, your elbows propped on the granite, your eyes sparkling with the kind of mischief that made Jack your instant ally.

“Jack,” you said, your voice low and conspiratorial, as if you were plotting a heist. “You know what you need to watch?”

Jack, perched on a stool with a glass of apple juice, leaned in, his eyes wide with excitement. “What?”

“Kaj og Andrea,” you declared, with the gravitas of someone revealing a long-guarded secret.

Aaron paused, his knife hovering over a carrot. “What’s that?” he asked, his tone cautious, as if he sensed the tide turning against him.

“The best thing ever,” you said, straightening up and planting your hands on your hips. “It’s a Danish children’s show. About a frog and a parrot. They live in a little apartment and argue and eat popcorn. It’s iconic.”

Jack’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Can we watch it?” he asked, already sliding off the stool and making a beeline for the living room.

Aaron held up a hand, his expression a mix of skepticism and amusement. “Let’s…just take a moment. Is this in English?”

You stared at him, your mouth slightly open, as if he’d just asked if the moon was made of cheese. “No. Of course not. It’s in Danish. That’s the whole charm.”

Jack, already halfway to the couch, called back, “I wanna watch the frog one!”

You shot Aaron a smug look, your eyes dancing with victory. “He’s a man of culture.”

Aaron gave you a long, measured look over the counter, his lips twitching. “If he starts mixing Danish with his math homework, that’s on you.”

“Helt fair,” (Fair enough) you said sweetly, batting your lashes. “You’ll just have to learn too.”

Later that night, long after Jack had been tucked into bed and the house had settled into its familiar quiet, you were curled up against Aaron in his bed. The soft glow of your phone illuminated your face as you scrolled through clips on YouTube, your enthusiasm undimmed despite the late hour.

You held the phone out to him, your eyes bright. “Just watch one clip. One. They sing about talking backward.”

Aaron took one look at the brightly colored puppets–a green frog with a lopsided grin and a parrot with a penchant for dramatic gestures–and shook his head, a low laugh rumbling in his chest. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m Danish,” you corrected, your voice thick with sleep as you yawned. “It’s worse, the Swedes would agree.”

He didn’t argue. Instead, he pressed a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there as he pulled the blankets up higher around you, tucking them beneath your chin. “I wouldn’t change a thing,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

Even when you started mumbling about frogs and parrots in Danish, your voice trailing off into soft, happy nonsense as you drifted to sleep against his chest, Aaron only smiled. He tightened his arms around you, holding you close, and let the unfamiliar words wash over him like a lullaby.

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oh-no-its-bird · 2 months ago

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Welcome back to another episode of "Birds incredibly niche aus that are almost definitely inspired off of some shit that happened to her"

On today's episode, I bring you; Disgruntled donations attendant Kakashi and "keeps bringing shit I can't fucking accept" Obito

(What is a donations attendant? Basically the person who works in the back rooms of good will who accepts donations from people who swing by with them. Lots of lifting heavy shit into boxes and moving furniture, lots of telling people "ma'am, that's a bunch of rusty nails. I can't accept that.")

Anyways.

Donations attendant Kakashi.... I think he works with Yamato and Shisui + Itachi are also there somewhere. (Team ro content...oughh...) Sarutobi is his shitty annoying boss

Kakashi is built like a stick and looks fucking anemic, so he's always getting people wary of handing him heavy things to lift, or offering to help— which is only actually helpful like 10% of the time and mildly patronizing the other 90%

Still, others can't help but worry

The actual point of this au is just Obito continuously coming by with things Kakashi can't actually accept and deriving way too much joy from making Kakashi explain why

He is pulling up with a truck bed loaded with just straight up rusty metal and going whatever do you mean owo ??? When Kakashi goes "Obito what the fuck."

He shows up with a mattress covered in suspicious red stains. They can't accept mattresses anyways, the stains are him going the extra mile.

Or he shows up when the store is closed just to drop bags of random crap and broken furniture on their back porch so Kakashi has to sort through it first thing in the morning.

^ on that note, multiple times Kakashi will reject whatever Obito brought in only for Obito to go "oh that's ok, I'll just bring it in again when you're gone, teehee <3"

Just this silent war between them with Obito continuously showing up with increasingly concerning things just to piss off Kakashi

It's incredibly unclear if they're actually friends or not. Yamato, Itachi and Shisui have a bet going on what the fuck their history and relationship is supposed to be. Shisui thinks they're friends, Yamato thinks they're enemies. Quietly, Itachi thinks they might be dating.

(The answer is all three and none of them at once)

I think Obito is actually taking unwanted trash from other Akatsuki members for this. He ran out of weird, useless, suspicious and / or dangerous shit to try and donate in that first month— he's been offering to take out the others trash since he ran out

Hidan especially is happy to give him things he doesn't want (most of it is blood stained. "Dont worry, Tobi" he says "the blood isnt mine!" "Oh yeah Kakashi will love this.")

Kakuzu asks if there's money involved in the disposal then gets disinterested when he learns there isn't

Konan once gives him a live bomb.

Itachi has yet to admit he knows Obito outside of work. (He is going out of his way to not be there when Obito comes by to bother Kakashi)

Uhhh something something then they angrily make out over the haunted dolls Obito brought in from Sasori (they weren't "haunted enough" for him to keep)

#i worked as a donations attendant when I was 16. it was an experience.#shout out the woman who legit brought a pile of rusty metal things then was confused when I said I couldnt take that #girl wanted to give me tetanus I think #also shout out the person who brought in a dirty matress then angrily said “fine Ill just leave it here when ur gone” when I rejected it #sigh.#kakashi hatake #obito uchiha #hatake kakashi #birds fic talk #uchiha obito #obkk #kkob #obikaka #kakaobi #naruto #naruto au

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cosmicalily · 6 months ago

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"heaven is a bedroom" a minho oneshot by @cosmicalily

author's note: okay so even though this wasn't on my publish schedule, i really loved it and wanted to put it out anyways! whilst the lyrics of this song don't totally fit with the theme, i thought the whole idea of the bedroom being like a safe space was really beautiful and based it off the title! my mum and i bond over drinking rosé, eating dark chocolate and doing puzzles together late at night (often with skz code in the bg lol) and i need a man who matches this niche comfort activity of mine, and i feel like lee minho would really fw puzzles. warnings: alcohol consumption, making out

The bedroom you and Minho had built for yourselves was less of a room for sleeping, and more of a nest for the two of you to comfortably exist alongside each other within. Minimal furniture, soft, freshly washed bed linen and a huge window with long navy curtains; simple, calming and easy on the eyes. A place to unwind.

After one of your first dates, Minho had invited you over to his apartment.

“I’m not expecting you to let me hit, I promise.” he assured you. “It’s too early for that. But I’d like to spend the evening with you.”

So you’d gone back to his, hands warm in each other’s. And when he’d let you in through the door, he had opened a bottle of wine, pulled out a puzzle, and lit a single lamp in the corner of his living room. It felt intimate, in a way that wasn’t lustful or desperate. It was cosy and familiar.

And as the two of you sat beside each other on the rug, placing pieces and chatting about anything and everything, one of his three cats on your lap, you’d felt something in your stomach settle. A sense of calm that hadn’t washed over your body in this kind of way for too long.

It had always been that way with Minho. The things that would have normally sent you into a spiral were settled into mere dust. Irrelevant when you had a person that simply got you, a person who loved and knew you through and through, in ways that you hadn’t thought were possible.

There was something permanent about Minho, a feeling you were thankful for.

Now, four years later, you sat on your shared bed, glass of red wine in hand, head resting against his shoulder as you worked on the large-scale Monet puzzle laid out on a tray in front of you. It had been a while since you’d had a pocket of peace like this together; you’d both been busy with work and had spent most nights falling asleep wordlessly, bodies entwined. But this evening, there was a power outage in your apartment block. There wasn’t any WiFi to answer work emails with, so you’d put your laptops to the side and moved into your bedroom.

Whilst the candlelight was a little difficult to work with, the two of you had a knack for puzzles, identifying dips and curves in the pieces, knowing exactly where the next would go.

“Missed you,” you mumbled into Minho’s shoulder, slotting a piece into your growing patch of ocean.

“Mm? I’ve been around,” he replied, but pressed a light kiss to your cheek anyway, knowing you didn’t mean it physically. He set his wine glass down and moved his hand to your waist, gently squeezing and running his fingers along the soft skin. “It’s nice like this. Slower. Less to worry about.”

“I never worry when I’m with you, my love.”

Minho’s face stretched into a soft smile at that, and he moved the puzzle tray to the end of the bed, pulling you into his arms and kissing your forehead. “Good. You’re stuck with me, you know that, right?”

“I’m happy to be.”

Oh, drunk kisses with Minho were some of your favourite. There was a different side to him when he was like this; although he was never rough or cold with you, he was gentler and at times, sappy. Wanting you all over him, wanting to breathe in nothing but you.

But before his tongue slipped between your lips, he pulled away suddenly, head turning to glance at the rustling sound beside you.

Soonie, rather proudly, rolled through the sections of completed puzzle, purring gently.

“It’s okay, don’t worry about it,” you smiled in amusement, cupping Minho’s cheek with your hand and pulling his face back towards yours.

Red wine had most likely trickled out of your tilted glass and onto the white sheets, but that was the least of your worries. Minho’s fingers were in your hair, his burgundy stained lips warm against yours. Somehow, it tasted better on his tongue; sweeter, softer, more fragrant. His kisses were desperate yet measured, taking time to trace his tongue around your mouth, savouring you, downing you slowly and intentionally.

You managed to set your glass down on the wooden table beside your bed, using your now free hand to hold his cheeks. His skin was soft and smooth, a little flushed and warm under your fingertips.

And the way the two of you slotted together, your legs wrapped around his waist and his chest against yours, you knew for sure that amongst the thousands of pieces in your world,

He’d always be the perfect fit.

taglist: @hyunjiiza @velvetmoonlght @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @btch8008s @yaniluvs @ellemir2404 @bellarellasstuff @starsinagreenskyxx @ashtxrie @pigeonseatmayo @modesttiger - comment, dm or send an ask to be added

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giuseppe-yuki · 3 months ago

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friendly neighborhood boyfriend

spiderman!esteban ocon x reader

w.c.: 4.3k

warnings: curse words, mentions of violence

summary: WHY were your boyfriend’s clothes always scuffed up, his body always bruised, and his hands so freaking sticky??

a/n: sorry to any hardcore marvel and spiderman fans if there are any huge inaccuracies... i know close to nothing about the to the mcu spiderman lore besides a few watches of tom holland's spiderman movies so errr yeah.

picture credits from pinterest :)

present

three whole hours of doing nothing but waiting on your boyfriend’s stupid bunk bed had to be a new record- you’re sure of it. if there was a contest for this niche topic, you would literally be the reigning world champion. your last personal best was an hour and a half, which seemed pretty long, but was definitely miniscule to this new groundbreaking achievement of three hours.

you were heavily considering filing a missing person’s report before the telltale noise of his squeaky fire escape window opening and the soft “thump” of his shoes landing on the carpet sounds in your ears.

estaban slips in like a ninja of some sort, which makes you roll your eyes. he innocently re-adjusts his clothes and brushes off any offending pieces of dust that had landed on his school backpack as if he didn’t just climb through his freaking window, seven stories up. you finally speak up when he reaches his hand towards the window panel.

“what is the excuse this time, huh? did you like, take a detour to save the entire city of new york in the three hours it took for you to travel from our high school to your own house?”

esteban freezes half-way in the middle of closing his window, looking alarmed, before his face morphs into a guilty frown when he sees you with your arms crossed on his blue bedspread.

“i’m so, so, sorry baby!” he exclaims, hurriedly sliding the window all the way shut with a bang. “something came up again- i swear! i- i can explain! please don’t be mad at me!”

you just sigh and roll your eyes, watching as esteban, like always, stutters out an excuse for his lateness as he peels off his mangy jacket that, more often than not, was dirt-coated. it was after-school detention a few days ago, an unplanned stop at the grocery store last week, and heavy traffic the week before that.

”let me guess… you got stuck in an elevator? subway delays? or maybe traffic again?”

”yes…?” esteban responds, nervously wringing his hands under your harsh glare.

when it is clear you are not going to let up, he quickly reaches into his backpack, a mangled and stained piece of cloth that looked like it was on its last life, and pulls out a rather flattened object wrapped with wax paper.

he holds it out to you like an apologetic offering.

“i also stopped by delmar’s deli grocery on my way back and got you your favorite - ham, cheese, pickle on french bread with mustard, grilled and pressed real flat,“ he says quietly.

you suppose you can forgive him- this time.

“alright,” you huff, taking the sandwich from his hand. “i guess i forgive you.”

esteban brightens up almost immediately, and quickly skirts around the half-built lego death star littered on his bedroom floor to jump into his bed next to you as you take a huge bite from the sandwich.

besides the fact that it was a little cold from sitting in your boyfriend’s backpack for a little while, it tasted absolutely scrumptious.

in the minutes it takes for your boyfriend to lay his lanky self horizontal on the bed and place his head in your lap so you can rake one of your hands through his short black hair, you scarf down the last of the sandwich.

“merde!” he notes from your lap, looking at the empty spot in your hand where he swore the sandwich was a second ago. “was it that good?”

you laugh, patting the top of his head.

“of course- mr. delmar always makes the best-“

almost immediately, you are distracted by the most ginormous hole in his shirt that you were surprised you hadn’t noticed before. it lies on the area where his shoulder meets his neck, probably hidden from his jacket when he came in, but visible from the angle from above his head. the edges of the hole look burnt.

what the fuck?

esteban looks at you quizzically when you pause your sentence.

“-best..?”

“sorry, i got distracted by the biggest hole you have in your shirt right now,” you giggle, jokingly poking at the soft skin visible from where the hole resides.“did you blow something up in chemistry and get acid on your shirt or something?”

instead of laughing though, he hisses and shrinks away from your touch almost immediately.

you snatch your hand back with a gasp, feeling terrible for hurting your boyfriend, even if you didn’t mean to.

“i-i-i’m so sorry,” you stutter out. “i didn’t know…?”

”no, no, no, it’s fine- i’m fine- it’s all okay,” he says reassuringly, yet he still sits up and adjusts his shoulder gingerly.

”did someone beat you up at school, este?” you ask slowly, searching his face for answers.

this isn’t the first time he came home with bruises on his body. bullies were the only possible explanation, and it wasn’t out of the park, considering there were some pretentious assholes at school who you knew openly disliked your boyfriend for no reason whatsoever.

reaching up and placing a hand comfortingly on your shoulder, he looks you in the eye.

“baby, thank you for your concern, but i’m okay- i promise- i just ran really hard, um, backwards, into a shelf, and there was this whole big thing about somebody dropping some cigarette ashes onto a part of my shirt, so that explains the whole burnt hole scenario.”

you obviously don’t buy it, but you still, you nod, hesitantly.

esteban smiles at you and squeezes your shoulder once reassuringly, before starting to turn back around to sprawl himself back in your lap.

however, to your horror, when he lifts his hand off of your shirt, it sticks to his hand like it’s superglued there.

???

in your state of confusion, your boyfriend’s eyes widen and he yanks his hand back from your shirt, almost propelling you off of the bed from the force he exerts.

“what the fuck was that, este?” you screech, looking at the shoulder at your shirt to see if there were somehow remnants of whatever magic your boyfriend used to temporarily glue his hand to your shirt.

there isn’t, really- just a small white stain of sticky, web-like fluid?

”i’m sorry, i’m sorry,” he repeats, hands held high in the air away from you.

at this point, you snap.

“esteban ocon, you need to explain right now. i just went through, like, five different emotions in the last five minutes, and i don’t know what just happened, but as your girlfriend, i need you to tell me why you always show up with your clothes scuffed up, body bruised, and fingers all sticky???”

“i don’t,” he defends desperately.

you sigh.

”let’s take a trip down memory lane, huh? last saturday?”

last saturday

your little kitten heels clack against the pavement, shiny and sleek against the dirty grime-covered grey of new york’s sidewalks. you wore it on purpose, obviously, along with one of your favorite outfits that you knew would leave esteban drooling. the hazy sky orange sky bleeds into black behind you, but the always-on lights of new york light up your jewels, leaving a shiny hue around your neck.

the restaurant that you had booked almost a month in advance loomed overhead, fairy lights around its exterior that you knew would perfectly set the mood for you and your boyfriend’s two-year anniversary dinner.

“yeah, i’m almost there,” you parrot back to your boyfriend on the phone as you squeeze through a group of noisy tourists who were- quite rudely- taking up the entire sidewalk. “i’m at the corner, like, a minute away from the french restaurant-“

before you can finish your sentence, a shrill scream from among the crowd of people interrupts.

“hey! give me back my bag!”

a masked man whips past you, knocking straight into a pretty girl in gym workout clothes nearby.

the giant protein shake in her hand flies out of her hand, and it is almost like slow motion when its contents splash across your clothes.

“fuck!” you yelp.

the shake is cold as it drips down the entire side of your right side. it smells like cookies and crème.

esteban’s voice sounds frantic on the other side.

“what? what? baby, are you okay? i’m on the way, just hold on!”

with the rise of crooks and supervillains in new york lately, it was no wonder that he sounded worried.

“i’m fine,“ you reassure him. “just- let me call you back- there’s a situation where i’m at,” you reply quickly, glaring at the backside of the masked man who continues to scamper down the road with a bright pink purse that obviously didn’t belong to him.

you jam the red “end call” button on your phone just in time to see the girl offer you a semi-moist gym towel. a monogrammed “abbi” is stitched on the edge.

”i’m so, so, sorry!” the girl- abbi- blurts out apologetically. “i just left the alpine gym a block away and that-“ she gestures over to the man, who was now leaping across lanes of new york traffic, “-absolute dick just pushed me! i can, like, pay for your dry cleaning, if you want?”

you start to reassure her, using the towel to dab up some of the bigger chunks of protein shake and unmixed powder, when, in the corner of your eye you spot a flash of red, blue and black from the metal scaffolding of a nearby construction site.

abbi’s mouth drops in amazement.

“is that-?”

you stop dabbing the towel and turn, only to find the great superhero of the new york- the one and only spider-man- swing down onto the concrete, barely missing the tips of your heads.

well, great. thanks, spiderman, for conveniently showing up now, you think.

“hey ladies, no worries, i got this!” spider-man shouts, throwing finger guns at you both before sprinting towards the crook.

he propels himself like a freaking rocket across the street onto the masked man with the purse, sending the both of them into a dirty puddle on the gutter of the sidewalk. they scuffle for a bit before spider-man successfully knocks out and ties the crook, semi damp and scuffed up, onto a nearby pole.

huffing with exertion, he stands back up before swinging with his webs over the heavy traffic and back towards you and abbi with the bag hoisted on his shoulder.

landing with a soft thump, he stiffly extends the bag out towards the pair of you, arm straight at a 90 degree angle with his body.

“um, is this yours?” spider-man asks, voice barely muffled through his mask.

it wasn’t every day that an average new yorker saw spider-man in real life. he seemed a little- taller than you expected. and a little more…awkward.

“no, no, it’s not,” abbi says quickly. she looks starstruck, hand limply holding the half-empty shake container and the other barely gripping the dirty monogrammed towel you gave back.

“yeah, it’s not ours,” you say in support. “i think it was some lady way behind us.”

spider-man scratches his head.

“oh,” he says. “um, well okay.”

there’s a slight pause before he continues.

“did um, any of you guys, want me to escort you to wherever you are going next? with all this, like, crime and all, going on, you know?”

wherever you're going...shit, the anniversary dinner!

“i’m fine, thank you,” you assert, hurridly turning to go. “i have an dinner to get to with my boyfriend.”

abbi, however, just about explodes with giddiness.

“you? spiderman? escort me? yes please!”

after sprinting like you were usain bolt into the french restaurant and avoiding the weird looks regarding the giant stain on your outfit, you are seated in a comfortable spot underneath the twinkling fairy lights. a waiter comes by and lights a few candles as well, creating what would have been a real romantic atmosphere- if esteban was there.

present

“even after being held up by spider-man, i waited for like, twenty minutes in that restaurant, este.”

your boyfriend shifts awkwardly on the bed.

“yeah, but-” he starts.

“no, i’m not done,” you snap. “not only that, your entire dress shirt was literally wet and had unidentified scuff marks on it. care to explain yourself?”

he stays silent.

you sigh.

“even if i forgive you for that, how about you explain the weird bruises you got at the school fair on wednesday?”

last wednesday

as the reigning associated body president, you were in charge of one of the biggest fundraisers at midtown school of science and technology- the grand fair. it was a tradition, at this point, for every president to host a larger, bigger, fair than the last in an effort to outdo one another. it always raked in thousands of dollars from the community that single-handedly funded many of the school’s programs.

last year, gwen, the asb president then, had somehow gotten bumper-cars as an attraction, which you decided to one-up by adding an enormous ferris wheel and dunk tank, which would more than likely look even more impressive.

the new york state fair had nothing on you by the time you had most of the stalls set up an hour and a half before the event started. the cotton candy and popcorn machine was up and running, making whiffs of spun sugar and melted butter float over the quickly darkening site. between a few student workers, milling about, the little game stalls flashed red and yellow, advertising bean bag throwing or ring tosses to earn giant stuffed prizes shaped like the school mascot.

esteban, being the good boyfriend he was, had volunteered to come “help” you organize and sort all the booths at the fair site, but you knew it was a pitiful excuse that would probably end up with him taking advantage of open booths and nicking a shit ton of cotton candy and kettle corn popcorn.

like you predicted, after rounding the final grassy corner from the balloon darts booth, you spot your boyfriend metres away, sitting still and looking pretty at a little decorated picnic table stuffing his mouth with cotton candy.

so much for helping set up the stalls.

when esteban spots you from the table, he beams and waves energetically, teeth and lips colored an artificial strawberry pink.

“hi baby!” he shouts, startling a few classmates setting up and a few poor birds in the trees. “the fair is looking really good- and so is the food!”

you roll your eyes, but nonetheless blow a kiss to him.

reaching a hand up, your boyfriend exaggeratedly mimes snatching your kiss out of the air and sliding it into his pocket before patting it protectively.

you giggle softly and turn back towards the front of the venue after he blows an air-kiss back with a more-than audible smooching sound. even if he was a little goofy sometimes, he more than made up for it with all the love and support he gave you.

weaving through small groups of students that were just-arriving, you flip through your clipboard of papers to do some last minute checks.

it’s not until a few seconds later when you hear a thundering sound of propellers behind you.

huh, you don’t remember setting up anything that involved propellers.

curiously, you turn around and snap your head up, only to meet a glowing green hoverboard paired with a grinning, wild haired man that immediately strikes fear in your heart, freezing your feet from moving.

the green goblin.

“hiya there sweetie,” he says, peering down at you in a sickenly sweet voice. “do you know where your-“

before he can finish his sentence, a flash of blue-red flashes across the sky and sends the green goblin flying, narrowly missing the game stalls.

for the second time in a freaking week, you were graced with the presence of spider-man. but now, he was fighting green goblin. over your just-built fair.

in all of new york, of all the times, green goblin decided to pick now to start a petty fight?

almost immediately, screams from your classmates start up, blending weirdly with the jolly carnival music surrounding the atmosphere as the green goblin’s pumpkin bombs rain down from the sky. they sprint past you, pushing and shoving to get away from the potentially-deadly scene.

the first thought in your head is: esteban.

you force your legs to start moving to find your boyfriend in the now burning fair-site as the pair in the air above you crash straight into your house of mirrors, sending glass shards everywhere.

even when you straight-up almost die after one of the bombs land a little too close to your feet, you continue searching through many of the booths and stalls for your boyfriend. there was no way you were going to let him die to something as stupid as one of spiderman’s city-demolishing fights.

your search is largely unfruitful, even though you do find a few trapped classmates under a destroyed balloon-making stand as spider-man and green goblin grapple each other and do irreversible damage to your fair.

by the time you find the picnic table your boyfriend was sitting at a few frightening minutes later, it didn’t even matter that spider-man had won the fight by propelling green goblin’s unresponsive body straight into the dunk-tank that you spent a wild amount of asb money on, because the table was entirely crushed, with your boyfriend nowhere in sight.

an existential feeling of dread fills your chest.

no. no.

you wipe a few stray tears from your eyes.

you refuse to accept this. esteban had to be around here somewhere.

before you set off to look someplace else, a red-and-blue clad body blocks your path.

spider-man.

“are you okay?” he asks, patting your shoulder.

you could almost throttle him.

”no!” you screech, on the verge of bursting into tears. “you fucking destroyed my entire fair, and now i can’t find my boyfriend!! why couldn’t you fight green goblin somewhere else?”

spider-man recoils, snatching his hand back.

“i-i-i’m sure he’s fine,” he stutters out. “he’s probably, you know-“ he gestures around the burning debris next to him- “around..here.”

you’re not satisfied with spider-man’s flippant answer. what if esteban was buried under a bunch of heavy wood planks? what if he was trapped underneath a fiery inferno?

although you were pissed at the so called “hero” in front of you, you couldn’t help but admit that he would probably be the best chance in finding your boyfriend.

trying your best to hold yourself together, you snap, “look, spider-man, can you just please find my boyfriend? he’s kind of tall, has straight short black hair.. i just can’t bear losing him right now, okay?”

he nods once, tersely, before swinging off into the flames.

it doesn’t even take five minutes before your esteban steps out behind a wrecked hot dog stall. even if he looks absolutely disheveled, with countless bruises littering his arms and a half-ripped shirt, you can’t help but to run straight into his arms, feeling his body against yours.

your boyfriend tucks you into him, making sure to pat head comfortingly.

“hi baby, you okay?” he asks a little too nonchalantly, as if you both weren’t standing in the midst of what looked like to be the aftermath of a meteor shower.

“no!” you shoot back, leaning backwards to look up at his face. your face must be streaked with tears, but you didn’t care at this point. “i genuinely thought you died, esteban.”

“ah,” he replies. “well i, um, didn’t, so that’s good. i just, you know, went to the bathroom.”

present

“don’t get me wrong, esteban, i was super glad you were fine that i didn’t really question you, but now i realize- what the hell were you doing in the bathroom that got you bruises that bad?”

your boyfriend wrings his hands.

“i, like, ran into the bathroom door really hard after i heard those banging sounds from outside the restroom.”

hmm.

you roll your eyes.

”okay, how about yesterday when you got literally everything in my room sticky during our physics study session?”

esteban raises and eyebrow before snorting, seemingly taking your words a different way.

you huff. boys and their dirty minds.

“no! i’m being serious!”

yesterday

although your boyfriend could somehow ace physical education class, no problem, and run a mile in, like, under six minutes, he struggled sometimes with other subjects. thirty one sit-ups? sure. thirty one algebra or physics questions? eh, not so much.

good thing though, he had a top-of-the-class, straight a student as a girlfriend.

by hosting impromptu study sessions (that honestly usually ended with you both making out on your bed since esteban got distracted pretty easily), you were able to boost his average grade up to a moderately acceptable level.

currently, your room looked like an absolute mess, with esteban’s physics papers scattered everywhere on the floor, eraser shavings all throughout the area, and your heavy textbook flipped open halfway.

“alright, next problem!" you exclaim. "what is the net force of a race car on a 30 degree-angled bank- are you even listening?”

while you read out the next question on his homework, it is clear that your boyfriend’s attention has drifted elsewhere, specifically the tv mounted on the corner of your room.

you knew you should have turned it off before you started tutoring him.

when you glance over to what has caught your boyfriend’s attention, the screen blares an all-too-common scene of a bank robbery that was taking place a few blocks away. from the helicopter live-footage through the side of the bank's glass window pane, a masked man greedily stuffs green bills into his camo bag.

it doesn’t cause you that much concern though. you knew spider-man, the sometimes good/sometimes bad friendly neighborhood hero would show up soon or later to patch up the situation, so you reach over the papers to tap esteban gently on the shoulder.

“okay baby, focus! you’re literally almost done with the worksheet!”

instead of snapping his attention back to the work though, he scoots back rather hurriedly and announces that he was going to get something to eat.

you let him rush out of the room, knowing that he was probably going to be stuffing his face with the fresh pain au chocolat that your mother had freshly made a few hours ago.

meanwhile, you scribble shapeless blobs on the corner of your history homework.

the news network on your tv moves on from the robbery (like anticipated, spider-man came in, swinging on his webs, and slingshotted the robber against the bank wall) to some car race in australia by the time your boyfriend skips back into your room, slamming the door behind him with a flourish.

you pat the seat next to you, gesturing for him to sit down.

he peers at your tv for a quick second before settling down next to you.

“welcome back, este!” you say enthusiastically. “don’t worry- you didn’t miss much from the tv- just spider-man saving a bank or whatever.”

“oh,” your boyfriend murmurs, fiddling with a pencil. “was- was he cool?”

”huh?” you blurt out, puzzled.

he waves you off quickly, setting the pencil down and scooting closer to your desk.

”no, nothing, just joking. so um, where were we on the physics homework?”

you send him a weird look before shuffling his papers back to how it was before.

“ok, back to the problem- what is the net force of a race car on a 30-degree angled bank…”

when you finish re-reading the problem, you reach over to grab the pencil that esteban put down to draw out a diagram to clarify the problem, when surprisingly, it doesn’t budge.

even when you pull as hard as you could, the pencil stays stubbornly stuck to the desk.

what the..?

present

“okay,” esteban says, waving his hands in the air as if it was clarifying things. “i went to your kitchen to eat those éclairs your mom made, remember? i got the crème filling on my hands, and it got on the pencil and everything, so that’s why it got stuck to the table...”

you were so done with this guy.

“este- my mom didn’t make éclairs- she made pain au chocolat!”

caught up in his lie, there was nothing your boyfriend could do but to scratch his head awkwardly and pretend not to make eye contact with you.

scoffing, you shake your head. honestly, you didn’t understand why your boyfriend had to lie all the time. what did he even have to hide?

pushing off the bed, you take off your piece of clothing with the weird stain that had came from esteban’s hands in one smooth motion. it was probably best to get the stain out immediately before it ruined your shirt. besides, it would give him a chance to reflect. maybe then he’d tell you.

before walking out to throw your laundry in the wash, you sternly tell off your boyfriend.

”este, i suggest you tell me whatever it is you’re hiding after i come back from starting up the laundry, because, as your girlfriend, i think i deserve to know, no?”

chucking your piece of clothing into the washing machine, you decide to wash a few articles of esteban’s clothes as well, cause hey, it saves water, right?

you throw in a few mismatched socks, a scuffed up hoodie, and a worn shirt before you spot a flash of red-spandex like material at the bottom of his basket.

brushing aside a rolled-up pair of jeans, your eyes widen almost comically when you spot what it really is. tucked haphazardly at the bottom of your boyfriend’s laundry basket is a wrinkled spider-man mask.

general taglist: @ellelabelle @n0vazsq

#f1 x reader #f1 fic #f1 x female reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x you #f1 fanfic #f1 rpf fic #f1 imagine #esteban ocon x y/n #esteban ocon x reader #esteban ocon x you #eo31 x y/n #eo31 x reader #📝

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bisexualiteaa · 8 months ago

Text

No Life Queen

Alucard X Fem Reader

SMUT! MDNI

CW: vampires, established relationship, secrecy, reader is a vampire, reader has hair, brief mentions of canon typical violence/gore, cursing, pet names, praise, biting, brief mention of alcohol, bl00d drinking, mentions of bl00d, p in v, unprotected seggs, cream 🥧, mention of 0ral (fem receiving), reader works for Hellsing Organization, slight ooc Alucard, smut with fluffy ending, p0rn w/o plot, p0rn with feelings, possible grammar or spelling errors, HEAVILY proof read

A/N: I know this will likely be for a niche audience, but in my opinion there isn’t enough about this lovely man on this app I don’t think. In the spirit of Halloween (and for being down bad for him for an entire decade) I felt it was appropriate! I hope you all enjoy. Happy spooky season to you all! ♥️

The sounds of your joyous laughter and sweet voice could be heard from the dimly lit lair, resonating from deep within the winding depths of the vast Hellsing estate as you laid next to your vampiric lover. Your body lay bare, save for the silk red sheets wrapped around you to afford you a semblance of decency and warmth from the bitterly cold air. He had no need for a bed, he spent so long sleeping in the dank, dark depths of the basement which he calls home, or within the confines of his well built, ornate coffin but it was a luxury you loved, so without hesitation he had one placed there for you. All under the guise of him simply “being curious” as to how modern beds feel. He knew well how they felt, he’d taken on his fair share of lovers in the past, and those nights where he would sneak into your room to be with you during the fleeting beginning stages of your budding romance. So he wasn’t ignorant to how they felt, but he felt it was a good enough excuse to give should anyone dare ask why. Your hair sat pooled against the well-decorated pillowcases for the pillows he only kept around for you, freed from its usual ties whilst on duty. You hummed lightly and happily as your hand rested against his broad chest, looking up at him with all the love in the world as a smile danced across your sweet, kiss swollen lips. You regarded Alucard with your whole heart, and never anything less. You knew well that your lover was a man that possessed unfathomable amounts of power, and harnessed the capabilities to slaughter those whom he wished in the mere blink of an eye. Yet with you, he was anything but those terrible things that others knew him for. With you, the vampire king was no longer the monster others claimed him to be. With you, he was no longer a creature to be feared, no longer a servant to exercise his master’s bidding. With you, it was the closest he’s ever felt to being human again in centuries because in your presence, he was nothing more than a man who was so emphatically in love with the woman that was lying before him. And in your eyes, you could never see him as anything less than perfection, for he’s never afforded you anything less.

He delighted in the sensation of your soft, gentle touch that only you could offer him in such a pleasurable way. Longing to feel your much smaller hands pressed against his cold, pale, and unblemished skin. Yearning for the way your fingers stroked through his long, raven black locks with such affection that left him like putty in your very hands. He enjoyed how your hand, despite its now cold nature compared to the warmth you once held when you were human, would cup his cheek with such gentle serenity. How you would handle him as if he were made of porcelain, as if he was the one that was easy to shatter. No one had ever held him in such a gentle way before, touched his skin with such feather-light placidity, knowing only what it’s like to have held others in such a fashion but never had the sentiment been returned to him in kind until he’d met you. He was downright addicted to the tender caress of your thumb stroking his jaw, as if tracing his edges like he was chiseled from the finest but most fragile stone. You looked upon him like a work of art, as if he were crafted skillfully by the hands of a master artisan then given the gift of life. He was breathtaking, and to think that you were the one lucky enough to have enthralled him, to have captured his heart, was truly remarkable. He would argue however that he was the one truly fortunate enough to have earned your respect, to have earned your love and praise. He needed it from no one else aside from you, anyone else’s thoughts or opinions be damned. His servitude may be to Integra, but his true fealty was to you.

Your crimson eyes stared into his vermillion ones as if he were the man who hung the very stars that freckled the night sky. He cherished you, adored you, worshipped you even. You with your undying love and most pure of affections. You were unreal to him, ethereal almost. Like a goddess who descended the heavens and was somehow captivated by such a pitiful creature such as himself. Granting him such unwavering kindness, such unrelenting generosity that he felt as if he did not deserve. He could hardly believe at times that someone as kind, someone as gentle as you existed in a world that had always proven so cruel, let alone that you could ever fall in love with a fiend like him. Someone who held so much bitterness towards the world, someone with such an affinity for danger, violence and gore. You were polar opposites, yet strikingly similar all the same. He would never take it for granted however, because even on his worst days, you were always there. You were always the comforting light at the end of a long, dark tunnel. The grounding anchor to his ship that sailed an unrelentingly raging sea. You were his peace, his serenity, sitting with your arms outstretched for him to rest between, and ever ready to listen and share in his burdens whatever they may be.

No one knew of the romance you and the vampire king shared, not even Sir Integra herself knew about it. It was a well guarded secret that lay only within the confines of his room, and the rare but fleeting moments you were granted when you were alone and away from any prying eyes or ears. Your meetings always started out the same, and even remained the same to this day. A routine of you sneaking off from your room and into the halls at night, under the guise of delivering to him his meal. No one ever suspected it to be a rouse. Much less an act to allow you to get closer to your lover, using the sanguine nectar as a means to spend time with him where you would have the utmost privacy. In fact, the guards who were normally placed on that duty thanked you for taking their place, unable to bring themselves to make the cold, unsettling trek down to the depths where he resided. Therefore you had no one to send you questioning glances, or overhear any suspicious whispers. To them, you were a vampire who simply wasn’t afraid of him or his capabilities. No one else dared get close to his chambers however, some even going as far to tell tales of those who never made it back alive from the treacherous journey, or of his ravenous hunger to scare anyone who may be new to the estate and don’t quite know of him yet. Many complained that they felt as if there were eyes in the very walls surrounding them, watching as they made their descent into the darkness that was his place of rest, or even just through out the day during their shifts and as they would wander around through the vast hallways. He struck fear into the hearts of many, especially into those of mortal kind, but to you, he was just Alucard.

“You are a most delicious sight like this, Draga mea” he praised as the sheet you lay beneath began to slide down just a tad, revealing some of your bare frame to the frigid air of his den. His eyes raked across your body each time as if it was the first time he was seeing you, making you hum appreciatively at the compliment and the term of endearment spoken in his native tongue. You felt as his large hand began to glide along the curvature of your hip and the dip of your waist with a feather light touch, sending goose flesh to raise along your skin. “If you wish to feed from me, you know you need only ask” you teased with a grin, knowing his compliment came from a genuine place, but your romance was built on humor and trust. He knew better than to think you’d only regard his words in a manipulative manner. “Well if my queen is offering herself to me, how could I say no to such kindness?” He quipped in return, making you chuckle as he placed strategic, searing kisses along the column of your neck, being sure to strum each sensitive spot before kissing down your shoulder and trailing down your arm. You giggled softly as he made his descent, grabbing your hand in his much larger one before turning it over and placing a soft kiss to your wrist just above your pulse point. “Is a whole bottle no longer enough to sate you, my dear? I can have them procure more for you, you need only say the word” You asked, half teasing, half genuine. Your tone filled with concern and playfulness in a harmony that only could ever come so blissfully from you. A melodic language only spoken between the two of you and the two of you alone. “Shall I frighten them with the tales of your insatiable appetite? Perhaps that would persuade them to donate more” you volunteered, making him give a hearty laugh in reply. “How I cherish the thought of you frightening them with such a tale” he responded, making you giggle as you pictured the horrified facial expressions and terrified trembles you would receive in reply. “But in truth, bottle proves nowhere near as appetizing to me when compared to the taste of you at the height of euphoria. The adrenaline coursing through you, the sweetness of its taste is better than any wine could ever offer. Even the most decadent ambrosia pales in comparison to you, Draga mea” He continued, sweet talking you in that deep, baritone voice that always left your heart racing and a fire dwelling within the depths of your core. He always knew just the right words to say, both a blessing and a curse in its own right. His response earned a hum of amusement from you. “I was too caught up in the fire that was in your gaze to have gotten a taste of you. I was afraid should my attention falter, the beast within you would relinquish” he added, his lips finding their way to the column of your neck, his nose brushing against the sensitive spots there to rise gooseflesh to your skin, his lips just barely ghosting where your pulse would typically reside. You tilted your head to the side to allow him better access, allowing him free rein of your throat to do as he pleased. “Suffice to say, our shared feast left me quite…distracted” he finished, laying more searing kisses to your neck, making you hum and moan softly in approval, telling you all of his reasons why you should allow him to feed from you. His eagerness made you giggle as you recalled the way you were seated on his lap just moments ago, warming his cock and soon riding him as you both shared in feeding one another glasses of the sanguine liquid that once filled the now empty bottle. Your hands found their way to the back of his head and neck, keeping him in place as a show to continue his ministrations as your eyes fluttered shut with bliss. “Perhaps I should speak of your insatiable hunger” you teased, making him groan and chuckle into the crook of your neck as he kept himself pressed tightly against you.

“Have you another problem needing resolved already, my dear? We’ve hardly had enough time to enjoy the afterglow yet” you teased, making him grin as he detached himself from you to defend himself. “I hadn’t heard you complaining whilst you were seated on my tongue, or how quickly things carried on from there after I brought you to such dizzying climax twice from it” he bit back playfully, his fangs peaking from his wide, cocky grin. “And why ever would I? There certainly isn’t anything to complain about” you replied, flashing your fangs in a grin that mirrored his own making him hum in reply, satisfied with your response but amused all the same. How cute those fangs looked nestled into your already gorgeous smile. Something so perfectly wicked entwined with someone so preciously sweet. How it brought him such joy that you now carried a piece of him with you wherever you went, and would for the rest of eternity. Knowing that anyone who dare step to you with harmful intentions, would see a bit of him in you. That they would see his power radiate from you, feel his threatening aura travel along side you like an omniscient deity. He couldn’t help the pride that swelled within him to know that he was not only your lover, but your protector. How it pained him to know that you would have to share in his agony of having to watch those around you that you cared about parish while you remain the same, that you would outlive those who held no super natural persuasion to stop the onward marching of time. Yet a slightly twisted, much darker side that resided deep within him, felt almost prideful in the way that his dark corruption snuck within you, tainting the otherwise pristine purity you usually carried. Like a white dress being stained red from the scarlet shades of blood pooling beneath its fabric, one could argue you were tainted, besmirched, ruined even. He would argue that you were even more beautiful than you were before. His perfect little love.

His no life queen

“You may indulge in me, but only if you ask nicely” you replied playfully, making him grin at your response but he would always heed your word for he never wished to displease you. He was a gentleman after all, where were his manners? “Would you kindly allow me to have my fill of you, dearest?” He asked, making you hum as if you had to actually give it any thought. You never did. The answer would *forever* be yes. “You may” you responded kindly, a giggle leaving you as you leaned closer to him, your noses brushing together before turning your head to allow your lips to intertwine once more. Your hand came to cup his cheek tenderly, in that oh-so-loving manner you always did. He could truly never get enough of you. Your lips danced upon each others with sensual warmth, tongues tangling together, fangs nicking lips with playful bites. Before long, his mouth descended upon your throat once again, his nose ghosting the sensitive skin and catching whiff of your intoxicating aroma before his tongue glided along his favorite spot. You tilted your head back to allow him more access, your eyes falling shut blissfully as you felt his tongue circle the junction between your neck and shoulder. The sheet by now had slipped from you fully, revealing your bare chest to the gelid temperature of his chambers, feeling your pebbled nipples pressed against his bare chest as your hands weaved into his hair. You waited for that moment with bated breath, for the icy prick of his fangs to pierce your skin, but instead were greeted by the distraction of his fingers diving down to your aching cunt. The pad of his finger worked slow, rhythmic circles against your clit, making your eyes roll to the back of your head as a sweet sigh left your lips. “Alucard…” you moaned, making him groan deeply in response, the sound almost feral as it rumbled within his chest. He found himself salivating at the prospect of your flavor, at the overwhelming scent of your arousal mixed with his distinct musk. His hunger was hitting a fever pitch, finding it harder as the moments passed to contain himself and play with you to the full extent he wished to. You are his most delectable treat after all.

He groaned as your nimble fingers tangled within his long black hair, moaning and squirming from the pleasure being brought to you by just one of his fingers alone. It was pathetic almost, the way you were rendered to such madness, such utter hedonism with so little being offered to you, but it was nearly overwhelming all the same. “My precious queen, how deliciously sensitive you are for me” he remarked, a deep chuckle and a grin following his words as you gasped from the feeling of his fingers dipping inside of you. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head once more, mouth agape in a silent wail as the tips of his fingers located your most vulnerable spots with practiced precision. “Alucard…” you sighed blissfully as he leaned down to capture your lips in a sweet, intimate kiss. You moaned into it, your fingers dragging along the sinew of his back leaving behind angry, red marks that you knew would only remain for a very short period of time. He groaned into your shared kiss, working his fingers into you with practiced expertise, being sure to tease that bundle of nerves deep inside of you with the pads of his long, nimble fingers. As his fingers would curl against your walls, his thumb was rubbing tight, methodical circles along your clit to bring you even closer to your release. “Fuck…” you moaned into the kiss, feeling that knot in the pit of your stomach begin to grow tighter with each stroke. Your hips began to buck against his fingers, riding them, chasing the euphoric friction that sent shock waves of pleasure through you. “Doing so well for me, fucking yourself on my fingers” he praised, looking down at the sight of you spread on his digits, listening to the sinful sounds of your slick granting him access to your very core. “Feels…s’ good” you managed to get out, making him chuckle at your pathetic reply. It didn’t take much to reduce you to near delirium, whether it be from his fingers, his tongue, his teeth or his cock, he was quite skilled in the many areas of your pleasure. “Cum for me, Draga mea. Sing for me” he encouraged, his lips once again finding that spot on your neck that always sent you reeling, waiting for the perfect moment to sink his teeth into you. Waiting for the telling signs that bliss was just around the corner for you.

Once his sharp fangs finally sank into the tender flesh of your neck, it was electric, sending you toppling over the edge into the most intense, nearly all-consuming orgasm. Pain and pleasure melded together in a wonderful memory of what it had felt like the first time his fangs pierced your skin, gulping down your sweet essence as he turned you. Electric pulses soared down through your spine, lighting your every nerve ending on fire in a sadistically sensual way that you only craved to feel from him. His eyes rolled beneath shut lids at the taste of you, gulping down your dulcet ichor yet remaining mindful enough to savor its flavor. He groaned into you at the taste, feeling the ache between his legs throb with vigor as your orgasm pulsed through your body. How he craved you so desperately in this moment. To be intertwined with you, lost in you and the woes of passion that entwines you. It appeared that he could wait no longer.

In the blink of an eye, the sheets were ripped from your grasp, exposing your body to his view once more. He needed you, and it was evident by the ever growing wetness in your core that you needed him too.

Once he’d had his fill he released his jaws from you, cleaning up the mess of your shoulder, and his lips, the best that he could with his tongue alone. You watched as his long, almost pointed tongue cleaned the remnants of your blood from his lips, but what he hadn’t noticed was the small trickle that cascaded from the corner of his mouth. Your fingers grasped his chin softly, allowing you to tilt and move his face as you needed. You smiled at him before you leaned up to collect the trail of crimson that dripped from the corner of his mouth onto your tongue. You hummed pleasantly before pulling him into a passionate kiss, wishing to taste more of your sweet decadence from his lips. You felt the grin rise to the corners of his mouth before you could see it, but upon drawing back, you saw the smeared red mess left behind. “How succulent you are” he stated, breaking the silence between you. “Only the finest for you, my king. Would you grant me an indulgence of you in return, dearest?” You asked, lying on your back beneath him now, making him laugh at such a meek question being asked in such a seductive tone. “As if I could ever deny you, my love” he replied, lining himself up to your entrance before slipping in slowly, allowing you to acclimate to his size. He watched your face twist with both pain and pleasure as he sheathed himself within you. It didn’t matter how many times you would share intimacy with him, his sheer size alone always left you with that bittersweet stretch as if it were your first time taking him in. He adored how your hair fell around the pillow beneath your head like a halo, how your chest rose and fell with each labored breath brought about by the pleasure he brought you once a pace was set. You were ethereal. He swore it. Perfect in ways he thought were impossible. Yet here you lay before him, scarlet eyes gazing up at him with wonder and lust but above all else;

Love.

His hips pistoned into you as he lowered himself to hover just above you, his large hands splayed out by the sides of your head. He watched you litter his skin with feather light kisses as you ascended up his arm to his neck, soon hovering over the same spot that he enjoyed feeding from you so often. His hips seemed to roll on their own, almost desperate, accord as your tongue dragged along the favored spot, leaving him to shiver with anticipation of when you would take from him. Much like Alucard, you had a tendency towards playfulness, enjoying the delightful shivers, and hedonistic groans as you would tease him, working him up to the blissful moment. One might say you like to play with your food. Your eyes flit to his own that rest behind shut lids, basking in the tightness and wet feel of your cunt wrapped so snuggly around him. You gave a grin before finally you sank your teeth into him, feeling his girth twitch and throb within you at the sounds you made as you fed from him. “That’s it, take from me. Take from me everything you need, my love. I am yours as you are mine” he rambled through his groans of pleasure, rutting into you deeply and reaching those spots within you that left your head spinning. He groaned at the mix or your moans that lay in harmony with the feral sounds of you feeding from him only working to further turn him on. The searing pain of your sharp fangs buried into his neck, mixing with the pleasure of your delicious cunt wrapped around him so perfectly left him nearly delirious.

Once you had finally detached yourself from him, he understood the appeal of the sight he had graced you with before, finding himself following your previous actions. His tongue traced the small stream of his blood that leaked from the corner of your lips, collecting it all before tangling his tongue with your own in a frenzied kiss. His hand grabbed at your thigh, propping your leg up against his hip to reach deeper within you. As if he wasn’t deep enough already, his tip bullying the apex of your cervix with each thrust. Had you a fertile human womb still, you’d worry about leaving his chambers pregnant from just how often you found yourselves tangled together within his sheets. “Draga mea…” he whispered lovingly against your lips as you gasped and moaned, your mind hazed and nearly blank as the sound of skin slapping against skin filled the depths of his chambers. He watched as you writhed beneath him in ecstasy, how your breasts bounced in time with his thrusts. He simply couldn’t get enough of you. “You are perfection, my sweet” he praised, making you whimper as the familiar feeling in the pit of your stomach began to grow tight, already so sensitive and worked up from him playing with you before. “Cum for me, my love. Delight me with your ecstasy” he cooed, watching you bite your lip and your face contort as you reached closer and closer to your breaking point. It was as his fingers reached down to toy with your clit, rubbing circles into the sensitive bundle of nerves that pushed you over the edge. Your body arched against his, a cry of bliss leaving your lips as your climax washed over you mercilessly. Your every nerve ending wrecked and body alight from the pleasure as you dug your nails into his back with a cry of his name. “How delicious you are” he replied, watching as your breaths grew labored, your chest rising and falling in tandem with each deep inhale then exhale as you made your descent from cloud nine. His movements began to lose their rhythm, signaling to you that his release was just around the corner. You smiled up at him, hand resting delicately on his cheek as he looked down upon you. “I love you” you whispered in declaration, earning a smile from him before causing him to lean down and take your lips in a heated kiss. He groaned into it as his seed painted your walls with each thrust, his hips moving with much more softness now than they had before, much slower, as he worked to bury every last drop within you, effectively marking you his. “I love you too, my queen” he replied, making you giggle happily as you shared in the intimate moment and passion filled kiss. You wrapped your arms around your vampiric lover, keeping him as close to you as possible, wishing to revel in the sacchar of your still conjoined bodies.

You couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled from deep within you as he collapsed on top of you, his full weight baring down on you. You wriggled and fought to free yourself of his weight, yet try as you might, you also couldn’t help but find comfort in it. Peace in knowing that he felt safe with you to be this way, that he could be vulnerable and playful with you in ways he has never shared with anyone else. You ran your delicate fingers up and down the expanse of his back, effectively granting him a moment of much welcomed tranquility in your arms. If there was one thing in this entire world that he wished for most, he wished only to spend the rest of eternity this way, with love in his heart, and you to share it all with. With you, forever no longer felt so bleak. With you, eternal life felt as vivacious as mortal life, and he wouldn’t dare to dream of it any other way now that he had you beside him.

#hellsing #hellsing ultimate #Alucard #Alucard X reader #Alucard smut #smut #fluff #Alucard imagine #vampires #Halloween #Halloween smut #vampire smut

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hotvintagepoll · 1 year ago

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Do you have any opinions on modern (post-1970s) movies that you feel capture the essence (in a good way) of Old Movies?

No, unfortunately. That doesn't mean I don't like modern movies or that modern movies aren't good, but modern movies—and here I'm really using modern to mean post-2010, so contemporary movies—have different standards for pacing, characterization, budget, and production that make it harder (or impossible) to capture some of the magic of old movies. Even when modern movies clearly try to emulate that old-movie feeling—I'm thinking of La La Land, The Artist, The Shape of Water, In the Heights—they play the homage too broadly, or they ignore crucial components that make the original films work.

There's kind of too much to go into here without writing a full essay, but essentially, the Old Hollywood system—ugly, failed beast as she was—made some movies simply more accessible to make, due to the ongoing storage of props, sets, master craftsmen, crew, and onscreen talent that could move from one movie to the next without pause. If you needed a dancer, he was already on staff. If you needed a fancy bed, it was already in the warehouse. That kind of longterm storage is invaluable if you want to crank out movies quickly and cheaply because it saves so much time on individual negotiation and sourcing. Modern production companies have to work out individual contracts for every actor on every film; crew members have to negotiate rental contracts and source pieces from scratch; if you need someone with specialist skills, you have to contract them specially at a high rate, which a lot of small companies can't (or won't) budget to do. There's sand in the wheels where there needn't be any. It's wasteful, and costly, but that's the system modern movies are made with.

Which all means that even if the modern movie system wanted to make a classic movie musical just like the old ones, they couldn't, because the talent isn't already there—it hasn't been trained up enough, and there's not that breadth of knowledge you can only get from people who have been allowed to work in the same department in the same place for decades. Movies like La La Land fail, for me, because they present themselves as descendants of Fred Astaire or Busby Berkley movies, while missing the bit where Fred Astaire was a master of his craft. When you watch Fred Astaire dance—or Moira Shearer, or the Nicholas Brothers, or Ann Miller—you are watching a true artist at work, purposely showcased by the studios because they already have them on contract. Modern movies, on the other hand, tend to take people who already have star talent (as actors) and try to convert them into dancers/singers—or they pull dancers/singers off of Broadway, but then they don't have the star power built in. You end up with lackluster musicals where no one truly knows what they're doing, or they do but they're not built up enough by the studios to sell. And that's me discussing just on-screen talent for musicals—there is a huge loss behind the scenes, as well, for all kinds of movies, where roles that would have been filled by union crew who moved continuously from one job to the next have been swapped for freelance labor who live with immense turnover, financial insecurity, and knowledge loss. You could hand me the budget and I could try to make an old movie, but the industry itself has changed so much it's impossible to recapture that charm of steady, niche talent, the amazing possibilities of bonkers set design, and the ability to take a risk on a smaller movie because the other films being produced by the same studio can help balance the budget.

I've talked way, way too much about all of this! Sorry, I just have a lot of thoughts—and the one above is just one of them; the talent loss and storage issues are only facets of a much bigger problem that extends to how we watch movies today, how we market them, what we expect of them, and what's allowed in them. It's a crying shame because the talent is still there, but times change and so does the industry, for better or for worse. (And, just again to clarify, I don't think modern movies are bad—they're just missing a lot of the juice old movies got to play with, even if there's more talent available than ever before.)

#asks #hotvintagethoughts

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devilmaymetalgear · 6 months ago

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Hi again! Just wanted to say I loved my last request ♥️🥹 I totally agree that Dante would be a girl dad and a great step dad. Vergil would defo be awkward, but by god the man’s trying 💔😭 Dw about being late with the request ♥️🌚 I’m very patient I didn’t mind. What’s important is you had fun writing it (I hope)

As usual, I have an idea 🌚🌚 What’s your take on the twins dating a succubus/incubus? Very niche, yes, but I’m curious.

dante sparda x reader vergil sparda x reader

gn reader // succubus/incubus s/o

cw: general nsfw, scent/aphrodisiac?? depends on ur interpretation idk, no particular kinks mentioned

a/n: opening up requests for reboot Vergil and dante because Vergil's so cute and I can't just leave dante out

Dante

Through his travels of hell he's encountered quite a few demons, succubus weren't uncommon. He never entertained the idea of dating one though

Not particularly against the idea, he's got the stamina to satisfy you, and definitely the size too as well.

The only thing that mildy annoys him is your scent, sickly sweet and thick. It's alluring, it drives him mad. As soon as he gets a whiff of you he feels like a dog in heat.

"Such a damn whore, but I guess that's what you're built for, yeah?" He buried his cock into you, flush against your ass. It seemed like the millionth time today he was using you. Not that you minded very much.

The stench of sex was overbearing, a fog that filled the room. The constant creak and groan from the bed, the slap of skin, the heaving and panting rang loud through the whole shop.

"Made for taking dick, made to be a cock sleeve. Taking me so damn good.." He muttered in your ear, his beard rough against your neck. All you could do was moan and cry out, spread out beneath him.

vergil

Less horny than Dante but definitely more stressed and wound up so probably just as rough

He also never even considered the thought of mating with a succubus, but the world works in strange ways.

"You're going to take me, going to take my cock.." He pressed your head into the pillows, huffing as he watched you arch your back. All for him. Cold hands ran along your hips and ass, feeling along your skin. You were too perfect in his eyes. Ripe for the taking.

He slipped inside of you, slowly sliding in. Feeling every single inch of your insides he could. It seemed as if every time he used you he savored it. Slow and gentle till he lost all control, till that urge to take overwhelms him.

"You're so perfect, just for me. All mine."

Erm i forget how vergil vergils....

#dmc #dmc vergil #dmc dante #vergil sparda x reader #vergil x reader #dante x reader #dante sparda x reader #dmc x reader #dante sparda #This just became sex headcanons and I'm not upset about it tbh #THIS IS SO OLD ITS FROM.THE BEGINNING OF THE YEAR I THINK UGHHH

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orcasoul · 4 months ago

Text

The Lesser of Two Evils

Chapter Summary: You begin to adjust to your new life in Rome, while becoming closer to Marcus.

Chapter Warnings: Fluff, angst, enemies(ish) to lovers, slow burn, protective Marcus Acacius.

Word Count: 7,001

Chapter 6 A Home From Home

For the hundredth time today, you are astounded. Every inch of the villas walls are painted and some are decorated with images of florals, animals and people. Tall, shiny pillars stand proud in a large hallway, lush orange curtains drape across wide arches, statues and vases of various sizes sit in niches along the walls, the ceilings display detailed recessed panels and boarders of patterns you couldn't have ever imagined. Sunlight streams in through a large rectangular opening in the ceiling and directly beneath it is a very shallow pool of water. White and gold rimmed tiles cover the floor and the smell of lavender and roses hang in the air. All of this for one man! It's unfathomable. The servants lead you down a spacious corridor lined with potted plants, stopping outside two large double doors.

"This is your bed chamber, My Lady," one of the girls says as she opens the doors for you. Blinking back your shock, you slowly enter, feeling somewhat unworthy to step foot into such opulence. This one room is three times the size of your hut back in your village. The same meticulous decor adorns the walls and ceiling, the largest and most luxurious looking bed - with an abundance of cushions, you might add - surrounded by semi transparent veils rests against the far wall. A large Oak wardrobe and a standing mirror are situated to the right of the bed, a soft Lectus is in the far right corner and a vanity table on the other side. To the left of the bed is a smaller doorway and between the door and bed, a curtained balcony leads outside. There must be some mistake. This can't be intended for you. You didn't realise you were clutching your bag so tightly to your chest until the other servant spoke. "I can take that if you wish," she said, holding out her hand.

"Thank you," you smiled shyly, passing it to her. She places it on the Lectus while the other girl opens the smaller door in your room. "This is your private room for bathing." Peeking around the door you see another room, (smaller but still bigger than your hut) with another Lectus, a large brazier and a large oval shaped basin built into the floor with the sides raised about a foot from ground level and steps surrounding it. Steam rises from the water, flower petals swirling on the surface. "All of this is for me?" you ask in disbelief. "It is, My Lady. The Generals' orders were clear. Would you like us to help you undress?" "Oh, um... no thank you," you say, maybe a bit too quickly, embarrassment flushing your cheeks. Both girls are now looking at you like you've grown another head. Were they expecting to undress and bathe you?

Maybe that's another norm here? To be bathed by your servants. Does that mean Marcus allows them to bath him?? Surely not! They suddenly look like they don't know what to do with themselves, but there's no chance you're going to allow them to see you naked, even if it is the norm here. "I'd prefer to bathe alone, please," you insist and after a doubtful glance at each other, they nod and leave the room. Peeling off your clothes, you waste no time slipping into the hot water, making sure to keep your bandaged shoulder dry. An involuntary moan passes your lips as you lean back against the edge, the hot temperature and swirling oils caressing every muscle, releasing the tension of a weeks worth of travelling.

If this isn't heaven on earth, you don't know what is. The best you could have hoped for up until now was a bucket of cold water and a rag, and in the summer months, a visit to the river to fully bathe. After washing your hair and body with the sweet smelling soaps provided, you lay back down and close your eyes. You're not ready for this to end yet... A light tap on the door causes you to startle. "My Lady, dinner will be ready soon. We must prepare you." How long have you been in here?! It feels like you'd closed your eyes only five minutes ago but now you notice that the water has cooled slightly. Reaching for a towel folded on the steps, you quickly stand and wrap it around yourself. "I'm coming," you call out to them, squeezing the excess water from your hair. When you enter the bedroom, you see the servants waiting for you, one of the girls (the brunette) holding a long, flowing pale green gown.

"It's beautiful," you gush, tracing your fingers along the delicate fabric. "Please allow us to assist you," the other girl, (the blonde one) says. "It will be difficult to do this without help." Despite your initial embarrassment, you agree to let them dress you, after all, you wouldn't even know where to begin with these strange fashions and they seem to know what they are doing. Once dressed, the girls turn their attention to your hair, which is turning out to be the most time consuming. They work in silence, but said silence is beginning to make you feel uncomfortable, so you decide to fill it. "Could you tell me your names again?" you ask politely. So much was happening upon your arrival that you didn't think to ask them sooner. "I'm Cassia" the blonde answered. "I'm Flavia," the brunette followed after her. "Thank you both for your help," you smile at them in the mirrors' reflection "It's our pleasure, My Lady," Cassia responds promptly.

There's that term again: 'My Lady'. You don't understand why they just don't use your name. "Please, just call me Alia." Both girls stopped what they were doing to meet your gaze in the mirror, clearly caught off guard by your request. "It wouldn't be proper, My Lady-" "I'm not a Lady," you interject, quickly, but not unkindly. "I have no station or class here. I'm not even a citizen yet," you shrug your shoulders. "I would much prefer for you both to call me by my name." "But the General would not allow it," Flavia objected. A small smirk raised the corner of your mouth, your tone becoming slightly mischievous. "He doesn't have to know. Maybe we could compromise? You may refer to me as 'My Lady' in the Generals' presence, but when it's just us I would really appreciate it if you'd call me Alia." Both girls exchanged glances again, then Cassia spoke, "As you wish... Alia." The girls continue with their task and this time the silence is much less strained.

*****

After inspecting the care and attention paid to his villa in his absence, Marcus excused himself to his bed chamber, eager to bathe and rest before dinner. It's been almost six months since he'd been home, and although a part of him felt that this is wrong (that he should be with his troops), he couldn't deny the relief he also felt at his homecoming. This is his sanctuary, his escape from blood, brutality and death. Well, a physical escape, at least. The horrors of war, the lives he's taken will forever be ingrained on his soul, along with their blood on his hands. It's just a reality he'll always have to endure, but at least his body can rest, even if his mind can't. And right now, his mind is on you. He can't even begin to fathom how you must be feeling after today. Not only is this a huge culture shock for you, but you're now going to have a lot to learn, and you'll have to learn it fast if you're going to thrive here. But at least you won't be alone in this. He'll help any way he can.

Marcus steps out onto his balcony, the whitewashed stone illuminated by the moon. Looking at the moon now, he's reminded of that night he watched it from that filthy cage. He was certain he would die in Germania; certain he'd never get to stand on this very balcony and observe the moon's pearlessent sheen again. Yet, here he is, and it's all thanks to you. It all feels so long ago and so recent at the same time. He thinks about the changes since then; how you've both gone from distrusting one another, to tolerating one another, to... dare he say friends? A warmth spreads through his chest at the thought of calling you a friend and, regardless of how you view him, that's how he sees you now: as his friend. That simple truth makes him smile, both inside and out, and as your friend, he'll do his very best to make the transition as easy as possible for you, starting with your comfort. You'll no longer have to scrape by every day. By the gods, you'll never suffer another day in your life if he has anything to say about it. A knock on his door, draws him from his thoughts. "Come in," he calls out. Silas opens the door. "Dinner will be served, momentarily, Dominus." "Thank you, Silas. Please inform Alia." "Yes, Sir," Silas bows and leaves the room

*****

The Triclinium (living/dining room) is awash with the most delicious aromas that Marcus hasn't smelled in months. Two plates of venison, seasoned root vegetables and potatoes are set at both end of the table along with two smaller plates of figs, pomegranates and fruit tarts. Being home really does have it perks, he thinks to himself as he savours the rich bodied wine he sips from his goblet. Marcus stands by your chair, awaiting your arrival. Moments later the doors open and his hand stops mid air, the sip he was about to take well and truly forgotten, along with the rest of the room. Marcus' breath caught in his chest as you slowly entered, convinced for a moment that venus had suddenly graced him with her presence. A soft green gown with a low v neckline framed your delicate figure, along with a cream coloured Palla draped over one shoulder, secured at your waist with a floral designed belt.

Your hair, which up until now was mostly kept in a simple braid, partly hung in loose waves around your face and shoulders, while the back had been placed up in a loose bun with ribbons interwoven throughout. You look simply stunning! As you come to a stop in front of Marcus, he notices the shy smile you'd entered with shift into a look of uncertainty. That's when he realised that he'd just been standing stock still, staring unabashedly. Before he could attempt to hide his error, you spoke, voice tinged with hesitancy. "Is- is this too much?" you glance down at your clothing, pulling your shoulders into yourself, much like you did the very first time you'd both met. Seeing you shrink in on yourself again, twisted something deep inside marcus' gut. "No, not at all!" Marcus exclaimed, shaking his head. 'You look beau-" his mouth snapped shut as his brain realised what was about to slip past his lips.

Your eyes briefly met his before you lowered them, your cheeks flushing pink. "Um..." he cleared his throat, "it suits you," he finished. "Thank you," you smile softly. "Please, sit..." Marcus pulls out your chair, noticing a flicker of surprise cross your face before thanking him and taking a seat. Once Marcus is seated, a servant appears to fill your cup and refill his own. The feast before you has your stomach grumbling. Now that the shock and awe of todays events have settled, you realise just how hungry you are. "Did you manage to get some rest?" Marcus asked. "A bit," you reply. "And do you like your room?" You can't help but gush now, "Like it?! It's incredible, Marcus! But don't you think it's wasted on someone like me. I mean, I'm hardly deserving of so grand a gesture."

"You deserve it and more," Marcus says with a tone of finality. You can't say you agree but you're not about to argue with him in his own house, so you nod agreeably. "You must be quite hungry by now." Marcus turns your attention to your food. "I'm famished," you acknowledge with a slight chuckle. As you both begin to eat you can't stop the sigh that escapes you at the rich flavour of the meat and the freshness of the vegetables. It's been far too long since you'd had a truly decent and enjoyable meal, always having to make do with scraps and leftovers in your old life. This is just sublime. You didn't even notice your eyes had rolled closed in your head until a low chuckle caused them to snap open. "Good?" Marcus asked, amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes.

"Mhmm..." you nod, vehemently, mouth still full. After finishing the main course you'd both moved onto dessert. Figs, pomegranates and fruit tart have now become your favourite foods, and you warn Marcus he might have to fight you for them in future, to which he joked, "I'm not going to fight you over fruits. I value my life too much." The lighthearted atmosphere in the room later shifted to a more serious air as Marcus surmised, "I imagine today has been somewhat... overwhelming for you." You huff. "That's an understatement." Marcus just watched you, silently waiting for you to continue. "This house..." you look around you, "this whole city, it's..." you struggle to find the words. "It feels unreal... like I'm in a dream. I didn't know people lived like this. I didn't know it was even possible. I can see now how Rome has been able to conquer so much of the world... No one stands a chance."

There's an ominous undertone in that last sentence. Marcus knows it's true. A power like Rome can never be contained. And while such power can bring great suffering, it can also bring stability and unity to an otherwise dark world. It's just regrettable that you can't have the good without the bad in those circumstances. "Well, you don't have to worry about anything anymore," Marcus offered. "You're safe here. While you're under my roof no one will mistreat you. You have my word." Marcus' soft features have now solidified into determination as he levels you with a 'do you hear me look'. Your chest filled with warmth at Marcus' concern for your wellbeing. No one has shown you such tenderness in years. It's nice but at the same time it unsettles you. The thought of putting your faith in another person is daunting and it goes against every ounce of self preservation you have. But you will try, you want to try. "Thank you," you smile, feeling the tingle of tears behind your eyes, and for the first time in a long time, hope.

*****

Later that night with the villa settled and the long and exhausting day drawing to a close, you take a much needed moment to just... breathe, to truly reflect on your new reality and the new, unmapped path ahead of you. Sitting at the foot of the bed, one hand runs over the silk texture of your sheets, while your other holds your fathers' knife, which you'd made sure to pack in your bag. You turn it slowly, eyes tracing the carvings along the hilt. Familiarity - even if it's this small - is what you need right now. Braziers bathe the room in a rich amber glow, while the distance buzz of Cicadas drift on the light breeze coming in through the open balcony door. You'd dreamt of this for weeks; to finally reach the sanctuary of Rome and try to find some semblance of peace. Every time you'd envisioned this moment it filled you with comfort.

So why, now that you're finally here, do you feel a crushing weight in the pit of your stomach, the hope you'd begun to feel only a couple of hours ago dimming like a cooling ember. And it only worsens when your thoughts drift to your parents, to Farro. You'd been so eager on leaving your old life behind that it hadn't occurred to you that you'd be leaving them behind aswell. You'll always carry them in your heart but knowing that you're so far away from the land you once shared with them cuts deep. You couldn't stay in the village, you know that, and they wouldn't have wanted you too, but that doesn't make this ache any easier to bare. It feels like you've abandoned them. Looking around the opulence of the room, it dawns on you that you don't belong here any more than you belonged with your tribe. It seems there's no place for you anywhere in this world. With such a heavy realisation, come your tears.

You reach beside you where the fur blanket Marcus gave you lays folded up. Maybe it was your subconscious compelling you to do so, you're not sure, but you wrap it around your body - despite the warmth of the mediterranean air. Just the fact it's from Marcus gives you a sense of comfort. Between the stress from the long journey and the mental and emotional storm swirling through you, you're suddenly exhausted, in every way you can be. Laying down (on the softest pillow imaginable) you pull the blanket up to your chin and close your eyes, drifting off into a deep and much earned sleep.

*****

You wake to a clinking sound in your room. It takes a moment for you to remember where you are as you blink away the daze of sleep. Turning your head in the direction of the sound you see Cassia placing a tray on your dresser. "Good day, My - um... Alia," she smiles, with a tip of her head. "You've missed breakfast and lunch. Dominus sent this platter of food for you." Still slightly groggy, you sit up, rubbing your eyes. "What time is it?" "A little after 2pm." Your heavy lids shoot up when you realise you've slept half the day away. "Oh, forgive me. I overslept," you say, sheepishly. "It's alright. Dominus wanted to let you rest after your journey. I trust you slept well?" You nod, "Yes, thank you." Cassia brought over the tray, consisting of bread, cheese and grapes and set it down on your lap. "I'll return in half an hour to help you dress. Dominus requests your presence in the Triclinium in an hours' time. He has arranged for a Medicus to attend you." Cassia bowed once more and left your room.

*****

"Lady Alia, Dominus," Cassia announced as she opened the doors to the Triclinium. Inwardly, you cringed at the title but a deal is a deal, you guess. "Thank you, Cassia," Marcus replied. "Please, come..." he extended his hand to beckon you. "This is Ennius. He's here to assess your shoulder." The short, kindly looking old man nods his head respectfully and you smile, somewhat shyly in return. "I'll leave you to it," Marcus said, then left the room. While the Medicus inspected the healing scar tissue, you kept your eyes locked on the furthest wall, unable to bring yourself to look at the consequences of your sins. This mark will forever be a reminder of the life you took. Since you hadn't regained full motion of your shoulder yet the Medicus instructed you to do morning and nightly exercises for the next few weeks. Thanking him for his help, you walk him to the door, surprised to see Marcus waiting patiently on a Lectus in the Atrium.

"All well?" Marcus asked, standing up. "Yes General, a picture of health." A quiet, relieved sigh left Marcus' lips. His own diagnosis was what he'd expected; three to four months of physiotherapy along with additional daily exercise to stop the muscle from seizing. And now with your clean bill of health, he can feel the worry he had for you draining away. "Thank you for attending us today." "Its my great honour, General," the Medicus replied respectfully, bowed and left. Marcus turned to you, his air of formality easing and a soft smile on his lips. "Are you well rested?" "Yes, thank you," you smile in return. "How did you find your first night here?" Marcus asked. How can you answer that without sounding ungrateful of Marcus' hospitality? You're glad to be here, but you hadn't expected to feel regret simultaneously. Leaving everything you knew behind isn't as easy as you'd anticipated.

With what felt like a forced smile, you answer, "It was a very comfortable night." "Good," Marcus' gaze softened even more, seemingly pleased with your answer. "Come, walk with me." Marcus held out his elbow, and you couldn't help but notice the width of his arms compared to your own. Something about the stark difference in size struck you, but surprisingly not in an intimidating way. Once, you were afraid of what he could do to you, but now you feel with certainty that he would never purposely hurt you. As you slip your arm through his, the warmth of his tanned skin and the firmness of his muscle has you momentarily entranced. Faint and more recent scars criss cross his forearm, and you wish you could know the story behind each one. "Where are we going?" you ask. "I'm giving you a tour of the villa. We didn't have time yesterday."

As Marcus led you through the spacious villa, explaining the names and purposes of each room, you once again marvelled at the beauty of the architecture, art and sculptures that make up this grand estate. But your favourite part of the tour was the Hortus (garden). Never had you seen such an array of colours! It seems every species of flower imaginable bloom here, some you recognised such as Lillies, Roses of varying shades of pink and red, Poppies and Crocus, but many you haven't before. You'd quickly learned the names as Marcus answered question after question, appearing entertained by your inquisitiveness. Iris, with the deepest hue of purple, Long stems of multicoloured Gladioli, Narcissus that looked like it had been kissed by the sun itself and your favourite; Myrtle. It's vibrant white, curved petals and tufts of white and yellow staymens reminded you of stars bursting to life.

The amalgamation of fragrances waft on the breeze, the air simply intoxicating. You continue strolling through the extensive garden, taking in the Ivy covered columns bordering it. Niches along the outer walls hold small statues and vases. Another fountain - smaller than the one in the courtyard - with dancing women carved into the marble, sits in the centre of the garden and low bushes in curved formations surround it and line the pathways. A few Cypress trees cast shadows over parts of the lawn and beautiful marble benches are dotted throughout. Birds warble from the trees, flitting from branch to branch and bees and dragonflies drift through the garden, indulging themselves on the flowers' sweet nectar. This entire garden is the very embodiment of life. If ever you have envisioned paradise, this is it.

"This place is... magnificent," you gushed as you and Marcus take a seat on one of the benches. "I wonder how you can ever bare to leave it?" Marcus gives a halfhearted smile. "It's not by choice. Unfortunately duty overrides choice." "Mmm..." you nod in understanding. "You're so fortunate, Marcus. I can only dream of one day having a home like this," you sigh, dreamily. "This is your home..." Marcus stated, sounding slightly confused. Your head snapped his way. "W-what?" Now you both share the same bewildered look, him regarding you like you've just said something absurd. "I- I don't understand," you stutter, "you brought me here to help me get a fresh start." "Yes...?" Marcus confirmed, one eyebrow raised in question. "I never expected you to take me into your home indefinitely. That would be such an imposition." Marcus' brows pinch together.

"Where did you think you were going to go?" "Well, I..." you rub the back of your neck, uncertainty creeping in. "I intend to look for employment somewhere and use the money to have my own home." Marcus' frown softened, looking at you like he was about to deliver very bad news. "I'm sorry, I should have been more clear with you," he began, hesitantly. "It was always the intention to give you a home here. When you asked about life in Rome and I mentioned employment, I didn't mean you would have to work. It's not common for a woman to work. Her father provides for her until she weds and then the responsibility becomes her husbands'." Your heart sinks in despair as the reality of you situation sets in. In just a short conversation all the plans you'd had for your future have been dashed.

"But I have neither! I have to work, Marcus!" The alarm in your voice caused Marcus to sigh and close his eyes. He'd thought it was obvious that this would be your new home. The fearful expression clouding your eyes made Marcus' heart constrict. "I'm sorry, Alia," he paused and looked you dead in the eyes. "It's very unlikely you'll ever be considered employable." "Why?!" Marcus shifted uncomfortably, hoping what he's about to say won't offend you. The last thing he wants is to hurt your feelings but you have to know where you stand. "Please don't take this the wrong way, but first of all you have no concept of life here, no skills to offer. Forgive me for asking but are you literate?" You sigh, defeatedly and shake your head. "That puts you at a huge disadvantage," Marcus adds. "Second, you're a foreigner and many employers would frown upon that." "So you're saying it's hopeless?"

The sight of your glistening eyes makes Marcus' heart ache for you, his entire being vibrating with the need to reach out and comfort you. It takes all of his willpower to stop himself. Marcus answers you with a sympathetic smile. "But there must be something I can do," you stress. "Marcus, I appreciate everything you've done for me but I can't stay here. This is your home and I refuse to be any more of a burden than I already am. You have no obligations to me other than the deal we made. There must be somewhere for someone like me, some kind of job I can do." Only two possibilities exist for someone of your station- or lack of it - and neither of them are an option as far as Marcus is concerned. He doesn't want to crush you any more tan he has but you're just not getting it. He shakes his head and exhales, "There are two options; one being the poorhouse..." Marcus' face turns grim, loathed to mention the the other, but he must. "The second is the pleasure house. And that's not happening."

Marcus can see the colour drain from your cheeks at the mere mention of that. "No, no that's not," you quickly agree. "So you see, you don't really have much of a choice." "But Marcus..." you groan, burying your face in your hands and leaning your elbows on your lap, "This isn't fair on you. You're not my father or husband, so why should you have to keep me? It's not right." "Alia..." you peer up at Marcus, looking defeated. "I'm not doing this out of obligation or pity. I'm doing it because I want to help you, because I care. And don't ever refer to yourself as a burden again." You release a humourless chuckle. "You should have ditched me on the way. I can't say I would have blamed you. Now you're stuck with me. Oh, I know..!" you perk up, "I could earn my place here. I could work in the kitchen or -" "No!" Marcus shook his head, emphatically. "Don't you think you've spent enough time in servitude?"

"I..." Whatever you were about to say dies on your tongue and Marcus can see the fight draining from you, replaced with a reluctant acceptance of your situation. He continues with sincerity, "Life has dealt you an unbelievably cruel hand, Alia. Please, allow me to show you kindness. Let me take care of you." After a moment of contemplative silence, you give Marcus a tired smile and nod. "I don't know what to say, Marcus, but... thank you." A warmth suddenly envelops the back of Marcus' hand, a soft brushing sensation across his knuckles. Looking down, he sees his much larger hand enclosed around yours on your lap and your other hand resting atop his. When did this happen? When did his hand find yours? And more importantly, how did he not even notice it happening? Clearing his throat, he gently slid his hand from yours, willing his quickening pulse to ease. Burying his discomfort, he says, "I don't want you to worry anymore, okay? Everything will be alright, I promise."

"I believe you," you whisper sadly, wiping a tear from under your eye. "If you don't mind, I think I'll go and lie down for a while. I feel a headache coming." Marcus rises with you as you stand. "Of course," he soothes. "I'll send Flavia for you when dinner is ready." "Thank you," you murmur before walking away. Marcus watches you as you walk back into the villa. He can't imagine how overwhelmed you must be right now and this is only the beginning. There's so much you'll have to learn, to adjust too, and it's clear to him now that it involves so much more than just life in Rome. It seems a lifetime of abuse and neglect has left you unable to fully accept basic human kindness. The injustice of the treatment placed upon you fills Marcus with a silent anger; the kind that buries it's roots deep into your soul, forever lurking just beneath the surface. If he could, he would leave for Germania this very minute and take great pleasure in burning your village and everyone who've wronged you to ashes.

Marcus pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing in exasperation as he left the Curia Julia (senate house). The meeting with the Emperors and the senate has mentally drained him. These pompous men - Emperors included - speak so casually of war, yet have never faced the reality of the battlefield, never watched the life fade from the eyes of a brother in arms, never smelled the iron tang of so many wasted lives as it seeps into the ground, never heard the weeping of mothers and wives in the aftermath. All they see is a romanticized version of it. After briefing them on all that had happened under his watch and the plans going forward under the command of his Praetorian, and the expected time of his recovery, the subject then shifted to you. He'd explained how you were mistreated and how you'd helped him escape and the promise of citizenship he'd made you.

While a part of him felt it wasn't his place to reveal certain sensitive details, he knew that if he omitted anything now and it later came to light, it could damage your image and forever tarnish you and himself as deceitful, so he told them everything; that they accused your mother of witchcraft and by extension of her bloodline, you too, that they'd murdered your parents and enslaved you and that you'd killed your chief while you were both escaping. There were some raised eyebrows and critical judgements as he'd expected, but after taking it upon himself to vouch for you, a lot of their reservations appeared to have been put at ease and he was able to begin the necessary procedures for your paperwork. Now all he wants is to get back home and be as far away as possible from these two insufferable boys and the showboating of those politicians.

Arriving at the villa, Marcus gave his horse to the stable hand, and headed straight for the Hortus. In the few days since arriving, he'd noticed you particularly favoured the Hortus, spending as much time here as possible. He found you laying on your back in the grass, eyes closed, arm tucked under your head like a pillow and long wavy hair unfurled around you like it's your crowning glory. Coming to a stop right beside you, Marcus grinned, "Now, how did I know I'd find you here?" Using your hand to shield your eyes from the sunlight, you squinted up at him, a lazy smile on your face. "How could I not be here?" you shrug, playfully. "This place is... perfection." The last word left your lips in such a dreamy sigh that Marcus couldn't help but laugh. In all the weeks he's known you, he's never seen you so relaxed, so unguarded.

Knowing that he's able to give you such peace fills him with connectedness and a deep satisfaction. After everything you've endured, you deserve the very best that life can offer, that he can offer. "Come, lay beside me," you pat the ground next to you. Marcus just stared down at you, brow ticked up in question. "Uh... why?" he asked, somewhere in between intrigue and amusement. "Haven't you ever just laid in the sun, just for the sake of it?" Marcus shrugged, nonchalantly, "Not really." "Well, there's a first time for everything." You pat the ground again and the goofy grin you're giving him makes him powerless to resist. How can he say no to you when you're looking at him like that? With a slight huff, he lowers himself onto the grass. His leg no longer hurts but the muscle is still quite stiff. But of course the more he uses it, the more it will aid his recovery.

He's still sitting up when he feels you tap his arm. "Lay down...," you say in an almost singsong tone. With a playful roll of his eyes Marcus lays beside you, copying your pose of laying his head on his arm. "So... now what," he asks, lightheartedly. "Now, close your eyes, breathe slowly and just... feel." Marcus does as he's told, secretly enjoying playing along, even if it seems pointless. This is a new side of you; calm, untroubled and Marcus likes it. You continue in a gentle lilt, "Feel the heat of the sun on your face, listen to the birds and the wind, feel the grass beneath your fingers and just... let go of everything." Marcus complies and to his surprise he can feel the tension of the morning ebbing away, his body sinking further into repose. Damn it, this is good. He can't even remember the last time he felt this peaceful.

Instead of tormented screams - which he hears all too often, even off the battlefield - all he can hear now is the sweet chirp of birds and the plants swaying in the afternoon breeze. He won't admit it out loud but you're definitely onto something here. "Excuse me, Dominus?" Marcus hadn't realised he was half asleep until he heard Silas' voice. "What is it, Silas?" he asked, sitting up. "The Medicus has arrived." "Oh, of course. I shall be right there." Silas answered with a respectful nod and made his way back inside the villa. "I Completely forgot he was coming this afternoon," Marcus said. "It's your fault, he teased you, "distracting me with... this," he waved a hand at the world. You shrug, eyes still closed but face a little smug.

"Worth it though, am I right? I'll bet you haven't felt this relaxed in a long time." "You're not wrong there," Marcus chuckled. You prop up onto your elbows, your tone now sounding more serious. "Marcus, is something wrong? Why is the Medicus here?" Your brow scrunched and the worry in your voice struck a chord deep within Marcus, your concern for him making his fondness for you grow. "Everything's fine," he reassured, getting to his feet. "He's here to begin my exercise regime." Your face instantly softened in response. "Ah, good luck," you smiled. "If you need anything, I won't be too far away." "Okay," you sigh, resuming your position in the grass.

*****

Marcus was glad to get that first session over with. He'll definitely be feeling that tomorrow, if the burn in his hamstring is anything to go by. Pouring a cup of wine, he slowly lowered himself onto a Lectus in the Triclinium. Gods, he's starting to feel his age now. Before he had a chance to really relax, Flavia entered the room, carrying a letter. "Dominus, this letter arrived earlier." "Thank you," Marcus said, taking the letter. Flavia left the room. Looking at the seal, Marcus sighed. It's the Emperors' seal. He knew what this was without having to open it; an invitation, just like he receives this time every year, requesting - well, demanding - his attendance for the week long celebrations of Caracalla's birthday. Unrolling the parchment, Marcus' eyes quickly scanned the formal invite to the banquets and Gladitorial games that will be held in Caracalla's honour, the usual entertainment as he'd expected. But what he didn't expect was for the invite (or summons) to the banquets to extend to you.

A pit of unease formed in his stomach immediately. Why would you be invited to an elite gathering? It's not that he feels you're not worthy enough to be there, but he knows everyone will look down on you. A person of low station attending an upper class banquet is rare, so for a non citizen to obtain an invite from the Emperors' themselves is completely unheard of. What exactly are they playing at? Marcus crumples the letter into a ball, throwing it in frustration. A lot of people in Rome are still, no doubt, very curious about you, so if the Emperors think they can parade you around like some exotic curiosity or use you for their own amusement, they can think again. Marcus can feel his anger flaring, his instinct to protect you returning. You're about to walk into the lion's den and you don't even know it. He'll just have to keep a close eye on you at all times. As long as he's there, you'll be okay, he'll make sure of it. Now he just has to find a way to tell you while masking his growing concern.

*****

Dinner was a quiet affair tonight. Something seemed to be weighing on Marcus, despite his attempt to hide it. In the quiet moments between conversations his mind appeared to drift elsewhere. "You've been quiet tonight," you observe. "Is something bothering you?" Whatever was just consuming his thoughts had been cast aside as he came back to himself, offering you a reassuring smile. "No, nothing's bothering me, but I do need to discuss something with you." "Oh...?" You place your fork down to give Marcus your full attention. You can see a slight hesitancy behind his smile. "I have received an invitation from the Emperors in regards to Caracalla's birthday celebrations. It will be a week long celebration with banquets and games at the Colosseum." Your eyebrows raise and you can't help but laugh. "Who celebrates their birthday for an entire week?!" Marcus huffs a laugh, "Emperors, apparantly." You nod, not sure why he's telling you this or why it's an issue for him.

"Well, I hope you have a good time. You've been cooped up here with me for the past week. A change of scenery will do you good and you deserve some recreation." Marcus' smile faltered, ever so slightly but you'd noticed it. "The invite was for both of us," he said, cautiously. Now it's your smile that falters. "Both of us? But... why? Why would I be invited?" Marcus purses hips lips in thought. "I'm not sure. Anyone can attend the games but the banquets are always restricted to those of... higher stations." There was an air of discomfort to Marcus' voice as he said that, but you know he meant no offence. He's simply stating the truth. "Then I don't understand. Why would they or anyone want someone like... me there?" Marcus could feel himself prickling ever so slightly, hearing the way you speak of yourself so disparagingly. As far as he's concerned you have more worth than all of these fools put together, but he decided to bite his tongue on the matter... at least for now.

"I imagine that everyone still wants to meet the one who saved Romes' General," Marcus said casually, trying to make light of the situation. "It's not everyday Rome has a new hero, and a woman none the less." "But I don't know the first thing about how to behave in front of all these people," you fret, voice rising as you begin to worry about all the ways you could - and probably will - mess up. "What if I say the wrong thing or offend someone unintentionally? What if I embarrass you? What if-" "Alia," Marcus interrupted, his voice firm but gentle, "you need not worry about anything. I already told you I'm a patient teacher and I'll teach you everything you need to know beforehand. And I'll be with you the whole time." Shaking your head, you look down, wearily. "Marcus, I can't go. I don't belong there."

Marcus sighs, looking at you apologetically. "I'm afraid you have no choice. To refuse the invite would be a direct insult to the Emperors." You slowly lift you head up, dread gripping your stomach, but the way Marcus is looking at you now - a mixture of understanding and confidence - slowly soothes the worst of your anxieties. "Everything will be okay," he promised, "trust me." You force a smile his way and nod. Even though you are still apprehensive about this turn of events, you find yourself believing Marcus' words. He's strong and capable and if he says it'll be okay, it'll be okay.

Series Masterlist Ch1 Ch2 Ch3 Ch4 Ch5 Ch7 Ch8 - coming soon

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