#seems like they... don't comprehend what it means...

[grotesquevi]

cw  # this story continues what happened in the arsonist, settled in a medieval au, feel free to read it before as you might be confused if not. 18+ mdni as it contains smut at some point, homophobia, internalized misogyny, sevika cameos.

this is just a teaser from the entire fic that will come out in a few days, also not proof-read so any mistakes? let them be — wc: 1.8k

vi dreams of coming back to winter.

craves the silence of a snowstorm even when it only causes disaster to the realm, finds herself unable to close her eyes again without recurring to the same thought: are you even affected by her like she is? do you spend countless nights under the poor illuminations of a candle slowly consuming over your nightstand? staring at the ceiling and not moving a muscle like she does — do you wish she was closer to you like she wished upon your company every night?

even when the time passes, she yearns for coming back to a weather she hates if it means you’d be there in the cabin again, trying to warm up in her arms, too loyal to her beliefs to ever fall again in your traps. it's not possible but she's distracted sometimes during the day when you're walking past her and your perfume stays in the air even when you're long gone, how you carried yourself with grace despite having to endure your mother's slowly rotting away in a gigantic bed.

"what we did," vi remembers her own words like a spell from the witch in the woods, haunts her like a childhood nightmare "it cannot happen again, my lady."

a royal is destined to a bright future, a huge impact in life meanwhile vi's stuck being a nobody, ready to die for the crown, for you. the metal on her waist yanks heavy on her belly cause she swore years ago about giving her life for the well-being of your family, die for a greater motive, something good.

"if that's your choice violet," it saddens her somehow. the fact you don't seem bothered at her words, even when vi's hearts already pounding in her chest like a horse running to meet death in war. "i'll still ask about having you in my personal guard. i think your skills are helpful in a higher rank."

"as you wish, my princess."

she doesn't want no special treatment — fuck that, vi needs to earn it. however she's bound when you're looking at her like that. bound to protect you, to serve and be nothing but a weapon in your ruling hand when swearing upon her honor, bended knee in front of your mother last rational moments. you could have her heart if it's a demand for the greater good. it's what every knight would offer, what she needs to do.

so violet's following you around in a silver armor from months now, impeccable, clean white cape on her back. your knights now on council meetings, outside your room day and night, in the hallways and it's driving her to an insanity she cannot comprehend: since the very moment you fell asleep in her arms, since you melted in her touch she cannot stay close for more than a minute. impossible to share a room when no one's around cause she gets distracted, and her work relies on keeping you alive, on answering for your well-being: can’t afford any distraction.

in her entire life, she has never felt so useless, so inebriate to someone's charm — a knight its not supposed to burn for the love of it's princess, held such feelings that went beyond her duty to serve, but she's trapped there in whatever you are, whatever you showed her outside the castle. makes sense you’d set her soul ablaze. the forever unworthy dog that's waiting outside your door despite all efforts of pushing you away, of standing still and ready for combat even when she flinches when some old man of the council has the nerve to raise his voice ever so slightly at your new ideas.

violet vanderson has now become a burden, a burden with a good name, a good place in the court and a secured future, a known knight that's attracting a lot of attention even when she would rather be showing a fist of iron to the injustice in the realm. something in her new position more than just your personal guard.

hope is a dangerous thing for somebody who has nothing, and to vi it's hard to keep her desires in check as you continued with your life holding no physical ache for her touch, not at plain sight at least cause you're so collected, so aware of yourself, of the power you carry now on your shoulders and haunts you night and day.

hope is a dangerous thing.

"i don't think my marriage is something we absolutely need right now," in the wall close to your seat vi's brows furrow in question when you're suggested by half of the council the need to join forces with noxus in an arranged marriage, already plotting for decent suitors without you knowing — "my mother's dying, and i'm going to ascend to the throne before i'm thinking about any political alliance."

"a marriage would benefit the people," at the lack of the presence of the queen you're responsible for the realm's destiny and its future, holding the weight of ruling a nation in your bare hands. "they’re cultivating fear already upon the uncertainty of the queen's destiny, afraid war's coming. we don't have the resources to protect the citizens from hunger, nor the pains of a war."

"noxus has been our declared enemy from years now," you reply, making vi’s gaze falter for a moment cause she can smell it in the air still: you’re annoyed — "any alliance with them is nothing but a lie. and i won't feed the people outside this castle with nothing but honesty. we'll make arrangements with piltover if necessary, i know the queen and they owe it to us."

"you're taking a rushed decision my princess," the title is a reminder of your level, how you're not yet a queen, a regent royal who's in control of the final decisions. makes your body stiffens and vi, even from she is, can see the tension in your muscles, the invisible threads that came out of your back and connected you to the ceiling, kept you up like a real-life-puppet. "we cannot reject their proposal this quickly, you cannot be so blind to not see the future of our nation. your mother would wish upon your marriage as soon as possible too, this- it could lead to a new war."

"despite joining forces with piltover, i'm afraid it won't be enough," another man adds, agreeing to the proposed idea, "the noxian forces hold great power, and compared to our tropes, i'm afraid we don't have the necessary."

"that's enough," much like your family, the tone you use travels across the room like a wild fox chasing its food. makes vi shiver under her armor, looking away cause she's afraid her eyes were already digging holes in back of your skull, too frightened to think about what you'd think if finding out how her chest twists at the thought of you marrying a man — "until my mother get out of bed i wont be doing no courtship. the nation of noxus is not at war with us still, and i'm intending to keep it that way gentlemen. the meeting is over."

you don't have to say anything. vi works in sync with you now, been getting used to you since the night after the cabin, knows what you're up to like your shadow. turned into your guardian as she walks beside you when you storm away from the room and it's so nice, so nice to see you mad. wrong probably on so many levels, but the thought crosses her mind a time or two when she's following you close by, far still, at a fast pace when you cross the hallway infuriated.

"marriage," you spat to the air offended, and the knight's sure you're not talking to her cause you never do. barely look her way after the night you shared with her like it embarrasses you enough to act as if it never happened "can you even believe that, knight? my mother is dying and all they care about is if i'm marrying a noxian."

it must be the sixth or seventh time you're looking back at her after months, and vi's lungs seem to fill with a different kind of oxygen when your eyes travel through her face and you're aware of the details of it, the scar on her upper lip, the tattoo on her cheek. it lingers on her for seconds, seconds the knight uses like a plant uses the sun to survive, makes her forget what she's gonna say for a second.

"you don't have to marry anyone if you don't want to" her voice is rougher than before but wishes to ignore the real motive behind it: how can a simple act from you already have her spiraling to the gates of hell? how are you so fast to speak like a friend? — "it's a decision you can only make, my princess. the council's job is to follow your rules and do nothing but advice. you don't have to follow their suggestions if they aren't fitting."

you seem stuck in the wording, on how her mouth moves to say it: my princess. she'd said it before, but it has never affected you the way vi's able to see from where she's standing, so clearly as the sun shining on a summer day.

she asked for this. haunts her when vi's the one that pushed you away in the first place, the one that's so sure of your negative opinions on her, how you should hate her since she's the reason you're back and far away from your desired freedom moons ago. you're a spine on the palm of the hand, and itch she cannot scratch not at bare fingers, not so easy anyway.

you have a royal duty. violet owns you her entire life. the money her family was now enjoying and the good position she was granted with? it was thanks to you. in her chest still rests the medal she got for taking you back to where you belonged, hanging right against her heart as a constant reminder of her victory, of how she earned a trust she wished to keep like the greatest treasure she owned.

"you're right," it's a warm feeling the one that spreads in her chest at your response. "i don't have to marry nobody, i will be the regent queen."

"you will, my princess," she continues still, arm's-length distance, almost refusing to look at you like she wanted to — "the kingdom does not follow the council's words but your own."

and vi have to repeat it to herself once again when the sun hits your face for a moment and your complex green gown gives her enough access to look at your cleavage, squished tits under a corset that only strangled you: she asked for this.

"what we did. it cannot happen again, my lady."

everyday it's the same from now on, sometimes a knight can be blatantly stupid, she knows all about it.

[ravenlly]

So Uhhh... SOTM DayCarw Attendant Lore, Huh? (SPOILERS)

Secret Of The Mimic has some...interesting... Daycare Attendant lore and designs.

The Moon suit is straight-up hilarious. I'm sorry. I was expecting possible prototype models for Sun and Moon, but that one really caught me off guard. Gotta love ball Moon.

Moon.exe is the most interesting piece of Daycare Attendant lore by far, though. It seems to have double implications. For starters, it seemingly does some representational storytelling about Fiona, Edwin, and the Mimic. But I'm going to assume it also has implications regarding the Daycare Attendant. In Moon.exe, we find pieces to build Moon. We straight-up see and build the same design that we see in Security Breach. That has gotta be more than just a coincidence and more than just representing the Murray family. Sun is also Fiona. F10-N4 is also represented as a sun on her when we "meet her face-to-face." We also see a lot of sun and moon props throughout the game. We do not see any sort of costume design for Sun himself, however, nor do we see one for Eclipse.

I haven't had much time to sit and properly comprehend the meaning of any of this stuff fully, at least in regards to the Daycare Attendant himself. The game hasn't been out that long, after all.

Did F10-N4 perhaps design the current design Daycare Attendant we know and love? I don't think she designed Sleepy Moon (Ball Moon). I mean, it seems like something either of them could have designed. Like a love child of sorts. Just like M2. As I theorized, the Data Diver is definitely involved in their creation. It is literally called Moon.exe as well. It's pretty straightforward what that entails, and what its original purpose was. Although we see Fiona being represented by a sun, we don't see Sun's design itself anywhere in the game. He is nonexistent in both the main game and Moon.exe. Same with Eclipse. It looks like Moon came before Sun for sure, unless there was maybe a Fall Fest Sun design we have yet to see in the future. I don't know.

All I know is, Moon's current design can be seen in Moon.exe, and that we see a suit version of him in the secret basement. The ending where we rebuild him in Moon.exe is not the canon ending, which is why I haven't mentioned the line "You rebuilt yourself, but now you are split in two." In that ending, it is mostly used to symbolize the story we see unfold in the main game. We obviously didn't build Sun and Moon via Moon.exe. But I do believe Moon.exe is, well, storing Moon's programming, as its name would suggest. Serves as a fun minigame with lore implications as well. It doesn't explain where Sun or even their merged form, Eclipse, came from. We can only speculate there.

Someone ended up with the Data Diver regardless. Someone who likely used it to build Moon, or perhaps the entire Daycare Attendant. Whether this is the Mimic, F10-N4, or someone else, we can't yet say. But whoever ended up with it would have access to Moon.exe. We know Sun/Moon/Eclipse are all connected to the Data Diver and its future form, the Faz Wrench, in some way. We just have to put the pieces together to figure it out...

[kraniumet]

trying to understand unreals color management might actually drive me insane. what do you mean their color space is

no wait.

no wait.

[headspace-hotel]

but seriously i think learning about nature is Hard for many people, especially adults, because you have to rationalize the symbiotic experience youre having next to the contemptuous and abusive way we treat the land. I think USAmericans fear nature as a way of making sense of the fact that we're waging war against nature, with our lawns and our suburbs and our landscaping and our cosmetic use of pesticides.

There was a post on facebook my mom was showing me where someone found a salamander and was asking what it was. thankfully half the comments were like "that's a SALAMANDER they are SPECIAL and a BLESSING and you must PROTECT it"

but the other half were things like..."I don't know, but I think it's time to move" "Burn the house down" "Kill it with fire" "I would scream if i saw that"

this is why i have such specific preferences in horror fiction that nothing seems to really hit: for me, horror is not about bad things happening, horror is about fear. So occasionally I find these really satisfying stories that are about fear of the unknown thing and the experience of fear, but the unknown thing being harmless is generally seen as a "twist" rather than a perfectly sensible and satisfying outcome.

on the face of it: why would you be afraid of a tiny creature weighing only grams, whose body is so delicate and frail? it's heartbreaking, but it's not unexplainable. What kind of a childhood makes someone an adult who is totally unprepared to comprehend the idea of something both unexpected and good?

a bizarre universe to try and place myself in, where a salamander is more likely to be...what? a mutated fetus of a brain-sucking alien? rather than one among the thousands of gentle creatures that you can marvel at, forever, for free.

It's the same way with bugs: people argue with the simple fact that nearly all insects cannot harm you, and I think it's because it's so difficult to reconcile with how liberally and carelessly we use insecticides with proven harms to humans and pets, and how we treat and speak about these creatures in general. If that weird bug almost certainly would not have harmed you, that means you killed a living thing because you didn't understand it, and that's a troubling thought.

[luvkimi]

if jealousy was a contest, satoru gojo would place first every time.

ever since his first year at jujutsu high—the year he found himself falling hopelessly in love with you—he's been the most jealous person around. even when you barely knew of his existence, he was jealous about everything.

that guy he saw helping you with your books for class? satoru would do better and carry you to class. that person who made you laugh earlier? satoru could make you laugh all the time if you would just notice him.

it irritated him in a way. of course, he never really made an attempt to get you to notice him, but he was the strongest! shouldn't that be enough to catch your attention?

sooner or later with the help of shoko and suguru, he learned that it was, in fact, not enough to catch your attention.

"why won't she notice me?" satoru's words were drawled out in a whine as he leaned against the tree he was sitting near, and somewhat in front of him was you. the only girl who had managed to catch his eye. you were sitting at a table with your friends—laughing at whatever joke one of them had made. he swore he felt his heart skip a beat the longer he watched the scene. "maybe because you're not giving her much to notice..." shoko mumbled as she placed a cigarette between her lips, and satoru could only frown at her words. "what do you mean by that!?" "shoko means that since you do nothing but stare at your little crush all day, she doesn't notice you." suguru's voice caught satoru's attention as he looked away from you to scoff at the man, "i don't just stare at her!" "you're right," shoko remarked as she lit up her cigarette, "you stare at her and threaten to use blue on anyone who even glances at her." "ONLY BECAUSE THEY CLEARLY WANT HER! WHO WOULDN'T WANT HER!?" satoru's shouts only made suguru chuckle as he fidgeted with the bottle in his hand, and he tilted his head. "if you're so worried about other people wanting her, then why don't you talk to her before they can ask her out?" "fine, i will—" satoru stated before he could even comprehend what he was saying, and suguru only hummed. "prove it."

and so, satoru did prove it—or, tried to.

it seemed like the world was against him when it came to him talking to you.

he would try to find you in the hallways, but when he finally did, someone was already walking with you. he would try to talk to you at lunch, but his attempts to call out to you were muffled by your friend's shouts and jokes. he would try to ask for a pencil, but every time you turned around to face him so he could ask, someone so happened to hand him one before you could.

it could've been a sign for him to just give up and accept that maybe you two weren't meant to be, but he would rather be blind than notice that sign.

but eventually, his luck turned around.

slowly, you started looking at him in the hallways. you both would share a smile or a wave before parting. every time you passed him, he would throw his arms up in celebration.

did he get a few weird looks? yes.

did he care? no, because you smiled at him.

eventually, you started talking to him. you'd give him a pencil before class and ask how his day was, and satoru started purposefully hiding his pencils just so he could get one of yours and hear you talk to him.

this went on for a bit until satoru had the courage to ask you out, and as soon as you said yes, you'd think that his jealousy would go away now that you were his.

you're funny for thinking that.

anytime someone looked at you for a little too long, he'd wrap an arm around your waist or grab your hand while swinging it back and forth. if someone was talking to you, he'd just go up behind you and stare at them.

and it's been like that ever since.

despite the fact you're both now happily married, he's never given up on his jealousy. when you ask why out of genuine curiosity, he just shrugs.

but in his head, he's saying how it's because you're the most beautiful thing to ever walk the earth and he wants everyone to know that you are his.

just like how he is yours.

"HELLO MY BEAUTIFUL, LOVING, SWEET WIFE WHOM I LOVE WITH ALL MY HEART AND LOVES ME JUST THE SAME!" the sentence was one you've become used to. you laughed as you felt satoru's arms wrap around your waist, and soft kisses were pressed against the back of your neck. "hi, toru..." you spoke before a quick kiss was placed on your lips, and you could feel a cheeky grin form on his face until he pulled away. "whatcha doinnnn'? who's your friend? your pal? your buddy? your chum—" you watched as satoru pointed to the friend in front of you—who was currently holding back laughter at every term satoru listed that referred to them as a friend. "this is my coworker, toru. we were just talking about their wedding plans." your statement earned a hum from him, but you could tell his jealousy had faded as he grinned at your coworker. he remained behind you until your coworker eventually left, and when they did, you turned your head so you could face satoru. "did you need something?" at your question, he nodded. "just my lovely wife." and that's all he'll ever need—you.

comments & reblogs are appreciated !!

[kismetlotts]

cw: mentions of oral sex, first date with Simon Riley, Simon is very awkward, drabble

Simon Riley being such an awkward and blunt individual when it comes to dating- it freaks you out because you don't know where you stand. In the SAS, Simon was a cold-hearted bugger, even to his own team. There was little they knew about him and he liked to keep it that way because when things were private they were easier to deal with. What would the point even be filling his teammates, co-workers, in on private matters?

He was impassive. Socially awkward but not in the shy, anxious way people would assume. He could never read the room or bring himself to give a shit, he did what he wanted and took little to no notice of what others though. It sounded fine, and for the most part it was.

But dating was fucking hard- being paired up with real whiny, bitchy women who would just complain over every minuscule thing- fucking hell, he wasn't a goddamn therapist. He didn't have time for people like that- his job showed him how short and vague life can be and he wasn't letting anyone waste his valuable minutes. He hated dating, hated putting himself out there just to come back home and sight in relief at the emptiness- he hated everything about it until he went out with you.

Your first online interaction was a mess of you trying to use some god-awful pick-up line that everyone aside from Simon could comprehend. 'What that mean?' and 'Ok.' Being your only two responses and what the hell, you were intrigued. He was just so- cutting? So rambunctiously dull in a careless manner, you couldn't help but wonder what he was life in real life. And after a few more messages back and fourth, there was no need to wonder anymore.

You drove to the restaurant you were meeting at yourself as he didn't even offer to come pick you up. His overwhelming chivalry and charm, clearly seeping in through his actions already! But honestly you were glad that he didn't. It gave you an exit just in case the date was bad and you just had to leave. Driving there yourself on the first date wasn't anything out of the norm anyway but you were used to men offering most of the time.

You greeted each other at the entrance and you were not expecting from a few blurry selfies of him to be so tall and jacked. Muscles only just squeezing out the armholes of his shirt as he nodded to you and walked inside. Not opening the door for your or even bothering to hold it after himself- nope. Just walking inside as casual as he can be; you couldn't contain your laugh.

He ordered what he wanted to eat, letting you order what you liked as well and the two of you finally got to talking. You shared things about yourself, listened to his deep, gruffly voice share things about him and honestly- it was probably the weirdest yet the best date you had ever been on.

You weren't used to people being like this and it made you surprisingly comfortable and not so on edge as usual. There had been dates that you had gone on that you thought were great; you felt a connection, they said they reciprocated but after it was over ghosted and blocked you for some reason. It hurt you every time and with Simon, you felt like that wouldn't be the case. He seemed like the kind of person that wouldn't mess about and wouldn't still be at the table if he felt nothing.

The food came and Simon dug straight into his steak. Your cheeks warming slightly at all the people sat around the two of you, eating softly, chuckling and sipping on red wine meanwhile Simon just enjoyed himself. His chin was dripping from the juice, fingers messy because despite the knife and fork he made an attempt to use- it was just easier with his hands. Deep brown eyes catching your own and blinking in confusion. His chest fluttered at the sound of your chuckle, a small smirk inching onto his face and he hadn't felt this relaxed with someone in months. He hadn't felt able to be himself.

The dinner went on as you swallowed and picked at your food, not wanting to scare him away or embarrass yourself which was stupid given how messily and carelessly he ate. You knew he probably wouldn't care at all but still- you did it anyway. Looking up at him as you placed your fork in your mouth, catching him sucking his fingers clean. Fucking hot. The lighting was so warm- and suddenly the room felt burning hot. The electricity between the two of you, high voltage and you bit your bashful smile down. Stomach aching in arousal as he sat back in his chair watching the way your lips chewed and swallowed.

"I want to eat you out."

And you almost choked. It was so calm, so nonchalant as it practically just leaked from his mouth. No awareness, no worry for who else might have heard him say that- simply just placing his cards upon the table and informing you of what he was thinking about. Horror coating his face as he saw you splutter and choke on your words, mouth agape in shock. He didn't mean to say anything wrong- he thought that was how it was supposed to go, was it not?

Handing you a napkin and sitting forward a little more as he apologised with a guilty smile. You shook your head, mind still spinning from his words and body boiling with a newfound sexual desire. Sipping on the glass of your drink to calm yourself as you assured him it was fine, telling him it was no big deal.

But, holy fuck.

[sugoroo]

ʚɞ warnings: fem!reader, looking up skirt, panty stealing + sniffing + licking, masturbation, professional misconduct, 18+ minors dni.

pervy electrician!toji who unintentionally shows up a little earlier at your house than he was supposed to and is rewarded with the sight of a very unprepared you hurriedly rushing to answer the door in just a baggy t-shirt and a pair of fuzzy socks.

pervy electrician!toji whose usual disinterested expression he has permanently plastered upon his features during work hours morphs into one of subtle interest as his dark eyes leisurely drag up and down your figure — and damn, he never gets sent out to clients as hot as you.

pervy electrician!toji who greets you with a simple nod as he brushes past you to get inside, his scarred lips involuntarily twitching up into an amused half-smile at how you ramble out several apologies for not being ready for his arrival.

pervy electrician!toji who casually waves it off and assures you that he doesn't mind; and he definitely doesn't mind when it means that he gets to watch you walk around in front of him wearing that shirt that barely even covers your ass.

pervy electrician!toji who is as well-mannered as he has to be when conversing with a customer, but makes sure to inject a little more charm into his voice just for you as he drawls out "well, what seems to be the problem, ma'am?"

pervy electrician!toji who silently pats himself on the back when he notices you grow slightly flustered at the polite term he used to address you by, leaning against your kitchen counter as he watches you explain the issues you've had with your power frequently cutting out lately.

pervy electrician!toji who has to make a concerted effort to bite back a scoff when you explain that despite being married, your useless husband has no idea how to fix the problem himself so you had no choice but to resort to calling his company.

pervy electrician!toji who can hardly even comprehend that your sorry excuse for a husband just went to work for the day and left a precious thing like you here with no power; some fools really don't know how good they have it, do they?

pervy electrician!toji who finds a rare, genuine smile pulling at his lips when you joke lightly that you'd make him a cup of coffee if there was any power for the kettle. so you're pretty as hell and you have a good sense of humour... oh, he's in trouble.

pervy electrician!toji who investigates the fuse box located at the back of the cupboard under the kitchen sink while you dash upstairs to change into something more appropriate, humming a quiet tune under his breath while he works.

pervy electrician!toji who figures out what the issue is in no time at all — there's a small leak dripping from the pipe leading from the bottom of the sink that has trickled down and fried some of the wiring; shouldn't be too hard to fix.

but for some reason, he finds himself wanting to create a reason for him to stay around here just a little longer.

so, pervy electrician!toji 'accidentally' makes the leak even worse by using the spanner on his tool belt to stretch the hole in the pipe slightly wider, causing any working part left in the fuse box to fizzle out into uselessness as a result.

pervy electrician!toji who has to pretend to be inconvenienced by the problem that he just worsened once you return to the kitchen, scratching the side of his jaw and telling you that it'll take him atleast a couple of hours to try and salvage the fuse box.

pervy electrician!toji who isn't exactly lying when he says this; just refraining from telling you the whole truth that there is no way to fix the ruined thing now. the entire box has to be replaced and he doesn't happen to have a new one with him today.

...looks like he'll just have to come back tomorrow, too.

pervy electrician!toji who keeps himself busy pretending to attempt to mend things under the cupboard, but finds it quite hard not to be distracted by your pretty self sitting atop the counter where you insisted on staying to keep him company while he works.

but, at the end of the day, pervy electrician!toji is a man, after all — a man who can't help himself from sneaking a quick peek up the edge of the skirt you changed into, holding back a groan when he catches a small glimpse of your patterned panties.

pervy electrician!toji who claims he needs to use your bathroom a little while later, making sure you don't follow him up the stairs before sneaking through the hall until he finds you and your husband's shared bedroom.

pervy electrician!toji who finds himself rifling through his client's underwear drawer like a damn horny teenager, hastily pulling out a pair of cute panties similar the ones he knows you're wearing downstairs right now.

pervy electrician!toji who is way too worked up to feel any sense of shame as he pushes his baggy work trousers down, exposing the extremely noticeable tent and subsequent wet patch staining the front of his boxers.

"fuckin' hell," pervy electrician!toji rasps as he shoves a hand into his boxers, wrapping it around the base of his painfully throbbing cock as he begins languidly stroking himself. "driving me crazy here, girl." he mutters to himself.

pervy electrician!toji who can't stop himself from holding your panties up to his face, cursing under his breath when he remembers that these are a clean pair from your drawer. no — he needs a used pair if he wants to be able to properly get off.

pervy electrician!toji who sifts through your laundry hamper like a starving man searching for scraps of food in a dumpster, his movements fuelled by the sheer need to release the overwhelming desire coursing through his veins.

pervy electrician!toji whose scarred lips twitch up into a victorious smirk when he finally finds a dirty pair of your panties, wasting no time in pressing his nose against the slick-stained crotch and inhaling your scent. and fuck, is it an intoxicating smell.

pervy electrician!toji who is utterly pussydrunk without even being near your actual cunt, tongue instinctively flicking out on its own to lap lightly at the soiled material, a pornographic moan falling from his lips afterwards.

"shit. tastes s-so sweet, heh." pervy electrician!toji grunts as he resumes those earnest tugs of his furiously hard cock, his sloppy mouth just coating your dirty panties with his glistening salvia.

pervy electrician!toji who is cumming in record time like a downright pathetic and touch-starved virgin, one press of his thick thumb against his weeping tip causing it to spill rope after rope of milky release into his boxers.

pervy electrician!toji who does actually go to the bathroom after he's pulled his trousers up and shoved both pairs of stolen panties into his pockets, cleaning himself up as best he can and checking his reflection in the mirror to make sure he doesn't look too wrecked.

pervy electrician!toji who saunters downstairs and faces you with an easy smile as if he didn't just jerk off with your used underwear pressed against his mouth, sharing the news that he'll 'unfortunately' have to return tomorrow to replace the broken fuse box.

pervy electrician!toji who tells you his usual bill for the basic work he's done today, although secretly gives you a considerable discount — one because it's you, and two because he didn't actually do anything to fix your power issue and instead deliberately made it worse so he could stay longer.

pervy electrician!toji who releases an amused chuckle when you frantically dart around the house in search of your purse, coming to the sheepish conclusion that you must've left it in your husband's car that he drove to work this morning with.

pervy electrician!toji who simply shrugs and suggests that you pay him when he comes by tomorrow instead. little do you know, however, that you've already paid him... just in the form of an orgasm and two pairs of panties instead of money.

pervy electrician!toji who is counting down the seconds until he can see you again as he drives home in the company van, body relaxed and sated from his previous climax and pockets stuffed pleasantly full with stolen underwear.

he'd say that was all in good day's work.

© 2024 SUGOROO. please don't copy or translate any of my works without my explicit permission. all rights are reserved to me.

LIKES AND REBLOGS APPRECIATED!

pervy lifeguard!gojo <- PREVIOUS PART.

[dontbesoweirdkira]

There's just so much potential for platonic !yan Tim Drake that isn't really explored. This post may flop but I like to imagine that yan! Tim Drake is actually the worse out of all his brothers...

Masterlist

Requests: always open

Look...you and i both know that Tim is canonically unhinged. But Batsis!reader doesn't. It's so easy for you to forget that your brother Tim is so dangerous. I mean he doesn't really seem all that different from any other nerdy 19 year old. His body doesn't loom over you like the more bulky of your brothers, and his presence is rather...calming? I mean there's still a bit of uneasiness there but it's so subtle that you can brush it off

He's normal when he interacts with you. He doesn't bug you to spend time with him or uncomfortably touch you like Dick does. He is sweet and gentle...He knows how you prefer to be engaged with and respects what you don't like.

But, that's what makes him so dangerous. He knows you. Every. Last. Detail. He's gotten so good at being a nasty little fly on the wall that sometimes you forget he's even in the room. He's always around you, observing and collecting data. He's got you wrapped around his fingers and you don't realize it.

But it's not your fault. It's hard to even imagine that someone as mellow as Tim could ever share the same traits as his brothers.

Yan! Tim fully picked up just how intuitive you are and how you can spot red flags easily. He's so calculated and careful with every interaction. It's amazing how natural he makes these conversations flow. Well, they better. He's spent hours analyzing and practicing how to speak to you. His heart is pounding with anticipation, as every shred of information you give him is going right into his files on you.

Oh! The files he has on you? When Jason and Dick asked him about how many he had, he said only 4. Which is true. but those 4 files have much more information and pictures of you than they could comprehend. ...and he wasn't accounting for the hard drives and physical stacks of papers he stole. I believe Tim knows more about you than you do. When was the last time you've seen your medical records? Passports? Birth certificate? Is your ID even in your wallet? Don't worry, your brother Tim is keeping them safe for you.

Yan! Tim is a little stalker who may or may not have put a tracking/listening devices in your bag so he can keep tabs on you. <33 That's why he's always wearing headphones so he cab listen in. A small piece of missed information could cost him so much. Don't be mad, batsis! He cannot risk making you suspicious of him by asking you invasive questions so this is the only way.

I Like to think you automatically sit by him. whether it be during breakfast, watching a movie or in the car. You feel safer with him and it's a better option in your head than being with Dick who will be overbearing. Tim always acts cool, even a little annoyed by you at times but inside he's screaming. Your scent, your small smiles at him and nudge his shoulders when he makes a funny remark all send him into overdrive.

But i must say, it's exhausting for him to hold back his obsession all of the time. Sometimes he envies his siblings and how shameless they are in their obsessions. Tim Drake thinks about how great it would to be to just be hugged by you or for you to want to fall asleep on him like you do with Jason.

Sometimes, our creepy detective will slip up. He will say or do something that is odd to you

"I cannot remember the name of that song i used to listen to...what was it.."

"It's this one by that local band, sis."

"oh, yeah! wait...how did you-"

"I know you better than i know myself..."

"...what?"

*an incident happened where dick basically forced you to say i love you back. Tim was there and he was so so jealous*

"You love me the most though, right?"

You laughed, thinking it was a joke\

"Sure, Tim. You are my favorite Robin."

*Tim is very visibly becoming feral. Almost in the same way as Dick and you are slightly alarmed*

"...I'm your favorite Robin? So you do love me more than them."

"0-o"

He repeats it over and over again in his mind. If he was recording it like he does with many of your interaction, it will be on instant replay every morning as an affirmation.

That one time you were chilling in the study with Tim. His head was ducked, low into the computer. It was super late by this time and you didn't really want to bother him so you ended up leaving without saying anything, and headed to your room. Tim was beyond hurt that you were breaking his version of bonding time and you had the audacity to not even announce your exit. He's so swift that it startled you when he grabbed your wrist from behind. His grip was....strong.... to say the least..... and he questioned why you were leaving him.

speaking of his strength, Tim is so skinny that you forget he is well trained with a nice bit of muscle. Maybe not as strong as his brothers or Bruce but he can easily subdue you.

He's definitely broken a lock or two, to get into your room at the dead of night and watch you sleep. This is the only time when he can be as fucked up as he wants to. The unhinged look in his eyes while going through your things and taking what's interesting..The adrenaline that you might catch him, excites him. He can't help but to sickly smile as he makes his way over to you and observes. A gentle hand caresses the sides of your face. You're so perfect. He whispers on and on things he wishes he could tell you while you were awake and wouldn't think it was weird....

Maybe even once he's crawled into bed with you, wrapping his arms around you. So happy to be able to finally be able to cuddle like this.

And if you happened to wake up, and realize your dear brother, Tim was there...he has a plan for that. He knows how to play mind games on you and makes you seem like the crazy one. No one would believe you anyways. The locks are all fixed by the morning.

[yuvany]

COUNTING SHEEP

𝐄𝐍𝐇𝐘𝐏𝐄𝐍 when you feel exhausted

OT7 enhypen x fem!reader . . . CONTENT / WARNING(S) : fluff + skinship + kisses + petnames + est relationship . . WORD COUNT : 848 . CHECK BOX !!

福 > LIKED THIS ? — " ENHYPEN BEING TIRED "

𝗟𝗘𝗘 𝗛𝗘𝗘𝗦𝗘𝗨𝗡𝗚

You were so tired that you didn't even want to wait until you reached somewhere more comfortable to sleep rather than the cool floor. You didn't mind, but Heeseung did. He walks into the corridor and saw you curled up on the floor with your legs tucked to your chest. He has a questioned look on his face and hunches down. Heeseung figures that you won't wake up, and lifts you into his arms to carry you to the bedroom to get a proper sleep. You wake up mid-way and Heeseung asks, "Is my princess finally awake?" You don't respond, but only rubs your eyes. "I must say that you did look comfortable." He chuckles and you kiss him on the cheek.

( rest of the members under the cut ! )

𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗝𝗢𝗡𝗚𝗦𝗘𝗢𝗡𝗚

Nothing worries Jay more than seeing you knocked out from exhaustion. He had seen you step foot into the house and taken a seat on the couch not too long ago, and now, you were out like a light. Jay figured that he could help you out and runs over to your room to grab your blanket and returns quickly to throw it over your limp body, being extremely careful not to wake you up on accident. Then he walks into the kitchen and prepares tea leaves while the water is boiling. After a while, he returns with a hot cup of tea and places it on the coffee table for when you wake up. He leans over and whispers, "Sweet dreams, my love."

𝗦𝗜𝗠 𝗝𝗔𝗘𝗬𝗨𝗡

Sees your head hovering over your desk with papers scattered everywhere. Jake curiously peeks from the bed and sees that you aren't writing anything and just exhales loudly. "Babe, what's up?" Jake asks, his voice seeming to smooth everything for a second. You groan and stretch your back. "I've been reading this over and over, but I can't seem to comprehend what it's saying." You complain. Jake jumps out of bed and rests his head on yoru shoulder as he looks at the paper. "How about we do it together, so you can sleep faster?" You nod at his idea and in return he kisses you on the cheek.

𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗚𝗛𝗢𝗢𝗡

Raises an eyebrow at the sight of your tired state, you notice this and raise your own. "What happened to you, sweetie?" He asks, opening his arms for you to walk into. "Wow, thank you." You reply sarcastically. Not accepting his hug. "You know I didn't mean it like that. Talk to me, pretty girl." Sunghoon says, lightly wrapping his arms around your shoudlers. You hug him and sigh into his chest. "Been a rough day at work, love." You say, feeling his palm run up and down your spine. "Let's get you changed and you can tell me all about it." Sunghoon slowly guides you to the bathroom.

𝗞𝗜𝗠 𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗢𝗢

Sunoo woke up in the middle of the night, wanting to go get himself a glass of water, but when he stumbles into the kitchen he sees you sitting there in front of your open laptop. "Sweetheart? What are you doing up so late?" He asks, his voice sounding huskier than you recognise. "I just remembered I needed to finish this." You say and show him what's on your laptop screen. "It's late though, can't you do this tomorrow?" He asks, his fingers finding your scalp to massage. "But I really need to." You say, but he suts you off and says, "You also need sleep, and I'm in need of cuddles anyway." He pulls you out of your seat and you give in with a sigh.

𝗬𝗔𝗡𝗚 𝗝𝗨𝗡𝗚𝗪𝗢𝗡

"I'm so tired, won.." you mumble into his chest, the movie not being in your interest any more. Jungwon draws circles on your shoulder and kisses your temples. "Then we can go to sleep, angel." You hum stubbornly and shake your head. "No need, I can go to bed while you finish this movie." You explain, rubbing your eyes. Jungwon in turn shakes his head too. "It's either both of us, or none, babe." You sigh, feeling bad for him in this situation since you knew how much he wanted to see this film. "I'm not that tired any more," you lied, and he senses this, so he pulls the blanket over the two of you, and snuggles close to you with a smile. "Now it's sorted!"

𝗡𝗜𝗦𝗛𝗜𝗠𝗨𝗥𝗔 𝗥𝗜𝗞𝗜

You sat beside him while he was playing a video game, and throughout the time you spent together, your head would bump against his shoulder a couple of times due to the long day you already had and the dark setting illuminated by the soft lights of the television screen. Having your boyfriend beside you didn't change much of the fact either. At one point, you dozed off, and Riki hadn't realised it until you started to softly snore. He turned his head and was ready to say something until he saw your tired figure. He smiles to himself and helps you into a more comfortable position before turning off the game and cuddling close to you.

─── ꒰ 𝗡𝗢𝗧𝗘𝗦 𝗙𝗥𝗢𝗠 𝗬𝗨𝗩𝗔𝗡𝗬 ꒱

[ consider reblogging and liking this post if you enjoyed it !! I hope you liked this just as much as I did ^3^ ]

[homunculus-argument]

Imagine inviting someone to your home as a guest and you're settling in and they say "wow, your squirrels are so quiet!" and you have to pause and ask them what the fuck they mean. The squirrels in the walls. How do you keep them so quiet and out of the way? Still not quite comprehending what you're hearing, you ask them to repeat that. Why would they think you've got squirrels in your walls.

And your guest frowns in equal confusion, incredulous that you don't have squirrels in the walls. LIke, at all? Then something clicks together in their mind and they go "oh, you do the same thing as [mutual friend] does? Patching up the wall thing? So it actually works?" and it takes you a minute to process that they don't seem to actually believe that not having holes big enough for a squirrel to get in through actually leads to not having squirrels in your house.

You verify that yes. Everyone else has fixed the squirrel problem by patching the walls. Everyone else but they actually patches the walls, and nobody else but they keeps having the squirrel problem. They're the only one who does that instead of patching the wall. Your guest is insulted by your tone, insisting that it can't be that simple and that it's completely unrealistic to always keep your walls patched or to never have a squirrel in your house ever. Everyone has a squirrel in the house sometimes. You won't win this argument.

And that's what it's like to talk with americans on the internet.

[bluetooththereptile]

The other family

(Yandere batfamily x reader) (Coraline coded au)

( English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes in the following text.)

This fic was inspired by this post.

Note: I've loosely based this on Wika by Olivier ledriot and tales of Bogymen taking abused and neglected children away to punish the parents.

Tw: yandere tendencies, child neglect, horror?

The sound of the crickets outside your open window was mixed with the distant noises of the fan in your room working to help with the heat that had haunted Wayne Manor for a week now, the heat wave that had hit Gotham a few days ago was unbearable, even during the nights. You tossed around in your bed, refusing to let go of the green dragon plushie that had been your loyal companion for your days at daycare. You looked into its faded eyes because of rough use and a pout came to your lips, maybe you should take Hamlet with you, yeah, the other mom would allow it right?

You had spent your days enjoying your slushies, and milkshakes, playing video games, and rolling on the cool sheets of your bed, but whatever you did you found yourself slowly losing your patience, they had said you could go back to them every weekend so where was the other cat? You poked your head out of your bedroom now and then to catch a glimpse of its white fluffy fur but it was nowhere to be seen in the dark hallway that seemed to stretch on.

Trying to pass the time you snuck out of your room to take another ice cream from the freezer, maybe its taste would calm your nerves, you were supposed to be asleep by nine pm but you knew you had to stay awake until midnight for the other cat to come and find you, it was it's routine by now even if it meant you'd get scolded by Alfred, the only person that cared for your sleep schedule, it was worth it!

You walked past the empty rooms of Others who had gone to patrol that night, your feet made little noise as you walked past the rooms one by one, turning past the corners to get to the main staircase of the Manor, you glanced at the few doors you could recognize in the dim light, holding hamlet closer to your chest as you walked past Dick's guest room, he always said he'd be there for you, but you couldn't remember the last time he had sat down to talk to you like he did with others, maybe it was because he was too old for you? But he always told others that he didn't care about that. You couldn't comprehend why you were invisible to your oldest sibling.

You walked past Tim's room as well before poking your head to the corner that lead to the room Mom and Dad shared, you padded closer, peaking in with curiosity through the ajar door to see your mom sitting behind her vanity desk, lazily filing her nails as she talked to her phone. Her back facing the door. She had put on her usual hair curling rolls, the sound of her soft chuckles in the air as she spoke with her friend. Mom never laughed like that when she was with you or Dad, unless she was shopping, maybe she liked buying gifts for herself so that was why she was happy shopping? You loved gifts too!

"Yeah I don't know, Bruce is getting rather boring, to be honest" Selina sighed as she leaned back in her seat, putting her slender legs up on the low-level vanity, "yeah, good thing I've dragged on the engagement, imagine I bite the trap" She snorted as she filed her forefinger, "Y/N?" You tensed at hearing your name "I'm not sure about the kid, I mean I never wanted a child to begin with but now that I'm strapped to a grown-up toddler what else can I do but stay? I don't know maybe I give up the custody to Bruce or something like that, you know me, I'm not for the domestic life"

Hearing your mom say those things was both confusing and sad, you didn't understand why mom didn't love dad, dad loved her so much! To the point that he always made sure to call her every day! Dad rarely called to the daycare to talk with you, unless he wanted to say happy birthday or something like that since rarely came home at night, Alfred would pick you up or send someone trusted to take you back home, but Dad made sure to take Mom everywhere himself! Plus if mom didn't like you why did she give birth to you? Were you unwanted?

You clutched Hamlet to your chest and buried your face into its fur as you walked passed the door towards the kitchen. Maybe you would take a bag of snacks with the ice cream, yeah eating always soothed you. Getting down the stairs you walked inside the kitchen, sneaking in to open the door of the double freezer only to be stopped by Alfred who gave you a knowing look, making you freeze as you sheepishly looked up.

"I just wanted a chocolate ice cream, it's too hot in my room," you said trying to give your best puppy eyes look, the older man put his hands on his hips giving you a scolding look in return "Too much dairy makes your stomach hurt, remember?" He spoke, his voice firm but not harsh, you pouted as you held the handle of the freezer's door "Please just tonight? I've been good today" you pleaded, Alfred sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before he gave in and handed you a small tub of ice cream with a spoon. "Just be careful to not spill it alright?" He spoke softly, his eyes saddening a little as he watched your small smile, you rarely smiled these days.

You walked out of the kitchen, holding the cold tub in your hand before you froze at the sight of the white feline at the end of the hall, looking at you expectantly, the tub and the spoon fell from your hand as if you were under a spell and you enthusiastically followed the cat, eyes wide with excitement "Alfred!" You called in a hushed tone to the other cat who was sitting patiently for you, its crimson eyes blinking softly as its long tail swished about, Damian's cat Alfred never liked you for some reason, but this one loved being around you purring as it came to your vicinity.

"Hello, kitty kitty!" You bent down to pet the fluffy creature who arched its back to your touch, lovingly rubbing against your legs, gently kneading your slippers. The soft "mrrp" sound of the cat made you smile more, searching under its chin. "Good kitty!" You cooed, before giggling softly as the cat licked your fingers gently, rubbing its head to your fingers to make you pet it a little more, purring a storm.

After the cat had its fair share of your attention it turned around and padded away before turning back to look at you as if to say "What are you waiting for? Follow me!" You followed the feline creature with a big smile on your lips, walking through hallway after hallway, not noticing the walls and temperature shifting as the other cat guided you to another world. It was your weekly routine now.

It soon turned too cold as you walked deeper into the hallways and you started to shiver, holding Hamlet even closer as you finally walked through a single door at the end of the hallway you were at, entering the entrance hall of the Wayne Manor again, where you had started your journey with the other cat, but the coldness of the air and the eerie lights of the lamps and candles gave you the signs that you were at the Other Side.

You looked around squealing with joy at the sight of the other Alfred who held a large blanket for you, standing by a large chair close to the light fireplace greeted you with a warm smile, chuckling as you ran to him, opening his arms before snugging you in the warm blanket in his hands. He gently wrapped you up fully, putting you on the chair to warm you up. He hummed a soft song under his breath, making you giggle as he wiped your face with a warm towel he had nearby. The other Alfred rarely spoke for some reason.

"My baby!" The other mom called for you loudly, making your head snap up and you nearly fell from your seat from excitement at the sight of her in a comfortable set of clothes, so much different than what your mom used to wear, making you feel uncomfortable even if she was at home with you. "Mo-!" Before you could say anything you were in other mom's arms, showered with her kisses. "Oh, my baby! How I've missed you!" She kept kissing your now rosy cheeks, giggling with you as she held you close. She smelt of lilacs, and she was even more beautiful than your own mom, her silvery eyes were warm, just like her smile. She didn't wear too much makeup that would cake on your skin like whenever your own mom kissed you. Her skin was soft and her unpainted lips were always smiling, making your little heart flutter.

You let out a soft squeak when you felt more pressure around you, sneaking a peak from the other mom's embrace to see the other dad holding both you and the other mom, smiling warmly. "How have you been my sweetling?" The other dad's voice was deeper and he had the same silver eyes as the others on the other side. You felt your cheeks hurt from how much you were smiling. A loud laugh left you as the other dad tickled you through the blanket, the couple chuckling at the sight of your joy. The other dad was always home when you were visiting the other side, even if others were on patrol he was there, he still loved the other mother just like your dad did, but the other also loved...you.

The other dad held you two for a long time, as if he wanted to make sure you wouldn't run away just like the first time you did when you had gotten into the other side. Which had become a side joke with your other family. "You need a good bath and new clothes before dinner" The other mom hummed as she sniffed your hair, her comment finally breaking the hold of the hug around you.

The other dad picked you up without a struggle, making you giggle "Daddy!" You called, making a soft shuddering breath leave his lips at the way you called him that, you had started opening up to the couple and it filled them with joy, you had heard the other Alfred and the other Dick discuss this before, apparently, the other mom and dad were depressed for a long, long time. You couldn't see how the other mom put her hand over her mouth as she nearly teared up at the way you called the other Bruce that. "Again" the other dad whispered "hm?" You tilted your head to the side, holding Hamlet with your hand as the other held onto the other dad's shoulder "Call me again" the other dad insisted, and you smiled as you called him again "Daddy!", he closed his eyes as he buried his face into your hair for a whole minute, his board shoulders tense as he tried to hold back his tears, his baby was alive again, alive!

The other dad took you to your other room filled with everything you liked after he had come to his senses, the other mom had made sure to decorate your room to your tastes and had even changed the wallpaper three times for you. The fireplace there was on, and the bathroom was already filled with steam coming off of the glistening marble bathtub there, when you got close to the bathroom you curiously looked at the bubbles in the air, gasping. You had never seen a bathbomb make bubbles! "Bubbles!" You squealed in joy as you popped one, making the other dad's smile widen. He kissed your forehead before he put you down gently, the other mom undressed you carefully, and then she shooed her husband away when she started to take off your underwear "It's a private moment with me and my baby!" She had said,  making the other dad groan. You jumped on your feet as the cold air hit you, making the other mom coo as she picked you up by your sides "It's okay! It's okay!" She then lowered you into the warm water, watching with satisfaction as your body eased down.

The other dad left the bathroom as the other mom washed you, soothingly wiping the dried sweat off you with a soft loofah. You had never been washed like this before, sure Alfred washed you nearly daily or you'd manage to shilishali your way in a shower, but it wasn't as enjoyable as this one. The other mom would coo and softly praise you for heeding her gentle orders to put your arms up, holding her hand over your eyes as she poured water on your hair, making goofy hairstyles with you as you watched yourself in the mirror at the other side of the bathroom. Your giggles filling the air, ignorant of the snow falling outside.

After washing you up the other mom carefully rinsed you, drying you up before she gently put soothing lotion on the soles of your feet and your knees that you had scrapped after a rough play at daycare. You loved seeing the other mom dote on you and pamper you like no other. She even made sure to dry your ear canals, making you scrunch up your nose as she hit a spot while drying up your left ear "It was itchy wasn't it?" She asked, chuckling as you nodded. The other mom laughed a lot with you, and you never grew tired of it. Her voice was like an angel's always making you feel warm and fuzzy on the inside.

The other mom dried your hair with a blow dryer, brushing it carefully before putting on a pair of very cozy and warm pajamas for you. "But Mommy I shouldn't wear pajamas to dinner!" You said, confused "Mommy makes the rules and you can wear whatever you want to dinner" She booped your nose after that, She then gave Hamlet back to you before putting on your fuzzy socks. You wiggled your toes to watch the googly eyes of the bears on your socks move, oh how much you had begged your mom to buy you those cute socks but she hadn't, calling them too silly.

The other mom held you as she walked to the dining room and by the moment she opened the door others burst into energy and mirth at the sight of you, Everyone was there, even the other Damian was smiling! Speaking of your other brother he was quick to rush towards you and hug you tightly after the other mom put you down, Damian never hugged you like this, even if he said he was your older brother, him saying that always rang hollow, but with the other Damian? Oh, it was something else!

Damian held your hand as he guided you to your seat and helped you sit on it, petting your head and Hamlet's. The other mom sat at your left side and the other Damian sat at the right, and as others spoke with each other the other mom put a napkin on your lap and neatly snug one on your collar and chest before she put a spoon full of your favorite stew in your mouth, and you ate with enthusiasm. Chewing the savory roast with both your cheeks full.

The other dad smiled leaning on his elbow as he watched you eat, putting his hand on the other mom's shoulder as she put spoonful after spoonful into your mouth, his eyes soft and full of love for you. You still remembered the first time you had met him, his face was of shock and confusion "Angel?" He had called you but you had meekly mumbled out your name, making him gasp and speak of something along the lines of "Our prayers were answered, glory to Balor!" Who was Balor? No one answered you that.

The other mom was so kind, dabbing napkins on your mouth if a bit of food smeared the corners of it, watching you chew and swallow before putting another spoon of the hearty stew, giving you the juiciest cuts of meat that melted into your mouth. You scrunched up your nose again at her as you tasted a tangy bit, making her giggle "It's alright sweetie, just try to swallow it" and you did with slight difficulty. "Good job!" She clapped her hands together, the ring on her finger shining. The other mom had married the other dad, unlike your mom who seemed to hate that.

You noticed the small dark tint to her nails, her nails had started to darken more and more since the first time you had met, maybe she liked black nail polish? Your mom put on some now and then, but your mind couldn't see how she had grown taller at each visit, oh how her actions had turned more and more clingy, you weren't privy to her tearful night with her mate, when she'd hiss and growl as she shredded the body of another child by the alter of Balor, begging him to give her a chance of a sacrificial ceremony, to which the being had agreed to. Her lost child was coming back home once more.

Your gaze looked around as the other mom put a piece of bread for you to munch on in your hands as Hamlet sat on your lap. You noticed Dick, smiling at him as your memories with him flooded your mind. Even if the other Dick was busy speaking with the other Jason but he still waved to you every time you looked at him, as if he could sense your gaze.

You noticed the other Jason waving your way as well "Nice plushie" he commented, making you hold up Hamlet proudly "Ooh very nice!" The other Jason was so much kinder than the Jason you were used to, he would pick you up and tickle you, blowing raspberries on your belly and smile whenever you talked to him, even if you still could see the pain in his eyes he made sure to dote on you, playing with you and Hamlet.

The other Tim was busy eating his food, but he gave you glances, each time smiling as your eyes met, he had insisted on reading you books when you took naps at the other side since the very first time, though it had turned into more a rivalry with him and the other mom and the other Damian to take turns tucking you in.

The other Damian held your hand as he ate his food in silence, gently squeezing your hand every so often, offering his piece of food as if to mimic the other mom "Damian you know my baby gets stomachaches if you give your baby sibling too much dairy" She gently reminded the other Damian who with a loud "Hmph" took his spoon away from your mouth, making you pout. "It's okay sweetie, I'm just looking out for you" She chuckled as she pinched your nose gently. 

The other Duke and Cass were nowhere to be seen, maybe they were on patrol that night, but you missed Cass's warm hugs and Duke's play times as you and him made pillow forts, having the other dad and Damian force siege onto it.

Everyone was happy, you were happy, and blissfully...ignorant. Maybe it was for the better as the other Alfred once had said to the couple "Let the child be oblivious to everything happening, it helps the transition to proceed smoother, stress and anxiety affect a child's choice."

It all had started with the bridge between the parallel worlds becoming thin when you had passed into a door during a restless night, entering a darker version of the world you lived in that was shrouded in perpetual night and winter, where the dark fae resided. You didn't know every human alive had a fae double living their own life on the other side, that was why you didn't know your own double had been long dead at the hands of the other joker, and how much your other family were overjoyed to find you there. And the other Selina, became obsessed with the idea of taking her child back by any means possible.

"It is against the rules" the other Bruce had said as his wife suggested the idea of taking you into the fold of the kin residing on the other side, but she had reminded him "They don't want the poor thing! We can give the sweet angel the love a child like the little one deserves! Look how eagerly the child clings to you! The child needs us, my love, the child needs me!" And that was when the family decided on setting a plan to turn your weekly visits, into a permanent stay.

"Sweetie" the other mom called for you" Everyone quieted down as they realized the moment of truth was going to happen "Do you want to stay with us?" The other mom asked softly as she rubbed your back "I'd love to stay the night Mommy!" You answered, making Alfred smile at your blissful innocence "No sweet baby, I mean do you like to stay with us forever?" The other father chimed in and you frowned as you tried to think. The other mom bit her lip nervously, maybe it was too early for her to suggest it? The couple watched anxiously as you tried to think about your decision "If I agree, I will be with mommy and daddy forever?" "Forever sweetie, and we won't leave you, ever" the other mom cooed, holding your hand as Hamlet fell onto the ground. "We will have lots of fun, mommy will be your best friend, and Daddy and others will play with you nonstop!" You smiled at the thought of it, melting the dark hearts of the fae sitting around the table. "Yes, mommy!" You agreed, and upon that, the mood shifted.

At hearing that the lights turned a greenish hue, as if on cue, and everyone seemed to grow taller and taller as your own body turned heavy, the illusion magic was wearing off and yet the couple was surprised to see you weren't panicking. "I'm sleepy Mommy" you mumbled with a soft yawn, and the female fae cooed softly at hearing that "It's alright sweetling, mommy will make sure to tuck you in" She reached out and picked up Hamlet from the ground, the plushie morphing into a grotesque figure of a dragon in her clawed hands before she tucked the toy in your arms. Your eyelids grew heavier as you sunk into the large seat behind the table, not noticing how everyone stood up from their seats, bowing to the haunting shadow appearing in the room.

A hissing voice spoke in a language you didn't know, and the female fae picked you up, holding you by the back of your knees and shoulders, passing you into the massive bony arms of the God of the dark elves, Balor, who wrapped you in its tangible shadowy form "Do not worry for the babe, rest this night my children, for tomorrow we will rejoice for a fae, reborn."

Your eyes closed as you slipped into a peaceful slumber. Before you found yourself in a bed of flowers, lying beside an angelic man in a lush garden. "Shush my child, sleep" the man soothed you "Birth will be painful" he murmured, gently tapping your chest as he lulled you into rest in your dream before the emergence of another life. "Your parents are waiting for you" he whispered in your ear with a warm voice, and then, your mortal heart stopped in his arms, your soul leaving your body that would soon the body of the many children in the garden of Balor, to land into the carefully preserved one of the sweetling of the other family of yours.

Born anew, in bliss and pain.

It took three days for everyone to notice you were gone, without a trace, nothing was lost but you and your favorite plushie, leaving your parents forever haunted by the memories of the child they took for granted.

Tags: @craulo13 @gaozorous-rex-blog @090909yh @demonprodegy @marise-eternal @jersules @goodsoup19 @candlejuice @worshipcoffee @geniegirlrocks @ghostgangleader @obsessedwithromance @theblacksirenofwinter2004 @ranshin03 @prettyboys247 @kinuraoj @iwannabeapinkaesthetic @legendarylearner18

[missadangel]

⊱ AMOR MEUS AETERNUS ⊰

(Marcus Acacius x Ofc)

VI. Memento

prev chapter series masterlist

Chapter Summary:  Rhea or Rose? Or both? Were you really reincarnated? The questions are confusing, the answers are unclear, the doubt is painful. It felt like a third presence lingered between you and Marcus…or maybe it was your incarnation? Chapter W. Count and warnings: 15k (sorry not sorry; SMUT (+18) IT'S HAPPENING GUYS!!, unprotected sex (don't do that!), shameless smut, oral sex, fingering, breast play, multiple orgasms, kissing, mention about death, rom-com, falling in love, fluffy, lying, sharing a room, mention about reincarnation, praising kink, sharing a bed, ancient latin language authors note: The reincarnation mentioned here is based on ancient Roman beliefs, and more information will be provided in future episodes.Spondeo: promising, ‘I promise.’ Viduus: Viduus is the god said to separate the soul and body at death. Gaudium vitae meae: joy of my life Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Ofc!Reader (Her name is Rose, and her hair is dyed) Rating: Explicit, 18+ MDNI, Smut General Warnings: Harsh, cold, grumpy Marcus, and the reader is NOT innocent a little bitchy, Lucilla is mean, Lucius is a jerk(but falls in love with reader), its Septimius Severus' era but Geta and Caracalla are the prince of Rome, time travel, modern-ancient era travels, falling in love, slow burn, rough sex, smut, sex, oral sex (both f&m receiving), all sex, dirty talk, gladiators, battle, war, violence, blood, ancient time language, fluffy, injury, forced marriage, arranged marriage, sexism, haters to lovers, first love, angst, vestal virgins, vestal priestesses, age gap; reader is 25 Marcus is 42, reincarnation my masterlist

Rhea...

Marcus had whispered that name before—right before he slipped away, arrows piercing his body in your arms. You had felt a shiver then, just as you were feeling now. But this moment was entirely different.

Time seemed to flow in a way you couldn’t quite grasp.

Why was that?

Gazing into his warm brown eyes, his hands cradling yours as he said, “You are my Rhea,” you felt as if you had stepped into another world, if only for an instant.

The name rang out in your ears several times—brief, yet it felt achingly real.

“Rhea, where you’ve been?” a woman’s voice inquired, warm and kind, though accompanied by a hint of concern. It was a tone that was unfamiliar to you.

“Rhea, it is imperative that you fulfill this duty. You have obligations to Rome; it relies on your commitment. Do not disappoint me,” stated a deep, authoritative masculine voice, which was also unfamiliar.

And then, countless other voices began to call your name, an overwhelming chorus that sent your mind into a spiral.

But then, amidst the chaos, there was that voice...

“Rhea, you are my Rome. Nothing else matters to me, my love.” This was Marcus’s voice, but it sounded different—softer, more tender... younger.

The way he said that name set your heart racing.

It was only then that you realized Marcus was gently shaking you, concern etched across his face. You suddenly felt the familiar surroundings of your room wrap around you, as if you had taken a fleeting mental journey in mere seconds.

What was happening?

You felt lost, struggling to comprehend it all.

“Rosa? Please, say something, anything.”

Rosa...

Rose...

That was your name.

You were this person, in this moment. But who was that other one? Why had those voices haunted you?

It all felt too overwhelming, crushing down on you like a heavy weight, leaving you frozen in place.

Suddenly, you became aware of your chest heaving as you gasped for air. Dizziness swirled around you; if Marcus hadn't cupped your face in his hands, you might have collapsed.

“Rosa? Please, are you well? What’s wrong?”

You swallowed, trying to moisten your dry throat, and managed to whisper, “Anxiety... Attack. M-medicine.”

Marcus understood right away; it was the same medicine you had taken before, one he had seen you use many times. “Where? Is it in your bag?”

He reached for your bag hanging on the chair while still holding your hand, but at that moment, darkness closed in, and you lost consciousness, falling back. Fortunately, he was quick enough to catch you, pulling you into his arms just in time.

The smell hit you first—pungent, overpowering, and distinctly medical. Ah, that unmistakable scent of a hospital.

As you blinked your eyes open, the bright white light overhead and the IV bottle and tube confirmed it: you were in the emergency room. Hospital beds surrounded you, and there stood a nurse, leaning over with a look of concern.

“Are you okay, ma’am? Are you awake?” she asked gently.

“Was it all just a dream?” you muttered, still disoriented.

The nurse furrowed her brow. “Pardon?”

“You know how it is in movies—you wake up and everything that happened was just a dream,” you giggled uncontrollably.

“Rose?”

“Rosa, are you alright?”

Turning to your right, you saw your sister Lizzie, and beside her... Marcus.

No, this wasn’t a dream.

The moment you noticed him, anger flared up within you.

Just then, the supermodel doctor from your last visit entered the room. “How is our patient?” she asked, her heavily made-up face scrutinizing you.

“How am I?” you snapped back, laughter turning into disbelief. “How do you think I am? I’m in a hospital bed!” Your gaze shifted to Marcus. “This man—because of him, nothing good has happened to me. I hadn’t seen a doctor in three years, never stepped foot in a police station until he came along. Every day is a trip to the hospital, every day is a run-in with the cops. One morning, I wake up in ancient Rome; the next morning, it’s 2025 Rome, and there’s another man in my room! Because of him, I lost my job, he forced me to marry him supposedly for my protection, and just when I finally started to come around to him, the Praetorians shot him with an arrow and killed him! I saved his life, but somehow, I’m the one to blame. I thought he had changed; I thought he felt something for me. Now he’s saying there’s someone else in his heart and that I’m her reincarnation! What the hell do you want from me, Marcus?”

The nurses and the doctor exchanged glances, rolling their eyes as they listened to your rapid-fire rant. Lizzie blinked in disbelief, while Marcus seemed taken aback by your whirlwind of words.

“Should we check for a head injury, doctor?” the nurse asked with a hint of sarcasm, eyeing you as if you were a bit off-kilter.

The doctor sighed. “No, this is her normal state. She was weird last time too, probably still high on sedatives,” she remarked, looking at you with a mixture of amusement and annoyance.

“She mentioned a head injury before, but the results were normal,” Lizzie added.

“Your sister is fine. You can go home once the IV is finished,” the doctor said, turning her attention to Marcus. “I wish you luck with your wife, sir,” she said before exiting the room, followed by the nurse stifling a laugh.

Marcus furrowed his brow at her implication and stepped closer to you.

“Are you truly well?”

“I think she’s lost it enough to mix up movie scripts with real life,” Lizzie said dryly.

You propped yourself up in bed, but the sudden movement made the IV tube pinch your hand. “I’m fine,” you murmured.

Before you knew it, your eyelids grew heavy again from the medication, and you drifted off to sleep. When the IV finally finished and the doctor checked on you one last time, she cleared you to leave. The tranquilizer still lingered in your system, making it hard to stay awake in the taxi as you avoided Marcus's gaze. You weren't prepared to confront the reality of his words or the haunting echoes that filled your mind.

All that you had been through recently felt like a heavy burden; perhaps this was just your body’s way of coping. Lizzie didn’t ask more questions—that was one of your favorite things about her. She had an uncanny ability to sense your mood and adjust accordingly.

Marcus didn’t take his eyes off you the entire ride home. He carried you from the taxi, through the entrance of the apartment building, and gently laid you in your bed. Lizzie paused at the sight of the bed on the floor, the one you had made for Marcus, and a cloud of suspicion enveloped her.

Lizzie stood in the doorway, watching as Marcus tucked the bedcover around you. She called out softly, “Marcus?”

He turned to her.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” Lizzie asked, her voice steady yet friendly.

He nodded, and Lizzie headed into the living room while he took one last glance at you before closing the door to your room and following her inside. As Marcus entered the living room, Lizzie shot him a look, motioning for him to sit down.

“Listen, I don’t know what’s going on with you, but you clearly don’t know my sister well enough yet,” Lizzie began. “You got married in a rush, and I still can't figure out why she did it, but it seems she truly loves you. Trust me, I’d understand if she didn’t.”

Marcus managed a weak smile.

“I can tell you love her too, even though I don’t know you all that well.”

“Very much so, Elizabeth,” he replied softly, referring to her by her name. “I love your sister, Rosa, with all my heart.”

“She can be a bit of a handful. She's too much talkative, makes snap decisions, and can be difficult at times. But at her core, she’s kind. Things changed for her after we lost our parents in that accident. She took on all the responsibility at such a young age—I was barely a child. She became both a mother and a father to me, working tirelessly to care for both of us. She's also really so stubborn, like, she wouldn't even take help from our aunt. That's a whole other story she’ll fill you in on later. But it’s been tough. She's been on anxiety medication since then, and whenever she gets really upset, it can trigger a crisis. She still takes them occasionally.”

As Marcus listened, his heart ached at the realization of what you had silently endured all this time. He felt the weight of responsibility for the turmoil you faced and never imagined it would be this difficult for you.

“Marcus, please don’t leave my sister. If she married you, it means she really loves and cares for you. After Nicolo, she lost faith in men and in people in general. But she chose to trust you, and that's a big deal. You seem like a decent guy, even if you’re a bit odd. So whatever it is you’re facing, don't walk away from her. If you do, I can’t even imagine how she’d cope, and I won’t be able to lift her up this time. Do you get it?”

Marcus nodded, deeply moved by Lizzie's words. “I promise you, Elizabeth, I’ll never leave Rosa. I live for her, and I’ve done so for a long time. From now on, I’ll do everything I can to make her happy.”

Lizzie raised her eyebrows; his words struck her as incredibly sincere, almost like a solemn promise. “Um, I hope that’s true. And I really hope you can work through whatever’s wrong between you,” she murmured, standing up and remembering the bed on the floor, though she chose not to dwell on it.“Good night,” she said with a smile as she made her way to her room, leaving Marcus in the living room, wrapped up in his thoughts and emotions.

When he returned to your room, he moved closer to the bed. His gaze lingered on your features, as if he were imprinting your face in his memory. Carefully, he sat down beside you and lay next to you, letting his hand softly glide through your hair, which was tousled from the pillow.

“Mi aeterne amor. As if you hadn't faced enough suffering in your past life, pain seems to have found you again in this one,” he whispered to himself. “But as long as you allow me to remain by your side, I won’t let you endure any more pain, spondeo (I promise).” He leaned a little closer, inhaling the soft scent of your hair while watching you sleep until exhaustion took over, his head resting on the pillow beside you as he closed his eyes.

The first thing that greeted you in the morning was the sweet sound of birdsong. As you slowly woke up, you realized you had slept exceptionally well. Perhaps it was the tranquilizer, who knows? Looking back, you recalled that you rarely managed such deep sleep without medication. Just how long had you been sleeping like this? Before opening your eyes, you scoured your memory. The initial thought that crossed your mind was that lovely morning when you awoke feeling truly refreshed—was it in Marcus' bed?

Strangely enough, despite all the nights spent in the villa and in ancient Rome, you had always had trouble falling asleep. But in Marcus' room—even including that night at Claudia's villa—you always woke up to the peaceful embrace of morning light. Yes, all those tranquil mornings were spent in his room, in his bed. Was it possible that the reason you woke up so peacefully in your own room, where you usually jolted awake to the sound of an alarm, was because of his presence?

Could that really be true?

Suddenly, you opened your eyes to a soft sound nearby. It was someone’s breath, close enough for you to feel the warmth on your cheeks.

Your heart raced as you noticed Marcus’ face just inches away from yours. Had he slept beside you?

A smile crept onto your face as you studied his exquisite features. He was undeniably handsome; the more you gazed, the more you felt captivated. His long eyelashes, the contour of his forehead, the fullness of his lips, the dark and silver streaks woven into his beard, and that perfectly shaped nose —even the scar on his cheekbone— made him look like a real-life version of those ancient Greek and Roman statues in museums.

And yeah, he really was here in the flesh.

Perfect.

You swallowed hard and instinctively sat up, resting on your elbow. The urge to kiss him was overwhelming.

But then, your thoughts drifted back to the previous night. You remembered your heartfelt confession, the kiss you shared, and everything he had said afterward. Yes, everything—including your words in the hospital.

Damn it.

You couldn't help but feel your jaw drop at the memory.

As you swung your legs out of bed, you noticed his arm draped around you.

Oh no.

Trying to slip away without waking him, you gently lifted his arm and bit your lip, willing yourself to move. “Come on, Rose, just a bit further,” you whispered to yourself as you edged towards the edge of the bed.

But the moment you attempted to slide out from under the covers, Marcus stirred, his hand finding your leg and pulling you back towards him. He lifted the covers, and you couldn't help but struggle beneath it. He snickered, a low, teasing sound that sent shivers down your spine. Frustrated, you pulled the covers over your face, attempting once more to make your escape, but to no avail.

“You feeling better now?” he asked, concern evident in his eyes as they rested on your face.

“Let go, Marcus,” you replied through gritted teeth, still fighting against his hold.

“Why are you hiding your face?” he queried, gently pulling the covers down again.

"I’m not hiding my face; I just don’t want to look at you. Two completely different things," you retorted, avoiding his gaze.

"Is it?" He frowned and pressed further. "You don’t want to look at my face. Why?"

You let out a big sigh and leaned back on the bed. "I’m so embarrassed, alright?"

Marcus laughed quietly and ran his fingers through your hair. "There’s really no reason to feel that way, Rosa," His smile kind of rubbed you the wrong way.

Crap.

Determined, you tried again, sliding your leg to escape and finally standing up with your back to him. "Let’s forget about last night," you insisted.

Marcus jumped out of bed, grasped your arm, and turned you toward him. The abruptness took your breath away, and your eyes widened as you met his intense gaze.  “How could I? I won’t let that happen,” he replied firmly. Then his expression softened. "Is it because of what I shared with you? I had to be truthful. I never meant to hurt you."

"But that’s exactly what you did, Marcus. I told you I loved you, and you…" Your voice faltered, struggling to articulate what you felt, fearing your words would sound ridiculous.

Storming into the closet, you grabbed your sports leggings and a tank top, then headed for the bathroom.

"Rosa, can we please talk?" he pleaded, following you until you slammed the bathroom door in his face.

"I can’t hear you," you called from behind the door. "I don’t want to talk."

Even after getting dressed, Marcus was still there, waiting. "Please, Rosa."

He shadowed you as you slipped on your shoes, but you chose to ignore him.

"Are you leaving?" he asked, a hint of concern in his voice.

"I'm going for a walk," you replied, tying the laces firmly. "By myself," you added after standing up.

"I can’t leave you alone, Rosa," he said, putting his own shoes but clearly struggling with his laces.

"I will be fine on my own, Marcus," you insisted, and before he could respond, you slammed the door behind you.

You turned around as you left the apartment, noticing Marcus trying to catch up. Enzo, the owner of the restaurant below, greeted you with a warm smile. “Good morning, Rose. Out for a morning walk, I see?”

You returned his smile and continued up the steps, while Enzo looked at Marcus with a wider smile. "Oh, look who’s here—our hero, Marcus! I knew you were a good man from the moment I met you. I'm so glad you married Rose,” he said, shaking Marcus's hand.

“Thank you, Enzo,” Marcus replied, his gaze fixed on your increasingly distant figure. After saying goodbye to Enzo, he hurried to catch up to you.

“Oh, like a puppy, he’s following me,” you muttered as you glanced back and spotted him trailing behind.

While keeping a reasonable distance, Marcus couldn't help but stare at around in awe until you reached the Tiber River. Everything he once knew had transformed, and he struggled to adjust. He paused, taking in the sight of Ponte Rotto, now appearing like a distant ruin. When you looked back, you noticed the sadness on his face, and a sense of concern washed over you. If you kept walking without stopping, you feared he might lose his way back to the apartment. Suddenly, you felt a wave of responsibility; it was clear he needed you.

Witnessing ancient Rome, you could imagine how he felt. Yes, some structures had endured, their silhouettes still recognizable against the skyline, but they could never revert to their former glory. It had to be incredibly difficult for him. You decided to pause your walk and return to his side.

“Pons Aemilius…” he murmured, his gaze wandering across the ancient structure.

“It's called Ponte Rotto now,” you corrected him. “The Broken Bridge.”

“It’s been repaired several times in throughout my youth,” Marcus said, squinting as he continued to gaze at the remnants of the bridge.

You didn’t want to delve into the history of the bridge—or all of Rome—as it had changed over time. He didn’t press the matter either; he likely wasn’t ready for that conversation.

It was a very complicated situation.

Traveling to the past was daunting and incredibly difficult, but traveling to the future must be even harder—a formidable challenge that would test his limits in ways he never imagined. Oddly enough, you both were experiencing this from entirely opposite perspectives. As you strolled along the Tiber, you chatted with Marcus about morning exercises people engaged in now, the influx of tourists, and the various newly built structures around you. Marcus, being a smart man, had already pieced together how Rome had transformed over time, based on what he saw and heard. It was justified for him to be surprised.

At the end of your walk, as you regaled him with the story of the Trevi Fountain, Marcus couldn’t help but chuckle. He certainly didn't buy into the idea of associating the fountain with love, considering he was the only living witness to its history. But still, he agreed to toss a coin into the water.

“You tossed a coin into the fountain; congratulations, you’re a true Roman now,” you teased him.

He laughed too, though you noticed a flicker of sadness in his eyes. You both locked gazes on the spot where you had read the parchment, the very spot where you travelled to the ancient Rome and came back. You wondered what was running through his mind. Was he contemplating a return to his time?

“Are you thinking about Julius?” you asked tentatively.

His eyes wandered over the statue of Neptune, and he sighed. "Julius, my soldiers, Emperor Severus, even Lydia,” he said, glancing at you and managing a faint smile. “I hope they prevent Geta and Caracalla.”

You hesitated, debating whether to reveal that Caracalla had indeed ascended to the throne and later had Geta killed. “I’m sorry, Marcus. I hope everything is fine,” you said, trying to sound reassuring but not quite convincing even yourself. After a deep sigh, you decided to ask the next question. “Do you wish to go back?”

He looked at you, smiled, and gently caressed your cheek. “No, Rosa. Not anymore,” he said softly, locking eyes with you, making your heart flutter. “I will miss Julius dearly, and the streets where I grew up—the familiar Rome that shaped my youth, I know so well. If Julius knew that I found you, he would wish me to stay here, with you.”

“You're right; he’d want what's best for you,” you murmured. “But Marcus, who are you choosing to stay for?”

He frowned at your question.

You pressed on. “Last night... Who did you kiss? Rhea or me?”

“Rosa, I told you, you are her,” he replied.

“Marcus, look, this is super confusing for me. I mean, in the middle of a kiss, I've just bared my heart to you, and then you throw this at me… How can we be the same person? Rhea was from your time. I’m Rosemary Louise Anderson; I’m from here. We can’t be the same just because we look alike—it’s absurd.”

“What do you truly know about reincarnation?” he asked.

“I see it as soul transmigration,” you answered.

“That’s not it.” He continued, “In my faith, it's viewed as something that the god Viduus orchestrates with his power. Personally, I've never encountered it, and I’m not a believer, but perhaps I’m starting to.”

“Viduus? I thought it was Janus, at least that’s what Katie said.” 

“Yes, the parchment bears his symbol and his name.” 

“That’s really odd. So why can’t I remember anything?” 

“That’s another question I can’t answer, Rosa.” 

Should you have mentioned the voices that briefly echoed in your mind? It lasted only two or three seconds, then faded away.

Even if you did tell him, what would it change? “You must really want me to remember, don’t you?” You turned your gaze back to the fountain. “If I can’t remember, if it turns out I’m not Rhea, what then? Will you still love me?” 

“Rosa—” 

You interrupted him, “Or let me put it another way, Marcus. If I weren’t the girl who looks like your first love, if I were just Rose, could you still love me? Or would I still just be the girl you were cold to, the one you married for protection only?” Tears began to spill down your cheeks, and you could feel the sobs building up. 

Marcus didn’t respond; he couldn’t find the words. It seemed he didn’t know the answer either. 

“Because Marcus, I love you for who you are, regardless of everything. No matter how you treat me. But if you can’t give me a straightforward answer, don’t expect me to ask you to stay or to love you any longer. I can’t do that with someone else occupying your heart.” 

He took your hand, but words escaped him. He was struggling to articulate his thoughts.

“I think you can find your way back to the apartment from here,” you said, turning and walking away. 

Marcus just stood there, staring after you. 

Like a statue, frozen in place— a statue filled with emotions and confusion. 

He was taken aback by your words; he hadn't considered those possibilities until now. As he stood by the fountain, he searched his own heart, forcing himself to find the answer. But it felt insurmountable. He had been convinced for 24 years that he would never love anyone like he loved Rhea -you-. The question stirred frustration within him. He had treated other women as mere acquaintances, certain he could never feel that way again. 

When you got home, tears streamed down your face uncontrollably. You were angry with yourself; why were you crying? This wasn’t the first time you shed tears for a man but this time everything was so painful. Just as you were about to unlock the door, Lizzie swung it open from the inside, keys in hand.

Oh no, she had seen your tears. 

“Are you off to school?” you asked, tucking the keys back into your pocket. 

“Yeah. Are you okay? You didn’t look too good yesterday. Was a walk really a good idea?” 

“I’m fine, dear, don’t worry. Sorry, I was… just feeling anxious about work and everything.” 

“Nothing to do with Marcus?” 

You knew she would catch on the moment you lied. And you did enough already. “That too, but we’re fine now.” 

She narrowed his eyes, studying your face. “I’m glad to hear that. He was pretty worried yesterday. I mean, he’s odd, but he’s a good guy.” 

“Yeah, he is.” 

“By the way, Aunt Victoria called,” she said while slipping on her shoes. 

“What did she want?” you asked, stepping inside and removing your shoes. 

“She thanked us for not calling her even once since she left,” she replied with sarcasm. 

“Oops,” you mumbled. “What else did she say? I bet she did.” 

“Well, she invited us to Milan this weekend.” 

“You should have turned it down,” you said as you loosened your ponytail.

“Try yourself. She’ll call you soon; don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She kissed you on the cheek and bounded down the stairs. 

You instinctively took your phone out of your pocket.

Phone. 

Marcus. 

You sighed when you walked into your room and saw his phone on the desk. He still wasn’t used to it— it would take time for it to become as familiar to him as his sword. 

You couldn't help but laugh at the state of your room. On the bed and desk, there used to be just paper sketches of designs you were working on, along with fabrics, scissors, and a sewing box. Sure, you were messy back then too, but that wasn't the main change. What had really shifted was the pile of Marcus's clothes neatly folded on your little armchair. You opened your wardrobe and started taking out some winter clothes to store in the communal dressing room closet. You wouldn't need them for a while, but Marcus's clothes needed a home. It was hard to believe you were doing this. You had always thought that if you ever got married, you'd live in the house of your husband. But this was a whole new concept, and oddly enough, you liked it. Most of the clothes in your closet were things you had sewn yourself, often transforming a plain pair of trousers or jeans with some added detail. You loved the idea that the outfit was uniquely designed for you; it had been your favorite pastime since childhood. That’s why you seldom went shopping for new clothes. However, shopping for Marcus was a different story, and you enjoyed picking out new outfits for him. As you hung his clothes on hangers and placed them in the spaces you created for him in the closet, a sense of fulfillment washed over you. You couldn’t wait to see his reaction when he arrived to find them.

Speaking of...

Why was he taking so long?

Suddenly, panic washed over you.

He hadn't taken his cellphone with him; what if he got lost? You dashed to the living room, flung open the window, and looked down at the street below.

He was nowhere in sight.

Perfect—just what you needed, another anxiety attack.

You rushed to the door, slipped on your shoes, and felt guilt gripping your entire being. “Why did I leave him alone?” you muttered to yourself.

As soon as you opened the door, you froze at the sight before you.

Daisies.

A bouquet of them was offered to you from a hand reaching out, and that’s when you spot Marcus.

Seeing his smile made you place your hand on your chest and take a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart.

“I was thinking the flowers for Rosa should be roses again, but then I remembered you said you liked daisies,” he said, looking straight at you.

He frowned at your expression. “Are you well?”

Instead of taking the flowers, you reached out and hugged him tightly. “Marcus, you scared me! I thought you got lost or that something had happened to you.”

He gently patted your back. “Don’t worry, I know my way home now. This is my city too, remember? I’ve made a mental map of the new city by recreating the buildings I remember from my time. I don’t think I’ll get lost easily.”

Taking a step back, you observed him closely. “Really? That's quite clever. But you still need to have your phone with you, so make sure you answer when I call.” 

“You're right, I will,” he replied. 

You took the bouquet of daisies from his hand. “But how did you manage to buy these? You don’t have any euros.”

"Enzo," he replied with a grin. "He mentioned that he owed me a payment from last time but couldn't give it to me directly, so he handed me some... um, how do you say it?" 

"Cash?" 

"Yes, that's it... cash," he said with a smile.

Ah, that's right.

Last time, Marcus had spent the night outside Enzo’s restaurant, stalking you. Enzo had mentioned that Marcus-dressed as a Roman general-drew in a lot of customers, like a living mascot for his shop. What a great guy. Even though Marcus hadn’t asked for anything, Enzo had gifted him some of the money he earned thanks to his charm.

“Wow, you’ve got about 400 euros here,” you said while counting. “So you’ve made your first earnings and your first purchase. Congratulations.” You smiled and looked at the daisies. “And thank you.”

Marcus sighed as he walked in. “I wish I could make more ‘cash’,” he said, clearly struggling with the new word. “I’d give it all to you. Then you wouldn’t have to work at all.”

“Whoa, hold on. Are you trying to play the macho card, General?”

“Macho?”

“Well, some men want their wives to stay home and raise kids instead of having any jobs.”

Marcus crossed his arms. “That doesn’t sound so wrong to me.”

“Oh, right, who am I talking to? What does a man from ancient Rome know about modern life?”

"In this place, men allow their wives to work while they remain at home without any responsibilities?"

“Well, it’s a bit complicated actually. Societal norms vary.” Suddenly, an idea struck you. “You know, the best way to understand modern life is by watching TV series and movies. Since we’re both jobless right now, why not watch a movie together?”

Marcus narrowed his eyes, clearly clueless about what you meant.

You sighed and began explaining the TV and movies to him.

Watching a movie with the -ancient- Roman general turned out to be even funnier than you had anticipated. Your style leaned towards romantic comedies and dramas, so when you introduced him to your favorites, Marcus ended up asking more questions about the actors, the atmosphere, and the costumes than about the plot. Showing him a historical film wasn't the best idea, but somehow, those movies kept cropping up. In reality, the films were like a crash course in modern history for Marcus, packed with insights about everyday life. Yes, the thought of watching a movie made sense; it conveyed so much more than you could ever explain. He seemed genuinely delighted to be introduced to popcorn and coffee during your movie marathons.

But during the last film, *Pride and Prejudice*, you both found yourselves staring at each other, as it mirrored your own situation. You had always felt a connection to the character of Elizabeth, and you couldn't shake the feeling that Marcus had some resemblance to Mr. Darcy too—his initially cold demeanor had gradually softened over time. When Mr. Darcy finally confessed his love to Elizabeth, you couldn't hold back the tears. “Every single time,” you murmured.

Marcus turned his gaze towards you. “It seems that you have viewed this movie on several occasions.”

“I’ve read the book as well, but this movie is wonderful. My favorite stories are the ones where love triumphs in the end. Ironically, Jane Austen, despite her own unhappy love life, supposedly gave each of her characters a happy ending to spite her circumstances.”

“Happy ending,” he echoed, locking eyes with you.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “Do you think our story will end happily too?”

He nodded. “It will be, Rosa.”

There was a silence between the two of you.

“Have you thought about what I mentioned earlier?”

Even Mr. Darcy had found the courage to express his feelings; now it is your turn, you thought to yourself.

Just then, the door swung open and Lizzie walked in from school. “Hey, guys!” she greeted, glancing at the credits of *Pride and Prejudice* rolling on the screen.

“I would have come later if I knew you were watching a romantic movie,” she laughed before heading to her room.

Marcus didn’t look at her right away; his eyes remained fixed on you, so you waved Lizzie off and turned your attention back to him.

But that night, he didn’t really say anything.

He just couldn’t bring himself to do it.

Milano.

After all these years…

How did it happen?

How did you find yourself here?

It all started with an endless phone call from your aunt, one you thought you would never receive again—a call that might have been the longest of your life.

Despite saying no and resisting her insistence, she managed to wear you down; here you were. Lizzie also played a big part, constantly talking about how much she needed a break now that her school was on vacation. The manor house, a 400-year-old historical monument nestled in a large garden, was just a short distance from Lake Como. Your aunt’s husband, Vincenzo, in his fifties and the CEO of one of Italy's top fashion brands, owned the family fortune worth billions, so it was only natural for him to own such a grand home. It had been quite some time since you had last seen him. He typically worked long hours, and even when you came here with your dad and mom, he was often nowhere to be found.

Victoria had repeatedly urged you to move in with her after the tragic loss of your parents, but you never accepted. You held a grudge against her for the history between her and your mother. You loved Rome; leaving for another city felt unimaginable. You didn’t want to uproot your life—your college, Lizzie's school, and your work all tied you to that city. Moreover, it was risky to transfer your father to another hospital since he lay in a coma after a severe brain hemorrhage.

Perhaps because of all this, your aunt didn’t push you hard. She understood your stubbornness well. Now, though you felt a little uneasy about coming here, a few days wouldn’t hurt, especially with Marcus by your side. For some reason, he made you feel incredibly safe. You realized that waking up next to him felt wonderful, even without any physical intimacy. Yet, you found yourself still angry with him, confused by his feelings and the lack of clarity about his love for you.

What was he waiting for?

You wondered if reincarnation stuff was real, somehow you found yourself wishing for that.

The thought of being the only woman in Marcus's heart was beautiful, though doubts haunted you—did he love you or her?

It was tough to wrap your head around that.

During his first plane ride ever, Marcus surprised you with his calm demeanor. He wasn't scared or nervous at all; instead, he smiled at you while you sat by the window, holding his hand. He was fascinated by the sights of Rome and all of Italy from above.

“All these years, I’ve battled and conquered new lands, I have engaged in numerous endeavors and explored new territories. I believed I had witnessed the full extent of the world. Now, it has become clear to me that the world is indeed much larger than I thought,” he murmured.

“The Roman Empire truly was one of the greatest,” you said, squeezing his hand. “And you’re one of the great generals who contributed to its glory,” you whispered, leaning closer.

He smiled.

Thankfully, Lizzie was absorbed in her headphones and tablet, uninterested in your conversation.

As you opened your eyes and became aware that you had dozed off against Marcus's shoulder, he gently kissed the top of your head. You exchanged a fleeting glance, silently acknowledging the emotions that lingered between you. That's when Lizzie caught a glimpse and smiled at you both. Still, she sensed something was off, and her thoughts drifted to that night she was preoccupied with the bed on the floor.

A driver sent by your aunt picked you up from the airport and escorted you to the mansion in a private car—an unnecessary luxury, one of your least favorite things and a favorite of hers.

Such contradictions defined your relationship.

By the time you arrived at the mansion, evening had settled in, and dinner awaited you. Unfortunately, your aunt's sister-in-law, Beatrice, was present. Unfortunately, because you didn’t like her; she talked too much and meddled far too often. She bombarded you with questions about Marcus during dinner. Luckily, you had prepped your story with Marcus in advance. Although you disliked lying, you had to; after all, the truth was far worse than the worst lie.

After dinner, sitting in the spacious living room, you exchanged smiles with Marcus as Vincenzo poured wine from his private cellar. You both knew the ancient Roman falernian wine was exceptional. Yet Marcus favored the taste of Château d'Yquem, sparking a lengthy conversation about wine between him and Vincenzo. Fortuitously, the ancient world and modern age sharing a common fondness for the wine.

While Vincenzo, Beatrice's husband, and Marcus engaged in their lengthy discussion, your aunt invited you and Lizzie to sit on the veranda in the back garden. You glanced back at Marcus before leaving; he gave you a reassuring look that said it was okay.

He seemed to be getting used to all of this.

Sitting on the veranda with Beatrice, Victoria, and Lizzie, the chatter about Marcus flowed freely. Not only did you have to field their endless questions, but you also had to listen to their opinions. As they reminisced about Marcus's parents, Balbina crossed your mind, and you couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought of your aunt meeting her.

“I like Marcus so much. He seems like an amazing guy,” Beatrice said with a grin as she sipped her wine. She adored chatting about men—perhaps that was why she had been married five times before hitting her forties. She was practically an expert on relationships, or so she claimed. “His way of speaking and his demeanor—they really set him apart. He’s a very noble man. Quite different from you, Rose,” she added with a teasing smile. “They say opposites attract, and it looks like it might be true.”

Victoria took a sip of her drink. “But he’s older than Rose. So, is the age gap 18 or 20 years between you?” 

“It's sixteen, but that’s not really your business, ladies,” you shot back with an attitude, rolling your eyes.

“Oh, that’s fine. Older men know what they want,” Beatrice said with a cheerful manner.

“Do they? And what exactly is it that they want?” you asked sarcastically.

“A serious, low-key relationship. And children. He married you in his forties, after all, and he seems like he’d make a great family man.”

The mention of children sent a wave of anxiety through you, almost making your chest tighten.

“Rose is just the woman to have kids,” Victoria giggled, poking fun at you. “But I’d love to see you as a mother,” she continued. "Who knows, maybe you could be the one to give me some grandchildren," she sighed.

Lizzie rolled her eyes and opened her tablet, slipping on her headphones.  She knew what your aunt would bring up next. Yes, Victoria and Vincenzo hadn’t had children despite wanting them deeply, and she had occasionally viewed you and Lizzie as her own child—maybe a bit too much over the years. You hadn’t allowed that connection to flourish since you disliked interference in your life. The constant tension between your mother and her was enough to deal with on its own. You could attribute some of this to the fact that you had broken your aunt’s heart numerous times during your teenage years, but she insisted on keeping you close. Guilt wasn’t why you were here, though.

You were thankful she was looking after Lizzie in your absence. But it didn’t mean you wanted her discussing your personal life with Marcus any further, at least not that evening.

When you got up to excuse yourself to your room, your aunt turned to Lizzie, eager to hear more about you and Marcus. As Lizzie recounted the events of the night, including what she had observed, Victoria reacted with unexpected shock.

“Did you say they were sleeping separately? Jesus Christ!”

Beatrice clutched her chest. “That’s awful.”

Lizzie raised her eyebrows. “I don’t understand what’s so bad about it. They clearly had a fight and didn’t go to bed together. Why are you blowing this out of proportion?”

“Oh, my Lizzie,” Beatrice began, “You’re still quite young, and it’s hard to grasp, but this is a disaster for a newlywed couple. Couples should always share a bed, no matter the situation.”

“I think Rose must be lacking some compassion for Marcus. Silly girl, she’s never been one to be tolerant or respectful, not even toward the man she loves.”

“Let’s not exaggerate. Isn’t Marcus at fault too? Maybe he has something to do with this?”

“He’s a gem,” Beatrice insisted. “I can read a man well just by looking at him. That man is crazy about Rose. Poor Marcus; he’s probably more in love with her than I realized. What man can endure this?”

Lizzie grimaced. “I think you’re overstating things.”

“Overstating? Darling, when we were alone with my husband during our newlywed times, we were at it every minute—”

“Beatrice,” Victoria interjected with a warning. “Lizzie is 17 and a virgin, so let’s tread carefully.”

Lizzie rolled her eyes once more. "Even a six-year-old knows about that kind of stuff."

“We can’t let this go on,” Victoria declared. “Rose can’t endure another breakup after all the heartache. We need to step in. But how?”

“Wait, what do you mean we need to step in? You’re not planning to meddle in their private lives, are you?”

“No, we won’t interfere. We’ll just help them. We have to reignite their love.”

“Oh, I know just what to do!” Beatrice clapped her hands together excitedly. “After all, as a woman of passion, I’m an expert in this.”

Lizzie stood up. “Count me out of this. I’m sure Rose wouldn’t appreciate any intrusion into her life. I don’t want to face her wrath.”

The room they gave you was larger than your entire apartment—possibly even bigger than Marcus' room back in Ancient Rome. The mansion had a classic charm, complete with small fireplaces in each room and beautifully restored wall details that spoke of its history.

“You and Vincenzo seemed to hit it off,” you remarked, glancing at Marcus.

“He's a decent man. His passion for wine surprised me—I never knew there were so many varieties. It's hard to believe people are still so interested in wine these days,” he replied.

“It’s great to see you adapting to my time and people.”

“Despite my efforts, I can't say I've succeeded,” he muttered, sounding a bit down.

You paused with your suitcase half-unzipped, sensing his unease. “What do you mean by that?”

“It’s tough to fit into this world, Rosa. I was supposed to take you to the hospital that night, but I didn’t know how to drive a car. Your sister called a taxi. I still struggle with some conversations, but I pretend I understand. Most of all, I feel like a burden.”

You left your clothes as they were and moved closer to him. “Marcus, don’t think like that. You’re not a burden. Just being in the same house—and sharing a room—with you has brought color to my life," you said with a smile. "Who else can say they’re roommates with a Roman general? I consider myself lucky."

Marcus smiled gently, his fingers brushing against your cheek. “This Roman general feels fortunate to have a woman like you by his side. However, as your husband, I know I have responsibilities. I can't simply stand by while you search for a job. While it may be acceptable here, in my world, a man provides for his woman, ensuring that all her needs are met. I don't want to tell you not to work; I don’t think I have that right. And please, don't use that word when referring to me.”

“Macho? Bigot? Psycho? Misogynist?” you teased.

He laughed. “Yes, those… Rosa; if I’m going to settle in this place, it’s vital for me to have a sense of responsibility.”

“Okay, I get it. Right now, you’re in a Generation X mindset. I have to think of it that way."

“Generation X?”

You laughed at his reaction. “I mean, I won’t call you ancient. You’re in your 40s or 50s now. Anyway, to make you feel better, I promise I’ll help you find a job. But first, you need to adapt to this world a bit more—like learning to use your phone and drive a car--”

Suddenly, he took your hands and pressed both to his lips, making your heart race. “Gaudium vitae meae (joy of my life). I will adjust to anything as long as you’re by my side."

He kissed the top of your hand and leaned in closer, resting his forehead against yours. Your eyes were locked, both following the movement of his lips to yours. When he cradled your face in his strong hands, it felt like you could hardly breathe. He placed a tender kiss on your temple, slowly moving his lips down your chin aiming your lips. Each kiss felt like he was carefully gauging your reaction, tracing a sweet path until he fully captured you.

“Rosa,” he whispered, his breath teasing your lips.

“Marcus,” you murmured back, feeling the same intense feelings.

But just as your lips were about to meet, your phone began to ring. You pulled back reluctantly to answer, seeing the number you had been waiting for.

“I have to take this,” you said, glancing at Marcus.

He nodded and went to the suitcase to grab his clothes. It was the head costume designer discussing an upcoming project, but your focus remained on Marcus as he stripped off his shirt, nearly making you forget the call.

“Hey, what are you doing? Use the bathroom,” you whispered to him while still on the line.

Marcus shrugged. “Could we end this? Besides, you mentioned your aunt shouldn’t realize we’re not married.”

“Ending this?” you almost raised your voice. “Oh no no, I didn’t say to you to ending anything,” you said with a nervous smile at your phone while shooting Marcus a warning glance. “Okay, I’ll be there," you said before hanging up.

“Did they offer you a job?” Marcus asked.

“Yes, but first, I need to attend a meeting. I’m sure she’ll have me come up with a million designs. But I can handle it,” you sighed, feeling confident.

“I believe you can do it, Rosa,” he said with a smile that made him look irresistibly charming, especially without his shirt.

“I-I should get in the shower,” you stammered, pointing toward the door as you turned and hurried out of the room.

Marcus chuckled at your reaction, ready to change his pants when a knock interrupted him. He sighed, giving up and opening the door. Victoria and Beatrice stood there, grinning widely.

“Oh honey, sorry to drop in at this hour. We just wanted to check if you needed anything,” they said, eyes gleaming as they took in Marcus’ bare chest.

Beatrice nudged Victoria inside, and they rushed into the room. With arms crossed and brows raised, Marcus watched them warily. “We don’t need anything, thank you, Lady Victoria and Lady Beatrice.”

“Oh, he says ‘Lady’ beautifully, doesn’t he, Beatrice?” Victoria remarked, a sparkle in her eye as she admired him.

“Yes, yes. He looks like a noble gentleman out of a medieval movie,” Beatrice chimed in admiringly.

Marcus smiled vaguely at their compliments, his gaze dropping to the bottle of wine she held. “You and Vincenzo talked about wines, and this one was your favorite,” she said, pointing to the bottle.

“We thought you might enjoy a drink,” Beatrice said with a cheeky wink at Victoria.

As she poured wine into a glass, Marcus stepped closer. “Actually, I’ve had quite enough to drink already—”

Before he could finish, Beatrice popped a piece of chocolate into his mouth, almost making him choke. "Top quality, from Sweden," she explained with a grin.

“Oh, come on, just take it. You’re a strong man; you can handle it,” Victoria said, playfully patting his chest and laughing as she handed him the wine glass.

Meanwhile, Beatrice sauntered over to the edge of the bed, seemingly aiming for the suitcase with another glass. She pretended to drop it accidentally, gasping, “Oh no!”

As Marcus continued to chew the chocolate, an unappealing taste lingered in his mouth, he turned to see the wine spilled all over the suitcase and ruin almost everything inside.

“Oh Beatrice, what have you done?” Victoria exclaimed, rushing to her side with exaggerated concern.

“I’m so sorry, my dear,” Beatrice said, pouting her lips apologetically.

Marcus frowned, feeling something was off. “Rosa’s clothes,” he said, lifting up the wine-soaked pajamas that had been meant for after your shower. Unfortunately, the t-shirt he planned to wear was soaked too.

With a gleam in her eye, Victoria reached for the suitcase and snapped it shut. “I’ll have them washed right away. Carmen!” she called out, her voice ringing through the hallway.

Moments later, Carmen, the housekeeper, appeared at the door.

“Yes, Mrs. Albano?”

“Take this with the clothes inside and wash them to keep any stains from setting in,” Victoria said.

Carmen hesitated for a moment, but quickly took the suitcase and left. Turning back to Marcus, Victoria continued, “We truly apologize again. I’ll find something for you and Rose to wear.”

Marcus felt a mix of anger and suspicion towards their odd behavior. Then, to his surprise, they dashed out of the room faster than he could process. Leaving him bewildered in the room, two women in the hallway, giddy and playfully high-fiving each other.

“Isn’t he handsome?”

“Oh, especially with those scars.”

“I wonder how he got those though. Do you think he might have done stunt work in the set?"

“Who knows? But I think scars make a man look more rugged. If I were younger, I’d be head over heels for him,” Beatrice sighed.

“Goodness, you naughty woman. Keep it down, or your husband will hear you,” Victoria scolded lightly.

“That big bear? He’s already snoring away in bed,” Beatrice said, rolling her eyes.

“God forgive us, you're so bad."

They both burst into laughter as they made their way back to their rooms.

"What do you mean they took all my clothes to wash them?"

When you stepped from the bathroom into the bedroom, only wearing a towel, and asked Marcus why he still wasn't wearing anything on top, his response left you stunned.

As if it wasn’t enough that your aunt and Beatrice had barged into your room in the middle of the night and spilled wine all over your clothes, now you found yourself in this embarrassing situation. Marcus, it turned out, was in the same boat—he had no clothes left either. It seemed suspicious that all your clothes in the suitcase were stained with wine.

But why would they do such a thing?

When Carmen arrived with a bag of new clothes, the answer became crystal clear. “You old dirty bitches...” you muttered under your breath. Inside the bag were a few ridiculously sexy nightgowns that were undoubtedly expensive, clearly from Vincenzo's fashion brand. Those brand-name dresses your aunt had sent you before, along with the overly revealing items you would never dream of wearing. It wasn’t your style, yet your aunt seemed oblivious to that. Lizzie shared your taste, but they both always loved to meddle in your lives—just as they were doing now.

“I can’t believe she did this.”

“You should wear something; you’re going to catch a cold,” Marcus said, coming closer and making you even more nervous.

“If I wear this, I’ll catch an even worse cold, trust me.”

“They look like that clothes we saw in that store,” he remarked, peering into the bag. You knew exactly what he meant—those sexy nightgowns he had spotted while you buying him underwear, only causing him to look away in embarrassment. “This meant for me, isn’t it?” he asked, pulling out a black linen nightshirt from another bag.

You reached over and snatched it from his hand. “I’ll wear this one."

“But this is men’s clothing.”

“So what? You didn’t think I’d wear those other options, did you?”

“I think it would look great on you,” he teased, a crooked smile on his face.

You narrowed your eyes in response. “You might be waiting a long time for that—”

“Please let go of your hold, Rosa,” he said, pulling at the shirt, but you held firmly onto your end.

“But I can’t sleep in these. I’m cold, please.”

With a sudden yank, Marcus pulled the shirt again and drew you closer, wrapping his arm around you. “I’ll keep you warm,” he said playfully.

You widened your eyes but managed to pull back just in time; the towel almost slipped away, but you caught it at the last moment. You couldn’t see clearly, but your back was exposed, and you shivered as a draft hit you.“Marcus, please, just give me the damn t-shirt.”

He chuckled, “Even if you wear this, your legs are still going to be exposed. Come now, don’t be stubborn—wear that dress instead.”

You didn’t want to give in to your aunt’s game, but there seemed to be no choice. Your body was still damp, and the wet towel and hair were making things worse. Plus, you could warm up under the blanket. Gripping the towel tightly against your chest with one arm, you took a bag with the other and slipped behind the screen.

You tossed the towel onto the screen as you muttered a curse. The nightgown was sheer lace, while the other options were even more revealing. The most modest one was red satin with a plunging neckline. But that didn’t change the fact that it was incredibly short. Oh, and there was also a lace panty so thin it might as well have been a whisper.

Great.

Each piece still had tags on them, as if they had been handpicked just for you. It seemed a long chat with your aunt was in order for the morning. After putting on the nightgown and panties, you felt a wave of relief on your skin, likely due to the fabric’s quality, but your body suddenly felt aflame.

How were you going to face him dressed like this?

You peeked around the edge of the screen; he was busy tearing off the tag from his T-shirt. “Now I need you to promise me something.”

“Hm?” He turned his head in your direction, curiosity sparkling in his eyes.

“You won’t stare at me. And definitely no touching. We’ll just get into bed and sleep. Okay?”

“Rosa, you’re asking me to do something pretty tough,” he replied with a sly grin.

You frowned. “I said promise me. As a Roman general, this is one of those life-or-death promises... so promise me already.”

"I apologize, but I'm afraid I have to decline."

You blinked in surprise. “Why?”

"I cannot make a promise I can't keep," he said with a smirk.

“Oh c'mon! I’m not asking you to cut yourself or something.”

"What you are requesting is harder than that, Rosa." As he approached with intent, his focus remained steady on you. "I wish for you to be my true wife. In fact, in my time, we are already married, so let us proceed with finalizing the necessary documentation here."

You raised your eyebrows in disbelief, heart fluttering. “Excuse me?”

“Marriage license,” he said, remembering the movie you watched together.

“Whoa, so you think you know everything now, huh, Mr. General? Then tell me this: why should I marry you?” you asked playfully, caught up in the moment without realizing you had stepped out of the screen to face him directly.

He narrowed his eyes as you approached, taking in your appearance, visibly captivated.

He swallowed hard. “You said you loved me. You kissed me, saying you wanted me.”

“That was before you said those things to me,” you replied, struggling to keep your gaze from drifting to his bare chest. Marcus leaned in closer, and you instinctively took a step back. “What are you doing? Don’t come at me like that,” you warned, retreating further. “Marcus, stop.” Suddenly, the back of your leg hit the edge of the bed, and you lost your balance, falling onto your back.

He leaned over you, but as you tried to pull away, he grabbed your wrists and pinned you down, watching your attempts to struggle with an amused expression.

“If I hadn’t said those things, you would’ve been ready to give yourself to me, wouldn’t you?” he whispered, his warm breath brushing against your face.

“Let me go. That won’t happen,” you insisted, striving to free yourself. But your efforts were futile.

"Don't be so sure of yourself, Rosa,” he said, leaning in to kiss you.

“I can’t,” you protested, causing him to halt. “Yes, I love you, but I can’t do this. It feels like there’s something—or someone—between us. I can’t move forward feeling this way.”

Marcus frowned, tightening his grip on your wrists just enough to almost hurt. “You’re mistaken. There’s no one else, Rosa. It’s only you and me.”

"Is that so? Then why do I feel this way? Maybe there are things you haven’t told me yet. How can I trust you?"

In an instant, a shift occurred in his expression, and he released you, sitting up on the bed. You followed suit, straightening yourself as well.

“Rosa, I’ve told plenty of lies for you, but I’ve never lied to you. I swear it,” he said softly and sincerely.

You fell silent, knowing deep down he wouldn’t deceive you.

He took your hands, placing them in his palms as if to measure the difference. “I understand why you’re taken aback by everything I’ve said, but I truly believe with all my heart that you are the only woman I love. I don’t know how to prove that to you, but it’s the truth. I’m certain of it.”

You pulled your hands back. “I need to be sure too. If I’m a reincarnation, I should remember my past, right? Otherwise, I can’t move forward with this, Marcus. I’m sorry.”

In one swift motion, Marcus wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer. Your bodies brushed together, sending a rush through you as your hands instinctively clung to his shoulders. “You obstinate woman. I’m pouring my heart out, telling you that I love you and that my heart is yours alone. What more do you need to hear? Do you take pleasure in tormenting me?”

“Am I really the woman you love?” you asked, breathless as your lips almost touched his.

“It’s you, Rosemary,” he said, using your name for the first time in its true form. Taking your hand, he placed it on his chest, just above his heart. “You can’t easily change what your heart feels. This heart has loved only one woman, and that's you—regardless of the time difference. Believe me, it is you. I swear by all the gods I believe in, and even to your god, that it’s true. How else could I have found you again? How could you summon me? This can’t be mere coincidence. I If you doubt me, listen—feel my heart. It holds the answers you seek. I love you, Rosa.”

“Those words…” you whispered.

And then it happened again. It felt as if your thoughts, reasoning, and logic were dancing with the wind. Marcus' voice echoed in your mind once more: “Listen ���feel my heart. It holds the answers you seek. I love you, Rhea.” These were familiar words, yet they resonated anew.

How had this come to be?

Where were you?

A memory, yes, a memory. But not just any memory.

This one was far more vivid, revealing a younger Marcus, hair free of grey, no scar marring his cheekbone. He wore a different kind of armor, and your hand rested on his chest just like now you do. The memory was so clear that you could almost feel the texture of the leather under your palm. With the sweet sounds of chirping birds and a gentle breeze, you could tell that you were younger too—your hand resting on his chest seemed smaller.

Everything felt different, yet somehow the same.

His touch, the way you looked at each other, and the emotions swirling around—it was all familiar.

“Marcus,” you breathed, echoing the tone from that vivid memory, even surprised yourself. The very words from your memory took shape and spilled from your lips. “Marcus," you whispered once again. "I feel your heart with mine. I hear your words—I love you with every fiber of my soul, completely and unconditionally."

Marcus's eyes glistened with tears, a mix of surprise and overwhelming happiness at the recollection of that moment. “Mei amor,” he said, his voice deep and trembling, mirroring the feelings you both shared in that cherished memory.

Then he kissed you, just like he did in there.

Yet this kiss was different—more passionate, more tender, filled with longing, need, as if his very existence depended on it.

In an instant, you broke the surface of that treasured memory, leaving behind the sunlit meadow of ancient Rome and returning to the grand room in a Milan mansion. Your eyes fluttered open as you gradually pulled away from the kiss, both of you surrendering to the reality that surrounded you.

You locked eyes with him, hearts racing, breaths mingling in the charged silence. His deep brown eyes, rich and dark like gems, bore into yours with a profound intensity, as if he could peel back the layers of your soul to uncover every concealed thought. The fire in those eyes ignited something deep within, flooding your veins with warmth.

“What just happened?” you whispered.

“You remembered,” he smiled, his hand resting gently over your heart, feeling its rhythm beneath his palm. “You recalled our first kiss, my love.”

It was true—an unshakeable certainty washed over you, as if the universe itself had whispered the truth into your ear. Yet, amidst the emotional rush, a quiet realization settled within you.

You understood that this kiss was the only physical connection you shared, and you knew the truth behind it—she, or rather, you, was still a virgin.

This became evident in his gentle touch and the unspoken electricity crackling between you. The eager pulse of his hand above your heart spoke volumes without requiring a single word.

But all of that was about to change. You were no longer a virgin in this time or life, and your longing for him intensified, a desperate need coursing through you.

Head bending down, he nuzzled his nose into your neck, placing peppers light, sweet kisses in the crook where your throat meets your shoulders. However, with his strong body pressed against you, and your mind still traitorously wandering off to his naked body, you felt your body automatically respond to him. Involuntarily, liquid heat pooled between your thighs - a sudden wanton desire to feel him inside of you overtook your senses.

“M-Marcus,” you gasped out - his name tumbling out of your mouth before you could even stop it. There were a deep need to your voice, and when his body froze, you know he heard it.

“Rosa?” he replied, his head tilting to the side in question.

“Please,” came your breathy response. His gaze roved over you, and noting the slight breathlessness, and how your fingers curled into the muscles of his arms, his eyes widen in understanding.

His other arm curved around you, hand still resting on your breast. When you breathe, it made the calluses on his sword-hand rub against your skin which sending pleasant little shivers down your spine, causing your nipples drew tight.

“Rosa, what is it you want?” he asked, his gaze locking onto yours with a hint of desperation, longing for the response he yearned to hear. 

“You,” you replied, your tone sharp and direct. "I want you."

A sly smile danced on his lips. “Are you truly certain?” 

You nodded vigorously, “One hundred percent,” your fingers digging into the firm contours of his shoulders, the strength of his muscles only fueling your eagerness further.

Filled with happiness and joy at the answer, he pulled you in close and kissed you with such passion that your heart raced wildly in your chest. As your lacy-covered breasts brushed against his bare skin, a small moan of excitement escaped your lips.

He used your open mouth to his advantage and slipped his tongue inside, dragging it along yours. You crumbled, kissing him back with as much vigour as your body would allow.

The second kiss was like him, powerful but gentle, fierce but beautiful, and completely intoxicating. The touch of his tongue dancing with yours, the press of your lips, his hands on your body…it felt natural.

So natural as if you were always meant to be this.

To be his.

He moved to allow you to catch your breath, but his lips never leaving you. Instead, his mouth traced your bottom lip before moving along your jaw.

"You can not imagine how deeply I've ached for this moment, how many quiet prayers I’ve whispered to the gods themselves," he murmured softly, his breath warm against your skin as he paused between the gentle caress of your kisses. With tender care, he laid you back onto the soft, inviting bed. He leaned over, you wrapped your arms around him, your fingers first brushing against the arrow wound on his shoulder, then trailing down to explore the jagged line that marked his skin below it. Each scar was a testament to a life rich with battles fought, silent witnesses to the struggles he had endured—years that spanned nearly double your age.

Those painful years spent longing for you. 

"You are my answered prayer, Rosa," he whispered, his voice deep and resonant, as he leaned down to capture your lips in another fervent kiss.

“I love you,” he whispered. Then, he ran his tongue down the length of your neck again causing a gasp of pure desire leaving you.

He repeated those three words as he peppered your chest with light strokes of his lips.

Body completely wired, your nerves burning with the ravenous heat of desire, you sank deeper and deeper into his presence; ignoring the slow burn that creeping into your lungs and focusing more on the intensifying heat that pools between your thighs. Gripping his locks, you kissed him back just as ferociously; the muscles of your thighs simultaneously flexing as you grind into his abdomen - in a bid to alleviate the deep ache in the pit of your stomach. Neck straining, you tried to press your lips harder against his. With a soft whine escaping your lips, your hands wrapped around his neck, then slid over his shoulders and down to his arms, gripping his biceps, pulling him closer, drawing him further down toward you.

His large hand slipped beneath your nightdress, grazing the laces of your panties—a strange yet incredibly alluring invention he had ever encountered. You couldn’t help but giggle at his reaction and playfully assisted him in slipping your panties off.

Kneading the flesh of your ass, his digits flex over your skin, and you moaned in pleasure - the sound muffled by his kiss. Gripping your ass harder, Marcus let out another low groan at the movement before he pulled you even closer. his other hand quite busy touching, stroking softly where he hadn’t yet explored. Where you felt burned. Every touch, every simple gesture, his eyes -god those eyes, they never left you, never stopped trailing a burning path on your body. 

With a searing vengeance, the dull ache in your lungs suddenly ignited, and unable to resist its burn, you reluctantly tear your lips away from his. Gasping for oxygen, your breathes intermingled together - entwining between each others, and circulating the air between you.

He was staring at you, mouth soft and reverent, like you were holy, like you were the word made flesh. "You're so beautiful," he sounded awestruck, kneading you so gently, thumbing your nipple through your nightdress, and he was actually killing you.

You never knew his hands on you could feel like this.

“M-Marcus, please,” you mewled - the desperation evident in your tone.

With Marcus living with you, sharing your room, bathroom, even bed; not to mention the fact that he was almost always practically glued to you, it was not often that you’ve had any alone time. Thus, it’s been a long, long time since you’ve had any sexual release. And Marcus walking around your room half naked with his glorious body certainly hadn’t made matters any easier.

Feeling the bulge of his clothed erection against your heated sex, your head lolled back and let out a deep, keening mewl, your hips grinding against his a little faster. Through the fabric of his pants, you could almost feel him: long, thick and pulsating with need.

For a fleeting moment, the thought of Marcus' cock flit through your mind - and just the thought had your core throbbing in tandem with his shaft. Because you weren’t prepared for what he feels like and you were dying to find out. Briefly, you wondered if he’ll fit inside you: he was much larger than you, there was no denying it, and just like the rest of him, his cock must be equally large. Nonetheless, the slight concern that strums through you is overshadowed by your lust-filled anticipation: your body wanted nothing more than for him to fill you up and stretch you out - in a way no one else could.

Or would.

Removing your nightdress, he breathed out, his gaze honing in on the way your breasts move with each breath of your lungs, the peaks standing erect and pert. Wasting no time, Marcus sweep his head down and took one of them in.

The moment his mouth enclosed around your nipple, you whimpered out his name - your hips bucking into his. Flicking his tongue out, he licked to the hardened bud; and reflexively, your fingers fisted more of his curls - his ministrations drawing soft mewls of pleasure from your lips. Smirking against your breast, he grazed his teeth against your nipple - lightly nibbling on it and licking again - and immediately, you felt your arousal trickle out of your core.

“Oh, mmm, M-Marcus,” you groaned - tugging his hair and pulling him closer into your breasts. Releasing your nipple with a wet sound, he turned to the second one before repeating his action. This time, however, his large hand finds its way to your neglected breast, and palming at the soft mound, you feel deft, calloused fingers tease your wet nipple.

Delicate fingers danced over the underside of your breast, his digits reverently roving over your flesh as his thumb toys with your nipple - the pad of it repetitively caressing the hardened nub. His ministrations are incredibly tender, and despite the ravenous desire that burns within your stomach, you find yourself letting out a soft sigh as you relished in the attention he lavish on your tits.

Thighs flexing, you thrust your pussy against him; the molten heat between your legs growing uncomfortable and too much to bear. With every surge of your hips, his hard cock brushed against your wet folds, the head teasing your neglected clit; but the material of his pants smooth - and you can’t create enough friction to alleviate the deep ache.

Hearing your moan was like an audible aphrodisiac given to him by the gods of fertility.

From that moment on, Marcus changed profoundly. His eyes burned with an intense hunger, radiating a carnal need as they roamed over your body. His hands, no longer gentle, moved with a fervor that reflected the awakening of deep thirst, yet they still conveyed an undercurrent of control, resisting the wild urge surging within him.

You felt that same fire coursing through you; nothing in your life had ever ignited such an all-consuming desire. Every fiber of your being pulsed with an exhilarating passion, deeper and more intense than anything you had experienced before. In a moment of urgency, you reached out with fervor, impatiently tugging at his pants and underwear. He chuckled softly, surrendering control to you, as if sensing your escalating hunger. Until that point, he had been gentle, almost teasingly slow, but now you could barely contain yourself. Gratitude mingled with an insatiable craving—you yearned for more. You wanted to cry out for him to be rougher, to unleash all his strength to claim you and have you completely.

And soon he did it.

“Gods above, woman, your beauty casting a spell over me,” he muttered; with his gaze still fixed onto your exposed folds, you couldn’t help the ripples of embarrassment that flitters through you. Turning bashful under his stare, you curled into yourself slightly and tried to close your legs. However, Marcus was having none of it, and immediately, the hand holding onto your thigh flexing, his grip turning firm and halting your movements. Meanwhile, his free hand moved from your thigh to brush against your dripping core. Dexterous fingers teased the outline of the soft, dewy petals of your sex, causing your timidness into wanton need once again.

“Marcus,” you moaned once again. Hearing his name, Marcus' brown eyes darkened and in instant, he surged forward - his lips pressing against your folds. "So soft," he whispered against your sensitive skin, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine and causing you to bite down on your lower lip hard in response.

Tongue sliding out, he finally ran it over the entirety of your pussy: circling around your throbbing clit, over the outline of your folds before he teased the twitching entrance of your pussy. When he lightly flicked the honeyed muscles that make up your cunt, you cried out in pleasure; your inner walls involuntarily clenched around the tip of his tongue. The motion caused a fresh wave of arousal to trickle from your core; the thick wetness bathing his tongue.

Your heady taste coated his taste buds, and lapping at your entrance once again, he let out a moan. It was better than he could have ever imagined. Skin flashing with heat, spikes of pleasure prickled at your flesh, causing you to rock your hips into his face - in a bid to get his tongue deeper within you. Nonetheless, Marcus continued teasing your entrance - delicately tracing the ring of muscles in long, repetitive circles.

With your hands reaching out, you sank them once more into his hair, and a moan escaped your lips that sounded almost like a soft sob. "Marcus, please," you pleaded.

Smirking, he responded, "Patience, my love, patience," as he hummed softly.

Slowly, you felt the digit sliding into your velvet depths, and with each inch that pushed into you, your walls contracting around his long and thick finger. Releasing your clit, Marcus hissed at the sensation, “I see you are so tight and sensitive Rosa. Allow me to make you ready for me.”  When the hilt of his finger hit your outer walls, he curled it - the motion causing your thighs to quiver as he stroked the sensitive zones inside of you.

Eyes rolling into the back of your skull, your hands tugged at his hair as your thighs shook: pure, unadulterated euphoria coursing through your veins.

Another finger teased at your entrance, before you feel him slip it into you - stretching you out wider. Crying out in pleasure, you bucked your hips into his mouth. Swirling his wet tongue, he licked at your inner walls - lapping, practically drinking in the wetness that seeps from your cunt. His amazing tongue moved deeply inside you; the muscle thrusting in and out as he fucked you with it, and every time it entered you. Pleasure burned deep in your abdomen, your stomach twisting and turning with every motion.

Thighs shaking on either side of his face, you felt your throat constrict as the knot inside your stomach begins tightening.

“Cum, Rosa. Cum for me,” he urged, one of his hands moving to lie flat on your abdomen as he pressed the thumb into your clit. Between the vibrations of his words reverberating through your cunt, and his thumb rolling your clit in small, tight circles, the coil inside your stomach suddenly snapped, and with a high-pitched mewl, you wailed out his name as you came.

Sheer, unbridled pleasure took you over; your blood boiling with euphoria as your body coming alive under the mind-blowing ecstasy he lavished upon you. Uncontrollably, your body began trembling, eyes rolling back as you cum around his mouth. Cunt contracting into a vice-like grip, your pussy forced both his fingers and tongue out of you, and instead, he moved his hands to grip your ass - his tongue lapping at your quivering entrance as you leaked into his mouth, your head spinning.

"So sweet," he praised. When your contractions begin slowing, your orgasm fading into light aftershocks of bliss, Marcus began pressing soft kisses to your clit, the tender action had you sighing.

Growing increasingly impatient, one of your hand curled around his shoulders, your fingers carding into his hair, whilst your other hand slipped between both your bodies. Fingers curling around his thick shaft, you gripped his cock. Feeling you stroke his length, your hand indolently palming at it as you silently awe at the size, Marcus hissed through his teeth. Gaze flicking up, you stared at him through the thick of your lashes, and despite the lazy, elated smile on your face, your eyes simmered with fervid desire, pad of your thumb skimming over the outline of his cock: where the head meets his length. Responsively, his length twitched, and repeating the motion, you pumped your fist over his impressive thickness.

With his gaze locked on yours, he gently ran his fingers through your hair. “Rosa, are you ready for me?” 

“What do you think?” you teased, licking your lips with anticipation, your core more than drenched and ready for his cock.

“Very well,” he smirked.

Unable to hold himself back any longer, Marcus' arms pulled you into his arms. Eyes widening, you felt him easily lifting you up - almost as if you were weightless - before maneuvering you both so you were sitting in his lap; your thighs on either side of his hips. Inhaling sharply, your hands move to hold onto his broad shoulders as you felt the tip of his head brushing against your folds; pleasure darting over your nerves as it grazing your clit.

Large hands found the cheeks of your ass, and effortlessly, he hoisted you over his cock - so the crown pressing against your leaking entrance. Sitting in his lap, you were suddenly made aware of how large he is. Of course, you’ve always known - because standing at six foot one, and built of strong muscle - he had never been small by any means.

“Remain very still,” he breathed out. That was the only warning you get, because all of a sudden, you felt him lowering you onto his cock - the bulbous crown pressing against your dripping opening.

Mouth falling open, your throat hitched as you let out a silent scream. Despite how incredibly wet you are, your cum still leaking out of your core and slicking the opening in your arousal, he still struggled to enter you - his fingers digging into the flesh of your ass as he attempted to force himself inside of you. There was an intense pressure against your cunt, your fingers delving further into the hard muscles of his shoulders, causing him hissing in response.

“Very tight,” he groaned, his sweet breath wafting over your face.

Whimpering, “And you’re fucking huge,” came your soughed response. As your back arched backward, he nestled his face into the curve of your neck while gently laying you back down on the bed.

"Sshh, calm yourself," he whispered to you ear. “I believe you are able to manage it, meum delicium.”

His words were soft, and affectionate, and yet, you couldn’t help but notice the authoritative inflexion to his words. Nonetheless, the dominance in them only turned you on further, and not wanting to disappoint, you sucked in a shaky breath before nodding.

And with just a simple thrust of his erection, you saw stars. “Oh, Marcus!” 

He growled in response and did it again. And you gasped again. His mouth trailed towards your neck, grip shifting across your back deliciously while his teeth left behind little imprints near your jaw.

His mark -he was marking you.

“Are you well?" he asked.

“I-I can take it,” you whimpered. Against your skin, you feel his lips twist into a smile, and puckering them, he lavished another kiss to the base of your throat.

“Good girl,” he murmured. Continuing his descent into your velvet depths, your breath turned laboured as his heavy intrusion continued entering you, your eyes futtered at the sensation and small whimpers slipped through your lips, and just as you wondered just how long he is - just because of how much he utterly opening you up for his cock - you felt him bottom out. Your entire cunt burnt with pleasure, and you let out choked sob.

“Are you well, Rosa?” he asked again, his nose nuzzling the corner of your jaw. Eyes slowly slipping open, you blinked out, momentarily wondering just when you’d shut them, before nodding.

“Y-yeah,” you barely muttered in response, your voice coming out hoarse. Taking his time, he showered your throat with tender kisses; his large palms rolling and kneading the fleshy cheeks of your ass simultaneously.

With his cock buried deep into your inner depths, and his chest pressed against yours - your soft curves moulding against his hard torso - Marcus was all you can feel. Periodically, his cock pulsated within you, the shaft throbbing in tandem to your own quivering cunt, and slowly, the pain of his stretching you to your limit fades away - until it almost entirely dissipates.

While you've experienced intimacy numerous times before, nothing could compare to this. There were countless occasions where you set aside your own desires, but Marcus was different—he skillfully attuned to your every need, ensuring you experienced an exhilarating wave of pleasure. It was as if he had unlocked hidden doors within you, revealing sensations that felt utterly new and intoxicating, leaving you breathless and marveling at the boundless depths of ecstasy you never knew existed.

You never expected a man from ancient time -a Roman General- to be so good at fucking you.

Maybe it was just for Marcus.

He was amazing.

Left with nothing but the delightful bliss of him splitting you open around his immense girth, you softly crooned. Experimentally, you clenched your cunt around his cock, and, “M-Move, please,” you urged, your hips writhing against him. Just as he did with you, you ran your tongue up his neck -wanting to taste him, swirling it around his pulse point before moving to the sensitive skin below his ear. Without hesitating, you nibbled at his flesh before sucking, hoping to visibly mark him. Your name left him in a moan, making you feel triumphant.

Feeling your tongue on his skin Marcus growled and took a hold of your thigh and wrapped them around his waist one at a time. He planted his hands on either side of your head and pressed his forehead against yours, melding his gaze with yours. Then he leaned down to quickly kiss you, capturing your bottom lip between his teeth and bite down hard enough to make you groan. Meanwhile, he was thrusting his hips backwards, slipping his length almost entirely out of you before slamming back in. His movements sent you over the edge. Tightening your grip around him, your sudden orgasm overtook you, a loud moan coming out of you, toes curling in delight. "S-Sorry," you murmured, giggling.

Marcus chuckled and asked. ”May I—" 

Understanding his unspoken request, you eagerly replied, "Yes, please, don’t stop," You were keen for him to continue, hoping for more.

He smirked and showered gentle kisses on your neck, leaving the both of you wanting more.

He then set a brutal pace.

You couldn’t even move your hips to meet his thrusts; your legs wrapped around his waist put you at an angle where you have no choice but to take what he gave you. He grasped your ass and angled your hips upwards, forcing him deeper inside you. You could feel every delicious inch of him as he thrust into you, hitting your sweet spot with every surge forwards. He leaned forward, taking your legs with him, almost bending you in half, and captured your mouth with his. In comparison to the movement of his hips, the kiss was soft and gentle. The contrast made your head spin. You didn’t think there was a drug in this world that could give you the same effect.

You couldn’t believe you were close to having your third orgasm. You felt exhausted, at the same time, you didn’t want him to stop. You would happily let him fuck you until he split you open; even then, you’d probably beg for more.

You felt your slick down your thighs, creeping across your ass, and took less than a second to suspect there was a large stain forming on the sheets beneath you. But you were thrown out of that thought when a particularly hard slam of Marcus' hips had you screaming his name.

In your state of delirium, you didn’t feel Marcus spun you onto your stomach. He didn’t break the connection not even single second. He planted soft kisses all over your back, sensing that you were starting to lose control of your limbs and helped hoist you to your knees. His fingers dug into your hips hard enough to bruise. But you would welcome any bruise and mark he left on your body, you wouldn’t care.

A beautiful warmth enveloped you when Marcus bent forward, pressing his chest against your back. He reached for one of your hands and interlinked your fingers. You managed to find the energy to squeeze his hand. His thrusts were slow but incredibly deep at this angle, and you felt every inch of him inside you.

"I love you, Rosa,” he spoke low in your ear.

Turning your head to the side, you took your free hand and reached up to cup the side of his face, pressing as much of him against you as you can.

“I love you, too, Marcus.”

His hands returned to your hips as he straightened up behind you, squeezing your flesh; you gasped as your hips buck. A hand on your back forceing you lower into the bed, angling your ass higher.

He snapped his hips forward, contorting your body into an almost-uncomfortable position. Then, he thrusted in and out of you at a speed that should be impossible; you screamed his name over and over.

The sound of his skin slapping against yours, the rippling of your ass every time he went forward, and the sinful noise of his cock sliding in and out of you drag you higher. You felt yourself clenching around him once again, and if the noise that left him was any indication, he felt it too. And you felt it too-- he was close.

Suddenly, it hit you that you hadn't been taking your birth control pills for some time, and you realized you didn't have a condom on hand.

“Fuck,” you grunted. “I-“

A curse in his native tongue—Latin, though you’d never heard it before—slipped from his lips as he quickened his pace. His arm wrapped around you, almost leaving you breathless. Suddenly, without warning, your fourth and final orgasm hit you like a whirlwind, leaving you momentarily breathless and forgetting who you were. A few seconds later, Marcus moaned behind you, enjoying his own release. You could sense his ragged breath brushing against your cheek.

You felt your body melt into the sheets, your limbs too overstimulated to hold you. Then, you welcomed the warm weight of Marcus as he collapsed on top of you. He wiped your sweat-drenched hair off your face and smiled down at you.

You smiled back at him and he slowly pulled out, both of you let out low moans as his thick cock retreated out of your sensitive cunt, you felt his cum follow - trickling in thin rivers out of your slidely gaping entrance and down your ass. Feeling at the sensation, your walls involutarily clenched - in a poor attempt to keep as much of feeling inside you as possible - through, the movement only causing more of him to spill out, a vivid reminder of the passionate moment you had just shared.

It was absolutely exhilarating—an incredible rush of emotions— But as the initial bliss began to fade, a worry crept in: it hadn’t been protected sex.

Well it wasn’t his fault; how could he know? He was unaware of the modern methods.

“Meum corculum (my sweetheart),” he murmured, wrapping his arms around you, drawing you close to his chest. With your back to him, his nose nestled in your hair, you slowly drifted off to sleep, surrendering to the exhaustion that had taken over.

It would be a good idea to pick up the morning-after pill at the pharmacy tomorrow.

Yes, you should have.

At the same time, near the mansion.

a man sat in a black car, sending photographs from his phone to an email address. These were your images—taken at the airport, by the Tiber River, and outside your apartment building.

When the phone rang, he answered, glancing at the mansion silhouetted in the darkness. “Yes, I’ve been tracking her since she landed in Milan. The parchment is still with her. This time, we’re certain... It’s her,” he said.

Whatever the person on the other end of the line responded made him smirk. “Don’t worry; she’ll be on set for a meeting later this week, and then we’ll make our move,” he replied confidently before hanging up.

He then drove off into the night.

hope you enjoyed the chapter babies, thanks for reading ❤️ Your thoughts are important to me, so please share them with me.

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[hermitcraftx]

the only reason dream everrrr had a platform or was popular is bc everyone made thirst traps of. his blond fake sona for years (he has fucking BROWN HAIR???) and then when he revealed he was a pedophile creepy weirdo right after he revealed his face everyone that made a career making daddy dream manhunt NSFW didn't stop blogging because some people would fuck steaming piles of human garbage if it was white and had abs. like every dream stan I've ever met is perpetually living in 2021 and dream is too and if that's not the biggest sign of the world's most colossal fumble I don't know what is. genuinely the only talent dream has is being uncannily manipulative and vague to try and get away with everything and play the victim later on after he says genuine rancid dogshit but he's not even the best at that. genuinely he's the definition of a career made by other people and if he thinks for a second his little white suburban fake redneck yuppy mr beast wannabe that he's going to successfully be a right wing grifter after being known as the gogy wogy uwu yaoi queerbait streamer (and yes I do think he's genuinely the ONLY real person that word applies to) then he's fucking insane. ain't nobody fucks with him. he's a footnote in Minecraft history. the worst people alive in the community don't fuck with him. tommyinnit is having tea with jacksepticeye and doing comedy shows and having fun with all the remaining good internet ogs and regularly pulling lots of views meanwhile the only way dream stays relevant out of his cesspool wretch infested pedophile apologist echo chamber that is his fanbase is regularly triggering dsmp drama to feel sorry for himself. can't do manhunt without cheating and it wasn't even an original idea another abuser took that from him can't do an smp tommyinnit made that for him it really seems to me on a psychological level that to a degree some of that cdream shit wasn't roleplay because dream knew the most memorable part of the biggest part of his career would be tommyinnit forever and always. and now he has to fight for tommyinnit beef scraps saying slurs and shit when he's not even involved getting way too comfortable after Trump gets elected when tommy barely pays him more mind than he paid Logan Paul when he WORKED with dream for YEARS. tommyinnit gets to be known as the man who fostered love and care for his fan base, an all around good person and joy to be around and a ray of light in the dark space that is the mcyt space, and a guy never backed down on his morals and ethics whereas dreams only claim to fame now are being a cheating bigoted ableist creepy pedophile-esque freak with no concept of proper boss/employee conduct or creator/fan conduct with a Republican bastard and a sexual assaulter as friends who was seen as mildly hot by teenagers in 2021 without y'know being able to comprehend you're not supposed to reciprocate. and I know it keeps him up at night because otherwise he wouldn't try and regain relevancy by starting shit with Tommy every 6 months. is it because tommy is an adult now, clay??? when people look back on fond memories of fandom in 20-30 years not a single person will be able to look at anything dream has been apart of without grimacing not even his fans because I know all those arguments on behalf of a nasty ass pervert will not be fond memories. the only original thing he's done is say the r slur- oh wait. I mean groom minors- oh wait. I mean be a bigoted racist- oh wait. I mean have gross misconduct with a fan- oh wait. I mean start drama a lot in hopes of getting attention- oh wait. genuinely the most pathetic shadow nothingburger ass of a man I've ever seen in my life may dogs eat his face off in the middle of the night.

[rowarn]

shadow entity!ghost part: one | two | three

cw: angry!ghost, umm he hurts u )-:, but he feels bad so it's okay, a bit shorter than other parts

the mystery surrounding ghost was driving you insane. living with a primordial entity of unfathomable horrors was already a mindfuck but now you realized it could just...erase people from existence.

no one had asked about phillip, no one had shown up to seek you out since you were the last one to see him before he vanished. you even wandered into the bar he said he frequented -- and he seemed well known in. and...nothing. no one even brought up how he went home with you and never returned. no one asked about him.

it was unnerving. had ghost somehow pulled all memory of this one human out of the world along with its physical form? where did phillip even go? all you remember was being surrounded by the shadow and how hard it was to breathe -- and the horrible, inhuman scream before silence.

it had already confirmed that it wasn't a ghost. so what was it?

"ghost?" you called into the house as you returned from the bar, "can you come out so we can talk?"

as you stepped into the living room, you took a glance at the scorch mark on the floor before your attention was diverted to it -- a shadowy manifestation across from you.

it didn't speak, simply stood there. usually you would divert your eyes from its face because something about it unsettled you, but this time you stared right at it. shapes formed and faded before your eyes, making you wonder if you were really seeing them in the first place. eyes, sometimes two sometimes dozens. a vague, fading silhouette of a skull face. you wonder if it intentionally let you see these images or if it just was.

"i-i want to know..." you swallow thickly around the nervous lump in your throat, "is phillip dead?"

it was quiet for a moment, "not quite."

"what's that mean? where is he?" you prod, furrowing your brows as you stare at it, hoping that it can understand your pleading.

"why do you care?"

"b-because..." you sputtered, licking your dry lips, "i just...want to know."

"he's in the pits," it finally supplies, sounding almost bored.

"...of hell?" you sputter, "so you're a demon?"

"your hell is a bastardization of the pits," it explains, "where i come from is not hell. it's worse, darker. that's where i put the human."

"can you...can you bring him back..?" you whisper.

ghost's shadow flickers and it falls silent for a moment before speaking again, "i could. but you don't want that."

you can't help but think you'll regret asking but you do anyway, "...why?"

"he's not the same anymore," it explains, "it's much kinder to simply leave him in the pits."

you're not sure how to take that. it doesn't answer any of your questions. what exactly are the pits? what happens in them? what is happening to phillip down there?

"ghost..." you take a small step back and you swear you see it's head cock to the side curiously, "what are you?"

"you can consider me a demon if you wish," it responded, taking a step forward to follow you.

your heart skips a beat, "but you're not."

"no," it answers with ease.

"so tell me what you are," you demand, growing tired of these mind games it's playing with you.

"i don't think your human mind can comprehend just what i am," it says.

"try me," you challenge, already mentally slapping yourself.

"no," it responds.

your temper flares, "just tell me, damn you! what the hell are you?"

suddenly, the shadow grows in size -- as do your eyes. you watch as it takes up more space in the room, that overpowering weight on your body making you wince. it makes the room feel so heavy, makes your bones ache to the marrow.

you're not sure how you know -- despite the fact it's not saying anything; you know you've made it very angry. your eyes lock onto his shadowy form, making out the horrible, unsettling images of eyeballs inside the darkness that flicker in and out of your vision.

nausea settles like a pit in your stomach and you double over, dropping to your hands and your knees to keep yourself from throwing up. your head throbs and aches, a ringing in your ears only makes the pain worse. it feels like your eyes are going to pop out of their sockets from the overwhelming pressure growing inside your skull.

"s-stop..." you manage to choke out before you slump against the floor.

then, all at once it's gone. you gasp for air once it finally feels like there's nothing coiling around your lungs and tears trickle down your cheeks. you're not sure if you're trembling from the pain or from the fear you just experienced.

you can't bring yourself to uncurl yourself from the ball you've found yourself in on the floor.

you're acutely aware that ghost hasn't left -- in fact, you can hear it's heavy footsteps on the creaky wooden floor as it approaches you. it kneels down, disturbing the air around you with the movement.

you feel a strange weight on your head and it takes your foggy mind a moment to realize that it's touching you. as if it had reached a hand out and was tenderly petting your head, consoling you.

a silent apology before it vanishes completely.

when you finally uncurl and look around, you see yet another strange, scorch mark on the ground where it had stood.

you realize instantly that those scorch marks are a manifestation of it's anger. pure, unbridled rage that leaves a physical mark on the ground where it stands.

you swallow thickly and close your eyes again, deciding that standing is much too hard for now.

do not repost to third party sites. reblogs okay!

[robinminustherichard]

Happy Bucktommy Positivity Bingo Week! For my "Buck Leaves the 118" Bingo Square

"Uh, h-hi I'm your new transfer. I'm looking for Captain De-"

"Buckley! My office!"

Buck gulps in a way he hopes wasn't completely audible and sends a tight smile in thanks to the firefighter he didn't quite get to talk to before making his way down the hallway of the 122 station toward Captain DeLuca's office. He steels himself with a deep breath before hitching his duffle higher on his shoulder and walking in.

"Captin DeLuca, it's good to be here. And, and good to meet you." Buck stutters out, feeling his face grow red.

DeLuca is stocky and serious where he sits behind his desk--its at odds with the explosion of hand drawn crayon pictures pinned to the cork board behind him.

"Buckley, Evan. Thirty-four, been at the 118 since finishing the academy, a bit of a hot head, danger magnet..." Captain DeLuca trails off then, observing Buck. Buck tries not to let the dread in his stomach physically pull him down in his seat. So much for making a good impression--"and coming to the 122 with glowing reviews from three of the best damn firefighters I know."

That gets Buck to look up from where his gaze was slowly dropping to the desk, meeting DeLuca's eyes in surprise.

"I-what?" Buck says intelligently, cringing in his mind at his own inability to come across even a bit confident.

"Anyone ever tell you that I started at the 118? Chim says you've got the most heart he's ever seen, and that the only reason he's letting you go is because he can't stand to see it keep bleeding everywhere. Hen tells me that you're gonna be a hell of a Captain someday--leaving us all in the dust."

Buck feels his eyes stinging, not quite knowing what to do with all of this, feeling just as overwhelmed as he did when he walked out of the 118 five days ago with a voice horse from arguing with the very people who seemed to have talked so positively about him to his new captain.

"A-and the third?" Buck asks, not sure who else would have known both Captain DeLuca and Buck well enough to supply another glowing reccomendation. Lucy, maybe?

Captian DeLuca smirks and looks up at the wall to the left of his desk. Buck follows his line of sight and feels a throb of complicated emotion pulse through him. There's a picture there, of Captain DeLuca--much younger but still clearly him, with an arm around a hauntingly familiar man.

"The third is, in my personal opinion, an idiot on many fronts. But I believe him when he says you're all courage, integrity, and helping people through and through."

"I don't--"

"Yeah, he didn't actually want me to tell you that he gushed about how 'amazingly competent' you are for seventeen minutes straight. And you know, how could I break my best friend's trust like that? Even when I think he made a hell of a mistake and just needs to stop being a damn chicken and talk to this supposedly fantastic firefighter who had put in for a transfer and that I needed to fist fight Mehta for?"

Buck is stunned, eyes still catching on Tommy's younger face in the picture, they way his smile looks genuine under his gelled down curls.

"You didn't actually fist fight Captain Mehta did you?" Is all Buck can say, stupidly, "I mean--no I didn't mean that. Um. I mean, thank you. For this opportunity, Captain DeLuca."

"I metaphorically fought Mehta, but don't you worry about that. Let's get you introduced to the crew first, and after shift's over we can hit the sandwhich shop across the street and plan out how we'll corner Tommy."

Captain DeLuca gets up then, a whirlwind of words and motion that Buck is hopelessly trying to comprehend. He walks out the door at a brisk pace and Buck's eyes travel back to that picture.

"Buckley! Let's go!"

Buck scrambles to follow, heart beating fast and grin cracking across his lips.

Fic tag list (reply to this post or DM to be added!)

@bucksaiga

@loulou-land

@lbltpsmspenguin

@connected-dots

[gloomskulls]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ WHAT LIES UNDERNEATH [cult member peter parker x reader]

pairings: dark! peter parker x reader

blurb/part 2

⇢ ˗ˏˋ SUMMARY ୨୧ after losing your family, your friends, and your boyfriend, Peter Parker casually crashes in your life out of nowhere. His presence was welcoming, as his so-called village is too. But his hospitality seems to have something darker underneath

⇢ ˗ˏˋ WARNING ୨୧ NON-CON/DUB-CON (RAPE), heavy manipulation, toxic relationship, cult beliefs, oral (fem receiving), drugging (use of an aphrodisiac), p in v, multiple orgasms, breeding kink, obsessive behavior, mild violence, mentions of death, depression, suicidal thoughts, implied murder. lemme know if I missed any. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!

If you don't wanna see my dark stories, please block the tag #madi: dark content

a/n: this is loosely based on Midsommar, it's a really good movie. I have changed some stuff that i didn't feel comfortable writing or I just didn't want to write. Also this maybe the worst smut you've ever read probably. don't steal any of my shit or I'll steal ur head.

"I'm sorry sissy, the darkness is consuming me, and I will take them with me"

Those were the last texts your sister sent you. You were worried sick about her cryptic message and wanted disclosure from her, but she hasn't written back.

Your sister has been known to be a rather mentally challenged person. She was just venting to you. Right?

It was unnaturally still in the air, sitting at your kitchen table with the phone pressed close to your ear. Your fingers drummed an erratic rhythm against the edge of the table, still collapsed trying to ground yourself. All night, your sister has not picked up her phone. The strange text messages she had sent earlier in the day replayed like a broken record in your mind.

How many times have you been thinking of something really wrong, more than you would admit, but still dismissing it?

Somehow tonight felt different.

You texted Harry to reassure you, but the typical unsympathetic reply only served to add more weight to that chest heaviness again. Now you are left alone with your thoughts, and each one seems darker than the other.

You were about to not pick the phone because it looked like a spam call to you. The number was unknown, but that gut feeling inside you made you press accept.

"Hello?" Your voice dared as you strove to steady it.

The unknown caller said your name as they spoke, "Is this her?" The voice on the other end was calm but carried a cold detachment that made your stomach drop.

"Yes," you replied.

"This is Officer Hill with the NYPD. I'm sorry to tell you we've had an incident regarding your family," she said.

Air disappeared from your lungs suddenly, and your grip tightened against the phone. "What kind of incident?"

"I understand this is tough," she said, her voice carefully measured. "But I need you to come to the station. It's better to speak in person."

The issue of reality has been stretched and heavy between you, and it was so unbearable. “No,” you spoke finally in a panic voiding interiorly. “Please, just tell me now. What happened?”

There was a moment's hesitation in Hill's case. In that moment, you could feel the world starting to crack around you.

"There is no easy way to say this," she finally managed to come up with. "Your parents and sister were involved in a fatal accident. I am so sorry."

You could not comprehend those words for a moment. They swayed in the air outside with an unreal and incomprehensible quality. "What do you mean? Are they okay? What—"

"They didn't survive," Hill said softly, and that cut through your spiraling questions.

The phone fell from your hand and banged tipsily on the table. To this resonating rattle in the small space, however, your ear was tuned out. Your chest tightened, and the phrase ran in your brain, echoing in shallow gasps.

They didn't survive.

The days that followed the funeral just passed in a haze of hollow condolences and noise deafening silence. Your world had been torn apart while everything moved forward—all relentless and lame. Harry, your boyfriend of 2 years stayed as he assured you, but his presence seemed more of a fulfillment of an obligation than any comfort.

He was not exactly a cruel person; at least not really overt, for distance was a high-dubious chasm with every awkward conversation and with every minute spent by him scrolling through his phone instead of talking to you. Not blind are you to those glances he exchanged with his buddies once they assumed you weren't watching. There is pity instead of love and comfort in his eyes whenever you cry.

The last straw fell on a quiet Friday evening. You had dragged yourself to the apartment of Harry, looking for refuge in his presence after yet another sleepless night. He was lounging in the couch with one hand gripping a phone while the other was a beer.

"I feel like I'm falling apart," you admitted softly and settled next to him. Your voice cracked, and at last, the tears that were kept in were poured out. "I don't know how to do this without them. I don't know how to… keep going."

Harry glanced towards your direction, the look on his face inscrutable. After that, he set his phone down and fell into this heavy sigh as he rubbed the back of his neck. "I understand, okay? But you can't keep unloading things like this on me. It's…it's too much."

Your heart sank. "Too much?"

"I'm not your therapist," he said in defensive. "I don't know what you want me to do. I can't fix this for you."

"I'm not asking you to fix it!" You snapped while accepting the anger that had replaced the hurt. "I just need you to be here. To actually care."

He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he diverted his gaze from her, tightening his jaw. "This isn't fair," he muttered.

"What do you mean fair!?" you yelled, your volume rising. "Me grieving my whole family? It isn't as terrible as needing the person who's supposed to love me to act and comfort me?"

Harry stood up immediately and started pacing the tiny living room. "I didn't sign up for this," he said. The words cut like knives. "I feel like… like I'm drowning too. I'm trying to keep my head above water, but here you are, pulling me under."

Your breath literally caught in your throat at that last sentence, as if a blow on the physical plane had hit home. "Is that really how you see me? As one who drags you down?" You asked in disbelief.

However, he stopped pacing and turned toward you, shoulders sagging. "I don't know," he said more quietly. "I don't know what I feel anymore. My friends tell me I should end it. They say I can't do this to myself. But I thought, you know, that might help."

"Help?" you echoed, voice breaking. "You think pity keeping me would help? Do you know how humiliating that is?"

Harry looked away. "Well, I'm sorry! alright!? It's not like I want to be part of your fuckin tenth reason in your suicide note!". Guilt was scrawled across his face when those words left his mouth. "I didn't mean for it to be like this."

You stood waveringly. Nevertheless, your voice remained firm. "If this is too much for you, then spit it out. Be frank for once, Harry."

He hesitated, his silence answering the question you hadn't dared to ask outright.

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. "Well, that's what I figured."

You took your bag and stepped out of the apartment, closing the door behind you just before the torrent of tears fell as you stumbled down the street. For the first time in weeks, you were truly alone. Sure, Harry wasn't the best boyfriend, but now you didn't have family, Harry, heck, you don't even have friends to pat you in the back and tell you it's alright.

You were truly alone, crying in the middle of the streets.

A week later, at the dinner party of an old classmate's friend, Peter Parker walks into your life.

Peter wasn't meant to be there—he admitted that soon after you started the talk. "I kind of crashed this," he confessed with a sheepish grin, rubbing the back of his neck. "I heard there was free food, and, uh… I have no self-control."

You laughed against your will. It was a real laugh that felt vaguely familiar after weeks of grief.

He was awkward but charming, with rapid tumbling out of words out of his mouth as he tried to start a small talk. "So, uh, how do you know Sam? Are you a friend from work? Oh wait, no, you don't look old enough to work with him—wait, not that you look like a kid or anything. I just meant—"

"It's okay," you interrupted, smile still there regardless. "I get it. I am also kinda crashing here, I never really got a proper invite, I just found out from one of my old classmates that there was a party, now here I am"

The more you could talk to him, the more you would discover how easy it was to be in his company. Unlike Harry, who had always been polished and withdrawn, Peter was frank and genuine, emotions laid out for all to see.

And by the end of the night, he had known your family. You had not intended to tell him, but somehow the way he listened— actually listened— made it spill out.

"I'm so sorry," Peter said softly, voice laced thickly with empathy. "That is… I can't even imagine what you're going through. But, if you ever need someone to talk to—or like, someone to distract you with dumb jokes—I'm here."

You've been taken aback by his earnestness. Finally, after what felt like years, someone might have noticed you.

It was indeed one of those nights which made time stretch out into eternity. You were there with Peter on a park bench where the faint light of the flickering city lights was shining through dense bushes and trees. The air was crisp, a cool kind that could very much seep into one's bones, yet Peter's company made it bearable.

He had this way of filling the silence without forcing it: sometimes talking, rambling on about whatever random thought invaded his head, sometimes just sitting with a person comfortable in the quiet, and today, he was acting especially thoughtful, staring at some faraway towers protruding above the skyline.

"Can I ask you something?" he suddenly blurted out, breaking the stillness.

"Sure."

He hesitated, bit his bottom lip as if he couldn't decide how to start, and began speaking. "Do you ever feel like…I don't know, like you're stuck?"

You blinked. It caught you off guard. "What do you mean?"

"Like everybody around you is moving ahead, but you're just there standing still," he explained, his words pretty crumbling out in that earnest, awkward way of his. "Like no matter what you do, you can't catch up."

The question was a little more awkward for you than you'd expected. "Yeah," you quietly admitted. "too many times than how I want it to be"

"It's tiring" he said, his eyes still far. "I get that. After my uncle… well died, after all that, I felt like I was trapped in this… I don't know, this loop. So, I couldn't allow myself to be happy because it would feel wrong, you know? Like I didn't deserve it."

You were gaping at him, flabbergasted by his openness. Peter was not the kind to talk much about himself—not like this, anyway.

"How did you get out of it?" you asked in a soft voice.

He smiled faintly. "I didn't. Not really. But I found something that helped."

"What was it?"

Peter gazed upward at the stars. "My hometown. It's a little dot in the middle of nowhere on the map. Quiet, kind of old-fashioned place. But there's something… something grounding."

He stopped for a brief while, casting a doubtful glance at you. "I go back every summer. It's like hitting a reset button or something. And, uh… would you want to join me this year?"

Totally unexpected. "You want me to go with you?"

"Yeah," Peter said quickly, blushing in the face of it. "If you want to. No pressure, or anything. Just you have been through a lot, and I thought maybe time away might help or something. It's not fancy or anything—definitely not the kind of place with five-star hotels—but it's peaceful. And I'd be there, so… you wouldn't be alone."

At his words, your throat became somewhat tight. He was not offering a vacation. He was inviting you to an escape.

"I don't know," You finally ventured with a little quiver of voice. "What if I just feel worse?"

"You won't," Peter said firmly, his brown eyes locking onto yours. "I won't let you."

There was something so genuine about the way he said it, like he truly believed he could protect you from the weight of your grief.

"What is it like?" you asked, helpless curiosity walking over your hesitation.

Peter's eyes set aglow at that moment, brimming over with a lot of excitement. "Oh gosh! Now where do I even begin? Okay, so there's this diner right in the middle of town. It's run by Mr. and Mrs. Beck. They've been married for like fifty years or something, and they make the fluffiest pancakes you've ever tasted in your life. And then there's this old library. Small, yes, but it has this weird charm, you know? Everything is crooked, and half the books are falling apart, but I love it. Oh, and there's this great big field just outside of town—it's perfect to stargaze because you can see the Milky Way out there. It's insane."

Now he was practically bouncing out of his seat, his enthusiasm almost contagious.

"It sounds… amazing," you found yourself admitting. A small smile tugged your lips.

"It's amazing," Peter said earnestly. "And I think you would love it. Everyone is so welcoming there. It's like… a little bubble of goodness in this horrible world sometimes."

For just a moment, you let yourself imagine it, far from the city and the reminders of everything that had been lost, somewhere I might again breathe.

"Okay," you said finally, barely above a whisper.

Peter's eyes lit up. "Really? You're going to come?"

"Yeah," you said, surprising even yourself. "I think I need this."

"Trust me; you won't regret it," Peter continued, his grin stretching from ear to ear.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt a flicker of hope. Maybe this trip wouldn't fix everything. Maybe it wouldn't fix anything. But for now, it was enough to know you wouldn't be facing it alone.

It was a surreal feeling about the trip toward Peter's hometown. It was almost a relief because you sensed that you were really leaving everything behind, even thought it was just a few weeks. Driving in a comfortable pattern with Peter talking animatedly about all of the town's strange things, while you listened and occasionally chimed in with a question or a laugh at one of his goofy replies.

As you drove farther from the city and the scenery opened to rolling hills and dense forests before you, Peter shifted in his seat to adjust the radio. The soft tune filled the car and merged with the sounds of the tires over the road.

"You are going to love it," Peter said, glancing at you with an innocent smile. "Air's so fresh it nearly smells fake, and the stars. They're nothing like anything you've ever seen before. I promise."

"I'll hold you to that," you said, smiling despite the nervous knot still twisting about in your chest.

The town came into view just about the time the sun started sinking, dipping the horizon in gold and pinks. It was a little bit smaller than you had in mind, the kind of place that probably knew everyone by name.

Peter slowed the car as you entered the main street, which was lined with quaint buildings that appeared to have been plucked from another era. A few of the local's whereabouts were either on their porches talking, in their gardens working, or taking their dogs out for a walk. They would almost wave at Peter as they drove past.

"See? Told you. Nicest people on the planet," said Peter returning the waves enthusiastically.

"No shit," you said, watching a woman coming across with a basket of flowers smile toward you warmly.

Peter stopped in a graveled driveway leading to a homely two-storied fairy tale house. Crooked white picket fence and wildflower-laden garden, there was little that screamed charm.

The moment the car stopped, from the front door, she came, a petite woman in her 30's with brown hair, beaming with kindness in her eyes and warmth in her smile.

"There's my darling nephew!" she called out.

Peter jumped out of the car, practically bounding onto her, hugging her. "Aunt May!"

"And you must be the girl Peter keeps talking about," she said, her bright eyes finding their way to you. "Peter has told me so much about you."

"Oh, um, hi," you said, stepping out of the car and giving a small wave.

"Then that's it," she said, surprising with her strong hug for her small figure. "It's so lovely to finally meet you. Come in! It's rather hot out here during the summers"

Once you stepped into the house, you were met with interior that was as cozy as anyone could expect, the design suggests mixes between vintage and modern furniture, with colorful throw blankets and knickknacks making it feel lived in. There was also a faint waft of freshly baked cookies, which you soon spotted on the kitchen counter.

"Make yourself at home," May said, "Your room's already set up upstairs. Peter can show you around."

"Thanks May," Peter replied, already grabbing your bag before you could protest.

Up came Peter, leading you to a small but cozy guest room overlooking the backyard.

"Hope that's cool," said Peter, dropping your bag next to the bed. "Not fancy, but it's quiet."

"It's perfect," you said, placing your backside on the edge of the bed and taking a moment to breathe.

In the following days, Peter became your own personal tour guide, leading you through the town every nook and cranny, and introduced you to everyone as if you were already a part of the community, and to your surprise, they all welcomed you with open arms

Mr. and Mrs. Beck would insist on serving you their best pancakes while there at the diner even after breakfast time.

"We have heard so much about you," Mrs. Beck said it with a twinkle in her eyes. "Peter's nearly counting the days until you came."

Peter turned red and scratched the back of his neck. "Thanks, Mrs. Beck. Subtle as always."

Library, this was to be; the charmingly ramshackle structure seemed to sag under the weight of its many books. Peter's eyes lit up as he walked through those rows of crooked shelves with his fingers trailing over the spines.

"This here was my escape growing up," he said, pulling a worn copy of The Hobbit from the shelf. "Any time things got… overwhelming, I'd come here. Just me, a book, and a whole lot of silence."

This was the kind of moment when one caught a glimpse into Peter's world of quiet, reflective, introspective thinking where the depths beneath the sunshine state, as always, reside.

The very field that Peter had described so vividly turned out to be even more breathtaking than you ever imagined. The grass stretched out in every direction, swaying gently in the breeze, and the sky above was that of a canvas painted with stars, brighter and bolder than he had ever seen.

With a dramatic sigh, Peter flopped onto the ground, patting a spot next to him. "Come on, you're not getting the full experience unless you lie down."

You hesitated to lie down beside him, letting the cool grass tickle your arms as you stared up at the infinite expanse of sky.

"Wow," you breathed.

"Yeah?" he said, turning his head towards you. "It's like the universe decided to show off or something."

They lay there silently for a good while with the sound of the rustling grass and an occasional chirp of crickets. That was the most peaceful you had felt in a long, long time.

Maybe it was a little initial self-talk that told you it was just small town hospitality. People in cities don’t wave at strangers, though maybe that’s simply what people do out here. Maybe they were just genuinely curious about a stranger in a little place where everyone knows everyone.

But as the day went on, those small gestures, those innocent jests began to feel… different.

It started out slow.

At the diner, Mrs. Beck lingered longer than she ought to while refilling your coffee, her smile warm but sharp, penetrating eyes boring onto you.

"You're feeling like one of us already, aren't you?" she would have said, almost as if it were a statement rather than a question.

You gave a polite smile with no idea of how to answer. "Uh, yeah, everybody's really welcomed here."

"Oh, good," she said, with a firm nod. "That's what we want."

There's something in the way she said it, words weighing a lot more than they were supposed to.

And so it went; the Becks household was not the only one. The pattern held true for nearly every encounter.

"How are you settling in?"

Not "welcome" or "hi and how long are you staying?" The last kind of question you would expect from someone meeting a newcomer. The question, however, assumed permanence. It assumed that you were settling in, that you live here now.

Initially, you passed it off as just another one of those quirks that could be attributed to small-town hospitality. Maybe that's just their way of being polite. But after a few more days, it became pretty hard to ignore the repetition.

You brought it up to Peter one morning as the two of you sat on May's porch, sipping coffee and watching the sunrise.

"Is it just me," you began, keeping your tone light, "or does everyone here ask the same question?"

Peter looked up from his mug, a confused smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "What question?"

"How I'm 'settling in.' Like, literally everyone has said it."

"Oh, that?" Peter chuckled, brushing it off with a wave of his hand. "That's just how people are around here. Small towns, you know? Everyone's in everyone else's business, and they just want to make sure you're happy. It's aggressively wholesome."

You nodded while struggling to let his explanation take root in you, but that feeling of unease lingered.

Then came the presents.

The librarian insisted that you check out a copy of Little Women, even if you just went there to browse.

"You'll love it," she said, sliding it over the counter to you with a knowing smile.

"How do you know?" you asked, only half-joking.

Her smile didn't waver. "I just do."

At the hardware store, the owner gave you a tiny potted shrub. "Every home needs a little bit of green," he said cheerfully, but his eyes had a dark intensity that made him more intimidating.

"Thanks," you mumbled awkwardly, holding the plant as you walked out.

It was the kind of gift given to a father like you, not at all because you wanted it, but so they could wave it in your face.

The real breaking point occurred one night at the diner.

Peter was treating you to dinner there after spending the afternoon wandering around town. It was quieter than usual, the counter occupied only by a few regulars. The place smelled of coffee and fries, and while Peter was busy demolishing a plate of the latter, you excused yourself to go to the washroom.

The hallway at the back of the diner is dark and narrow, the overhead fluorescent lights humming in slightly grating tones. At the door marked "Women," you caught snatches of voices from the kitchen-garbled, urgent.

"…And she's settling in?"

"She seems fine so far. Peter's doing a good job keeping her comfortable."

You were frozen with your hand on the doorknob. Your pulse raced. "Good, she has to feel like she belongs, it's important."

Then there was a crashing sound of many dishes, followed by a long heavy pause.

"So," says the first voice, "you think she suspects anything?"

"No. Not yet."

There, silence fell between the voices after that, then just the faintest clink—the sound of silverware-and the quick pounding of your heartbeat resounded in your ears.

When you stepped back to the table, Peter's easy smile greeted you. "Everything cool?" he asked as he dipped a fry into ketchup. "Yeah," you said quickly as you slid into your seat. "Fine."

The mind remained racing.

They must be talking about someone else—a new hire at the diner. Maybe a new family into town. There was no way they were talking about you.

Right?

You tried to shake it off, sinking into Peter's chatter about the upcoming festival, but the unease clung to you like a second skin.

May's small guest room became so beautiful in the rays of the morning sun that they filtered through lace curtains and softly flecked the walls. You stared ridiculously at the ceiling, a heavy weight on your chest, making sleep unusually elusive. Thoughts had been just too loud and tangled.

Those whispers from the diner, the rehearsed kindness from townspeople, and the way he seemed to brush it all off so easily were elusive things you couldn't shake off. The most you told yourself was that it was probably nothing.

This is what you told yourself as you forced yourself out of bed and down the stairs. Peter wouldn't lie to you; he was the most genuine person you knew. Right?

The smell of pancakes and coffee greeted you in the kitchen.

By the stove stood Peter, his hair at odd angles and humming a tune under his breath. For a moment, you let yourself relax. This is Peter, your Peter.

"Good morning, sleepyhead!" he greeted, grinning at you with that boyish grin. He slid over a plate of pancakes drenched in syrup and topped with fresh strawberries.

"Morning," you replied, low enough to be heard.

"You okay?" he asked, tilting his head.

"Yeah, just didn't sleep much," you tugged and picked little at your food.

"Frowning," Peter said and kept down his fork. "Anything troubling you?"

"No," you lied quickly. "Just one of those nights."

He studied you for a moment, and you forced a small smile. Whatever the unease was, there was no reason for dragging Peter into it. He'd just dismiss it as he always did.

At last, the day was spent in a well-practiced blur of activities. It seemed Peter had made up his mind to keep you as busy as possible, even dragging you around the town park and to that creek he used to catch tadpoles as a kid. And if that weren't enough, he picked you up from the bakery where the sweet aroma of pastries was very strong. Offering you so many pastries till your stomach ached

Evening had cloaked the house in darkness, and so much for bottled up emotions. After dinner, the two of you sat alone in the living room: May well and truly off to bed. And that left you here with Peter sprawled across the couch flipping through some book, while you closed yourself into a tight little knot in the armchair.

"Peter," you broke the silence.

He blinked up at you with alarmed eyes. "Yeah?"

"I need to ask you something."

His brows knitted slightly, but he set aside the book. "Sure. What is it?"

You pause, heart racing. "Last night at the diner I heard something. Two people in the kitchen were talking about me."

Peter's face remained impassive. Still in his eyes, there was a flicker of something that disappeared as quickly as the light.

"What did they say?"

"They said you were doing a good job keeping me comfortable. That I need to feel like I belong." You paused, faltering with your voice. "Peter, what does that mean?"

Peter leaned forward, dangling his elbows on his knees. "It's nothing, they were probably just being nosy. People here care about each other, and when someone new comes in, they get… curious."

"That is not how it sounded," you said shaking your head. "It sounded like, intentional. It sounded much like plotting."

"You're overthinking this" Peter sighed rubbing back on his neck "Seriously, this town—it's different—close-knit. They just want to ensure you feel welcome, happy here, nothing but that".

“Then why does it feel so fake?” you pressed, raising your voice. “Everyone acts like they already know me. Like they’re expecting something to come from me.”

Peter tensed his jaw, and then he did not speak anything for a moment. He then stood up suddenly. "I brought you here for your help," he said in a hard tone. "I brought you here so you might begin a fresh mental state, a place where you could heal. And instead of appreciating it, you are looking for ways to tear it apart."

"I didn't ask for this!" you shot back, standing as well. "I didn't ask to be dragged into some town where everyone acts like I'm part of some… some secret club!"

Peter turned to you, eyes flashing. "You didn't have to ask! You were falling apart. You needed this. And I've been trying my best to make things easier for you, but you can't even see that, can you?"

The words hit you like a slap. Staring at him, breathless, tears filling your eyes. "Peter… why are you doing this?"

He softened immediately, shoulders slumping. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I didn't mean to—look, I just… I care about you. I hate seeing you so lost. I thought bringing you here would help, but maybe I was wrong."

You wiped your eyes, and the mind is busy with thoughts. Maybe he is right. Maybe you are over-reacting. Peter was not that manipulative. He was just worried.

"Okay," you said finally, your voice shaky. "But if this town is so great, then why does it feel like there is something you are not telling me?"

Peter's eyes drifted towards the window momentarily—as if to check whether there were eavesdroppers outside—"It is not like that," he said, whispering faintly barely audible.

"Then tell me what it is," you said. "If you want me to trust you, then stop keeping secrets."

Peter sighed deeply, his shoulders sagging. "Alright," he said. "But you're not going to like it."

"And that's supposed to mean what?"

He moved closer, looking you straight in the eye. "Some things are better demonstrated rather than told," he said, his tone even more pleading. "I'll tell you everything tomorrow. Just…give me another day."

You gawked at him, feeling your belly tie up in knots. Every instinct in you screamed to demand answers right now, but for some reason, the look in his eyes stopped you. He looked… desperate.

"Fine," you said with reluctance. "One more day."

Peter nodded, a relief washing over his face. "Thank you," he said almost inaudibly. "I assure you, it will all come into perspective soon."

But climbing into bed that night only made more pronounced the doubts gnawing at you louder than they had done before.

The cold, crisp evening air wrapped tight around you like a noose, as they led Peter into the woods. Try as you might to ignore the uncomfortable hollow in your gut, the longer you sat in this strange, unsettling village, the more you felt that something dark ran underneath it all. Every villager's smile, how they seemed to know just a little too much about you—everything just felt orchestrated, perfect.

You had held the doubts to yourself, buried deep down because Peter had always been the perfect anchor. But tonight, something flickered in his eyes—his tense shoulders and that almost undetectable flash of something darker crossing his face—told you that you were no longer in control.

You entered the clearing, gasping for air by the time you stepped into the structure resembling a stone chapel. The door agonizingly creaked open, bringing in the cold air from outside in juxtaposition with the stifling heat within. There, illuminated softly, were the others. A few you recognized from the eerily quiet familiar faces that watched you through predatory eyes.

It felt thick and heavy in the air, almost stultifying. The walls were closing in, and the silence was becoming almost oppressive. Peter gently but firmly drew you forward, his comforting presence still providing warmth, though everything else seemed wrong.

He was more weathered and older than you imagined, the drawn skin of his face tight over sharp features, pale and unblinking eyes matching his face. The robe hung dark and almost blended into shadows as he approached you. A murmur swept through the people gathered, and you paid little attention. Everything spun in your head and your heart drummed against your ears.

"Peter," said the man with a voice which grated like a rusty hinge, as if he had been whispering for years. "She has come."

Peter's eyes had been fixed on you for some time, and now he nodded slowly. The heat of his gaze made your skin crawl. The man checked you out from head to toe, and his intense eyes seemed to promise a lot of something. "Perfect," he said under his breath but not for too long so that others could hear him as he shouted, "She is the one. It's time."

Time, just like that word, seemed hollow, reverberating in the air around you like a bad omen. Instead, you opened your mouth to argue or question what part of this was really happening, but then, Peter squeezed your shoulder so tightly that it felt like it might crush your bones.

"It's okay," he whispered against your ear with his very warm breath. "I'll explain everything. You'll understand soon enough."

But understanding was the last thing you wanted to happen. All you had in mind was running. The man stepped forward, never breaking the eye contact. "Our village has managed to survive for many centuries and still thrive at its odds. But there is one rule that we have to abide by—there is one rule that can't be broken. After every eighteen years, one of our own must depart from this world and find someone in the outside world—from beyond these walls to someone pure."

Your mouth went dry. "What… what do you mean by that?"

"Every time a child turns eighteen, he must leave for a period of time to spend in the world outside, learn its ways; but after this period, he must return, and he must bring someone from the outside to add to the village."

Your body suddenly turned ice cold. "What do you mean, bring someone from the outside?" You spluttered. Your voice barely made an impression on the silence.

The smile of the man became broad. "A new family member. A mate. Someone to whom they will get married, with whom they will create children. This is the law."

You turned to Peter with wide eyes filled with horror as your heart stuttered deep in your chest. "What do you mean… a mate? You want me to…?"

Peter tightened his grip on your shoulder and breathed shallowly. "That's how it is done. This is how we survive. The village needs strong new blood. The children produced from these unions keep the bloodline pure, preventing inbreeding."

Inbreeding. That one word roared through your mind like no other thought. You couldn't breathe. You felt suffocated under the weight of all that.

"What… what are you saying?" you gasped, stunned and unable to take in everything being revealed to you.

Peter stepped even closer; eyes dark with something almost predatory. "That's how this works. You're part of the plan now. You have no choice. You are here because you were chosen. You are going to help us keep the village alive. Our survival depends on… "

"No," you whispered, stumbling backward as you tried to retreat. "No, this isn't right. You can't—this isn't—"

And suddenly, an old man stepped beside you, his shadowy tallness overshadowing you. "You will understand soon. You are not the first, nor will you be the last. Every child who leaves returns with someone. And they will mate, they will bear children. This is how we preserve our people, how we protect our bloodline." He said as if it was your duty, as if this was your destiny.

"No!" You screamed tearing the air with your voice now choked in emotions. "This is insane! You're insane!"

The gentleness from Peter that used to soothe you all vanished, replaced by the steely resolve. He took another step forward, and instinctively you recoiled. "I did not want you to have this," he said, his voice low and strained, "but it is how it is. You will come to understand, and you will see that it is for the best."

The other villagers watched you with silent intensity as the space surrounding you felt as if it were closing in on you, with walls pressing from all sides. You could feel their hungry and expectant eyes on you.

You wanted to run. You wanted to yell.

But as soon as the old man reached out his hand to grab you, Peter's hold on your arm tightened, his fingers digging into your skin, keeping you anchored. "You don't understand yet," he said quietly, his voice tinged with something darker, something that, as it sent chills down your spine, made you think he was going to take you off somewhere to be tortured. "But you will. Soon, it will make sense. The only way to survive is this. This is something we can't let you ruin."

You were trapped. The weight of their expectations crushed you, their smiles now twisted masks of something monstrous beneath.

"Your child will also do the same duty," the old man said softly. "When they come back to the village with their mate, they will fulfill their destiny. They will carry our future."

Your chest constricted. Every part of you screamed to escape, to run, to fight against the suffocating nightmare into which you had been dragged. All the while, in the depths of your consciousness, you knew that there was no escaping this; they had planned for this. They had chosen you.

Back against the stone wall of the chapel now, your breath came in rapid, gasping suction since the reality began to drown in you. It beat loudly in your chest, a frantic mind racing for exit routes, for freedom from the path that had been laid out for me like a spider's web in all its horrible detail.

Peter's gaze was cold and cruel; it was no longer the warm presence one had hoped for. The heady words of the old man echoed in your ears, chilling and impossible to escape, like a curse. "You will return. You will bear our future."

As impossible as it was to believe, you finally realized it, this fucked up cycle wanted you to be part of it—and not by choice.

But you weren't going to let that happen.

You pushed past Peter and felt the sharp sting as he grabbed at your arm. You broke free, legs now trembling beneath you, as you headed for the door. You had to get out. You didn't know where you were running, but the woods were the only option. The only chance at freedom. You burst through the chapel door and into the cold night air, stumbling over uneven ground.

You heard footsteps behind you, but you didn't dare look back. The wind howled around you, swallowing up any sounds from the village. Your lungs burned as you pushed yourself faster, harder, your breath ragged from panic clawing at your chest.

You didn't look up when you heard a car approaching, but you didn't stop either, as your mind told you to keep running, to escape, but your legs were beginning to fail you.

The car stopped short before you, the headlights blinding. You turned with a wild heart as the door to that vehicle swung open. A man in a police uniform stepped out, his expression unreadable.

"Hey, are you alright?" he asked, with a soft voice but underneath carrying an authority.

He wouldn't let you trust him, and you could be in danger. "I-I need help," you stuttered, barely able to catch your breath. "They're chasing me. They—they won't let me leave."

The officer stepped closer, his eyes darting toward the woods behind you. "Who's chasing you? What happened?" His voice was smooth, coaxing, calm.

You stumbled toward him, the last shreds of your resistance slipping away. His presence was comforting, the uniform a familiar sign of safety in this strange world that had turned upside down. "Please," you gasped. "I need to get out of here. Please help me."

The officer smiled, that warm, almost paternal smile that gave you a moment's feeling of cocooned safety. "You are well within safety here. Get into the car and I'll take you to the station. They won't find you."

You didn't even think twice about it. Worn out and shivering, you climbed into the passenger seat of the car. The door slammed behind you, then the engine revved into life. You sank into the seat, closed your eyes, letting the sound of the engine create an illusion of safety. Finally, you escaped. Finally, you could breathe again.

The engine growled before heading out with the officer looking at you and softening his expression to almost a grin. "A strange night out here, huh?" Are you really sure you are, okay?"

You shook your head, catching your breath. "I need to get away from those people… I don't know who they are but they're dangerous."

"People can be dangerous, can't they?" he mused.

You glanced at him. "Yeah, I guess. I just don't know who to trust anymore."

Soft chuckle from him, as if to sense that it sounds contrived, that it has to be learned. "What's trust? You just have to know whom to get along with and whom to avoid. It requires experience."

You just turned to the window and trees and darkness rushed by. The mind was reeling from the attempt at grasping everything that has happened as it was really too much: the town; the event; Peter's cold stare; and now this—this officer who has apparently materialized at just the right moment. He must be the one sent to rescue you.

"Where are we off to?" You asked

"Oh, just a little way out of town," he replied, his voice smooth, almost too smooth. "Nothing to worry about."

You nod, fatigue dragging heavily on your eyelids. For a moment, it felt good, like all was well. But then the cop's voice became a personal one.

''I'm Steve by the way, Steve Rogers. Was just coming here for a quick stroll," he began, "I never thought I was going to be out here, helping someone like you. It is really funny, how life turns out."

Brow furrowed, and incomprehension written all over the face. "What do you mean?"

The very slight narrowing of the officer's eyes at you, just for an instant, was followed by his returning gaze to the road ahead. "I spent a lot of time in these parts, and the people can be somewhat…. they are peculiar. But then, I guess you already know that."

Heck, what was he talking about? "What do you mean by a little hard to understand? Who do you mean by that?"

Just above a smile, something confidential, something dark, flickered across the officer's lips. "Well, my wife, Peggy… she was from around here. She got them, you know? Understood what was going on. It took me a long time to realize it, but eventually, I figured it out. I did too."

Your heart stops, hammering against the confinement of your ribs. "Peggy… Carter?" That name rang in your mind like a bell, sharp and dissonant. You had heard that name before, only in whispers, a long time ago.

From what you remembered Peggy Carter was one of the most vicious woman in the police force, even in her short time in doing her job. One day she got married to a man named Steve and nothing was heard from her again. As if she disappeared, she completely left her job and duty, and so did Steve who was a fellow police like her who also vanished from the face of the earth. That was all you knew, and all of that happened 10 years ago. Many believed they moved. Some believed

The officer's smile brightened, but now it had no warmth. His voice went down low, as if telling you a secret you weren't supposed to know, "That's right. Peggy Carter. She was special. A part of something much bigger than either of us ever realized. I didn't understand it at first. Thought she was just a regular woman… but then I saw it. I saw everything for what it was."

It had caught in your throat because your mind was connecting all the dots. Peter, in actual fact, couldn't stop saying that you were here for a bigger thing, that you actually belonged. And now there is the officer, Peggy Carter, the strange village thing, the quite twisted ceremony—now everything starts to get clearer while terrifying you.

Your pulse raced, and once more, you cast a glance at him, eyes wide with realization. "You… you’re one of them, aren’t you? You’re one of their… their plan.”

For just a second, something shadowy, something colder, flicked through his eyes; and with that flicker, somehow you knew you'd made a terrible mistake trusting him.

Steve Rogers, the cop smiled "I was hoping you'd come around sooner or later. You're a bit smarter than I thought," his voice was light, like he was discussing the weather. "However," a dangerous tremor lurked below his words. "Peggy always said you'd be the perfect addition - just like I was, just like she was."

You sprung back, your first instinct was to reach for the door handle, but before your brain could register what was happening, the vehicle shifted violently. Body flung against the door; your head crashed against the metal side with a sickening thud. Stars exploded behind your eyes, and suddenly, everything muffled.

When you woke up from what felt like the worst sleep in your life, but you weren't sleeping, or did you just doze off and you couldn't remember any of it? Everything felt like a blur, memories were juggled up, and everything seemed out of place. How did I get here again? You thought to yourself.

It was strangely silent all around. The engine's rhythmic humming gave way to a stifling, heavy silence. You couldn't move. The air around you was thick and stifling; you had a throbbing headache that was likely to make you nauseous.

You couldn't even comprehend what was happening before you saw the door of the car opened, your whole-body weight made you fall off the vehicle. You audibly groaned as your body hit the rough dirty cement

Lo and behold, standing right in front of was Steve Rogers, towering above you, his face expressionless. His cold stare that piercing through your soul at you while your arms continued to adjust the sleeves of his uniform with a calm expertise.

He circled you as if he was predator cornering its prey. He stopped just at your head. He looked at you with an expressionless face, he slowly smiled, the creepy type of smile you would see psychopaths do on movies.

You wanted to run, punch him in the face and fucking run. But you couldn't, it felt as if your feet have already given up on you, plus the blooming pain in your head made it hard to think.

"It just never gets the job done" He frowned momentarily, your eyes widened in fear as you saw him take a beer bottle from behind his back, you shook your head, no please, please, please. You tried your best to crawl away from him, but you couldn't even feel your legs.

You sobbed in defeat, but he just caressed your cheek and wiped your tears away, as if to lure you into a false sense of security. With all the softness of a feather, he said, "You'll be fine," really more to reassure himself than you. "The ceremony's just waiting for you."

Before you can act, a hard bang on your head seems to lurch your stomach. The officer had swung a beer bottle at your skull; it hit with a sickening crack and within the instant the pain exploded into darkness pressing behind your eyes, and the world went black.

It was the scent of incense—sickeningly sweet and heavy enough to churn in the stomach. Candlelight flickered. shadows danced on stone walls, making the small space feel smaller by the second.

You woke up all lethargic with a blooming headache. You felt relaxed underneath the soft bed that you laid, but once you took in the stone walls, it felt like a train has hit you. All of the events from a few hours ago running you over.

Your mind raced, scrambling for an escape route, but all you saw was Peter standing between you and the door.

He never looked more like a stranger.

The once boyish charm which drew me to him was now a hollow mask as he hid himself behind his dark eyes. The face had no malignance—worse, it was soft, almost tender, like he really believed in what he was about to do. And that thought haunted me most terrifyingly.

"You are trembling," Peter said, his calm and soothing voice only making the fear spike higher. "I know it's a lot, really overwhelming, taking it all at once… but… it will be okay, I promise you."

"Peter, please," you whispered, your voice breaking into pieces at the seams. You could hardly utter a word without your throat choking it. "You don't have to do this. Let me out. I promise I won't tell the police—"

But that was where he cut you off by shaking his head sadly. "You don't understand. This is my home. It is where I belong. And now, it is where you belong too. We are part of something bigger here. Something meaningful."

"Meaningful?" you spat. "You kidnapped me, lied to me, and brought me here to…" The words cracked at the tightness in your throat. You couldn't even say them. I dawned onto you that you have been too trusting with Peer, but who wouldn't? Who knew that clumsy little sweet Peter was capable of doing something this fucked.

Peter stepped closer, casting a shadow over the too small room where it suddenly felt claustrophobic and anchoring. “I didn’t kidnap you. I saved you.”

His voice is insistent, though not harsh. “You were lost out there. Alone. No family, no one who cared about you. Don’t you see? This is your chance to start over, to have a purpose. To be loved.”

“Loved?” The word struck your lips like venom. “This isn’t love, Peter. This is… this is sick.”

It darkened slightly his countenance, as a spark of frustration crossed his face before it was replaced by forced patience. "You're scared," he softly pronounced. "That's normal. But fear does not last. Once you embrace your role, once you understand what we're building here, you'll see that it's not sick. It's beautiful."

“No,” you whispered, the soft sound swallowed by the thrumming of your heart. “No, this isn’t survival. This is—”

“But” Peter cut you off firmer now like a knife slicing through your protests. “It’s already decided. The village chose you. I chose you. And now… it’s time to fulfill your purpose.”

Peter looked at you, with a voice deceptively soft. “It’s not about what you want. It’s about what the village needs. What I need. We can’t let our bloodline die. Every generation, we bring someone in—someone like you. It’s how we survive. How we thrive.”

“Not,” that voice barely came out through the rapid pounding of your heart. "No, this isn't survival. This is—"

The words sent the waves of nausea throbbing through you. Your knees buckled, landing you onto the edge of the bed, your body shaking violently. Peter knelt before you, hands gentle as they gripped your knees. The touch made your skin crawl, but you were frozen, paralyzed by fear.

"You are afraid," he repeated, the tone almost tender. "it needs to be this way. After the ceremony, you'll see there is clearly a need for it."

"Peter," you choked out, barely in a whisper. "Don't do this, please."

He tilted his head, softening in expression as if he really thought given how pitiful you look. "This is for them. For us. For the village. You'll thank me one day."

The door creaked open, and two women stepped in to the door. They moved with quiet, almost unnerving precision their white, long, and flowing robes covering the ground as they entered. Both had faces that seemed devoid of emotion—serene but cold as if they had performed this ritual hundreds of times before.

You instinctively tried to press yourself into the corner of the bed pulling down from Peter. “Who are they?” you asked unsure though your voice came out shaky and weak.

Peter turned toward the women; his posture casual almost welcoming. “They’re here to help,” he said softly as though the explanation should comfort you.

Help. The word in your stomach was like poison. You didn’t need help. You needed to escape.

One of the women carried a bowl filled with a dark unknown substance that shimmered strangely in the candle's light. She laid the bowl down on a small wooden table near the bed, her movements carefully controlled. The other carried a smaller cup with her fingers clutching tightly as she looked at you.

“Don’t,” you said, your voice trembling as you shook your head. “I’m not drinking that.”

It’s just to help,” he said calmly. "You’ve been through so much. You lived so much. You’re shaking. You’re exhausted. This will relax you.”

“I don’t want to relax!” you cracked your voice rising in desperation. “I want to leave! Please, Peter, don’t do this!”

He sighed, as though disappointed but his patience did not waver. “I know you’re scared,” he said reaching out to hold his hand on your knee. “But this isn’t about fear. It’s about trust. You trust me, don’t you?”

Your stomach tilted and a cold wave of nausea was rolling over you. Why would he even ask that question? "Peter, you are not the person I thought you were. I don’t trust you. I don’t even know you anymore.”

Peter’s jaw tightened somewhat ever so slightly, as if flickering with guilt. Peter was the funny and clumsy guy you met at a party, but this Peter. You don't know which dimension he came from. But his guilt was immediately gone in an instant replaced by the same calm, unnervingly patient expression, accompanied with a reassuring smile that could've been comforting in different circumstances.

“It’s my fear. I think that can be said,” he said, his tone softening again. "Once you let go of this, you will see. You’ll feel better.”

He gestured toward the woman with the cup to reach closer to you. Her movements were graceful, fast rehearsed as she held the drinking. The cup itself was simple, wooden. But compared to what's inside looked nothing compared to ordinary. It was a dark murky brown with faint swirls of crimson that seemed to ripple on its own.

Your stomach churned at the sight of it, you wanted to gag at the thought of even coming in contact with that liquid, you said again "I won't drink that." Your voice barely above a whisper.

The woman didn’t respond. She held the cup in her hand, as if waiting for you drink it still.

Peter reached for your hand and firmly gripped on it, but not a forceful one. "It’s okay,” he said softly, his eyes locking with yours. “This will help you. I promise.”

You tried to pull your hand away, but his grip tightened, and the woman moved the cup closer to your lips. Panic rolled. Your heart began to beat, and tears were falling from your eyes. “No!” you shouted thrashing against Peter’s hold. “Let me go!”

But he didn’t let go. His strength was shocking and unyielding as he held your and instructed the woman to force the drink in your mouth. The dark liquid sloshed down the rim, spilling onto your trembling chin as you refused to open your mouth, moving your head back and forth so that you could just avoid the unknown and disgusting liquid.

“Please don’t fight this!” Peter shouted; his tone now laced with urgency and desperation. "It’s better if you just let it happen."

The woman tilted the cup and poured the thick liquid into your lips. You clenched your teeth, refusing to let it in. Peter’s hand moved to your jaw, his fingers pressing firmly until your mouth opened involuntarily. Liquid graced on your tongue, its taste vile and metallic like rotting herbs and rust.

You gagged and coughed violently as they forced you to swallow. The bitterness burned all the way down, leaving an acrid aftertaste that made you want to rip out your tongue, you fell on the bed as you gripped your throat—massaging your throat, a pathetic attempt to soothe the taste that felt like it travelled all the way down to your throat, it didn't have any burning sensation, it just felt like your throat had taste buds.

You convulsed on the bed, “What the- What was that?” you asked; out of breath as you tried to gasp for air.

Peter stood “You’re going to feel it soon,” he said, pushing a damp lock of hair off your brow.

It was a gentle warmth blooming in your chest, then outward like the bright afterglow from the strongest of drinks. Then it grew. It scorched through your veins, making your skin feel alive with a burst of tingling sensations. Your breaths came quicker as you kept trying to dismiss the feelings, but they just wouldn't listen.

“W-What is happening to me?” came the stammers from you in a trembling voice.

Peter knelt beside you again, touching your knee ever so lightly with his hand. “The elixir is working its magic on you,” he said kindly. “It allows you to let go. To free yourself to connect with what is meant to be.”

This warmth soon transformed into a more diabolical sensation, a slow burn that throbbed low in your stomach that stretched to your clothed womanhood. Suddenly every nerve ending on your skin was hypersensitive, sending a shiver down your spine against that crawl of fabric over your body. Heart racing, but it was hardly with fear.

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head. “No, this isn’t right.”

Peter merely smiled all the wider and relaxed his squeeze on your shoulder. “It’s okay to feel this way,” he said. “Your body is just responding. It’s natural.”

While your mind was telling you every reason to fight it off, your body would have none of it. That heat, the damn heat; it clouded everything snuffing off every thought but that strange feeling growing in you.

Peter leaned in closer as he whispered “This is how it’s supposed to be. Don’t fight it. Just let it happen.”

Your brain screamed against this intrusion, invoking all the force it could muster to reject it, to reject him. But your limbs felt heavy, thick, sluggish, as though they had been clapped into a steel frame. The drug took effect, you loathed it and wished to deny the dull calling of unwanted pleasure.

"Please," you managed to whisper, letting your tears flow down your cheeks. "Don't do this."

In every way this was wrong. You didn't want to partake in this, you wanted out. Peter was not the person you thought he would. Maybe he was before all of this, but not now.

Peter held your face with both his hands—gentle yet firm. "It's been done," he said, pinning his gaze on yours with steady resolve.

The heat had become unbearable; it drummed against your thoughts and created ceilings that pressed down on you. You could hardly breathe, each breath barely manageable since all control was lost over thoughts revolving around him. The very touch of him inflamed every nerve in your body.

Peter continued to lean forward until the distance separating your two faces became almost nonexistent. The darkness of his brown eyes was rendered soft, for all that, it was chillingly out of place now. "You're trembling," he said softly, his voice dipping with mock concern as he brushed his palm over your damp forehead, lingering perhaps a moment too long.

You turned your head away, yet your body was heavy and unwilling to cooperate. "P-please," you whispered, not even sure what it was you were begging for at this point—mercy, some distance, anything but this.

Peter's hand slid down again to cradle your face, thumb grazing your cheek. The warmth of his touch felt like additional treachery against your body, which leaned into his hand, once again, even though the screams of your mind were saying otherwise. "Shh," he said, his voice dropping to a soothing pitch. "It's okay. You're safe here. With me."

His words twisted a knife that lodged in your heart, and you were still trying to find a protest when his other hand clamped on your waist—gentle yet firm. Just enough pressure was applied to make acutely aware of every detail of your closeness: the scent of wood smoke and something faintly sweet, flooding your senses and drowning all your composure.

"You've had to fight for so long," he said; there was almost a tenderness in his voice. "Let it go—let me take care of you."

You shook your head weakly, your lips parting to say no words that would come. Everything in you resisted, heavily dulled by the drug that now crumbled your defenses and left you helpless to bask in warmth blossoming in your chest and the sickening affinity of Peter's presence.

He angled his face, gazing down at you as the thumb of his right hand traced the curve of your jaw. "So beautiful," he murmured, almost a whisper. "Yet you don't even see it? You are something else—so special."

The tears that had built up in your eyes crashed down, scalding lines down your cheeks. "Please," you said again, but it came almost like a feeble whisper, your power to protest fractured.

Peter leaned forward, and his breath ghosted over your lips. "I've waited for this," he murmured, as though revealing a secret. "Waited for you. I thought I would never even have a chance with you since you were so fucking smitten with your dick of a boyfriend. But you're mine now,"

And before you could think, hit him back or convince him otherwise, his lips crushed against yours.

The kiss was languid, purposeful, and claiming. His mouth flowed with an unsettling confidence, an almost eerie manifestation of such rehearsed movement, if it existed at all. You wanted to break apart from him and scream and fight him, but your body let you down one last time; it was folded under the drug and against the full force of his presence.

His hands moved, one remained cradling your face, while the other tightened at your waist as a gentle reminder that you belonged nowhere else. It was a kiss more claiming than forceful, a silent proclamation of his ownership over you.

He finally pulled away but only to press his forehead to yours, feeling warm against your skin. "It's time" he whispered, it was loud enough for the women to hear. They immediately scurried out of the room and closed the door on their way out.

Before even asking what was going on, Peter attacked your neck. You shrieked at his sudden actions. He kissed, licked, and bite every single portion of your neck.

Peter's hot tongue licked your skin as he leaned closer, lips barely grazing the curve of your neck. A shiver made its way down your spine as he softly sucked on the sensitive flesh, forming this sweet vacuum that made your heart stand still.

Peter kept on kissing and nibbling at your neck, fueling his excitement that grew hotter like a fire, determined to engulf you both. His hands tightened around your waist, drawing you closer as he deepened the kiss, lips and tongue moving together in a dance that spoke both pleasure and pain.

You winced; you want nothing more but for this to end. You tried to imagine yourself in another scenario, a happy one. That one time where Harry bought you this wonderful necklace for your one-year anniversary. Things were still calm, peaceful.

You were so deep in thought that the ripping sound of fabric made you flinch. You have realized that Peter has ripped off your thin graphic t-shirt, leaving nothing but your bra on full display for him. But of course, the bra didn't stay on for long.

He ripped your bra off you with such force. He threw the bra elsewhere, that was the least of his worries as your he saw your mounds with all its glory. Blood rushed up to his cock at the sight of you half naked and slightly damp from sweat. You on the other hand just wanted nothing more but all of this to end.

Peter leaned in, his lips grazing your skin down to the soft curve of your delicate breast. His mouth latched onto your nipple, and he started to suckle; the soft gentle tug sent a jolt of sensation radiating through your body. Your hands fisted the sheets as you let out a shriek.

"You have no idea how long I have waited for this moment" His words came in muffled since he was still stuffing his face with your breasts, but you heard it loud and clear. How blind were you? Peter has been lusting over you, longer than you even met him, how come you never realized it? All the warning signs were there, but they were subtle, now they're just coming to light now that it was too late.

He had grown more daring now, sucking, kissing, and licking every inch of your breasts. He nibbled and sucked at the curves, gently biting the flesh around them. Meanwhile, his hands traveled all over her torso, cupping and squeezing dear breasts as if to remember every contour.

"So beautiful," he whispered in between kisses. "Perfect. Mine." Those words sent a shuddering chill up your spine.

Peter stared into your eyes while he was sucking and nibbling on your breasts. They would have been a sweet sight if the present state of affairs were any different.

He released your nipple from his mouth, as drool connected from his lips to your erect nipples.

With urgent impatience, Peter fumbled with the buttons of his shirt and then tore it off, revealing a sculpted torso that demanded attention. The muscles of his torso flexed while he moved, and for a second, you could not help but look at the sheer grace and control that radiated off his body.

Now, Peter had long ceased to be interested in himself; he was now concentrating all his energy and attention on you. The moment he grabbed hold of your pants, and his fingers had clasped tightly around the waistband, panic ran through you at the sight of him pulling down on them. You didn't want to give in, not now, not ever.

Your hands went straight up to push against him; you punched at his chest with all the remaining strength that you have that wasn't stripped off by the drug. Your fruitless attempt on trying to gain some space between your bodies.

"Peter, no," you said, your voice wavering but earnest. "I don't want to. Please!"

His eyes never left the prize, and nothing was going to stop him. He yanked your pants down, regardless of how you kicked and thrashed against the force with which he was pulling. Your underwear met the cool air.

A wave of embarrassment washed over you as you realized that Peter was staring down at the small scrap of fabric that barely covered you in your most intimate area.

He wrapped his fingers around your underwear's waistband. You tried to squirm away from him, but he held you tight, his grip like a vice. In one swift motion, he ripped the fabric from your body, leaving you completely bare.

Peter's eyes had wandered across every inch of your naked body, you tried to look away from him, but your face was met with a wet pillow, you didn't even notice that you have let out a few tears.

Peter dove on to your crotch and his warm breath rolled over your sensitive skin like a wave of fire. His tongue flicked out as he suckled at your clit, and involuntarily, jolts of electricity pulsed up your spine. You attempted to push him off you once more, but Peter was far too strong

Peter continued his assault on your pussy, you felt a familiar sensation happening. You shook your head as your body betrayed you. Peter seemed to notice this, "There she is"

Before you knew it, he inserted a finger in your hole as he continuously licked your clit with such vigor.

You let out a strangled moan as your hand flew to his hair. Peter smirked at this as he slowly fucked you with his finger, which was a stark contrast to his tongue who ravished you like you were his last meal

"God, such a tasty pussy" He murmured, which just sent vibrations to your pussy. He continued, his tongue circles your clit, licking and sucking on it like he can't get enough. "Good lil fuckin pussy" He moaned as if he's the one getting head.

He continues to lap on your juices, slurping any arousal seeping through as if he hadn't drunk water in many years.

His voice low and soft, whispering how good it is, how perfect your sweet pussy was for him. "Fuck, baby, you're so fucking sweet—so good for me. God, I'm so glad your mine now." He kisses it so passionately, muttering praises to it while his tongue laps you up.

And as he continued to lick and suck at your clit, you felt a building pressure inside yourself. It felt like every nerve ending had been ignited by Peter’s ministrations.

Your legs stiffened, your hips jerked upwards, and your entire body began to tremble with anticipation.

With such joy and pain, you felt like you were seeing stars right in front of you. The intensity was too much to bear as your grip on Peter's hair tightened

That instant when the knot finally snapped and a deluge of pure, harmless ecstasy engulfed you, your body contorted, muscles oscillating and contracting rhythmically; an intense orgasm swooping upon you like a tempest.

Your legs stiffened and your toes curled in pleasure. You clutched at anything and everything. Peter's hair, bed linen, anything to hold on to the threads of reality, as everything before your eyes dissolved into an ocean of forced bliss.

River of tears were falling from your eyes. You couldn't help but reminiscence your time with Harry. For the first years you were together with Harry, he was sweet and loving, even if your relationship has turned sour after Harry found another hobby, he would never force himself inside you. When you had sex, it was always consensual.

With the final ripples of the orgasm fading away, Peter finally pulled his head from between your legs. His gaze brushed over you with a kind of possessive pride, and he took the disarray of your body in the messy fondle of your hair, the daze that lingered from where he brought you so close to the edge that you fell over it, and the slick of sweat glistening over your skin.

“You look tired,” Peter said with a soft almost guilty tone, "But I'm afraid that that was just to prepare you, were just beginning"

When those words came out his mouth you shook your head as you begged him, "Please Pete, please" You sobbed, your words barely even intelligible.

"Shhhhhhhh" He shushed you, "The more your accepting, the sooner this will end" No, you didn't want to accept this, there must be another way, there must be.

As he stood up and took off his pants, exposing his erect cock. His cock slightly bounced once the boxers were fully off of him. He climbed on top you as both of you were now fully naked as the day you were born.

"The bedding ceremony is about to begin” Peter said, low in his throat, his voice husky with desire. “It's going to hurt, but I think I prepped you enough”

He then aligned his cock to your slit. You gasped as his bulbous tip entered you, he wasn't big, but he was thick. He slowly pushed his cock inch by inch inside you, your sensitive flesh was still sore from the previous orgasm.

Peter suddenly thrusted deep inside you, fully losing patience, with a forcefulness that took your breath away. His cock touching your cervix when he bottomed inside you, it felt almost painful how intense it was.

“Please, Peter,” you pleaded, attempting to push him away. "You're hurting me."

But Peter just smiled at you, it gave you tingling shudders through your spine. “That's the first step of the ceremony” he said, pulling out then plunging back in. “You just have to learn to accept what I’m giving you, if you learn maybe Goddess will reward you"

His relentless cock was battering your insides, and you were starting to tear up. It was nearly unbearable agony; the pleasure was subtle that you could barely even get the gist of it, the searing warmth that burned itself into your very essence.

“Stop,” you said again, trying to wriggle out of his grasp. "Please just stop."

Through the pain and the fear, you never lost hope. So you fought back with a passion you never had before.

Your hands raked Peter’s chest, ripping at his skin to the point he grunted in surprise. Your fingers sank into his skin, but he only chuckled—a sound that was hollow and empty.

Unfazed, you fought on. Your teeth dug into his shoulder, biting down hard enough to make him hiss. But even as he grimaced, he wouldn’t stop — his hips pumping a relentless rhythm, one that threatened to swallow you whole.

You swung your fists, punching into Peter's face and chest with a frenzied abandon. Forced down in front of him as he sunk his cock deep within your needy hole, you tried to twist away, to squirm free as he held you in place, the weight of his body pinning your hands above your head, forcing you to take this.

And you tried, even though it was entirely pointless. You kicked your legs to try and buck him off you. But he was too heavy — too powerful — and he laughed again as he kept your legs pinned down beneath him.

With each thrust Peter grew more aggressive; almost brutal the heat inside you was burning you up; threatening to consume all reason and make you numb.

You were lost in the agonizing bliss, as Peter's cock continued its merciless assault on your insides. The fire in your belly grew more intense, it felt like it was spreading through your insides like wildfire.

"God, you're squeezing me so hard" Peter breathed as his thrusts slowed down just a little bit.

Yet whilst you sensed you were in pieces on the inside, that you were toppling apart, something in you relished it. It felt like your body had turned against you, reacting to the vicious attack with a disgusting cocktail of agony and pleasure.

Peter thrusts forward and you felt your hips bucking in time with his, your mind spinning in horror. It was like your body had created its own consciousness that responded immediately to the arousal with animal instinct that couldn't be suppressed.

You were losing yourself in the sensations, being sucked into a world both dark and depraved, where no line could be drawn between pain and pleasure. It was the most terrifying feeling in the world, when you wondered if you would ever find a way out of the grip of this monster who was responsible for everything.

With every thrust, Peter became more aggressive, more brutal - You could feel yourself losing control; teetering on edge, ready to plunge headfirst into unknown; uncertainty ignited both fear and anticipation.

Your breaths were coming in small gasps now as Peter gripped your hips, his fingers digging into your skin like a vice. You attempted to move; attempted to wriggle against him—but it was futile: he was too strong

This friction just poured gasoline into the flames that had been raging within you—turning those pleasurable sensations into unbearable ones. The edge of your sight blurs out; stars dance along the border of your vision as the world narrows down on a single point of focus: Peter

In pure ecstasy moment you found yourself surrendering, submitting to the wave pleasure that is tearing up your body. Its fear inducing and freeing sensation — like leaping off a precipice without a net — not knowing what awaits at the base.

The world went white and quiet. You hear Peters voice in your ear whispering "Come for me" and with that your body explodes into thousand pieces

You weren't sure what happened, your mind all fogged and your pussy sore. The only thing you have noticed was that Peter was still thrusting inside you.

He leaned as he whispered the most haunting words into your ear, "I almost feel bad for you. I guess you should always follow what your parents says, don't trust strangers"

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