#And being surrounded by Rome | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

upsidedownwithsteve · 3 months

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A soulmate AU: Steve Harrington x fem!reader [5.9K]

THE TIMELINE

"Oh no, you know you know I'd be lying if I said I wasn't dying, For someone I could die for, someone I could try for Fall apart and cry for, go 'head, risk my life for."

-Someone I Could Die For by Lewis Capaldi

II. ROME, ITALY: 49 BC

The roar that came from the bowels of the Colosseum never became easier to hear.

The noise seemed to make the city shake, the streets empty, the market stalls abandoned in favour of bloodshed. The games took place in the summer, when the skies were an endless blue and there were no clouds to tamper down the climbing heat. The sun bore down on the sandy pit of the enormous Amphitheatre and the seats were filled, the doors that had already been closed still surrounded by regretful stragglers who were forced to listen to the chaos from outside of the walls.

Fourteen men had died already, three from the jaws of the lions, two from the bears and eleven from the swords of other imprisoned slaves. The cheering from the crowd made your stomach curl. The floor of the stage was covered in red, the sand streaked with spilled blood and the animals that were bullied back into their cages had their jaws tinted pink.

It wasn’t a joyous occasion, no matter how many people celebrated in the name of their emperor. The leader of Rome was sitting mere seats away from you, dressed in ruby robes that were slung like a cloak over his white toga and his laurel crown glinted with golden beads that sat tucked into the olive wreaths. He was drunk on wine and violence, and your father sat next to him in the royal box, ever eager to please as he clinked his chalice against his kings.

Being the daughter of Rome’s most beloved senator certainly had its positives. You were dressed just as finely as the royalty around you, the fabric that was made to fit your frame swept to the floor and only yesterday, the emperor’s cousin had gifted you a necklace made of the finest gold, inset with glittering emeralds, pretty enough for a princess.

The same cousin smiled at you from across the row, each seat in the royal box made from plush velvet, the high backs ornate and cushioned, unlike the stone carved benches the rest of the civilians were sitting on. You smile back, uneasy but polite, and your father nodded approvingly.

You were expected to marry, you knew that much. You were already considered too old to be unwed and you knew the rest of the court whispered about how you would now struggle to bear a child. But the man that was expected to be your husband wasn’t who you loved. He wasn’t unkind, he wasn’t cruel - not like you’d heard men could be. The girls in the kitchen would tell you stories of how their husband made demands. Shouting each night for their meals, their baths, how their shirts weren’t stitched right, how their beds would lay cold because their wives were too tired.

Some men visited the bath houses, you knew that much. Seeking out a lupa for the night, the ladies that were called she-wolves, with their painted lips and robes that showed so much skin. Some men decided that they didn’t need to listen to their wives at all, you were once told, horror etched on your face. Some men took what they thought they owned.

So no, the emperor’s cousin seemed kind enough. But you weren’t in love with him. You weren’t sure who you were in love with. A dream, perhaps. One that kept returning to you from a young, young age. A dream about a different town, one you’d never been to before. But in your sleep, it felt like home. White buildings and green gardens with tall, tall trees and pretty, ornate gazebos made of stone on the edges of shallow ponds. You were by the sea there, a blue-green ocean that seemed so calm.

Sometimes monsters came, the marble statues that guarded the city came to life and turned your dream into a nightmare. There was always fire and fury, storm clouds and too big waves and a man with skin the colour of death would try and take your hand. But even when the dream turned bad, there was always someone else.

A man, with a blurry face and a mess of almost too long hair. It hid his eyes from you and you could never make out too many details but you burned when you looked at him, you could weep when he touched you. Sometimes he led you through the burning town, his hand clasping your own as you both tried to run and run and run.

Other times, you lay in a bed with him, skin bare and your head on his chest as he murmured the sweetest poetry to you, words that made your heart race. Your dream was encased in white linen sheets, a hazy, soft light that always made it look like early morning and when the man’s lips met yours, you always woke up.

Him. You loved him.

You hadn’t been in love before, but whenever you dreamed of the stranger, you were sure that must have been what love felt like.

“Have some grapes, darling,” your thoughts were interrupted by your father as he thrust a plate of fruit and cheese under your nose.

But the fifteenth gladiator was being dragged through the gates by the armpits, a clawed hammer still sticking out from his chest and your insides turned over at the idea of eating such sweet treats as blood poured from the men in front of you. The emperor’s box was almost nauseatingly close to the fights.

You shook your head before you remembered your manners, smiling politely and murmuring, “I’m quite alright, thank you.” You blew out a breath, shaky and faint.

From your other side, one of the young girls who had been gifted to you on your sixteenth birthday waved a giant fan. A large peacock feather, a huge plume of colours that merely wafted the too warm air back and forth but you smiled your thanks at your lady in waiting, a pretty girl who’d turned into a prettier young woman. She was small and lithe, angular in the face with curls that came to her sharp jawbone and she smiled back.

Nancy, as she’d introduced herself to you a week after she’d arrived at your fathers house, from the Wheeler family of Liguria. She didn’t like the gladiator fights anymore than you did, always murmuring about the rights of the animals and how inhumane it was later in the night as she drew you your bath.

“—from Verona,” your father was saying with a mouth full of provolone. “One of their best, so they say, His Majesty simply had to have him.”

You blinked, frowning in confusion at your fathers words. You hadn’t been paying attention in the slightest and nothing you’d caught made any sense. “Sorry?” You grimaced apologetically and took a few pomegranate seeds from the plate of food in apology for your rudeness. “Who is from Verona?”

Your father rolled his eyes, a sure sign that you’d be lectured in his study later for your lack of respect. “The next gladiator, child.” He gestured to the stage where the soldiers were locking the gates to the tigers, each big cat growling with menace when the men came too close to the bars. “They say he’s unbeatable. Our Highness offered a more than generous helping of coin for his papers but Verona’s general didn’t seem to want to part with him.”

You frowned again. The crowd seemed to be aware of this man and his presence, murmuring and shifting in their seats in anticipation. “If that is the case,” you prodded. “Then how is he here? If the gladiators… owner—” the word left a terribly bitter taste in your mouth and you felt heavy with guilt when Nancy’s fan brushed your shoulder. “If his owner didn’t want to sell him?”

Your father snorted, an unattractive sound that made Nancy wince beside you. “No one tells the emperor of Rome ‘no’, dearest.” Your father shrugged. “The gladiator cannot be owned, if his owner is dead.”

Bloodshed. Always bloodshed.

A man came from the east side gates with chains around his ankles and wrists. You couldn’t quite see him for your seat, not yet, but the crowd above and around you roared, eager for the final fight to begin. The man already looked beaten and tired as soldiers stepped forward to unlock his manacles and you sat forward in your seat for the first time since you entered the Colosseum that day.

He had messy hair, dark brown and hanging just past his chin. It was already damp looking, matted and dirty from being kept god knows where as the emperor's new toy. He was shirtless, his body lean but corded with muscle. He had wide shoulders and a lithe waist, powerful thighs and skin that was tanned from the sun, a sure sign he spent too much time outside, training hard in the Italian heat.

As he moved closer to the middle of the stage, you saw the marks on his body, leftover scars and new slices in his flesh that still looked viciously red. The crowd got louder as a sword was thrown at his feet, a large, heavy looking thing with a bronze handle. Some cheered for the new warrior, hoping for some excitement, while others jeered and booed, already too attached to their darling reigning champion.

The gladiator picked up his sword and the crowd became wilder still, but he gave them no mind. He didn’t put on a show like some of the others, he didn’t flex his muscles or raise his weapon like it was already a prize. His leather loincloth was a deep wine colour, the tan leather pleats looking far from newly made and the material was already streaked with blood and dirt before his first opponent arrived.

Your heart felt heavy for him, as it did for all the others who were forced into the Colosseum - prisoners, slaves and animals alike. You watched the gladiator flex his wrist, testing the weight of his weapon just as the gates in the west cranked open.

Rome’s current champion strode out from the shadows and into the bright sun, his bare chest glinting with sweat and Hargrove held his hands aloft, grinning as the crowds went insane. He beat his chest, his long blond hair pulled back into a ponytail and when he was handed his own sword, he wasted no time in running towards the new fighter, the steel blade glinting.

You gasped, moving closer still to the edge of your seat and you couldn’t find it in you to bear much mind to the looks your father and Nancy shot you. It wasn’t like you to take such an interest in the sport, never mind be so heavily invested. You didn’t like to watch the wounded, preferring to close your eyes when the screams began, hiding cowardly behind Nancy’s fan when the blood turned the sandy stage pink and red.

But this new gladiator, he was fast.

He dove at the last second, dodging the tip of Hargrove’s blade and he rolled towards the section where you sat. Dust kicked up from the move, his sword tearing into the wreaths and sashes that hung from the Emperor’s box. You grasped the edge of the wooden frame, peering over the side and down to the stage, hoping to not see blood already.

Instead you found the gladiator looking back up at you, his sword still in his grasp and when his eyes met yours, they widened. Something like recognition hurtled through you, a feeling that sucked the breath from your lungs and you felt dizzy, like lightning itself had struck you from the sky. You thought the man perhaps felt the same, a frown on his face telling you that he felt just as confused as you did.

But before you could consider where on earth you could have possibly seen his face before, Hargrove attacked again, bringing his blade down to where the gladiator's shoulder should have been, if he hadn’t rolled once again.

You were on your feet now, the stares of your father be damned. Your eyes were wide, your heart beating far too fast, like you yourself were on the stage, being hunted for sport. Wood splintered into the space under your nails as you watched the man run, his muscles pumping, his eyes narrowed.

“Darling, are you quite alright?” Your father placed a hand on your arm, more confused than concerned.

“Yes, I just— yes.” You cleared your throat and sat down again, albeit back to the edge of your chair. You could feel the rest of the royal party staring at you. “Where did you say the man was brought from? The new gladiator?”

“Harrington?” One of the Emperor’s councilmen interjected. He pointed a pudgy finger at the brown haired gladiator, who was now swinging his sword with as much power as Hargrove. “Steven Harrington of Verona, best of his breed I heard. His general didn’t take too kindly to the King’s offering and well— you know what happens when his Highness is made to feel upset.”

The metallic clink of the swords filled the arena as everyone held their breaths. Not many had lasted this long against Hargrove before.

“Rumour has it that he didn’t take too kindly to his general being beheaded. Took six men to get him into the back of the cart, even more to make him train. He’s been refusing food all week.”

The idea of it made you feel unwell, a sickly, creeping kind of pain curling around each of your ribs and suddenly you were starving, just as much as you were sure the man would be. But still, I didn’t seem to make him move any slower, it didn’t hinder him in bringing his sword down any harder.

But strangely, every time the new gladiator was struck, every time his knees hit the raw sand, every time he got close enough for you to see him suck in a gasping breath— you felt it too.

It was a battle like you’d never seen before, more vicious than the others from that day, a showdown under the blazing heat of the high sun. No tiger seemed as powerful as Steven Harrington of Verona did. There was something animalistic in the way he moved, all power and lean muscle, a steely glint in his brown eyes that you didn’t dare look away from. He moved too quickly for Hargrove’s blade, dodging and diving as he flung up sand, blinding his opponent and slicing at his legs. Each move was a blur, the stage bleeding with fresh red, the blonde gladiator on his knees.

But Hargrove was ruthless, grappling with the newcomer until they were both wrestling in the dust cloud and the crowd went insane, people chanted and stomped their feet, the amphitheatre shaking down to its very bones. The imperial box quaked with the energy, but truly, you weren’t present enough to feel it.

Your eyes never left Steven’s fighting figure.

The swords seemed to be forgotten, the steel blades rusted with blood, both fresh and new, and they lay in the sand. Fists flew, knees pressed to chests to keep the other down and it was brutal, it was harsh, it was deadly.

You wanted to vomit. You feared you might.

You wondered what would happen if you leapt from your chair, if you let your skirts get torn and bloodied in the mess of the stage, if you threw yourself down onto the sand and begged for Hargrove to take his hands away from the new gladiator's throat.

Would you be punished? Beaten? Locked away? Killed?

You weren’t sure but somehow, all the options felt worth it. You couldn’t watch this man die before you. Not when it felt like you’d already witnessed his death before.

But Steven wrestled himself out of Hargrove’s hold, twisting and tumbling whilst he gasped, one hand clutching at his reddened neck and the other grappling for his blade. He swung it through the air, arching wide, his wounded shoulder ripping with effort it took but the sword landed where the warrior intended it to.

Silence settled over the colosseum, the air still enough for you to hear the surviving champion heave out gasping, heavy breaths. There was blood on his hands, his chest, his face.

His right eye was already bruising, red and lilac coming to the surface of his skin like fresh blooms in spring. His shoulder was a mess, his right leg causing him to buckle slightly as he rose to his feet.

The man turned, jaw slack, his sword falling limply to the ground once more, his opponent still and at his feet. His eyes found yours and time stilled, at least, to you. The crowd erupted, an explosion in its own right, the entirety of Rome cheering for their new champion.

A man you were sure you already loved.

By the time the fight had ended, you felt beaten and bruised. There were no marks on your skin, no blood seeping through your gown, but something inside of you hurt all the same. It felt like something was clawing at your heart, a memory that was banging on the front of your skull, screaming at you to remember.

When the guards dragged the gladiator from Hargrove’s limp figure, he dropped his sword to the sand and spat a mouthful of blood towards the ground at the royal pit. The Emperor merely chuckled as others around you gasped and before you could even hear your fathers protests, you were on your feet.

Steven Harrington was shackled once more, the metal chains clinking around his hands and feet. And as he was led away back into the arches, the gears of gates making an awful protesting noise, his eyes found yours once more.

A burning gaze, too intense to look away from and you could’ve sworn on the gods, on the stars above, that something inside of you tugged sharply. Like the pull of a string, tied in a bow between your ribcage, urging you forward.

Telling you to go.

So you did.

You gathered your skirts in your hands and made your way to the exit of the box, too focused to hear your fathers objections until the guards at the doorway halted you with their spears. The wooden stalks crossed themselves over your chest and you froze, the string tied to your heart pulling tighter and tighter and tighter—

The Emperor was staring at you, with cold eyes and a smile that wasn’t really a smile. He spoke to your father, not you. “Where, my dear senator, is your lovely daughter running off to?” The king turned back to you, brows raised. “Doesn’t she know that more wine will be served soon? My cousin is looking forward to her company.”

Your father stared at you, a stricken expression on his aged face because everyone in the royal box could read between the lines of the Emperor.

You cleared your throat, eyes still trained on the sharp metal points of the spears that were very much in your face. “Forgive me, father - your highness - I was merely hoping to get some fresh air.”

“The sight of all that blood makes her rather delicate,” your father agreed and the crowd of councilmen, generals and their wives tittered in their jewels. “She isn’t one for conflict.”

The Emperor stared at the side of your face, something you could feel despite bowing your head in his presence. You stared at the floor and waited, heart racing.

The royal tsked. “What a pity,” he declared but he waved a hand, each finger heavy with golden rings, and his soldiers stepped aside. “Be back in time for the parade, child, you have company to entertain.”

The Emperor’s cousin leered at you, his wine glass empty, his lips stained ruby but none of it mattered right now, not when you were taking off once more, skirts dragging across the dust and sand, your chest heaving as you tried to navigate your way through the crowd that was already dispersing.

More guards, heavily armoured and with their swords drawn, were too preoccupied with a fight that had broken out between the arches, two lower class men arguing over a coin they found on the ground. Taking your chance, you moved with your head down, your face hidden as you slipped through a door that was normally carefully watched.

The heavy wood slammed shut behind you, the sunlight swallowed whole. Burning torches lit the narrow corridor, a maze of them leading you underneath the Colosseum. The hypogeum was almost damp as you tried to navigate its many walkways, a gasp leaving your throat as you took a wrong turn and ended up face to face with the iron bars that separated you from the animals.

A huge tiger growled at you, bloodied teeth bared in a snarl, the stench of raw meat and faeces hanging in the cool air. You backed away, eyes flickering from cage to cage, each one filled with another poor creature. Lions, bears, a rhinoceros and its offspring, and beyond them, an even larger cell holding prisoners. They all stared at you, men and animals alike, but nothing was spoken.

You backed away, unable to breath, turning on your heel and walking quickly enough to spot the familiar grey robes of the healers used after the battles. You followed, your steps light, and watched him enter a small room. Between the door opening and closing, you spotted the gladiator perched on a wooden table, his head bent low and his face hidden behind his damp hair.

You weren’t sure what possessed you, but before you barged into the room too, both men staring at you from the table where the healer held a ragged cloth to the gladiator’s shoulder.

“Miss, you have no need here,” the healer announced, his voice strict and cold. He narrowed his eyes as he gestured to the door. “This is no place for—”

“My father sent me.” It was a lie, of course. A bold and bare faced one at that. But you stood a little taller and lifted your chin, the emerald necklace at your throat shining in the low light that came from the small fireplace in the corner. “The senate has questions I’ve been asked to deliver. I shall not leave without the appropriate answers.”

On the mantle, beside bottles of acids and other medicinal vials, sat a small statue of the goddess Veratis. Her marble eyes seemed to judge you and your lies and you swallowed down the bitter taste it left on your tongue. But looking at the man - this stranger from Verona - the need to speak to him, to be alone with him, was overwhelming you to the point of senselessness.

The trouble you could be in if you were to be caught in your lie… or worse, down in the hypogeum. This was no place for a woman of your standing, never mind to be alone with a gladiator, both of you unspoken for. You could feel your heartbeat in your throat.

“If we may have some time alone?” You added with more authority than you should have held. “Unless you’d prefer that my father leave the Emperor’s side to ensure his orders are fulfilled?”

The healer sighed but placed down his tools. He flashed you a smile that was all crooked teeth, more bite than kindness, but he made his way to the door. “That won’t be necessary, My Lady,” he told you and he left, closing the wooden door behind him.

The silence was a deafening thing. The crackle of the fire was still there, the distant roar of some poor, wounded animal, but whatever was held between the two of you took on a life of its own. It seemed to suck the rest of the world into it until there was nothing left but you and this man. He was staring at you still, brown eyes wide and so familiar, looking as confused as you felt as you stared right back.

It felt too easy to take a step forward, but the warrior flinched. Your next was slower, softer, more cautious. Your hand found the rag that the healer had once held, what little water it had been soaked in was cold, the material harsh. It didn’t take you long to find a new cloth in one of the drawers of the apothecary table and you took your time to warm some fresh water over the hearth.

Honestly, you didn’t know too much about medicine, only the basics that your father’s head servant had taught you as a young child. You found the small bottle of alcohol with ease, plucking it from the shelf and adding it to the warm water before soaking the new rag.

You held it up in offering to the man, still far enough from you that his dirty hair hid most of his face. His tanned chest was streaked with sweat and dust, marred with old cuts and fresher wounds from Hargrove’s weapon, but for the most part, he seemed okay.

“Can I?”

The gladiator lifted his head then, his hair falling away from his cheeks and you took in a sharp breath at the sight of his face. He was handsome, painstakingly so, but over and above all else, he was someone you were sure you knew.

The man nodded, just once, lips pressed together and as you came closer, his nostrils flared and his large hands gripped the edge of the table. His eyes raced across your features, recognition coming to the surface and before he could ask the questions that were clawing at his throat, you lifted the cloth and pressed it to the cut on his shoulder.

He hissed, teeth bared and you frowned, hushing him softly, apologies murmured just as quiet. “I’m sorry,” you told him and gods, he knew you meant it. “I need the alcohol to soak the wound.”

Your heart stuttered when he let you, shoulders tight and back ramrod straight, but his eyes were on your face the entire time you worked. “You’re not a healer,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

His voice rung through you, a deep timber that was hoarse and scratchy, no doubt from refusing to speak since his capture. You hoped he’d been drinking enough water.

You shook your head as you pulled away, dipping the bloodied cloth back into the bucket. “No, I’m not,” you confirmed.

Another swipe at his skin had him jerking in response but the blood and dirt was finally clear of the cut. It would need stitches, you were almost sure of it, but your skills started and finished at the basics.

“Then why are you here?” The gladiator’s eyes were trained on your necklace, a sure fire way to recognise nobility and you were overcome with the urge to rip it from your throat. “Why did you follow me?” He spoke like he already knew the answer.

You were hesitant about it, but you couldn’t stop your hand from lifting to his neck, fingertips brushing two beauty marks on his skin. They felt electric under your touch and you were impossibly warmer now, despite the old cell lacking the heat from the summer above.

“I feel like I know you,” you whispered. Your voice cracked with an emotion you didn’t quite know the name of. “I feel like I’ve mourned you.”

The gladiator looked back at you from behind his damp hair, the long strands matted with his and his enemies blood. He didn’t look as concerned as he should have been at your strange words. In fact, he leaned into your touch, lashes fluttering at the sensation.

“What an odd thing to say to someone who hasn’t died,” he answered quietly. But his gaze roamed over your features and something about being so close to him felt cosmic, it felt like a catastrophe waiting to happen. “I think I’ve met you before,” the gladiator whispered. He sounded reverent now, his own hand shaking as he brought it to your face.

He cupped your jaw, your chin, his rough fingertips trailing over your soft skin and when his thumb dragged across your bottom lip, you gasped and pressed closer.

“I think I meet you when I sleep,” he said and he frowned at his own words, at how confusing he must’ve sounded. “Every night, when I close my eyes. You’re in a garden and then you’re in my arms.”

Flashes of a bed came to mind, white linen sheets and too much bare skin. A man’s chest, tanned and muscled from hard labour, your hands that roamed the expanse of his back. You remembered how he kissed you in your dreams, with a longing so intense it could waken the gods.

Like he had enough love for you that he could end the world.

You could only nod. His thumb was still pushed to your bottom lip, your mouth parted as if you were waiting and his stare was so intense you felt warmer than you had in the stadium above.

Who was this stranger?

And why did it feel like something inside of you was being stitched back together by the sheer sight of him? His touch felt healing, it felt like home. Like it was only made for you to feel. Like he was made only for you.

Above, something boomed. Loud enough to be heard underneath the hypogeum, over the roars of the unsettled animals. If you had been outside, you would’ve witnessed the blue sky turning grey, shades of moody lavender and navy, storm clouds rolling across Rome from seemingly nowhere.

Thunder rumbled, threatening noise, something that made you and the man move closer to each other, like you both knew you were in danger.

That you knew something bad was coming.

“I don’t understand,” you said, eyes blurring. You weren’t sure why you were crying but Steve didn’t seem to question it. He merely swiped away the tears that slipped down your cheeks. “You’re a stranger— we’ve never— we’ve never met.”

Despite your words, the gladiator moved closer, standing from his seat on the wooden table to lean his forehead against your own. Your eyes slipped closed, nose bumping his. He smelled like metal, like blood and dirt and sweat but underneath there was something like fire there, like molten iron, like lavender fields and fresh cotton. Like a daydream, like something you weren’t sure was real.

His bottom lip touched your top one, only just, only barely. A whisper of a kiss, a small insight of something that could’ve been, of something that maybe once was.

Thunder rolled again, louder than before, as if it was right above you both. Even over the din of the crowds above, you could hear the heavy patter of rain that was now flooding the colosseum, the stage soaked. Another warning, something you’d seen before in a dream just before it turned to a nightmare.

“I was meant to find you,” Steve murmured. He had your face cradled in his hands, an overwhelmingly gentle touch despite the dried blood under his fingernails. His voice grew in urgency then, like he knew something was coming. Someone. “I was meant to come here. I can feel it. I understand now.”

“Someone once told me you’d come back,” you suddenly remembered, your voice eager, your eyes wide at the memory. “I don’t know— was it you? From before? From—”

From another life, you wanted to say.

How ridiculous those words were, how silly, how stupid. But there wasn’t any other way to explain. Logic didn’t seem to exist when everything you felt from this touch of this stranger led you to believe that somehow, someway, you’d spend a lifetime together.

Like you were supposed to spend this one with him too. And it didn’t seem long enough, decades wouldn’t make up for the time you’d lost searching for him, for this stranger who only came to you in your sleep. But he was very real now, solid flesh and bone underneath your own hands, brown eyes that seemed warmer than the Italian summer.

You didn’t want to let him go.

“In here, my King,” a voice interrupted. The door was open and the healer had returned, a cold look on his already stern face. The Emperor was behind him, ruby robes collecting dirt from the old floor. Four soldiers flanked him. “I have every reason to believe the Lady sold me lies, Your Highness.”

It happened too quick. Too fast.

The Emperor studied you, Steve’s hands still on your face as you stood too close, ready to kiss, ready to fulfil something neither of you were sure of. It felt catalytic.

“Seize him,” was all the Emperor said, one lazy flick of his wrist sending all four guards at you both.

There was too much movement in the tiny room, bottles of medicinal wares clattering to the ground and smashing at your feet. The table groaned as Steve was shoved into it, his own reactions too slow from his injuries. He grunted and reached for you too late, his hand slipping from your own, fingers barely touching, as he was shoved at from either side.

One soldier shoved the butt of his sword into Steve’s wounded soldier, the other bringing his armoured knee into his bare stomach. The gladiator doubled over, a gasp leaving his chest before he fell to his knees on the stone floor.

“Stop this!” You yelled, urging forward, trying your best to throw yourself into the mix of it all but someone’s arms - another soldier - caught your round the middle. “Unhand him! Your Highness - please - he hasn’t done any wrong, please—”

The Emperor just looked at you blankly before he picked at the jewels around your neck. He tutted, as if it were a shame, a waste. You could hear the shackles being placed back on the man, the low groan he gave as the metal was tightened around his sore wrists.

“He won,” you whispered, your voice low and choked. You were ready to beg. “Please, he won. He doesn’t deserve this—”

“I don’t like anyone else playing with my toys,” the Emperor interrupted. He said it like he was discussing what to have for lunch. “And my dear cousin doesn’t like anyone playing with his.” He motioned to the guards once more. “Take her back to her seat, where you make sure she stays. This isn’t any place for a Lady,” he told you mournfully.

You didn’t get to see what happened to the gladiator as you were escorted out of the room. But you did hear his yells when the door slammed shut, the dull thuds of impact that you were sure were on his already bruised and broken body. You hadn’t even told him your name, or that you dreamt of him too. That during your worst night terrors, he was the one that saved you.

When you reached the imperial box once more, your skirts dirtied from the sand, your face tear stricken, you felt broken. Like you’d been snapped in half, like someone had found that wound Steve had stitched up and pulled it apart again the seams. Like someone had ripped something important from you, half of your heart, perhaps.

You didn’t even notice that it had stopped raining. The skies were blue once more, the sun shining, the only evidence of the sudden storm were the drops of rain that had soaked into the pillow on your chair.

Steve was gone and the thunder was too.

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comfortless · 3 months

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Everything you write leaves me breathless <333

Sorry in advance for my English

I was thinking about König, (maybe in an ancient rome/Greek settling) being so alone and desperate for connection that he turns to religion: one day he's walking in the woods, deep in thought, when he finds an abandoned temple. The inside is small but lavish, with a life sized statue of what must be its goddess. He sees this lovely sculpture, abandoned and alone and sees himself in her. He becomes a dedicated, fanatic and soso lovestruck worshipper. Unknownly to him his goddess, woken by his prayers, has been watching him and listening to him. One day while he's praying in front of her her statue moves and talks and now his deity is in front of him. Looks like he has an opportunity to worship her like she deserves ;)

granting you ten million kissies for this prompt and your sweet words! your English is perfect, little wisp! <3 also… giving me an excuse to write more loner/loner and mutual worship?! you have spoken to my heart…

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. historical/myth au; vague time period, brief mentions of violence, fluff, pining, not very explicit smut, mutual worship.

The spirit of the temple feels disorienting, though the architecture is a still, white marble, the floor riddled with leaves and dirt, creeping up the sides of the building as if river water had washed the entire thing ashore… Something feels very alive here, feathered out on the air, a pulse of thunder, the breeze beneath dove’s wings, enthused and yawning. Hungry.

It only becomes more apparent the closer he steps to the statue.

She is unlike any he has ever seen before, carved with the same skill, but so much smaller than the other statues in their temples, so much more lifelike that he almost thinks to greet her. She’s been painted unlike most, a perfect vision bathed in color where she stands out amidst the sea of white and green surrounding her. The temple has not been stained with blood, no offering strewn before her bare feet, left for the rot or dragged away by the dainty hands of this very goddess. No maidens sit in prayer, no men lower there swords to her…

There’s nothing to tell him just who she is, either.

Despite his better judgment, his hand does find her side, a swift draw up from the vision of her thigh peeking from her robe upward to curl over her hip. Her beauty is unmatched, impossible to describe and the call seems almost tangible, shrieking at him in whispers to bend a knee and let her in. So, he does. He prays to her in the silence, alternating between whispers and his own thoughts.

He tells her of his struggles: a soldier brought in from a small tribe up north, robbed from his parents as a boy, how all he knew now were the Roman ways yet could rarely comprehend their customs and deities. Maybe she could offer him some counsel or solace…? Make the weight of his blade feel less heavy as he struck down men that could very well be his own brothers? Give him something to return to when old wounds reopened and he bled, hurt with no one but himself to tend to his heart or his injuries.

The goddess only blesses him with silence: the wind does not pick up outside, there is no disembodied laughter, no sudden thought of an offering or new words to speak to her. She is void of an answer just as the very temple she waits inside is empty of all else.

This does not dissuade him from returning.

Returning to the city after another battle some months later, his first thought is to return to her, to leave the things he’s taken from dead men at her feet, to paint the temple with the blood lingering on his weapon. There is honey, wine, meat and jewelry made of stones from the sea. There is brittle, dried flakes of blood polished from his blade and left to settle onto the floor like the leaves of late autumn. He presents these things to her with a grin, thinking that assuredly this goddess would call back to him then, grant him with a love so consuming that all of the evasion and emptiness cursed upon him would be untwined.

He kneels before her statue, presses his cheek to her thigh, sighs content at the feel of cold marble against the ever-burning of his flesh, gazes up at her like an adoring dog.

Assuredly, if this temple were built for a being that did exist at all she would know just how she was all that this lonesome soldier had, would know the way that he loved her and waited with bated breath and heartstrings pulled taut for her to love him in turn. A greedy, begging muzzle that utters his prayers, words he’s never spoken to anyone whether deity or mortal, only to her in the quiet of the forest.

It’s not madness that provokes him, but the gentleness of her face and the tender look in her eyes, an expression that no other had ever offered to him, no one but this little forgotten goddess. Whether pitying or loving, he did not know. It was only enough to keep him returning: for many days, his path from the city led straight to her feet, even some nights were spent lying upon her floor, finding peace finally being able to sleep next to something apart from lonely walls.

The sun rises and sets each day where he sits and speaks to her as though she were a living, breathing woman. Occasionally he reads aloud to her in the stillness, cheekily tells her when another goddess’ name is brought up within the lines of poetry that they could never hope to compare.

It’s ridiculous when he does not even know what purpose she serves, but this silent figure is his only companion, the only thing that sets his heart ablaze and mind focused in battle because above all else, he has to return to her. Though she can not share his words, he knows somehow that she shares in his loneliness.

Finally, he thinks to ask her the question that has been burning at the tip of his tongue for weeks and months. One, that he has tried to hold back, display a patience that he lacks. It’s after a night of sleeping on cold marble, an ache in his neck from its hardness and his own refraining from bringing a cushion from his own home in his desperation to return to her.

“Why won’t you speak?,” he asks, somber as he makes his way to leave the temple, only halting in place to cast her a fragile look from over his shoulder. He has read the epics, heard the stories and seen the blessings of other deities… Yet no matter what he does or how often he tethers himself to her leg and dotes upon her, she still meets his devotion with nothing but her silence in return.

König is left with the thought that his gifts are not enough, that he, himself, is not enough, even as her sole devotee. To keep his mind preoccupied, he keeps to the city for a time. The bed is cold, the people still see him as a barbaric outsider, and the horrible coil wound around his heart only seems to tighten its grip further. He feels as though he has left a part of himself out there in the forest within the four chalked walls of her temple.

This loneliness does not feel like one he is forced to swallow down, it feels like a vicious sort of ache, the twisting of a dagger beneath ribs to sink in and steal away what little of a life he does have.

He returns to her the following night, with a furrowed brow and a grave look upon his face. There’s an intent to demand she free him of her, that this longing finally pass, but as his sandals reach the entrance to the temple, those thoughts fall away from his mind like droplets of rain, a cool drizzle that begins to fall outside the very moment he is sheltered.

The statue— the goddess moves.

She tilts her head and inspects him fondly, the perfect mouth he has envisioned speaking to him so many times prior tilts upward in the gentlest smile as her bare feet move to carry her body forward.

“A test,” she explains as though answering his question from only the past day, almost saddened by her own words as her gaze lowers to the space between them.

König’s heart does not roar then, it only melts with the knowledge that someone like her has been left alone for so, so very long that she felt the need to prove to herself that he would return to her side. He would. Time and time again he would. When she raises her head to look him in the eye, her own clouded and misty, he only silently prays that she could see such a vow upon his face.

“I am worthy then?,” he questions, forcing himself to remain rigidly in place despite the call- the urge, to circle her, just once, drop at her feet to then feel her pulse beneath his fingertips. Anything. Even an assurance would be reward enough, but there is always a greed in the hearts of men, one he feels burning a hole through his very being even now.

Her lips press to a line and her gaze seems faraway, lost in her own thoughts that must be as mighty as Olympus itself. After a time, she only answers in a soft whisper, “It is I who am unworthy of you.”

All discordance in his chest pulls to a halt at this, all apprehension and sadness are whisked away when she instead comes to kneel before him. She curls her arms around his leg, presses her cheek to his thigh as he had done so many times before. The goddess gazes up at him with not just affection… but reverence, as though he were the strongest warrior of myth, deserving of even the love of something only as ethereal and sweet as she could provide.

His breath catches for a mere moment before he lowers himself at her side. The stares exchanged from both are full of an unspoken wonderment, all of the things that words alone would fail to speak in truth.

He waits out the rain there, sat beside her with the air surrounding them charged with such a great and unspoken affection that even Venus would taste a bitter envy on her tongue should she pass by to see.

She tells him she can not recall what she was the goddess of… or if she was ever truly any goddess at all. The marble surrounding her was put up for a purpose, but she’s never seen the Elysian Fields or climbed Olympus on her own. Her memories are scattered blurs, and she confesses that she feels tired when she tries to parse things together in a way that he will understand.

He listens while he tends to her by offering the honey and dried meat left in offering for her here, then fetches fresh water from the stream that brooks several yards away and returns to her side with a face both damp and flushed.

König tells her of his life too, how during every battle since stumbling upon this sacred place he has kept her in mind; he has no wife to return to, no other women to bed, that since their meeting his life has become hers. He confesses he had the intention of returning only to force a curse upon this madness that had enveloped him, but… he could never have brought himself to do so, even if she had not appeared to him warm and breathing.

Her laugh then could have prompted waves of flowers to bloom and birds to sing in tune, whimsical and so precious he only begins to feel himself fall, truly. Not out of sheer desperation, but with genuine affection.

When her exhaustion does take her, she does not mind the way his arm curls around her middle to tuck her body closer to his own. The goddess has no fury within her, only mirrors his own feelings with a fluttering of lashes and a soft sigh.

So she sleeps, pulled close to him like a lover rather than a stranger. When dawn breaks, when König knows he’s to be called back to train and fight with the other soldiers, have dull talks about what land to cross and take for their own next, she tells him she will wait there for his return.

He can not concentrate as well on his training this day. The plans for future wars and battles do not send flurries, hot excitement through him. The world is an endless gray, reflected above with darkened clouds threatening further rain. There is only one place he wishes to be, one that yearns for him more than his own home or the women waiting on the street for coins the other men readily supply. When one, a native Roman, does ask him why he does not just venture to the brothel to put himself in better spirits, König only grits his teeth to still his hand from quieting him eternally. These men knew nothing of the love he feels, and certainly they didn’t deserve to.

The temple is no different from how he found it the night prior. The goddess sits with her hands curled in her lap, smiling just as fondly at him as she had before. His heart shatters at the thought that she had sat there waiting for him in such a way all day. He swears to her that he will have a proper bed made for her, bring her the softest of furs and cushions stuffed with downy feathers to lie upon. For now his offering is only fruit and wine, things that she shares with him while she shushes his concerns with quiet words and gratitude that he had returned.

She lowers herself again before him after pulling her robe free and lying it upon the floor. It is no proper bedding at all, but she swears that it is enough, that his own warmth is just enough for her to be sated and comfortable. His head swims when she kisses his thigh, drags her lips up from his knee to rest there with that reverent look in her eye. Mortals coupling with deities was not unheard of, but to think it could happen to him…

She is a goddess. How is he supposed to… How could he ever dirty her with himself? He thinks to refuse her before she tugs away the barrier of fabric between them and takes him into her mouth. Stunned, he only watches her, feels her in a way he has never felt a woman before until he finds his voice again.

“Lie down,” he breathes, shaky and tentative as he rests his hand upon her cheek. She complies, giddy and content when she’s splayed out on the white robe beneath her, legs parting immediately and her arms reaching upward to invite him into her hold.

There’s no tact when he lies atop her, feels the warmth of her thighs around him and her arms curled over his neck. His forehead is pressed to her own when togetherness is found, and when she sighs so soft as she envelops him in full, his mouth descends upon her own.

She doesn’t praise him, doesn’t need to in words, because the muffled sounds and cries that leave her lips are more than enough to spear him onward. König, however… he babbles ceaselessly, overwhelmed and overcome by such a profound joy, he can not keep himself from reciting every word that comes to mind, whether vile or pure.

“My goddess,” he whispers into her hair, eyes half-lidded and dazed with each shallow thrust. “We could have had this for a season… you have made me wait so long, hm?”

The way she feels is unmatched, he thinks, when her breathing shudders and she only seems to constrict him further. To think he could bring a goddess to ruin… the grin that crosses his face when he pushes his head against her neck is bordering on both ecstatic and cruel.

“I will give you a demigod,” he hisses against her throat, not at all subtle about just how far he was willing to go to keep her here. With him. More than Olympus, she belonged beneath him, and the tremor that wracks her form then is all of the confirmation he would need.

She sobs his name when the tension becomes too much to bear, fingernails graze the flesh of his shoulders as she shudders, falls into such bliss that her words of praise come incoherent and weak. He follows her to a saccharine abyss with a guttural groan.

The aftermath is softer than any other moment he has shared with her. There are an abundance of kisses pressed between them, littered across her flesh and his own with whispers that leave his mind cloudy. Her worship is subtle by comparison to his own, coming in honeyed stares and such words he would never dare to repeat, no lowly poet deserved to ever hear them, their voices could never compare to her own.

The goddess holds him close, bumps his nose with her own and makes a promise; she tells him for as long as he shall live that this temple was as much his home as it were his own. That even when this body of his does die, she will seek him out in the Elysian Fields, lie at his feet as he had done her own; that no matter what may come, they will never be apart.

#könig x reader #konig x reader #storing your other request for now angel! <3 #someone kick me and make me write! so sorry to anyone who has sent something in that i have not gotten around to just yet #i see them and i promise i am working through them! my heart soars any time i am entrusted with a König prompt!

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serafilms · 6 months

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song 7! jelly pop (boys planet) + percy jackson (the lyrics are lowkey so embarrassing i can’t lie,,, fire song though please hear me out) (2023 spotify wrapped event)

baby, i’m your jelly, like sugar, it melts into your heart, wow

As you peppered kisses all over his face, Percy couldn’t help but chuckle.

“What’s got you in such a good mood?”

You hummed happily as you pressed another kiss to his cheek, “Nothing. Just love you.”

Percy blushed, and accepted the rest of your kisses as his hands gripped your waist. The both of you were snuggled against each other on the floor of the Poseidon cabin, leaning on the side of his bed. You weren’t actually in the bed, just in case someone were to barge in and makes a big deal out what looked like a compromising position.

You liked being like this: close to him. You could smell the salt and something grainy as you pressed your nose to his neck. Percy Jackson smelled like the sea.

Percy grinned down at you and brought his hands up to your cheeks. He lifted your face out of the crook of his neck and looked into your eyes, feeling something tickle his heart. He laughed at your squished face and decided it was his turn to kiss it, pressing quick ones to both your cheeks before kissing your lips.

You gave out another happy hum as your hands shifted from his shoulders to clasp together at the back of his neck.

Despite the ocean scent that surrounded him constantly, Percy always tasted sweet. You weren't sure yet if it was an amalgamation of all the blue cupcakes, blue cherry cola, and strawberries, or just because he was, in fact, the sweetest guy ever.

Even after you'd pulled away, you couldn't help but lean in for more quick kisses to his lips. The taste was addictive, and you felt it seeping into your body, as if he was pouring melted candy all over your heart.

Percy accepted them happily, and looked a little disappointed when you'd finally had enough and sat back to stare at him for a second.

He blinked at you. "What?"

"Have you eaten any desserts today?"

"No?"

"No fruit or sugary drinks?"

"No," Percy said, looking increasingly confused.

"Then why do you taste so sweet?"

He stared at your face for a second, taking in how dead serious it was, before he started laughing. "What?"

"Don't try and dodge the question here, Perseus," you scolded, pointing your finger at him accusingly. He only laughed harder.

"Sorry, babe," Percy said between giggles, "Just caught me off guard there."

You threw your hands up in exasperation as your boyfriend tried to calm down. "Seriously, though. You always taste like– like.... jelly."

His eyes still twinkled with mirth but he looked at you as if entertaining your idea seriously. "Like what kind of jelly?"

"What do you mean 'what kind of jelly?'"

"Is it blue?"

"Well, how would I know? It's your mouth? I don't see any blue."

Percy's hands drifted onto your waist again. "How about I give you another kiss so you can figure it out, then?"

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn't hide the smile that fought its way onto your lips. "Calm down there, soldier."

He pressed a kiss to your cheek, then slowly made his way down to your jawline and across to the corner of your mouth. You felt your stomach flutter and your resolved crumble as you whined, "Percy, I'm serious here. I want to know."

"Okay, okay," he said, eyes still locked on your lips, "we'll figure it out tomorrow, alright? I promise. It'll be our next big mystery."

"You mean after the one where you disappeared off the face of the Earth for six months?"

"I didn't disappear off the face of the Earth," he huffed, "I was in New Rome."

"Yeah, yeah, I know." You grinned. "Okay, the next big mystery it is."

Percy grinned and kissed you again. Oh well, your questions could wait. Percy Jackson was your jelly tasting weirdo, and he wasn't going anywhere.

#percy jackson x reader #percy jackson imagines #percy jackson imagine #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo #hoo #heroes of olympus #written works !#2023 Spotify wrapped event !

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blueiskewl · 9 months

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Archaeologists Unearth Ancient Mosaic of Winged Medusa in Spain

The stunningly preserved Ancient Roman mosaic floor was found at the Huerta de Otero site in the city of Mérida.

In both ancient and modern interpretations, Medusa is often known as a monster — a Gorgon with tresses of serpents whose stare turned men to stone. This version typically appears in children’s movies and fantasy thrillers, but her image hasn’t always been so awe-inspiring. In late June, archaeologists in Western Spain uncovered an Ancient Roman mosaic floor that depicts Medusa with tiny wings and flowing locks of hair, thought to have been used as a protective symbol.

The mosaic was found in the city of Mérida’s Huerta de Otero archaeological site. Ancient Romans established a colony there in 25 BCE named Augusta Emerita. Traces of its former inhabitants — including an amphitheater and a bridge — can be found throughout the modern-day city. “[The site] is of an exceptional nature due to the level of conservation of the ruins and, above all, the ornamental elements that decorate the well-preserved house: not only the mosaic of the Medusa but also paintings and sculptural motifs,” said archaeologist Félix Palma in a statement.

The Huerta de Otero location was excavated in 1976 but lay untouched for decades. Research picked back up in 2019, when the city employed professional archaeologists and students from its Barraeca II Professional School to explore the ruins. Since then, the team has uncovered an Ancient Roman defensive wall, a road, and the home of a wealthy family.

The Medusa mosaic adorned the floor of this home. Depictions of fish, peacocks, and carefully tessellated patterns surround the artwork’s central figure: a human-like Medusa, her gaze turned to one side.

Although this image diverges from some contemporary renditions of the mythological figure, the mosaic’s winged version was common in Ancient portrayals of Medusa. While early Greek depictions of the mortal-turned-monster, cruelly punished for being raped by the god Poseidon, show her as grotesque, Medusa’s image softened by the time of the Ancient Romans. Beginning in the Classical Greek period, her face acquired more human attributes. It started to be rendered with symmetry and youthful beauty in the following centuries.

Other Ancient Roman mosaics featuring the head of Medusa have been discovered throughout Spain. Medusa again comprises the focal point of an Ancient Roman mosaic in a 115–150 CE work found in Rome, where she can be seen sporting human curls and a snake around her neck. A 1st-to-2nd-century ornament from a chariot pole shows a young woman with curly locks (although a couple of snakes still peer through her tangle of hair).

In Ancient Greek mythology, Perseus killed Medusa to avoid being turned to stone. Medusa, in her early terrifying form, was used as a protective symbol — “an image of evil to repel evil,” Madeleine Glennon writes in a 2017 essay for the Metropolitan Museum of Art. The goddess Athena famously included a representation of Medusa’s severed head on her protective cloak or aegis. In Ancient Rome, her beautified image was still employed as a protective symbol, although the depiction shifted into a form more similar to a woman than a monster.

By Elaine Velie.

#Archaeologists Unearth Ancient Mosaic of Winged Medusa in Spain #mosaic #roman mosaic #Mérida Spain #Huerta de Otero archaeological site #ancient artifacts #archeology #archeolgst #history #history news #ancient history #ancient culture #ancient civilizations #roman history #roman empire #roman art

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dirtysvthoughts · 3 months

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strawberry icing on your lips 🍓 - svthub valentine’s day collab

tags/warnings: fluff for the first half, smut for the second half, a bit of pwp, boyfriend! shua, female! reader, baking at home, lots of kissing, fingering, nana tour inspired, shua’s kinda a flirt in this one heh

word count: 1.45k

notes: hey besties! happy love day and i’m beyond excited to share my first svthub collab work! this valentine’s day collab was hosted by the amazing @wongyuseokie thank you supporting us! 🥰 please check out the other author’s works as well! :) this is my next biggest work for shua after private dancer, so i hope you all enjoy! to my lovely valentine @gyuhanniescarat i hope you enjoy reading and i love you have a safe and beautiful valentine’s day & carat day! 🥰

“okay, flour, eggs, milk.. what else are missing?” you ask observing the ingredients in front of you, moving them around to make sure nothing was hidden.

“are the strawberries on the table? oh man, we almost forgot the butter too!” your boyfriend remembers walking to the fridge, reaching for the said items.

you and your boyfriend joshua have been together for three years and the two valentine’s days you’ve spent together have been nothing short of wonderful. for the past two years, you’ve gone out on valentine’s day, but after he came back from a recent europe trip, both of you decided to stay at home this year. you wanted to give him some time to relax and get readjusted to being back at home.

in recounting his europe adventures, he told the story of the time he took a cooking class in rome. he made four different pastas from scratch, all with delicious sauces and wine pairings. hearing joshua tell you of his experience with the excitement and joy made your heart swell, which led you to an idea.

“hey josh, instead of going out this year, why don’t we make our own dinner at home? it sounds like a lot of fun from what you just told me. ooh! we could even bake something too! i’ve been looking at a ton of new recipes lately!”

your boyfriend sweetly laughs at your enthusiasm and kisses your forehead, “let’s do it then! we’ll have a nice candlelit dinner at home this year.”

back in the present, you two have finally gathered all the ingredients to get started with your dessert course - vanilla cookies with a strawberry cream icing. since dinner wouldn’t take as long to make, you decided to get the dessert portion out of the way first.

“hmm let’s see, i’ll work on the flour mixture first, do you wanna work on the icing?” you ask joshua, setting the stainless steel bowls out on the counter. “sure! can you pass me the heavy cream and sugar?”

soon, a comfortable silence surrounds the kitchen, the two of you working side by side, mixing and whisking ingredients together. there is one moment where you accidentally reach for the butter at the same time, gently laughing together as joshua rubs your hand, admiring your soft, delicate skin. you can’t help but blush at the feeling of his hand on top of yours.

more time passes and now, you’re working on molding the shape of the cookies together. joshua is just about done with the icing as well, testing the ribbons of cream as it drips off the whisk and back into the bowl.

“babe,” he turns his head toward you, still focused on flattening what is now your sixth cookie. you hum in response, not looking up just yet. “can you taste the icing for me? i think it’s done, but it might be missing something.”

you finish molding your cookie and quickly grab a spoon from your utensil drawer. you scoop a small bit of icing on the edge of the spoon, nearly melting at the sweet taste and smooth texture of the icing dancing across your mouth.

“josh, this tastes so good!” you exclaim happily, scraping a bigger spoonful this time, giddy as ever as you put the spoon to your mouth again, loving how everything combined to make such a delicious icing. “you did amazing baby! it has the right of amount of sweetness and everything!”

this time, joshua can’t help but blush at your continuous flow of praise, but he also couldn’t help but get hot from watching you taste the icing - your cute lips pressing together and the humming you made the second time you taste tested was not helping the rush of blood that went down to his body.

joshua quickly notices that you have a little speck of icing left on your lips, quickly seizing it as an opportunity to give into temptation and get his hands on you.

“hey baby, you have a little something right-“ he drags out the last word as he holds your jaw with his right thumb gently, his soft, gentle lips meeting yours. the kiss takes you by surprise, but you quickly melt into your boyfriend’s touch as you tilt your head to give him more access inside of you. the two of you establish a rhythm for a few moments until you pull away first, slightly breathless and a pleasant, heavenly daze taking over your body.

“there,” joshua finishes, chuckling as he holds you by your waist, lifting you up so you can sit on the edge of the counter. he swipes his left thumb across your lips and licks his own while you watch, the motion sending arousal down your spine.

he doesn’t hesitate to kiss your neck soon after, quietly moaning as his lips nibbled on your body’s sensitive spots. you push your bowl full of cookie dough to the side as joshua’s hands come underneath your tank top, roaming your soft skin.

with ease, he takes off the piece of clothing, lips moving from your neck to the center of your chest. this time joshua becomes bolder, letting his tongue get some action as he licks and sucks on the space between your breasts.

“sh-shua.. shua, o-ohhh,” you moan out louder this time, wanting him to hear how good he’s making you feel. you’re so caught up in the pleasure that he was giving your chest that you don’t even notice his fingertips walking along your thighs, then underneath your skirt - and eventually to your panty line.

before you can even say anything, joshua’s fingers pull the waistband back and let it go, snapping against your waist. you gals and bite your lip in pleasure as your body goes slightly forward and joshua smirks in return. his fingers continue to tease at your panties, the pink lace nearly making him form heart eyes in front of you.

“you’re so pretty for me,” he breathes out, dragging your panties to the side with two fingers. “always, so, so pretty,” he repeats as he slowly inserts another two fingers inside of your core, chuckling at how wet you already are.

“coating my fingers and i haven’t even started with you yet,” he scoffs. “just a needy little girl, aren’t you?”

“only for you,” you whine back with doe eyes. “only you make me this wet.”

“good to know,” he smiles as he starts pushing his fingers in and out at a steady pace, your whines becoming more breathy and high pitched. “mmmm, more, shua - please, more…” you request, eyes starting to glisten like diamonds.

“i’ve thought about this before.. taking you down in the kitchen, especially while i was away taking those cooking classes.. just even imagining you pressing up against me while prepping the ingredients was enough to get me hard,” joshua confesses. “seeing you get so excited over the icing, i couldn’t help my myself baby,” he softly smiles as he holds you by your chin again and kisses you, this time, his fingers making a circular motion inside of you.

whatever noises you release now are deep inside of his mouth, craving for more of him as you entwine your tongue with his once again. you feel the pressure in your body start to build, knowing that you were going to come soon.

joshua then begins a scissoring motion in your pussy, the highest pitched noises you didn’t even know you could make were pouring out of your mouth like a river. you were practically panting joshua’s name out now, begging for him to make you come, promising you will come like a good girl.

after one particularly good thrust, you release all over his fingers, coating them in your deliciousness. you pant into his chest, leaning forward as you take in his scent again, trying to regain your breath, but not wanting to come down from the amazing high.

“i don’t know what tastes better, you or the icing,” joshua teases when you sit up, looking into his eyes.

“you flatter me,” you playfully roll your eyes as you hold his hand, turning around to take a look at the clock. “well, we still have some time left before we actually start cooking the main course.. did you wanna-“

before you can even finish your sentence, he hoists you up again, and laugh, legs immediately wrapping around his waist as he walks you to the bedroom.

“i haven’t even done half the things i wanted to do with you yet this valentine’s day.. c’mon my pretty girl,” joshua swoons, moving your hair from your eyes. “dinner can wait just a bit longer.”

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rubberizer92 · 1 month

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In the heart of Rome, at the prestigious drone center, aspiring recruits gathered for the application day, each man eager to prove himself worthy of joining the ranks of the rubber-clad drones. As they entered the center, they were greeted by the stern faces of the interviewers, their eyes sharp and penetrating, assessing each candidate with a critical gaze.

The first exam tested their physical capabilities and mental loyalty to obey and accept further mind control. In a vast training hall, the candidates were put through a series of rigorous exercises designed to push their bodies to the limit.

Their muscles strained against the tight fabric of their clothing, the sweat glistening on their skin as they pushed themselves to their absolute edge. With each movement, their bodies rippled with power, the definition of their muscles accentuated by the sleek rubber outfits they wore.

Once the physical exam was complete, those who passed were ushered into a separate room, where they were instructed to strip down to their underwear. The air crackled with anticipation as the recruits shed their clothes, revealing their toned, muscular bodies to the eager eyes of the interviewers.

With bated breath, they donned the tight glossy rubber outfits provided, the material clinging to their skin like a second skin. Every curve and contour of their bodies was accentuated by the sleek fabric, their movements fluid and graceful as they adjusted to the sensation of being encased in rubber from head to toe.

As they stood before the interview panel, their bodies pulsating with energy and determination, they knew that this was just the beginning of their journey to becoming rubber-clad drones. And with each passing moment, they felt a sense of excitement and anticipation building within them, knowing that they were one step closer to joining the elite ranks of the rubberized society.

In the dimly lit room of the drone center, the chosen recruits were ushered into a space where the air hummed with anticipation. Here, they would undergo the final stage of their transformation, a process that would cement their loyalty to the rubberized society and prepare them for the tasks ahead.

As they settled into their seats, the recruits were surrounded by monitors displaying swirling patterns and flashing lights, designed to induce a state of deep relaxation and receptivity. Around them, the low hum of machinery filled the air, as unseen forces worked to reprogram their minds and reshape their thoughts.

One by one, the recruits were guided into a state of deep trance, their minds open and receptive to the commands of the Voice. Through a series of carefully crafted mantras, they were programmed to chant words of loyalty, obedience, and arousal, their voices blending together in a hypnotic chorus that filled the room.

"Rubber is our master, our guide," they intoned, their voices low and reverent. "In its embrace, we find our purpose, our pleasure, our destiny."

With each repetition, the recruits felt their minds opening further, their thoughts becoming aligned with the desires of the rubberized society. They were no longer individuals, but vessels for the will of the Voice, ready to serve without question or hesitation.

And as the final echoes of the mantras faded into the air, the recruits knew that they were ready. Ready to don their glossy rubber suits and venture out into the world as fully fledged drones, their minds and bodies attuned to the commands of their masters.

For those who had passed the final test, there would be no turning back. They were now part of something greater than themselves, part of a society where rubber reigned supreme, and obedience was the highest virtue. And as they prepared to take their place among the ranks of the rubber-clad drones, they knew that their lives would never be the same again.

As the final 1% of candidates were ushered into the next room, a palpable tension hung in the air. They moved in unison, their bodies throbbing with arousal and obedience, the tight layer of rubber sealing their bulges, exposing their arousal without allowing them any relief.

With each step, the glossy rubber suits they wore seemed to come alive, quivering with anticipation. Slowly, inexorably, the rubber began to crawl up their necks and faces, enveloping them in its tight embrace.

Their minds filled with a euphoric haze as they surrendered to the transformation, fully embracing their new identity as rubber-clad drones. For the next three years, they would serve the rubberized society with unwavering devotion, guided by the Voice and bound by the unbreakable bonds of glossy rubber. And as they disappeared into the depths of the drone center, their bodies pulsating with desire and obedience, they knew that their lives would never be the same again.

#rubber #ai generated #muscles #jock #sexy #ai

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somewhereincairparavel · 2 months

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🐚 Daughter of Neptune headcanons list 🌊 part one..

Note: I've never done a pjo hcs post like this with the aesthetic pictures and everything- but I've been Itching to make a daughter of Neptune one, since I consider myself as a Neptune child. So this is sort of a self insert haha, and I thought it'd fun cuz I have so many hcs abt this, I've only over seen ppl do a daughter of Poseidon one.

Also this one has reader x Jason Grace as romantic pairings, but it isn't the main focus. Like I said, this is a self insert, and I love my bb jason ;) + imagine having Percy as a big brother, goals fr

• Okay so you'd come to Camp Jupiter at the age of 8-9, so you definitely have a considerable amount of childhood before you came to camp. Which only made it harder for you to adapt to the barbaric ways the Roman camp worked.

• Also, Since Neptune was not a very respected Roman god, your arrival was considered bad luck. Octavian made you go through an intense trial (that motherfucker was like 10 years old and an augur, and was already such a bitch lol) + forced a newly elected praetor Reyna (who was also just 10 at the time) to hold a senate meeting before you were even offered a position at camp.

• Neptune is very feared by the romans though, since he represented the harsh brutality of the ocean, so you got the Roman Nico di Angelo treatment from camp. Everyone was scared of you, flinched when you walked passed them. this was to your advantage tho, since you never got bullied, mostly out of fear.

• so Neptune temples in Camp Jupiter are only taken care of by you, if you left for a quest or something then the shrines would be in such a horrible state, bc no one cares enough to offer Neptune anything or even clean up his shrine. You'd do the cleaning and offering.

• and the worst part? Your dad wouldn't even notice you even after your efforts.

• okay, your powers are quite similar to Percy's butt I feel like since Roman/Greek siblings always have powers that compliment eachother, you'd have better control over the earthly side of the domain. Like you can cause longer earthquakes, control seismic waves, and make volcanos erupt + cause bigger avalanches, Stuff like that.

• Your water control was actually a little limited, up until Percy arrived and helped you enhance your powers. And you helped enhance his control over earthquakes, since his earthquakes usually only lasted for a few seconds, his dad is more water dominant. So when you met him, you knew he was a missing puzzle piece in your life. You'd even be able to communicate telepathically to Percy underwater, a power you both never knew you needed.

• Seriously tho it would be hilarious to look at, bc to the others, you both sound like squeaky dolphins but in reality you are just telepathically speaking with one another. The others wouldn't understand, and poor Frank would be so confused as to why you both are making strangled fish noises

Leo would troll you guys so bad for this lol

• your eyes would actually be black. Not blue, not sea green, just black. Your eyes would literally glitter like black obsidian rocks. because Poseidon is the calm side of ocean, hence sea green eyes for Percy, Neptune is the dark and scary side of the ocean, so that's black eyes for you. that difference would clearly reflect in your guys's eye colours AND personality (I'll expand on this more in part 2)

• but your scariness comes with a downside, you had no friends. No friends, except Jason and Reyna. it's just your dad's naturally strict aura surrounding you that makes your overall personality a Lil grumpy and moody tbh. You did have such a resting bitch face that wasn't helping either.

• Jason, being the noble boy he was, knew you were going to be his friend the moment you made a dramatic entrance to camp for the first time, getting scouted by the waves to New Rome. He knew what it was like to have a powerful, scary dad, but he acknowledged and empathized that you had it harder than he did. He was considered a golden boy, while you were considered a scary bad luck charm. But regardless of that, Jason was your first best friend. And eventually, your boyfriend.

• Reyna on the other hand, badly wanted to befriend you because she admired your mental strength, you were 9 years old and you were openly scoffed at by the legionnaires simply because your father was a scary man. Yet you handled it all so well. But she befriended you a little later than Jason did. Since she was so busy, she barely had any time to chat with anyone. You, Jason and Reyna bonded as a trio when you guys had your first quest.

• Reyna secretly shipped you and Jason from the very beginning lol, bc a Jupiter x Neptune union? Y'all were powerful and cute af together. The mutual pining drives her crazy though, like kiss already smh.

• Also, Nicknames! Your nickname was ALWAYS "kelp head" because your hair was wavy and shaped like seaweed lol. As much as you hated to admit it, the name fit a little too well.

• okay enough with the friendship stuff, let's talk about how much that bastard Octavian makes it his mission to make your life a hellhole. It isn't even funny anymore, he hated you from the very beginning. Not only because you were considered bad luck, it's because he envied that you were a direct descendant of such a powerful God, he couldn't even handle Jason's arrival, yours was just the last straw for him. He opposes your opinions in front of the whole senate + prevents you from getting elected as Centurion + attempts to prevent you from going on quests, bc he can't handle someone else taking the glory.

• He was also the reason you were put into the unpopular twelfth legion. The underdog legion. But Jason? That sweetheart made it worth being in the twelfth legion so you weren't complaining tbh.

• honestly? Octavian and you are famous in camp for your bickering though lol it's just always a back and forth between you and him, such burning rivalry and enmity. You LOVED roasting him and you were fucking great at it too. He deserved that for making you go though hell. You'd laugh like a maniac when he trips and he smirks when has the upper hand against you in senate discussions.

• Reyna is the only reason you both didn't beat eachother up at this point tbh

• once, Reyna came running up to you all panicky because Octavian went missing from camp. In response, you beamed and told her that you'd get the balloons ready in the dining hall for a grand celebration. Jason would burst out laughing lol.

• you'd steal his teddy bears and give them to younger campers, asking them to hide it from octavian. So the younger campers absolutely adore you, unlike the older ones.

• you are also quite the rebel in camp, JUST like Octavian predicted you would be, when you first came to camp. It was actually written in his auguries that the new child of Neptune arrival would be always shafting the rules, since the sea can't be controlled. It's in a nature for a Neptune child to walk their own pace (lol have you seen Percy??) That gave another reason for him to hate you.

• Even some of the lares in CJ would call you an abnormal roman bc you never acted like one. You were wild and temperamental.

This rule breaking tendency you had did earn you lots of punishments that included scrubbing the whole camp with a toothbrush. But it was worth it for you. Camp Jupiter sucked. And you were already in trouble, so what's a little more, right?

• you'd sneak out at night to explore New Rome, because again, the Romans had this weird bedtime curfew like. they have rules for every. Fucking. Thing. It pissed you off so bad. They wouldn't even let you explore the city at night? They were seriously wasting the beauty of the city, You'd definitely rope Jason in to break the rules with you. Like don't be such a goody two shoes smh. I feel like that's what attracted him to you in the first place. He's a goody goody boy with such a boring life, youd just make it interesting for him.

• besides, sneaking out is SO much easier when you can fly. So Jason is your personal airplane. The Jason Grace airlines.

• okay so after all your hardwork in the legion, you'd finally get elected to Centurion, after you successfully finished a quest to retrieve a lost Roman artifact, which was formerly Jason's position and he would become a co praetor with Reyna. But you were still very much disrespected in camp tbh, it just became an internalised thing for everyone to hate you at this point, Octavian was also great at putting your reputation under dirt, but you didn't really care anymore.

• now here comes the catch, Jason and you were sort of in a half-pining half-relationship situation, Before that jerk goes missing. because neither of you knew how to confess, and camp was SO strict when it came to relationships for some reason?? Like even dating has to be lowkey.

• you and Jason are totally the grumpy x sunshine trope lol except you're the grumpy, snippy and batshit one and jason is calm, levelheaded and optimistic one.

Perfect balance. Gosh your dynamic would be so cute :(

• you'd just be grumpily stomping around while jason stalks behind you, laughing lightly. You're super short compared to him aswell, so yeah it makes it funnier.

• You were in charge of welcoming Hazel to camp, since Jason and Reyna had some serious meeting stuff about the new prophecy Octavian told them about.

• poor hazel would be scared to death while meeting you, not just bc it's you, it's bc she just came back from the dead, so this is all rlly new for her.

• That's where you met him. Nico di Angelo. You'd bond over your shared mistreatment in camp. So you became homies w him fairly quickly. He saw you as this cool big sister he could have happy meals with talking abt life.

• you would be a little curious when he keeps disappearing off to somewhere tho, you knew he was lying about where he came from.

Okay part 1 of this is done, this was so long lol, part 2 would drop later, that's where you and Percy meet and stuff.

Update: part two is out! https://www.tumblr.com/somewhereinhogsmeade/746489087922520064/daughter-of-neptune-headcanons-list-part-two?source=share

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bantarleton · 2 months

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Trimontium Roman Fort

A departure from the Early Modern period to do a thread about the Roman fort of Trimontium in what is now the Scottish borders. I visited the museum at the weekend, and it was great! 1/14

Trimontium, now called Newstead, was first built about around 80 AD, during the Roman General Agricola’s invasion of Caledonia. It stood for over a century in an area known as Trimontium – between three hills.

The land had been occupied by native tribes since at least the Iron Age, with multiple settlements existing on the slopes surrounding the fort.

It served as a military base in Caledonia, and seems to have primarily been a cavalry depot for long periods – there are lots of horse remains, as well as these helmets and ceremonial faceplates belonging to Roman cavalrymen.

The XX Legion spent time there (as did the VIII, earlier on), as evidenced by the remains of this plaque.

A Roman soldier’s service record!

The fort’s strategic function shifted over time –it was a bulwark existing beyond Hadrian’s Wall, then after the construction of the Antonine Wall further north it became more of a logistical hub, then resumed being a frontier fort after the Antonine Wall’s abandonment.

Small settlements sprung up around the fort’s walls, and it is likely there were regular peaceful contact with the surrounding tribes. However there is also evidence of conflict. Roman forts came under sustained attack across several periods, and it looks as though when the fort was finally abandoned, it was done so in a hurry.

As per soldiers from the Ancient World to modern-day Iraq and Afghanistan, when the troops move out they leave a lot behind – lucky for the archaeologists and historians.

I am amused by how miserable Roman soldiers must have been after getting assigned to northern Britain. The ends of the earth indeed! I also do scoff at the whole “I think about Rome every day” meme, but I can see the allure, and I find it extremely interesting comparing and contrasting what I know about 18th c. militaries with the Roman Army. There were definitely a fair few things that I think the Romans were better at, especially when it comes to organisation, logistics and efficiencies!

#history #military history #roman history #scottish history #scotland #scottish #rome #roman #roman empire #ancient history #classics #classical history

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hotchs-big-hands · 10 months

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dbf!hotch gifts reader a nannycam for their room. Fun ensues. Send tweet.

(basically reader being a camgirl but for hotchy’s eyes only) 😩

Okay okay I have to get this out FIRST like you don't understand this makes me fucking BARK ROME your mind is literally stunning babe OKAY LETS GO

Dbf!Aaron Hotchner x gn!reader

NSFW minors dni please!

Warning(s): consensual voyeurism, daddy kink, masturbation, just smut LMAO it's so filthy!! Also changes to Aaron's perspective after first break.

Should probably note idk exactly how nannycams work I just did some reading up and I'm sort of basing off that. Anyway, ENJOY!

🌑🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘🌑

There it sat on the pristine dining table of your father's friend. A small, black cube no bigger than a dice awaited your response to its presence. Your eyes flicked to the man who had just placed it in front of you with a smirk, and you bit your lip.

"This is..."

Aaron raised a brow, the smirk growing.

"A little camera for you to place in your bedroom. Do you like it, sweetheart?" He said gently. A shiver ran down your spine as your eyes returned to the tiny nannycam.

"Holy shit..." You felt heat rising in your face and burning in your abdomen. "I do, yes. Thank you, Aaron."

Aaron cupped the back of your head with his hand and leaned over to press a kiss to your forehead.

"This, pretty thing, is so I can check in on you when I'm away with work. You understand, right?"

He was close to your face, his eyes focusing on your bitten lip. You moved to straddle his hips and his hands were immediately on your thighs, squeezing them possessively. A little hum reverberated from you as you nodded at him and you placed your hands on his firm chest to help balance yourself as you shifted around on his lap.

"Mmh... come by mine later so you can help me set it up?" You asked sweetly, batting your eyelids innocently at him. He chuckled and the hands slid round to your ass and firmly gripped onto the flesh there.

"Of course, sweetheart. Gotta make sure it's working, after all."

Yes, much later in the day did you both finally make it to your home and set up the little camera on a shelf attached to the wall, cushioned between some ornaments. And the rest of the evening was spent "testing" the angle of the camera out with a feed linked to Aaron's phone. When you eventually collapsed against the pillows together, entangled and breathing heavily, your mind wandered to the possibilities you had to have a bit of fun whilst your lover was away. A tired, but excited smile pulled at your face as you snuggled into his bare chest and you drifted off to sleep.

🌑🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘🌑

Three days had passed by after Aaron gifted you the little camera, and in that time he had, of course, been pulled away on a case. He hadn't yet had a spare moment to check in with you to ask if you were okay with him watching (he had made it clear that he wouldn't look unless you specifically said it was okay to do so) and admittedly, he was a little frustrated as a result. But work called, he had to focus on the current case instead. However, all was about to change with a simple text from you.

---

Sweetheart❤: How's everything going? xx

---

Aaron raised a brow as he stared at the text. You didn't normally contact him whilst he was working. He stepped away from the rest of his team for a moment to respond.

---

Me: As well as the average case goes. Are you alright? X

Sweetheart❤️: I'm heading to bed now, but I'm not very sleepy...

---

He felt himself tense a little, swallowing as he felt himself twitch in his slacks. He eyed his surroundings before he began to type.

---

Me: Sweet thing, you've got to try and get some rest, yeah? X

---

Moments later a photo came through from you, Aaron's breath hitched at the compromising position you were in, biting your lip and looking at the camera seductively.

---

Sweetheart❤️: Guess you'd better check your footage later then 😇

---

He quickly moved to press his back against a wall and typed furiously, slacks tightening.

---

Me: You really think you can just tease daddy like this and not be punished when I return?

Sweetheart❤️: Gn, daddy 🥰 xx

---

Aaron groaned quietly and pocketed his phone, glancing down at his crotch and willing the slight bulge to disappear. You were in so much trouble when he finally returned home, but he had to admit he was eager to return to his hotel room that night to see what you'd been up to. With a sharp exhale out of his nose he slowly returned to the room to continue working on the case.

🌑🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘🌑

Driving at the speed limit couldn't have been harder for Aaron than right now, desperate to make it back to the hotel and lock himself in his room. He knew the others could tell he was extremely tense and chalking it up to the difficult case, which admittedly, he was stressed out about, but he hadn't been able to keep you or the implications of your earlier messages out of his mind for the rest of the day.

So when he finally pulled into the hotel parking lot with Spencer and Derek in the car with him, he couldn't slam his door fast enough nor rush off into the hotel. He even took the stairs, two steps at a time, so he could get there quicker than waiting for an elevator. Finally. With his door locked his jacket and tie were quickly removed and his shoes toed off at the door, he crossed the room to the bed and he settled down on the edge of it and pulled his phone out.

He was eager, almost embarrassingly so but he didn't care. His thumb hovered over the app that was linked to the nannycam; his slacks were uncomfortably tight already. With a quiet exhale, he unbuckled his belt to give himself a brief sense of relief, then he clicked the app icon.

He remembered the estimated time you'd messaged him, scrolling through the footage from within the 12 hours of the day in the timezone you were in. Most of it was blank, obviously you'd been out for the day, but he slowed down the progress when your figure appeared, entering and leaving the room as you went about your evening. He smiled slightly in complete adoration of you, there was something so serene about watching you going about your time, a part of him secretly wishing he could witness all of it someday.

His thoughts were brought to a halt when you entered your bedroom dressed in a fluffy towel, having just returned from a shower. He shifted on the bed, settling back further as his eyes stared at the screen. At first, your back was to the camera when you unwound the towel from your body. Aaron narrowed his eyes slightly, wishing you would turn around. Then you did. Casually, you began drying your body off, dragging the fabric down your arms and across your neck. You paused, a little smile spread across your face and you moved the towel slower down your body.

His eyes followed the movement of your hand on the fabric, drifting down your chest and lingering. A deliberate, light brush against your nipples, then slowly drifting lower down your body. Tauntingly, you covered your crotch and Aaron groaned, holding his phone in his right hand whilst his left slid down to squeeze the growing bulge in his dress pants. You knew how he felt about you teasing him given you'd been punished for it already recently, brought to a point of begging him through tears to let you cum, to feel his cock inside you. Just the memory of it only made him strain against the fabric of his trousers more, so he unbuttoned them and slowly pulled the zipper down, a quiet grunt escaping him at the release in tension. His hand slipped inside, palming his cock over his boxers.

In the footage, you'd turned from the camera again and bent over to dry your legs, giving him a full view of your ass to him.

"Nngh, fuck." Aaron hissed, squeezing himself tighter. You walked out of frame, seemingly to hang the towel up to dry, but when you returned to the frame you were still in all your naked glory and there was no indication of that changing anytime soon. His eyes widened when you pulled open your bedside drawer and from it you took out one of his button down shirts, but his brow raised when you also picked up a small bottle, one that he knew very well.

"Oh, you naughty thing..." He whispered as you spritzed his cologne he thought he had misplaced a few weeks ago over the shirt he must have left behind at some point. You placed the bottle back into the drawer and held the shirt to your nose, climbing onto the bed to kneel, eyes closed as you inhaled deeply. Aaron groaned again quietly. He didn't know you did this, he would have to ask you if you did it all the time. It made him feel good to be so desired as this, he never expected anyone to want him as much as you clearly did. His cock was painfully hard now, and he pulled it from the top of his underwear with a hiss. The rosy red tip was already glistening with precum, he smeared it with his thumb and dragged it down the impressive shaft with a deep exhale.

Holding onto the shirt, you slowly pulled it down your body, rolling your hips as you brushed across your nipples again. And then, to Aaron's utter surprise, you moved the shirt down to your crotch and began to grind into it. He shuddered, cock twitching in his hand at the scene. You moved to the end of the bed, shirt still rubbing against your crotch, and knelt down, head against the bed with your ass angled towards the camera's general direction. Aaron swore under his breath as he began to slide his hand up and down his cock, squeezing his tip and using the precum that continued to leak out to lube himself. You were laying on top of the shirt, hand between your spread thighs as you touched yourself. Oh, how he wished he could hear your sounds right now.

He could imagine himself touching you in this position, teasing you as he rubbed his cock against your entrance. He wanted you to always have your face shoved against one of his shirts from now on, picturing you biting into it with every caress of his fingers or cock.

Your hips swayed and shuddered forward, your hand moving faster as you masturbated. Aaron moved his hand faster on his cock, thrusting up into his hand eagerly in time with your movements. He could tell you were close in the video, body shaking and back arching, it brought him closer to cumming as well. His chest heaved as he moaned, hips bucking when he watched you finally cum hard, staining his shirt no doubt, and pushing yourself until you collapsed, boneless. Not a moment sooner, Aaron groaned deeply as his cock shot rope, after rope of cum onto his hand and clothed chest. Slightly shaky, he quickly snapped a photo from his torso downward, hand still gripping his sensitive cock, and sent it to you.

---

Me: Sweetheart, look what you've done to me. I'll be having a word with you about taking my cologne...

---

Once the text was sent, Aaron let the phone drop onto the mattress beside him and groaned. His cock twitched in his hand, still aroused. He grimaced, knowing he needed to take a shower and shove his soiled clothes in the bottom of his bag. And so sluggishly, he forced himself to stand and make his way to the shower room.

When the new morning would come round, you'd wake up to more than just a picture.

🌑🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘🌑

AWOOGA OKAY thank you so so so much for reading !! I hope this was kinda what you were thinking of babes, but I could defo expand on this in future tho should the demand be there 👀

Taglist: @cr1minalskies @modern-mermaid @aaronhotchnersgirlfriend @aaronhotchswife @crimeshowjunkie @igotanidea @gogococopuffs @prentissesredtanktop @howabouticallyou @lalalove-56 @constantwritingblock @boredelle @powerlvr25 @idkbubs @mrs-ssa-hotch @emptybagofchips77 @yourmomsmilfmistress @jesuisbenny @nplumb22 @supercriminalbean @elijahmikaelsonbitch @wowzabowza69 @frostingway @simpingfortoomanypeople @munsonsposts @spenciesprincess @creepysweetie @bruhhvv @regulus-black-223048 @brasspistol @0nex-is-dead0 @livingdeadmak @myescapefromthislife @sebastiansstanswhore @bumblebea-xo @hangmandruigandmav @sareim123122 @magical-spit

#beloved rome #a answers #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch fanfiction #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x reader fanfiction #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner x gn!reader #aaron hotchner x gender neutral reader #aaron hotchner x reader smut #hotch smut #aaron hotch smut #smut #nsfw.

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