#[ but I extremely appreciate your words here and in the previous asks and you so dearly much ]

[stylesispunk]

"The soldier in the armour" | Last part

marcus acacius x f!reader

masterlist | previous chapter

summary: The search for peace of Rome starts with sacrifices and bloody hands and ends where lovers meet again.

wc: 16k (ups)

warnings: extreme angst, age gap, mentions of blood, power imbalance, mentions of death, violence, manipulation.

a/n: as much as I'm sad to end this story, I really needed it to do it. Writing as much as I enjoy and love it, it's also becoming unbearable to the point i can't find myself writing peacefully anymore and I need a break. Still, i'm leaving you with something else 👀 and I will still be here rebbloging stuff. Thank you so much to the sweet anon who requested this in the first place because it gave me the chance to expand a story i loved writing so much and thanks to everyone who commented on this story, the ones who always reblogged and shared their thoughts with me, and showed me real support. I appreciate it so much! ♥️ this was the original ending for this btw. Please, share your thoughts with me 💌

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

The dim torchlight flickered against the damp stone walls, casting long shadows as the guard knelt beside you, pressing a small wooden cup of water into your trembling hands. His voice was gentle, almost hesitant, as if the weight of his next words could cut in half.

"Here. Drink this, my lady."

You took the cup but didn’t bring it to your lips. Your throat was raw, not just from thirst but from the weight of everything crashing down on you. Instead, your mind raced with so many questions about the ones you loved.

"How… how are they?" you whispered, your voice barely audible.

The guard sighed, his expression darkening. "Your mother is alright."

A sharp exhale of relief left your lips, but it didn’t last.

"Hanno?" you asked without wanting to reveal his real identity.

His brow furrowed. "Why do you care about that gladiator this much?"

You shot him a glare. "How is he?"

A beat passed before he muttered, "Good. He is fine too, my lady."

But that wasn’t the name that hung the heaviest on your heart, tearing it apart.

"My husband… how is Acacius?" your voice cracked.

At the sound of his name, the guard’s lips parted, but no words came out at first. His hesitation was enough to send ice through your veins.

"General Acacius… Emperor Geta and Caracalla-"

Your stomach twisted violently. "Is he dead?" You choked out, your fingers tightening around the cup until it nearly cracked in your grasp.

"No," the guard said quickly, shaking his head. "But they have… they are sending him to the arena to fight for his life… as punishment."

Your entire body froze. "And they’re going to make me watch," you whispered, the words hollow and filled with fury. It wasn’t just cruel but calculated, a vicious torment. Geta wanted to break you in every way possible.

The rage that had been simmering inside you boiled over.

"Where is he?" you demanded, your breath coming in uneven bursts.

The guard swallowed hard, glancing toward the entrance of the dungeon as if he feared being caught. "You shouldn’t-"

"Where. Is. He?" you cut him off, your voice sharp like a blade.

For a moment, he looked at you, not as a prisoner, not as the emperor’s pawn, but as the little girl he had known all his life. A woman who had once walked through the gardens of the palace without fear, whose laughter had once filled the halls of Rome. He let out a slow breath, then leaned in closer.

"In the lower cells," he whispered. "They took him there until dawn."

“Could you take me to see him?” You asked him, throwing the cup of water on the ground.

The guard hesitated, his jaw tightening as he glanced nervously toward the entrance of the dungeon. “I can’t. It’s too dangerous. For you and for me.”

Desperation clawed at your throat. “Please,” you pleaded, leaning forward as much as the chains would allow. “I just need to see him. Just for a moment.”

He looked away, running a hand over his face, as if waging an internal war. “If they catch us, they’ll kill us both.”

“Then let me die, I’ll blame myself for it” Your voice wavered, but your resolve did not.

His eyes flickered with something, pity, perhaps even understanding. He owned too much to your family and to Acacius, so muttering a curse under his breath he finally nodded. “Fine. But you must cover up. And it must be fast.”

Relief crashed over you, and you nodded eagerly. “Thank you.”

He stood, moving quickly to retrieve a tattered cloak from a pile of discarded linens in the corner. He draped it over your shoulders, pulling the hood low over your face.

“Keep your head down. Stay close.” His voice was firm but quiet.

You nodded once more, your heart hammering against your ribs as he unlatched the chains from the wall. Your wrists throbbed, the skin raw and bruised, but you didn’t care.

Not long after, the guard led you through the dimly lit corridors of the palace, the torches casting long, flickering shadows on the cold stone walls. Your heart pounded with every step, the weight of the cloak heavier than ever on your shoulders, but nothing compared to the what was pressing against your chest, the thought of seeing Acacius, of what had been done to him.

You kept your head low, your hands trembling as you clutched the fabric close to your body. Every time footsteps echoed nearby, the guard would stop, pressing you into the shadows, his hand firm on your arm as if reminding you to stay silent.

Finally, you reached the holding cells near the arena. The air was thick with the scent of sweat, damp stone, and blood. You could hear the low murmurs of other prisoners, the occasional clank of chains.

The guard glanced around before gesturing for you to follow. He stopped in front of a heavy iron-barred door. “He’s in there,” he whispered. “Be quick.”

You swallowed hard, your hands shaking as you stepped forward. The guard pulled a key from his belt and slid it into the lock, the heavy door groaning as it opened just enough for you to slip inside.

At first, the darkness swallowed everything, and then

“Acacius.” You whispered, calling out his name.

He was slumped against the wall, his wrists bound in iron cuffs, his tunic torn and bloodied. His dark hair was damp, sticking to his forehead, and a fresh cut trailed along his cheekbone. But his eyes, his sharp, brown eyes, snapped open the moment he heard your voice.

“My love?” His voice was hoarse, as if he had been calling for you in his sleep.

You rushed to him, falling to your knees, your hands reaching for his face. He leaned into your touch, closing his eyes for a brief moment as if savoring it.

“I’m here,” you whispered, tears welling in your eyes. “I’m so sorry, Acacius. I tried-”

“Shh.” His forehead pressed against yours, his breath uneven. “You’re safe. That’s all that matters.”

You weren’t safe but it didn’t matter to you anymore, your fingers trembled as they traced over his bruised skin. “They’re sending you to the arena.”

He exhaled sharply. “I know.”

You shook your head, panic surging in your chest. “I can’t let this happen. I won’t.”

His chained hands lifted as much as they could, brushing against your arms, trying to soothe you despite the agony he must have been in. “You have to be strong.” His voice was firm but gentle. “You have to survive this. That’s the promise I made to your mother and that’s the promise I made to myself.”

“Not without you.” You sobbed.

His eyes softened, full of something deeper than love, something treading your two-heart beating faster.

Tears spilled down your cheeks as shook your head, your lips pressing against his in a desperate, lingering kiss. He kissed you back with all the strength he had left, pouring his love and soul into you, as if trying to leave a piece of himself with you, in case this was the last time.

A sudden sound at the door made you break apart. The guard stepped inside, urgency on his face.

“They’re coming. We have to go-now.”

You turned back to Acacius, your hands gripping his face as if you could keep him here with you forever.

“I will find a way.” Your voice was a promise. “I swear it.”

His eyes burned into yours. “Then I will wait for you, my love. In this life or the next.”

The guard pulled you away, and Acacius’ hands fell to his sides as you were torn from him. Your silent sobs echoed in the chamber as the door slammed shut between you.

The guard took you back to your cell, where the reality fell over you. Not enough praying would bring you back to the nights lying next to Acacius and enveloped in his arms, safe and sound.

The moment you stepped back into the cell, the cold iron bit into your wrists once more as the guard fastened the chains, his movements slower this time, almost hesitant. You could still taste Acacius on your lips, still feel the warmth of his hands on your skin. But now, all you had was the damp air of your prison and the weight of despair pressing against your chest.

The guard exhaled, stepping back. His brow was furrowed, his jaw clenched as if wrestling with something deep inside himself.

“You don’t deserve this,” he muttered. “None of it.”

You lifted your tear-streaked face, meeting his gaze. “Then let me go.”

His lips parted as if he wanted to say something, but he only shook his head. “I have my duty.”

You let out a bitter laugh, your voice hoarse from emotion. “Duty? To whom? Geta? Caracalla? Do you think they would do the same for you?”

His face darkened, but he didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. You already knew.

“I serve Rome first,” he said after a long pause, but there was something hollow in the way he spoke. As if he was trying to convince himself.

Your wrists throbbed as you shifted against the cold chains, your anger burning hotter than your grief now. “Then you are just as much a prisoner as I am.”

A flicker of something—shame? Regret?—crossed his face, but it vanished just as quickly. He turned toward the door.

“I hope the gods are kind to you, my lady.”

Then he left. The heavy door slammed shut, sealing you in darkness once more.

A shuddering breath escaped you as you pressed your forehead against the damp stone wall. Your body ached, your heart ached, but your mind was clearer now.

Acacius was running out of time.

And you were done waiting.

The hours dragged on, each second stretching into eternity as you remained chained in the cold, damp cell. The weight of what was coming settled deep in your bones, but you refused to surrender to it. Acacius was there, awaiting his fate, and you would not sit idly by while the love of your life was thrown into the arena like a common criminal.

When the first rays of morning light filtered through the cracks in the stone walls, you finally spoke. "I demand to see the emperors."

The guards exchanged glances; their expressions unreadable. One of them scoffed, but the other hesitated.

"You are in no position to demand anything," one of them sneered.

You lifted your chin, steel in your voice despite the exhaustion creeping into your limbs. "I am still a daughter of Rome, and I will be heard."

A long silence stretched between you and them before the guard who had led you to Acacius the night before stepped forward. His jaw was tight, his eyes flickering with something unspoken. He sighed.

"Very well. But be careful what you ask for.”

The chains were undone, your wrists sore and bruised, but you ignored the pain once again. Two guards flanked you as they led you through the corridors of the palace. The familiar scent of incense and polished marble filled your senses, a stark contrast to the filth of the dungeons.

When the heavy doors to the grand hall were pushed open, your eyes immediately landed on them—Geta and Caracalla, seated on their thrones, draped in the finest silks, adorned in the weight of power they had not earned.

Geta was the first to notice you, his lips curving into a slow, knowing smile.

"Ah, my little rebel." His voice was thick with amusement. "I was wondering when you'd come crawling back to beg."

Caracalla, in contrast, simply watched you with an expression unreadable, his dark eyes cold and calculating.

You stepped forward, ignoring the guards at your sides, ignoring the ache in your body. You met Geta’s gaze without fear, without hesitation.

"I did not come to beg." Your voice was steady. "I came to make a deal."

That caught their attention. Geta's smile faltered, and Caracalla finally leaned forward, intrigued.

"A deal?" Geta mused, amusement returning. "What could you possibly offer that we don’t already have?"

Your hands curled into fists at your sides, your heart hammering in your chest.

"Myself." You let the word settle between you before continuing, voice unwavering. "You release Acacius, my mother and Hanno. Let them leave Rome unharmed. And in return... I will do whatever you wish. I will be yours."

Geta's smile widened into something almost victorious, while Caracalla tilted his head, scrutinizing you.

The room was silent for a moment, the air thick with tension.

Then Geta let out a quiet laugh. “I can’t believe it!”

He stood from his throne, stepping toward you, his gaze dark and triumphant. "But tell me, my love... are you truly willing to sacrifice yourself for a man who may already be dead?"

Your blood turned to ice.

You swallowed hard, keeping your expression unreadable. "You wouldn't have let him die so quickly. Not when you could turn his suffering into a spectacle."

Geta’s smirk deepened. "You know me too well, my princess" he said, caressing your face.

Caracalla exhaled sharply, almost bored. "What makes you think we would honor such a deal?"

You turned your gaze to him, unflinching. "Because you love control. And forcing me into submission would be far more satisfying to you than simply killing them outright."

Another beat of silence.

Then, Geta reached forward, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his touch making your skin crawl. "Oh, my sweet lady... you may have just sealed your fate."

Your heart pounded, but you did not flinch. “I request divorce from General Acacius.” You said, trembling.

A hush fell over the grand hall, the weight of your words pressing against the air like a thundercloud ready to burst. Even Geta, who had been reveling in his triumph, paused for a moment, his smirk faltering ever so slightly before returning with renewed satisfaction.

Caracalla, however, was the first to speak, his dark eyes narrowing. "Divorce?" He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the arms of his throne. "Do you take us for fools?"

You swallowed hard, every nerve in your body screaming at you to run, to fight, to do anything but stand here and willingly destroy the bond that tethered you to Acacius. But you had no choice.

Your voice was barely above a whisper, but it was firm. "I do what is necessary."

Geta let out a slow chuckle, stepping even closer, his breath warm against your skin as he tilted your chin up to face him. "So quick to throw away your little love story," he mused. "Tell me, does he know you would sell him so easily?"

"This isn't about him," you said, your voice cracking, but you forced yourself to remain steady with your lie. "This is about Rome."

Caracalla scoffed. "Rome? Or your own survival?"

You turned to him, your heart hammering so loudly in your chest you feared they could hear it. "A wife cannot be forced into marriage with another man while she belongs to another. If I renounce to him, you have no reason to keep him in Rome. No reason to make him suffer."

Geta hummed in amusement. "And if we refuse? If we simply let him rot in the arena?"

Your hands curled into fists at your sides. "Then you lose any control you hope to have over me. I will fight you at every turn, defy you in ways that will make the Senate and the people question your power. But if you let him go..." You forced yourself to meet Geta’s gaze, hating the victorious gleam in his eyes. "Then I am yours."

Silence stretched between you all, thick and suffocating.

Geta exchanged a look with Caracalla, something unspoken passing between them. Then, he turned back to you, his smirk deepening. "Very well, my love. You will have your divorce."

Your stomach twisted violently.

"And Acacius?" you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Geta grinned. "Let’s not be too hasty, shall we? The games are still to be held. And what is a spectacle without its most anticipated performance?"

Your blood turned to ice. "You swore—"

"I swore nothing," Geta interrupted smoothly, his fingers tracing your jaw. "But if your dear Acacius and that beloved gladiator of yours prove themselves worthy in the arena… perhaps I will reconsider their fate."

Your eyes widened at that. Acacius and Lucius fighting in the arena for a mere mistake of you.

“What is wrong, my love? You thought I wouldn’t find out that gladiator is your presumed to be dead brother?”

Your breath caught in your throat. The world tilted beneath you as Geta’s words sank in like a dagger to your chest.

Lucius.

Your heart pounded wildly, disbelief warring with the sheer horror of the situation. You had spent years grieving him, mourning the brother who had been stolen by fate from you. And now, that you had tried to save him, here he was, forced into bloodsport, pitted against the man you loved, all because of you.

Geta’s smirk widened at your silence. "Ah, there it is. That look of devastation I so adore," he murmured, his fingers still tracing your jaw as if he were savoring every ounce of your suffering. "I must admit, I was rather surprised when I discovered the truth. Your dear Lucius… alive, a mere gladiator, reduced to nothing but entertainment for the masses. I almost pitied him."

Your body trembled with rage, but you refused to break before him. "You sick, wretched-"

He tutted, pressing a finger to your lips to silence you. "Careful now. You wouldn't want to anger your future husband."

You wrenched your face away from his touch, your nails biting into your palms as fury and despair crashed over you in violent waves.

"You planned this," you whispered, horror lacing your voice. "You waited until I had no way to fight back, until I was desperate enough to come crawling to you."

Geta only chuckled. "Of course, my love. Did you truly believe you had a choice in any of this?"

Caracalla, who had remained silent until now, let out an amused sigh. "Enough theatrics. She has her answer." He waved a hand lazily. "Take her back. She’ll have the best seat in the arena for tomorrow’s entertainment. Next to Lucilla."

The guards grabbed your arms, pulling you back toward the door, but your mind was spinning too fast, your heart hammering with only one thought-

You dug your heels into the floor, twisting in the guards' grip. "Geta, please!" you pleaded, hating yourself for it but knowing you had no other choice. "Lucius is my brother—my blood. Spare him, at least. You’ve already won. You have me!"

Geta only smiled, utterly delighted by your desperation. "Oh, my love, I haven’t won yet. Not until I watch your heart shatter in that arena. Besides I wouldn’t allow the grandchild of Marcus Aurelio to live."

Your blood turned to ice.

"Perhaps they’ll kill each other. Or perhaps the people will cheer as the lions tear them apart. Either way, you will watch, and you will understand—" he leaned in, his breath brushing against your ear "—that I own you. In every way that matters. Even when Acacius took you in that way too."

A sob built in your throat, but you swallowed it down.

You would find a way to stop this. Even if it meant destroying Geta himself.

Geta’s cold smile twisted into something darker as he waved his hand dismissively. “Take her to my quarters,” he commanded, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “And make sure she’s cleaned up. I want her looking her best for the games tomorrow.”

The guards tightened their grip on your arms, dragging you away from the grand hall. Your legs felt weak beneath you, each step heavier than the last. As you were pulled through the winding corridors, a hollow numbness settled over you, shielding you from the crushing reality of what was to come.

The guards stopped before a set of ornate doors, shoving them open and pushing you inside. The room was lavishly decorated, with rich fabrics and polished marble, but it felt suffocating, like a gilded cage.

Two servants appeared, their eyes lowered, and began to draw a warm bath in the corner, their movements quick and practiced. One of the guards barked an order at them. “Make sure she’s presentable. And keep an eye on her.”

The door slammed shut behind them, and you were left standing in the center of the room, your breath shaky, your heart pounding. The servants approached you cautiously, gently taking your hands and guiding you toward the bath. You allowed them to remove the dirtied cloak and help you into the steaming water, the warmth seeping into your bruised skin but doing little to ease the chill in your bones.

As they washed away the grime and blood, your mind raced. You had to think. You had to find a way out of this nightmare, a way to save both Acacius and Lucius. But with each passing moment, the walls seemed to close in tighter around you, Geta’s words echoing in your mind.

When the servants finished, they helped you into a simple, elegant gown, white and gold, befitting someone meant to be paraded before the masses. They braided your hair with trembling hands, casting nervous glances toward the guards standing by the door.

Once you were ready, one of the guards stepped forward, his expression blank. “You’ll stay here until you’re summoned.”

Your jaw tightened, but you nodded, watching as they exited the room, the door locking behind them with a resounding click.

Left alone, you paced the room, your hands shaking as you ran through every possible scenario. But each plan seemed more hopeless than the last.

You couldn’t give up. Not when the lives of the people you loved hung in the balance.

You moved to the window, pressing your forehead against the wall, watching the city below begin to stir with the first light of dawn. Acacius was preparing for a fight he shouldn’t have to face, and Lucius… your brother, alive, suffering because of a twisted game of power.

Your fingers brushed against the golden ring your mother had once given you. A knock at the door startled you, and a servant peeked inside, her voice trembling. “My lady, is there anything you need?”

You forced yourself to take a deep breath, steeling your resolve. “Yes,” you replied, turning to face her. “I need my mother.” You said, as tears streamed down your face.

The servant hesitated, glancing nervously toward the guards outside the door. "My lady... Lady Lucilla has been confined to her chambers. The emperors ordered that she couldn’t to see anyone."

Your heart clenched, but you squared your shoulders. "Then find a way," you urged, stepping closer. "Tell her I need her. Tell her it's urgent."

The servant bit her lip but nodded, bowing her head before slipping out of the room.

Left alone, you turned back to the window, gripping the cold stone as your tears fell freely. Your relationship with your mother had been complicated, but now she was your only pilar of strength, the only one who had ever truly understood the weight of your burdens. If anyone could help you, it was her.

Minutes stretched into what felt like hours before the door creaked open again. You spun around, hope flaring in your chest, only for it to vanish just as quickly.

It wasn’t your mother, but Geta.

Your stomach twisted as you straightened, schooling your features into a mask of cold defiance. The servant quickly bowed her head, backing away toward the shadows.

Geta took his time crossing the room, his eyes drinking in the sight of you in the gown his servants had chosen. A slow, satisfied smirk curled his lips.

“Much better,” he murmured, reaching out to trail a finger along your cheek. You forced yourself to stay still, refusing to give him the satisfaction of recoiling.

“Enjoying your newfound authority?” you asked, your voice flat.

He chuckled. “Oh, my sweet, stubborn lady. You can glare at me all you like, but you and I both know how this will end.”

“Do we?” you shot back. “Because I think you forget that caging me only makes me more dangerous.”

Geta laughed at that, full and rich, as if you had just amused him beyond measure. “That fire of yours,” he mused, “it’s what makes this so thrilling. You think you’re still in control, don’t you?”

He leaned in, his lips grazing your ear as he whispered, “We’ll see if you’re still so defiant after you watch your beloved Acacius bleed for my entertainment.”

Your fingers curled into fists at your sides, rage bubbling like molten lava beneath your skin.

“You will regret this,” you swore, voice shaking with fury.

Geta only smiled. “Perhaps. But for now, I will enjoy watching you break.” He said, kissing your shoulder, just above the scar he had done in there a while ago. “But I know you want to see Lucilla, and as your soon to husband I will allow you to see your mother for a minute.”

Your body went rigid at his touch, the ghost of old wounds burning beneath his lips. You forced yourself to stay still, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing you recoil.

“You are still not my husband,” you spat, your voice dripping with venom.

Geta only chuckled, stepping back as if your defiance amused him rather than angered him. “Say that all you want, my love. The day will come when you’ll have no choice but to accept it.”

You swallowed down the bile rising in your throat. There was no use in wasting words on a man who thrived on your resistance. Instead, you latched onto the one small mercy he had granted.

“Take me to her,” you demanded.

His smirk deepened, but he gestured to the guards, who immediately stepped forward. “Escort her to the Lucilla’s chambers. She has one minute.”

Two guards flanked you as they led you out of the room and down the dimly lit corridors.

Your heart pounded as you neared your mother’s chambers. You hadn’t seen her since your imprisonment. The thought of what she must have endured in your absence made your chest tighten.

The heavy doors opened, and the moment you stepped inside, you saw her—Lucilla, sitting by the window, her elegant frame draped in a dark silk robe, her usually poised expression now marred by worry.

“Mother,” you whispered, rushing forward.

She turned at the sound of your voice, and in an instant, you were in her arms.

“My darling,” she breathed, clutching you tightly, as if afraid you’d disappear. “What have they done to you?”

Tears welled in your eyes, but you forced them down. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t have much time.”

Lucilla pulled back, searching your face. “Tell me what I need to do.”

You took a shaky breath, gripping her hands. “Acacius and Lucius are to fight in the arena. I have to stop it.”

Her eyes darkened with grief and fury. “Those monsters,” she whispered. “He will never be satisfied until he has crushed you completely.”

Your breath hitched. “I won’t let them kill him.”

“Listen to me carefully,” she said, her voice low. “You cannot afford to be reckless. Do you understand?” She exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “You are my daughter. You are of noble blood. But that means nothing to them. To Geta, to Caracalla, you are just another pawn.”

“Then I will stop being their pawn.” Your voice was steel now. “I will fight.”

Her gaze softened, but only slightly. “If you truly mean that, then you need to be smart.”

You swallowed, waiting.

She reached for a golden pin from her belt, a simple yet elegant piece of jewelry. But as she turned it in her hand, the tip gleamed sharp as a dagger.

“This belonged to your grandmother,” she said, placing it in your palm. “Use it as you want to.”

You stared at the pin, feeling the weight of the upcoming consequences weighting heavily on your hands.

“I don’t want you to fight with words,” she continued. “I want you to fight with power. And power, my daughter, is taken. Not given.”

Your fingers curled around the pin, your heart pounding. Before any of you could say something else, the guards stepped forward. “Time’s up.”

Lucilla’s grip tightened, but she nodded, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. “Be strong, my love.”

As they pulled you away, you met her gaze one last time, silently pleading for her to find a way, to do whatever it took to keep Acacius and Lucius alive.

The guards led you back through the winding corridors of the palace, your mother’s words echoing in your mind.

Power is taken, not given.

You clutched the golden pin in your palm, the sharp tip pressing into your skin, grounding you. It was a weapon, small but deadly. A tool of survival. A symbol of defiance.

The halls were eerily silent, the torches flickering against the cold stone walls. When you reached Geta’s quarters, the guards opened the door and ushered you inside.

He was waiting for you. Reclined on a cushioned chair, a goblet of wine in his hand, his smirk already in place. He studied you as if you were a rare creature he had trapped in a cage.

“Did you enjoy your reunion, my love?” he mused, taking a slow sip of his drink.

You forced your expression to remain impassive. “It was enlightening.”

Geta tilted his head, as if weighing your words. Then, with a wave of his hand, he dismissed the guards. The heavy doors shut behind you, leaving you alone with him.

He stood, closing the distance between you in two slow, deliberate steps. “You’re trembling.” He traced a finger along your jaw, his touch featherlight, mocking. “Are you afraid?”

You met his gaze head-on. “No.”

His smirk widened. “Good. I’d hate for you to become dull.” He stepped behind you, fingers brushing over your shoulders as he leaned in. “I have to admit, I do find this fight rather… exciting. Your beloved general against the brother you once thought dead. Who will win? Who will die? What a spectacle it will be.”

You swallowed back the bile in your throat. He was toying with you, savoring your pain.

“Tell me, my sweet,” he whispered, lips brushing against your ear. “Who do you hope survives?”

Your fingers tightened around the pin hidden in your palm.

This was it.

A moment of hesitation would cost you everything.

Your breath was steady as you turned your head slightly, your lips ghosting near his cheek as if you were surrendering.

Then, with a swift movement, you drove the golden pin into his side.

Geta inhaled sharply, his body jerking as pain registered in his eyes. He staggered back, looking down at the small weapon buried just below his ribs.

His stunned expression turned into something else. Amusement. Then, laughter.

Blood dripped from the wound, staining his tunic, but he didn’t collapse. He didn’t even reach for a weapon.

Instead, he cupped your face roughly, forcing you to look at him, his grip tightening like a vice.

“Oh, my love,” he chuckled, voice dark with pleasure. “You just made this so much more fun.”

His grip on your face tightened, his nails digging into your skin as he tilted your head back, forcing you to meet his gaze. The laughter in his eyes was almost more terrifying than his fury.

“You never fail to surprise me,” he murmured, his breath warm against your cheek. His free hand reached down, wrapping around the golden pin still lodged in his side. With an agonizing slowness, he pulled it out, the wet sound of metal sliding from flesh making your stomach churn.

Blood trickled from the wound, staining his fingers. He studied it with something close to fascination before flicking his gaze back to you.

“Did you think this would kill me?” he asked, voice laced with amusement. “A little pin?”

You remained silent, refusing to give him the satisfaction of fear.

He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “Foolish, but admirable.” He lifted the pin, brushing the bloodied tip against your lips. “Perhaps I should return the favor.”

Before he could act, the doors burst open.

Caracalla.

His expression was unreadable as his gaze flickered between you and Geta. Then, he noticed the wound. His eyes darkened.

“What has she done?”

Geta let out a sharp breath, wiping the blood from his side with an almost lazy motion. “My beloved soon to be wife wanted to kill me” His lips curled into a smirk. “Charming, isn’t it?”

Caracalla’s jaw clenched. He took slow steps toward you, his presence as suffocating as ever. When he reached you, he lifted your chin with two fingers, inspecting you like one would inspect a delicate vase with a crack down the middle.

“Do you want to die?” he asked, voice low, but his gaze didn’t show such fury as Geta’s gaze.

“No,” you answered, steady. “I want to be free.”

Caracalla’s fingers lingered beneath your chin, his grip neither cruel nor kind. His gaze, sharp and assessing, lingered on your face as if weighing something in his mind.

Then, he exhaled, dropping his hand. “Enough, brother.” His voice was quiet but firm.

Geta’s smirk faltered. “Brother—”

“She is to watch them fight tomorrow. That alone is enough.” Caracalla’s tone brooked no argument.

Geta clenched his jaw, displeased, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he scoffed, shaking his head. “Since when you are soft on her?”

Caracalla ignored him, his piercing eyes settling back on you. “You will be there when the sun is highest. You will watch Acacius and Lucius fight for their lives, and you will understand that your defiance comes at a cost.”

Your heart pounded, but you refused to look away.

Geta stepped closer, brushing a bloodied thumb over your cheek. “And if they fail…” He let the words hang between you like a blade above your throat.

You swallowed hard, refusing to react.

Caracalla turned on his heel. “Make sure she is prepared for the event.” He glanced back at you once, his expression unreadable. “She will not be harmed further.”

With that, he strode from the room, leaving you alone with Geta.

Your stomach twisted as Geta chuckled under his breath. “You should thank him, you know.” His fingers gripped your chin, forcing you to look at him. “If it were up to me, my love, you would learn your lesson another way.”

His lips hovered near yours, the taste of blood and power thick in the air between you.

Night had fallen, but sleep refused to come. You lay on the lavish bed, staring at the canopy above, your mind an endless storm of thoughts.

Acacius—alone in a cold, dark cell, preparing for a battle he should never have to fight. Lucius—your brother, alive, but trapped in this nightmare because of you. Your mother—powerless, yet still trying to protect you the only way she could.

You turned onto your side, then onto your back, then your stomach, but no position brought comfort. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw Acacius bleeding in the arena, Lucius collapsing to the sand.

With a frustrated sigh, you sat up, rubbing your face. You needed to think. You needed a way out of this.

Your gaze flickered to the door. Two guards stood outside, always watching, always waiting. But you knew one thing about soldiers: they were predictable.

Slowly, you slid out of bed, smoothing your nightdress before padding toward the door. Taking a deep breath, you knocked lightly.

A moment later, the heavy door creaked open, and one of the guards peered inside, eyes wary. M “What?”

You shifted on your feet, wrapping your arms around yourself. “I need to use the baths.” Your voice was soft, meek. “Please.”

The guards exchanged a look. “It’s the middle of the night.” The first one frowned.

You lowered your gaze. “I know, but… I can’t sleep. I feel filthy, and tomorrow I have to—” You let your voice break just slightly, just enough to make them uncomfortable. “I won’t try anything. I just need a moment to clear my head.”

The second guard sighed. “Let’s just take her. What harm can she do?”

The first hesitated, then nodded. “Fine. But make it quick.”

They pulled the door open fully, and you stepped out, schooling your expression into quiet gratitude. But inside, your heart pounded.

This was your chance.

The corridor was dimly lit by flickering torches, casting long shadows against the stone walls. The guards flanked you on either side as they led you through the halls, their armor clinking softly with every step.

You kept your gaze downcast, your expression carefully schooled into one of exhaustion and resignation. But inside, your mind was racing. Every turn they took, every doorway you passed—you memorized it all. If there was any way to escape, you needed to know the layout of the palace like the back of your hand.

Finally, you arrived at the baths. The steam rose from the water, curling into the air like ghosts. The guards stopped at the entrance, one crossing his arms. “You have ten minutes.”

You nodded, stepping inside. The door remained slightly ajar, just enough for them to watch you.

You moved to the edge of the bath, dipping your fingers into the warm water, pretending to gather your thoughts. In reality, you were searching, searching for something, anything you could use.

A bronze jug sat on the edge of the bath; its handle curved elegantly. Heavy enough to knock someone out? Perhaps.

Your fingers traced the golden pin your mother had given you, still tucked safely in the folds of your dress. A hidden weapon. A last resort.

Your mind worked quickly. The guards were distracted, speaking in low voices. If you acted fast enough, maybe-

A noise.

Your breath caught. It wasn’t from the guards. It was from the far end of the bathhouse.

You turned your head slightly, eyes scanning the shadows. Then, you saw it—a figure, barely visible in the dim light.

Your pulse pounded in your ears as you tried to make out the figure hidden in the shadows. The steam from the bath swirled around them, obscuring their features, but you knew—someone was there. Watching. Waiting.

Slowly, you straightened, keeping your movements controlled, careful not to alert the guards.

“Who’s there?” you whispered, barely audible over the distant dripping of water.

For a moment, there was silence. Then, a figure stepped forward just enough for the torchlight to kiss their face.

Your breath hitched. Lucius. Standing before you in the bathhouse, when he should have been locked in a cell.

His face was gaunt, bruises shadowing his cheekbone, but his eyes, his eyes burned with the same fire you remembered from when you were children.

“How—?” you started, but he lifted a finger to his lips, silencing you.

“No time,” he murmured, voice barely above a breath. “Listen carefully. I don’t know how much longer I have.”

You stepped closer, heart hammering. “Are you hurt?”

He shook his head. “Not as bad as I could be. But that doesn’t matter. What matters is Acacius.”

His name sent a fresh wave of urgency through you. “What about him?”

Lucius’ jaw tightened. “He’s not meant to win tomorrow. It’s already decided. The match is a spectacle, but the outcome? Rigged.”

Ice flooded your veins.

“They plan to kill him?”

Lucius exhaled sharply. “Yes. And I’m supposed to be the one to do it.”

Your stomach twisted. “No. No, you can’t—”

“I know.” His voice was firm. “I won’t. But that doesn’t mean he’ll survive.”

Your thoughts spun wildly. Acacius. Lucius. The fight. The emperors watching with their smug, twisted pleasure. The weight of your mother’s words echoed in your head.

Power is taken, not given.

Your grip tightened around the golden pin.

“Then we have to change the game.”

Lucius studied you for a long moment. “Do you have a plan?”

You exhaled, your mind racing. “Not yet. But I will.”

Footsteps echoed down the corridor outside. The guards.

Lucius reached out, gripping your wrist. “Whatever happens, don’t trust them.” His voice dropped lower, urgent. “And don’t show them fear.”

Before you could respond, he disappeared back into the shadows, slipping away as if he had never been there at all.

The door creaked open.

“Time’s up,” the guard grunted.

You swallowed down the storm inside you and turned, your face a perfect mask of calm. But inside, you were already preparing for war.

Before you could react, a dull thud echoed through the bathhouse. One guard crumpled to the ground, then another.

Your breath hitched.

Lucius stood over them, his chest rising and falling rapidly, a stolen dagger in his grip. The flickering torchlight caught the sheen of sweat on his brow.

"We don’t have time," he said, voice rough but determined. He crouched, stripping one of the guards of his sword before glancing at you. "Can you run?"

You swallowed, your heart hammering. "Yes."

Without another word, he grabbed your wrist and pulled you forward, stepping over the unconscious guards. You barely had time to gather yourself before you were moving, slipping through the darkened corridor, your bare feet light against the cold marble floor.

The palace was eerily quiet, the usual murmur of servants and the distant sound of music replaced by the weight of silence.

"How did you get out?" you whispered.

Lucius didn’t slow. "A friend."

"Who?"

He didn’t answer.

The two of you rounded a corner, and suddenly, footsteps echoed in the distance, too many.

Lucius cursed under his breath, yanking you into the shadows of an alcove. He pressed you against the cool stone, his breath warm against your ear.

"We can’t go through the main halls," he murmured. "They’ll be looking for me by now."

Your mind raced. The only other way out was through the servant tunnels, but even those weren’t safe.

“What about our mother?” you asked him, holding his hand tightly.

Lucius hesitated for a moment, his eyes flashing with something between frustration and worry. "I don’t know," he admitted, his voice low. "She’s probably already been locked down in the lower quarters. Geta won’t want her interfering."

Your heart clenched at the thought of your mother, vulnerable and trapped in the midst of all this madness.

“We can’t leave her here,” you said, your grip tightening around his hand. "We have to get to her, Lucius. She’s the only family we have left."

Lucius exhaled sharply, his eyes darting as he weighed your words. "I know," he muttered. "But going after her means we risk getting caught. If we’re captured..." He trailed off, the implication heavy between you.

You stood there for a moment, heart racing, your mind spinning with all the impossible choices before you. But then, a fire ignited in your chest. You couldn’t leave your mother behind.

"We don’t have to risk it alone," you said, your voice steadier than you felt. "Go to the rooms on the left, she is there. Take her out of here. You both know what you will do.”

Lucius’ expression hardened, eyes narrowing with a sharp edge. "What about you?”

You shook your head, your voice resolute. “I’ll entertain Geta”

Lucius’ gaze hardened as your words sank in. His grip on your hand tightened, his jaw clenched. “Entertain the emperors?” he repeated, voice full of disbelief. “You can’t be serious. You’ll be walking straight into their trap.”

You nodded, “I’m already part of it.” You paused for a second, “You don’t have to worry about me. Just get her to safety.” Your voice was firm, though inside, your heart was pounding, and every fiber of your being screamed at you to take another path, one that would keep you away from the lions' den. But there was no time for hesitation. “I know what I’m doing. This is the only way.”

Lucius hesitated, clearly torn. Then, with a heavy sigh, he let go of your hand and pulled you into a brief, tight hug. “Be careful,” he murmured, voice rough with emotion. “I don’t know what I’d do if—” He stopped, clearly not wanting to finish the thought. He drew away, meeting your gaze one last time before turning sharply to head down the corridor.

You stood in the shadows for a moment, your heart hammering in your chest as the weight of what you were about to do settled upon you. You had made your decisión, now you had to see it through, no matter what.

With a steadying breath, you made your way toward Caracalla’s quarters. He was the more calculating of the two, and you knew he would respond to reason more than Geta ever would. He had his own ambitions, his own desire for power. If you could manipulate that just enough, you might be able to turn the tables.

As you approached his door, you steeled yourself. The guards at the entrance were easy enough to bypass, and soon you found yourself standing before Caracalla. He was lounging in his chair, a goblet of wine in hand, his expression as cold and distant as ever. The moment he saw you, his gaze narrowed.

“You have something to say?” His voice was sharp, but there was a flicker of curiosity in his eyes.

You approached slowly, trying to control the tension that buzzed through your body. “Yes,” you said, your voice steady. “I need to speak with you.” You met his eyes, unflinching. “I know you’ve grown tired of Geta's games. His need to dominate, to manipulate.”

Caracalla raised an eyebrow but said nothing, clearly intrigued but cautious.

You pressed on. “He doesn’t care about strategy. He doesn’t see the bigger picture. But you do. You’ve always understood the importance of timing, of taking control at the right moment.” You took a step closer, lowering your voice. “You know he’s reckless. And reckless men are easily discarded when their use has expired.”

There was a long silence as Caracalla studied you, his eyes calculating, weighing your words. For a moment, you thought he might reject your attempt outright. But then, finally, he spoke.

“And what exactly are you proposing?” His voice was cold, but there was a flicker of interest.

You straightened, letting your gaze shift slightly, as if contemplating your next words. “You’re the best option for ruling this empire. I know how much you crave power. How you want to be the one in control, the one with the final say. Geta, in his arrogance, will only push you to the edge. And when he does, you will have no choice but to take him down.”

Caracalla was silent for a moment, but the tension in the room seemed to build. “And what do you expect in return?” His tone was low, but you could tell he was seriously considering it.

You held his gaze firmly. “In return? I want Acacius free. Geta’s influence gone. I want him out of the way, for good. You can have all the power you want. But you’ll need to move quickly before he gets his hands any deeper into the affairs of this empire.” You leaned in slightly, your voice low and persuasive. “You know I’m right.”

Caracalla’s expression softened for just a moment, his eyes gleaming with a dark, calculating glint. “You’re dangerous, you know that?” His lips curled slightly, and for a brief second, you saw a flicker of respect in his eyes. “I’ve been growing fond of you”

 

You made your way to Geta’s quarters, each step heavy with the knowledge that this confrontation could be your last. As you entered the room, Geta’s usual smirk was already in place, but when he saw your expression, it faltered, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.

“I see you’ve come to play, princess,” he drawled, leaning back in his chair as if the entire world belonged to him.

You met his gaze, not flinching. “I’ve come to ask for forgiveness, you began, your voice soft and almost apologetic, a contrast to the sharpness of your previous interactions. “I never wanted things to get this far. I never wanted to hurt you.” Your words were quiet, almost vulnerable. You could see the flicker of confusion in his eyes as he leaned forward, intrigued by the sudden shift in your demeanor.

“I know I’ve been... distant,” you continued, taking a tentative step closer. “I thought I could control everything, but I see now that I’ve underestimated you. I’ve made mistakes, and I’m sorry for that.” Your voice was sincere, and you made sure to let it carry a subtle warmth, as though you were finally acknowledging the bond that existed between you.

Geta’s expression shifted slightly, and for a brief moment, you could see the edge of doubt creeping into his eyes. He was a man of power, but even he wasn’t impervious to charm when it was carefully wielded.

“You’ve always been too proud,” you added, your voice lowering, seductive now, as you slowly closed the distance between you. “But I’ve always admired that about you, Geta. You’re strong. You’re confident. You don’t back down.”

His eyes darkened as you moved closer, his usual arrogance replaced by something else. You could feel his pulse quickening as you stood before him, inches apart. Without breaking eye contact, you gently placed your hand on his chest, pressing it lightly against his body.

“I never wanted to be your enemy,” you whispered, your lips so close to his that you could feel his breath on your skin. “But I’ve made a mess of everything. I think… maybe I’ve pushed you too far.”

Geta’s gaze flickered down to your lips for just a moment before he forced himself to meet your eyes again, his expression torn. “You think you can just... undo everything now?” His voice was rough, as if trying to hold onto some semblance of control.

You gave a small, almost shy smile, playing the part. “I think I can show you how sorry I am,” you murmured. Your hand moved from his chest to his neck, your fingers trailing just lightly along his jaw, feeling the tension irradiating from his body. “I think you’ll enjoy seeing how much.”

For a moment, there was a dangerous silence, the tension between you both crackling in the air. Geta seemed to hesitate, his eyes flickering with a mixture of anger, confusion, and something darker, something that made him lean just slightly closer.

“You don’t know what you’re getting into, princess,” he said, his voice low, but the sharp edge had softened.

“Maybe,” you breathed, your voice a near purr. “But maybe I like the danger. Maybe I like what you can give me.”

Your words hung in the air as you leaned closer, your lips brushing against his ear for a moment, your fingers sliding around to the back of his neck, drawing him closer. “You’re a powerful man, Geta. You’ve always been a temptation. But I’ve always kept my distance, haven’t I?” You stepped back slightly, your eyes never leaving his. “Maybe it’s time I stopped fighting what’s inevitable.”

The tension between you both was thick, and you could feel the heat of his body pressing against yours as you stood there, letting the silence linger. His hands twitched as if he wanted to reach for you, but for once, he seemed uncertain, caught between his fury and the allure of your presence.

With a final glance, you smiled softly, almost teasingly. “I think we both know what needs to happen next, don’t we?”

His breath caught, but before he could say anything more, you turned and walked away slowly, knowing that your manipulation had left its mark. You had planted the seeds of doubt in his mind, making him question his own control, and now you could leave with the upper hand.

As you left the room, you could feel the weight of the moment settling into your chest, but you couldn't afford to dwell on it. Every move you made had to be calculated; every word measured. The emperors might think they had you cornered, but you weren’t a mere pawn. You were playing a much deeper game.

The hallways were dim and silent as you made your way toward the courtyard, where Caracalla had instructed you to meet him. You weren’t sure what to expect, whether he would be angry, wary, or intrigued, but you knew you had to keep him on your side, at least for now.

When you finally reached the courtyard, Caracalla was waiting for you. His silhouette was outlined by the moonlight, the sharp features of his face giving little away. You could sense his attention on you the moment you stepped into the light, but he didn’t speak right away.

“You’ve done it,” he said after a long pause, his voice measured but with an edge that suggested both irritation and curiosity. “You’ve made your move. But it’s not enough, is it?”

You stepped closer, trying to read his mood. The air was thick with tension, but you forced yourself to stay calm.

“It’s never enough, Caracalla,” you replied, keeping your voice steady. “But it’s a start.” You paused just in front of him, letting the silence stretch between you. “You need to understand, this isn’t just about power. This is about survival. Mine. And Acacius’s. And Lucius’s.”

His gaze flickered, and for a moment, you could see something resembling hesitation in his eyes. But it quickly vanished, replaced by that impenetrable mask he wore so well.

“And what do you think Geta is going to do with you now?” Caracalla asked, his tone sharp. “Do you really believe you can play both sides like this?”

You didn’t flinch. “I’m not playing both sides,” you said softly. “I’m making sure I’m the one left standing when it’s all over.”

For a moment, he said nothing. But then, he stepped closer to you, his eyes dark with a mix of intrigue and something else—something dangerous. “And you think I’ll let you?”

You didn’t answer right away, letting the question linger. Instead, you took a slow step back, your gaze never leaving his. “You have your ambitions, Caracalla,” you said, voice quiet but filled with a quiet defiance. “And I have mine. But they don’t have to be at odds. Not if we work together.”

His jaw clenched as he took in your words. Then, without warning, he moved forward, closing the distance between you. His presence was suffocating, and for a moment, you wondered if he was going to strike, to remind you of who held the true power.

But instead, he reached out, his fingers brushing against the side of your cheek, his touch oddly gentle, almost tender. “You have a way with words,” he murmured, his voice low. “But words aren’t enough. Not in our world.”

You met his gaze, your breath shallow. “I know,” you whispered. “That’s why I’ll show you what I can do.”

For a long moment, there was nothing but the soft rustling of the leaves in the courtyard and the weight of his gaze on you. Then, slowly, Caracalla pulled away, his expression unreadable once more. “Tomorrow,” he said finally, his voice cold again, as if the moment had never happened. “You’ll see Geta fight. I’ll make sure he knows what happens if he tries to go against me. If you want your little games to continue, you’ll need to prove that you can keep up.”

You nodded, heart pounding in your chest, but you couldn’t let the fear show. “I understand.”

The next day came quickly, its early hours slipping by in a haze of preparations and quiet anticipation. The heat of the coming conflict simmered in the air, thick and oppressive. You knew the game that had been set in motion was dangerous, but you had to play it to the end. Caracalla’s intentions were clear, and though you had manipulated the situation in your favor for now, you couldn’t shake the feeling that nothing was ever truly as it seemed in their world.

Lucius and your mother were safe for the time being, hidden away, far from the reach of the emperors, that was you had been informed by one of the guards. That was one victory, one battle won. But Acacius was another matter entirely. You hadn’t forgotten what he meant to you, what he had come to represent in this fight for survival.

Caracalla had already informed you that Geta would be the one to face Acacius in the games, an outcome you’d been dreading since last night. He would send him to break Acacius, to make a spectacle. The thought of it made your blood boil, but you had no choice but to let the inevitable unfold. You could only make sure Acacius was prepared for whatever lay ahead.

You paced in the confines of your quarters, your mind heavy with the weight of the decisions you had made. There wasn’t much time, but you knew you needed to see Acacius before the games began. You couldn’t afford to let him go into that fight without your last words, your last chance to ensure that the fight was more than just for sport, it had to be for survival, for something more.

You didn’t waste a moment. Moving swiftly, you made your way to Caracalla’s chambers. The guards at the entrance stepped aside with only a glance, a quiet acknowledgment of your position. You’d never liked the power the emperors had over everything and everyone, but today you had the smallest sliver of it. You’d used it to gain access to Caracalla. Now, you had to use that same influence to see Acacius.

Caracalla sat in the large room, speaking with a few of his advisors, but when he saw you enter, his dark eyes locked onto yours. His presence was as commanding as ever, but there was a subtle change in the air, a shift that told you this conversation would be different. He dismissed his advisors with a wave of his hand, allowing you to speak freely.

"You have my permission to see him," Caracalla said, his voice as cold and calculating as it had been last night. "But make it quick. Geta won't wait much longer."

You nodded, hiding your relief behind a mask of composure. "Thank you," you said, though the words felt hollow. "I need to see Acacius before the games. Just for a moment."

Caracalla studied you for a moment longer, his gaze unreadable. He didn’t speak, but he didn’t need to. His eyes were enough. You had been granted your time, but you knew it was temporary.

With a gesture, Caracalla motioned for the guards to allow you through. As you walked toward the door, you couldn’t shake the feeling that every step brought you closer to the edge of something, whether it would be your undoing or the end of your enemies, you couldn’t tell yet.

The path to Acacius’s cell was a familiar one, but today it seemed different. There was a heaviness in the air, a quiet tension that whispered of the inevitable. When you reached the small stone room, you found him there, sitting on the ground, his posture still and composed despite the grim circumstances.

He looked up when he heard your approach, his expression guarded, but when his eyes met yours, something flickered there, a recognition, a flash of something softer than the warrior you knew him to be.

“Acacius,” you whispered, stepping closer, your heart aching at the sight of him in chains.

You stepped closer to the bars, your breath steady despite the pounding of your heart. The weight of your words seemed to hang in the air between you and Acacius, but there was no time to let them settle. The guards were still stationed at the door, eyes narrowed, watchful. The tension in the air felt suffocating, the shadows of the coming battle creeping ever closer.

“I need a moment with him,” you said, your voice firm but quiet, the command beneath it unmistakable. "A private conversation."

The guards exchanged wary glances, clearly hesitant. One of them stepped forward, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, his eyes calculating. "Your Highness," he began, with a slight bow, “we are under strict orders. No one is to enter the cell."

You could feel the weight of Caracalla’s command behind him, but you weren’t going to let that stop you. You stood taller, a quiet authority radiating from you.

“I understand your orders,” you replied coolly. “But these are my orders now. I need to speak to him without interruption. And you’ll release him from those chains.”

The air seemed to freeze for a moment as the guards processed your demand. You could see the resistance flicker in their eyes, but there was something in the tone of your voice—something that made them hesitate. Your words carried more than just the weight of authority; they carried urgency.

Finally, the guard who had spoken stepped aside, signaling to the other two. "We will give you privacy, Your Highness," he said reluctantly. “But be quick."

You nodded in acknowledgment, but your eyes didn’t leave Acacius. As the guards unlocked the cell, your mind raced. There was no turning back now. Each moment was a calculated risk, but it was one you had to take.

The door creaked open, and the chains binding Acacius were undone, each link falling to the ground with a heavy thud. You moved inside, closing the door behind you, feeling the shift in the atmosphere as the last of the guards stepped out. Silence enveloped the two of you, the only sound the faint echo of the chains clinking to the stone floor.

Acacius stood, rubbing at his wrists where the chains had cut into his skin, though his expression was unreadable. You didn’t give him a chance to speak before you stepped closer, close enough that your breath was the only thing between the two of you.

“Your highness?” Acacius asked.

You looked into Acacius’s eyes, steady and unwavering. His words lingered in the air, but you couldn’t afford to hesitate, not now. “Not time for that now. I need you to listen carefully,” you said, your voice low, but urgent. "You will survive today, Acacius. You’re going to fight like you’ve never fought before. And you’re going to win. But you need to trust me—don’t make any moves unless I give you a signal.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, his brows furrowing in confusion, but there was an understanding there as well. He knew this wasn’t just a matter of survival for him, it was a game of strategy. A fight not just against Geta, but against everything that had led him here.

“What do you mean?" Acacius asked, his voice steady despite the uncertainty. He stood tall, but there was a flicker of concern in his eyes as he searched yours for an answer.

You leaned in closer, making sure no one else could hear. "What I mean is that today isn’t just about strength. It’s about timing. You’ve got to let Geta believe he’s winning, that he has you cornered. Don’t resist. Make him think you’re weaker than you are."

His jaw clenched, his muscles tensing at the thought. "So, you want me to let him hurt me?" There was a bitterness in his words, as if the very idea of allowing Geta to have the upper hand was an affront to his honor.

"No," you said quickly, your voice firm, but soothing. "I’m not asking you to let him hurt you. I’m asking you to pretend—to make him think he has control, just long enough for me to get him into position."

He studied you, his expression hard, as if measuring your resolve. "And when you give me the signal?"

"Then you strike, and you strike hard," you replied, your gaze unwavering. "You’ve trained for this, Acacius. You know what to do. I’ll make sure Geta’s off balance, but you have to trust that it will work. We need him to underestimate you, to believe you’re on the edge. And when he does, that’s when we end this. I sent him into this to end his ruling."

A long moment passed, the tension between you both thickening. Finally, Acacius gave a slight nod. “Alright,” he said, his voice low but resolute.

“I love you so much,” you whispered, your voice trembling just slightly as you caressed his face. “I would move the entire empire just to save you, Acacius.”

For a split second, he closed his eyes, as if savoring the words. When he opened them again, the intensity of his gaze made your heart race. His hand moved to cover yours, pressing your palm more firmly against his cheek, his touch gentle but unyielding.

“You’ve already moved it,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “You’ve done more than anyone could ask. You’re willing to risk everything... for me.”

You nodded, the weight of your words hanging heavily between you. “I’m not just doing this for you, Acacius,” you whispered, your eyes locking onto his. “I’m doing this for us. For what we could have if we survive this. For the world that we could build together.”

His expression hardened again, resolve flooding his features. “For the peace.”

You allowed yourself a small, sad smile, and in that moment, it felt as though the rest of the world disappeared. There were no emperors, no politics, no games to be played—just the two of you, suspended in this fragile moment before everything erupted.

Acacius moved toward you, his hand cupping the back of your neck as he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours with a softness that contrasted with the storm building inside both of you. For a heartbeat, the world around you ceased to exist. The only thing that mattered was the warmth of his lips, the pressure of his kiss, and the silent promise it carried.

It was a kiss of longing, of desperation, of hope—for a future that seemed more distant with every passing second. You kissed him back, your heart racing, knowing this might be the last moment you could share like this. The intensity of his touch deepened, his arms pulling you closer, as if holding on to this fleeting time, not wanting to let go.

But the moment was short-lived.

The sound of the guards’ footsteps echoed down the hall, and a voice called through the door, sharp and commanding. "It’s time. You must go."

Reluctantly, you pulled away from him, your forehead resting against his for a fleeting moment, feeling the heat of his breath mingling with yours. The silence that followed was deafening.

“I’ll see you on the other side,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Acacius gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, his expression hardening once again with the weight of what was to come. “I’ll make it through. I’ll make sure of it.”

The door opened, and the guards stepped in, ushering you out of the cell. You cast one last look at Acacius, his figure standing strong, determined. A part of you wanted to stay, to fight beside him, but you knew you had to leave. He would fight for both of you now.

As the door shut behind you, the cold reality of what was about to unfold settled in. Your heart raced, but there was nothing more you could do but wait—wait for the signal, wait for the moment that would change everything.

+++++++++++++++++++

You sat beside Caracalla in the imperial box, your body tense, but you masked it with an air of calm. The arena below was alive with anticipation, the roar of the crowd echoing against the stone walls. Gladiators in the far corners were preparing, and the bloodlust in the air was palpable.

Caracalla, ever the showman, glanced over at you with a smile, as if to reassure himself of the spectacle unfolding. “Where is my brother?” he asked, his tone casual, almost playful.

You blinked, surprised by his question, your brow furrowing. What did he mean? You tried to mask your confusion but couldn't quite conceal it from your expression.

"Your brother?" you echoed, your voice uncertain.

Caracalla’s smile grew wider, but you noticed a flicker of confusion cross his face, like he didn’t quite understand your puzzlement. Had he forgotten? Did he not realize what he'd done?

Before you could react further, everything clicked into place. The moment you registered the tension building in the crowd below, the realization hit you: Caracalla didn’t know.

It wasn’t until the gate opened, and Acacius was led into the arena, dressed in his war attire, as he walked with his sword. His eyes scanned the crowd, but he didn’t look up to the imperial box. His focus was entirely on the upcoming fight, the fire in his gaze unmistakable.

And then, the announcer’s voice boomed, “And now, Emperor Carcalla!”

A stunned silence fell over the arena for a moment. You barely had time to process it before Caracalla’s face contorted with disbelief. His eyes widened, and his hand instinctively gripped the edge of the box as he turned toward you.

“Why is my brother there?” he demanded, his voice tight with anger, his smile replaced by a furrowed brow of confusion and rage.

You could see his shock, his inability to comprehend the situation, but your mind was racing. He didn’t understand the depths of his own manipulation. He hadn’t realized that Geta, his own brother, had been sent to fight against Acacius in the arena. The confusion in his voice was genuine.

For a moment, your heart ached for the twisted, tangled web of family dynamics that had led to this point. But you quickly masked any emotion behind a cold facade. This was the moment to play your part, to keep Caracalla off balance, to use his lack of awareness against him.

You leaned slightly closer to him, your voice steady but carrying a subtle undercurrent of disdain. "It seems, your brother is a contender today. Perhaps... he believes this fight is what will prove his worth." You kept your gaze focused on him, even as Acacius and Geta moved into position.

Caracalla’s expression darkened, and his fingers drummed anxiously against the stone. He looked away, eyes flicking between Geta and Acacius, but it was clear that the shock still hadn’t worn off.

"What trickery is this?" he muttered, barely audible.

"Maybe you should ask him," you said, your voice soft but dripping with subtle irony. "Perhaps your brother has his own plans for you today."

You knew your words were like sharp daggers aimed at his pride, pricking at the cracks in his confidence, feeding his uncertainty. He was starting to realize the weight of his own decisions, and that would make him falter.

The crowd below erupted in excitement as the fight began, but Caracalla remained still, his gaze locked on the two fighters below. You could almost hear the wheels turning in his mind, but it was too late for him to turn back now.

The clash of steel against steel rang out across the arena as the fight began, the crowd’s roar escalating to a deafening level. Acacius and Geta were face to face, the tension between them thickening with every passing second.

Acacius stood tall, his posture unwavering, his eyes fixed on Geta with an intensity that could pierce stone. Geta, in contrast, paced in a circle, a cocky smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, the same arrogance you had come to expect from him. He moved with the grace of a seasoned fighter, but there was something in his eyes—something in the way he held himself—that told you he was distracted, uncertain. Perhaps, even now, he was wondering how it had come to this.

"Fight!" The command echoed through the arena, and in that instant, Acacius lunged forward, his blade flashing in the sunlight.

Geta parried the attack with a swift movement, his own weapon raised to meet the strike. Their swords clanged with an explosive sound, a shower of sparks flying from the impact. The crowd roared in approval, the excitement building, but the true fight hadn’t even begun yet. This was just the warm-up.

You watched intently, your heart hammering in your chest as you kept a careful eye on Caracalla, who still seemed to be in a daze, his mind reeling with confusion. He kept glancing down at the fighters below, his brow furrowed, but you knew better than to let him gain control of the situation now.

Acacius pushed forward again, pressing Geta against the edge of the arena. With each strike, it became clear that Acacius was holding back, waiting for the right moment, waiting for your signal. Geta, on the other hand, was using his usual tactics—aiming for the kill, striking hard and fast—but the uncertainty in his movements was starting to show. He had expected a much different fight.

Then, as if on cue, Acacius took a step back, creating a brief opening. Geta lunged, taking the bait.

That was the moment.

You stood, your eyes locked with Caracalla’s for a brief second. His gaze was still filled with uncertainty, his mind a tangled mess of thoughts. In that instant, you gave Acacius the smallest of nods—almost imperceptible.

And with that signal, everything shifted.

Acacius moved with the speed of a predator, his blade slicing through the air. In one fluid motion, he disarmed Geta, knocking his sword to the ground with a clean strike. Geta stumbled back, the shock in his eyes unmistakable. Acacius pressed the advantage, stepping forward, the tip of his sword now at Geta’s throat.

The crowd fell silent. Caracalla’s eyes widened in shock, his mouth opening slightly, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He hadn’t expected Acacius to come out on top, especially not in such a dominating fashion.

You could feel Caracalla’s gaze shift to you, the realization dawning on him. But you couldn’t afford to let him focus on you now. Your heart was racing as you kept your attention fixed on Acacius, whose eyes met yours across the arena. His expression was unreadable, but you could see the fire burning in them. The fight wasn’t just about survival anymore, it was about ending the twisted reign that had kept you all captive of two tyrants for so long.

Geta, panting and defeated, raised his hands in surrender, his arrogance shattered, replaced by a growing sense of fear. “Enough!” he spat, his voice raw with anger and humiliation.

Acacius didn’t hesitate. He kicked Geta’s sword away, keeping his own blade raised. “Not until your brother orders you to stop,” he said, his voice cold, his eyes dark with intent.

The crowd kept roaring with excitement, their anticipation rising with every swing of the sword. But it was clear from the start that the fight was not as one-sided as Caracalla had hoped.

Geta, though skilled, was rattled. His gaze flicked nervously around the arena, and it wasn’t long before Acacius used that to his advantage. He was methodical, his every move calculated, his body a machine of precision. Geta, on the other hand, fought with desperation, his movements growing more erratic as the match wore on.

The crowd cheered, sensing the change in momentum. Acacius pressed forward with relentless force, his sword gleaming under the sun, his eyes fixed on Geta with a cold, calculated determination. He didn’t flinch, didn’t hesitate, and with each strike, Geta’s defenses crumbled.

"Come on, brother” Caracalla muttered under his breath, his hands clenched tightly, his eyes never leaving the battle below. But it was clear now, he was no longer just watching his brother. His gaze had shifted, filled with uncertainty, even fear. The fight was slipping from Geta’s control.

Acacius feinted to the left, and Geta, unable to maintain his focus, took the bait. In an instant, Acacius closed the distance between them. He was fast, too fast. With one swift, brutal strike, Acacius plunged his sword deep into Geta’s side. The blade cut through flesh with a sickening sound, and Geta stumbled back, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

The crowd went quiet. You could hear the sound of Geta’s armor scraping against the stone floor as he tried to regain his balance, but it was clear that the wound was fatal. Blood poured from the gash in his side, staining the sand beneath him a deep crimson.

Geta dropped to his knees, his face pale and stricken with disbelief. He looked up at the sky, his chest rising and falling in desperate, shallow breaths.

Caracalla’s face went pale. He stood frozen, his expression blank, his mind seemingly unable to process what had just happened. The battle was over, but the ramifications were far from clear.

“No!” Caracalla roared, his voice full of disbelief as he reached forward, as if trying to pull Geta back from the brink, but there was nothing he could do. His brother’s fate had already been sealed.

Acacius stood over Geta; his sword raised in a victorious yet solemn pose. His chest heaved with exertion, but his expression was unreadable. He didn’t gloat. He didn’t revel in the moment. He simply waited.

Geta’s eyes flickered for a moment, his last breath trembling in the air. With a final, strained sigh, he slumped forward, lifeless, collapsing onto the blood-stained sand.

The crowd remained silent for a heartbeat, then erupted in both shock and disbelief. Caracalla’s rage began to boil over, his face twisted in fury, his fists clenching. He couldn’t accept it—his brother, gone. He had underestimated Acacius, and now Geta was dead because of it.

You, standing beside Caracalla, watched the scene unfold before you. The roar of the crowd felt distant, as though muffled by the weight of what had just transpired. You knew this was only the beginning. Geta’s death had set the stage for something far greater, something that would shift the power in the empire forever. And now, with Geta gone, there was no turning back.

Acacius gaze found yours from the arena and you could see his relief at seeing you well.

But Caracalla’s eyes flicked to you, his anger now directed at you. “What have you done?” he spat, his voice full of venom.

But you held your ground, a quiet smirk curling on your lips. “I didn’t do anything. Your brother... he was just too weak.” You kept your voice steady, but inside, your heart raced. It was the perfect moment. The empire had just taken its first step into chaos.

Caracalla’s fury was palpable, his hand gripping your arm with a vice-like force. His eyes, wide with disbelief and anger, burned into you as he pulled you closer, his breath ragged and hot against your skin.

“What did you do?” he hissed, his voice low, dripping with venom. His grip tightened, digging into your flesh as if he could squeeze the answer out of you.

You didn’t flinch. You stood firm, despite the storm of emotions swirling around you—fear, anger, and the unrelenting cold that had settled in your chest. You had done what needed to be done.

“I did what you couldn’t,” you said, your voice steady, unwavering. “I set you free from a weak brother who would’ve only held you back.”

Caracalla’s face contorted with rage. His fist tightened around your arm, his eyes flashing with betrayal. “You think you’ve won, don’t you?” He sneered, dragging you towards the imperial box.

His hand left your arm, and in the blink of an eye, he seized a sword from one of the guards. The cold metal gleamed under the harsh sunlight, but it was the look in Caracalla’s eyes that made your blood run cold.

With a swift, practiced motion, he drew the blade, the sharp edge glinting dangerously. “You were always a threat. A thorn on his side.”

Before you could take a breath, before you could utter another word, he swung the sword. It moved with lightning speed, slicing through the air in a deadly arc.

Pain exploded through your chest as the cold steel bit into your skin, your vision blurring as warmth spread through your body. You gasped, the shock of the wound seizing you, and your knees buckled beneath you.

Caracalla’s eyes remained cold, as if he had already made his peace with your death. He stood over you, breathing heavily, watching as you crumpled to the ground. The sword was still in his hand, blood dripping from its blade, but he didn’t care. You had played your part, and now, you were gone.

The crowd fell silent in an instant, the air thick with shock and disbelief. Gasps echoed through the arena, a collective breath held as they watched the scene unfold before their eyes. The sword, gleaming with your blood, still hung in Caracalla’s hand as he stood there, as if unaware of the magnitude of what he had just done.

Acacius, his heart pounding in his chest, stood frozen at the center of the arena. His eyes locked onto you, on the ground beneath Caracalla’s cruel grip, your lifeless form crumpled and bloodied. His body went cold, every instinct within him screaming at him to run, to save you—but it was too late.

He couldn’t breathe, couldn't think as his legs propelled him forward, his body moving with a speed driven by a desperation he had never known. The guards tried to stop him, to grab hold of him as he surged forward, but Acacius was a force of nature, pushing them aside with a strength born from pure rage and sorrow.

He reached the imperial box in moments, his breath ragged, his eyes fixed on you. His heart shattered as he saw the blood pooling beneath you, the gash in your chest widening with each breath you hadn’t taken.

"No," Acacius whispered, voice breaking, as he knelt beside you, his hands shaking as he reached out to you. His fingers gently brushed your face, his touch tentative, as if he was afraid that if he touched you too hard, you would vanish entirely.

He didn’t notice the guards closing in on Caracalla, nor the soldiers who were grabbing hold of the emperor, taking him into custody. All that mattered in that moment was you. He had failed you, and now he couldn’t even protect your body from the cruelty of the world.

“No, no, no...” he muttered over and over, his hands trembling as they cupped your face, his thumb brushing over your still warm skin. His heart screamed for you to wake up, for the impossible to happen, for you to rise from the blood-soaked ground and tell him everything would be okay.

Acacius’ heart skipped a beat when he saw the faint flutter of your eyes. It was barely a movement, a breath, but it was enough. His hands, shaking with a mixture of disbelief and hope, hovered over you. His breath was shallow, as if the very air he needed to breathe was escaping him.

“You’re alive,” he whispered, barely able to speak the words, as if saying it out loud might break the fragile thread that tethered you to life.

Your eyes flickered again, barely open, and Acacius leaned in closer, his voice urgent but tender. “Please, don’t go. I’m here. You’re going to be alright. I won’t let go.”

You tried to speak, but the words caught in your throat, and all you could manage was a weak breath, the pain too overwhelming to let anything more escape.

Acacius’ hand gently cupped your face, his thumb brushing the bloodstained skin. “Don’t speak,” he said, his voice breaking, “I’m here. Stay with me.”

For a moment, there was a silence, as if the world had paused for you both, everything hanging in the balance. He could feel your pulse, faint and fragile under his touch, but it was still there. He couldn’t lose you. Not like this.

"Please," he pleaded softly, "hold on." His own voice cracked, revealing just how much this moment meant to him, how much you meant to him.

But the sounds of chaos in the arena—the shouts of the crowd, the clattering of armor, the commands being shouted in the distance—began to creep into his awareness again. Yet, all of that faded as he focused on you, his entire being centered on you, praying you would survive this, that you would come back from the edge of death.

"Please," he whispered again, his voice hoarse, the weight of everything crashing down on him as he pressed his forehead gently against yours. "I can’t lose you. Not after we had reached the peace”

A weak, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corners of your lips, but it was fleeting. Your hand, trembling with the last of your strength, reached up to touch his face, tracing the lines of his jaw, the warmth of his skin still so vivid beneath your fingertips.

“I’ll find you in another life, my love,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, the words barely escaping your lips as the darkness began to close in once more.

Tears slipped from your eyes, falling silently, tracing paths down your bloodied cheeks as you gazed up at him. The connection between you, the deep, undeniable bond that had been forged in fire, in pain, in love, and in loss, seemed to transcend time itself in that moment.

Acacius’ breath hitched, his chest tightening painfully as your words echoed in his ears. “No,” he rasped, voice breaking, unable to accept what you were saying. His hands held you tighter, though he feared it was already too late. “No… don’t leave me.”

But as your hand slipped from his, your eyes flickering closed, the silence enveloped you both. His world went still as the final breath left your body, the warmth of your skin fading away as he clutched you to him, his tears falling like rain over your still form.

A deep, guttural sound, a mixture of grief and fury, tore from his throat as he collapsed beside you, holding you desperately, unwilling to believe that this was the end. That he could never hear your voice again, never feel the soft touch of your hand, never look into your eyes.

The arena around them seemed distant now, the chaos of the crowd, the voices, the noise, all irrelevant. All that mattered was that you were gone. His heart, his world, his very reason for fighting, slipping away from him like sand through his fingers.

Acacius' voice cracked with the weight of his grief as he spoke, his words coming out barely above a whisper. "There is no more battle to fight for me if you're not here. You were my heart, and I… I would sail to the ends of the world to have—" His voice faltered, his throat tightening as his emotions overwhelmed him. "To have one chance to meet you again, properly, to love you from the very first time."

He pressed his lips to your cold forehead, the gesture full of longing and heartbreak. His tears fell freely, mingling with the blood that stained your skin. The kiss was tender, full of unspoken promises, but it shattered him all the same. The reality of your absence, the knowledge that he would never hear your voice again, felt like a suffocating weight.

"In every life I have, I'll find you," he whispered, his voice raw with emotion, "and I will love you as you deserve. I will give you everything I couldn’t in this one."

He held you tighter, unwilling to let go, his tears slipping from his eyes like a river of sorrow, each one a silent testament to the love that would never be. Time seemed to stand still, the world around him forgotten, as all he could do was hold you in the only way he knew how: with everything he had left in him.

There was no more fight for him now. The greatest battle of his life had already been lost, and all he could do was mourn the one person who had meant everything to him, the one person who had brought him hope in a world that had long since taken it away.

Gods were never kind with lovers like you.

☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️

The familiar scent of lavender surrounded you like a soft embrace, calming the flutter in your chest, even though you couldn’t explain why it stirred something deep inside. It wasn’t the fragrance, but the memories that seemed to follow it. Memories that were not of this life, not of anything you could recall with certainty, but they lingered nonetheless. They whispered to you, pulling you toward something you couldn’t grasp, something you could only feel in the deepest part of your soul. A pair of soft brown eyes. Outlines of a face you could trace with your fingertips in your dreams.

You tried to brush it off, shaking your head slightly as you adjusted the strap of your bag. It was the first day at your new job as a history teacher, and the nerves felt foreign. You had been a teacher for four years, passionate about sharing the stories of ancient civilizations, especially the Roman Empire. This should have been just another day, just another classroom to walk into. But there was something about this place, this school, that felt different.

You didn’t know why, but the air felt thicker here. More intense. As you approached the school gates, the nervousness you had tried to push away returned tenfold. Maybe it was the significance of this particular position, teaching alongside one of the most respected history instructors in the field. Maybe it was because you hadn’t yet had the chance to meet Marcus, though his reputation preceded him. Maybe you just couldn’t shake the feeling that something extraordinary was about to unfold.

As you walked through the doors of the school, the familiar hum of the hallways didn’t bring comfort as it usually did. The sound of students laughing, chatting, running to their classes felt distant. You couldn’t shake the sensation of déjà vu, the feeling that you had been here before. A quiet whisper lingered in the back of your mind, telling you this was no ordinary beginning.

When you finally reached the staff room, you saw him. The history teacher. Standing by the window, lost in thought, his gaze distant as though the present world couldn’t quite hold his attention. His brown eyes were the first thing you noticed, the way they were so soft, yet intense, as if they could peer into the very heart of you. And then it hit you, the lavender. The sweet, calming fragrance that seemed to fill the room. It was unmistakable.

You froze for a moment, unsure if you had walked into a dream, or if the universe had suddenly conspired to bring you face-to-face with something from another life, something that shouldn’t have been possible.

For a moment, everything seemed to slow down around you. The noise from the hallway, the faint murmurs of colleagues gathering elsewhere, all of it faded into the background. The air felt heavier, charged with an energy you couldn’t quite explain. Your heart raced, as though you were on the precipice of something monumental, something that had been building in the quiet spaces of your soul for far too long.

You knew him. You didn’t know how, but you knew him. The pull was undeniable, like an invisible thread connecting the two of you through time and space, tying you to a past that seemed just out of reach. Your pulse quickened as your eyes met his.

His gaze flickered to yours, and it was as if the world came rushing back into focus all at once. He blinked once, then twice, his expression unreadable, but there was something there—an emotion that caught in his chest. Recognition. But also confusion, as though he was just as unsure as you were about why this moment felt so familiar, so intense.

You opened your mouth to speak, but the words caught in your throat. He was already walking toward you, his steps slow, deliberate. His presence was overwhelming, like a force that commanded attention without even trying. As he approached, the lavender scent seemed to grow stronger, and for a moment, it felt like you were standing in the midst of a memory, a memory that was somehow yours, yet not.

“You must be the new teacher,” he said, his voice low but steady, as though he was trying to ground himself in the present moment, as if saying those words could dispel the strange tension that hummed between you. “I’m Marcus. Welcome.”

Your throat tightened, and you had to force the words out. “I’m… yes. I’m the new Roman history teacher.” Your voice sounded foreign to your own ears. How could you have forgotten to introduce yourself first, to speak like a normal person? But the words felt inadequate in the face of what was happening. You were supposed to be teaching history. You were supposed to be starting a new chapter in your life. But standing before him now, none of it mattered.

The silence stretched between you both, filled only with the hum of distant voices in the hallway and the soft rustling of papers on the desks. But it felt like more than that. It felt like the silence before a storm, before everything would change.

For a moment, Marcus didn’t speak, and you couldn’t tell whether he was waiting for you to say something, or if he was lost in the same strange feeling that you were. The air around you seemed thick with something unspoken, a connection you couldn’t quite understand, but it was there, undeniable and present.

“I don’t suppose you’re feeling this,” he said after a moment, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. It was a tentative smile, as if he, too, was struggling with what was unfolding between you.

“I don’t know what this is,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “But I think… I think I’ve met you before.”

His eyes widened slightly, and his expression shifted, though it was brief. The smallest flicker of recognition flashed across his face, but it was gone before you could fully grasp it.

“Maybe,” he said, his voice softer now. “Maybe we have.”

In that moment, the world outside the staff room seemed to fade away. It was just the two of you, standing in the quiet of the room, surrounded by the weight of something far older than either of you. You both stood on the edge of something, and neither of you knew what would happen next.

But you both felt it. The undeniable pull that connected your souls, the inexplicable bond that no words could explain. His eyes softened, a mixture of surprise and something deeper flashing in them. He didn’t say anything more, but in that moment, you knew, you weren’t just colleagues. You weren’t just two people thrown together by fate. There was a bond here. Something ancient. And no matter how many lifetimes had passed, this connection, this feeling, had never truly gone away.

As the rest of the staff filtered into the room, the moment passed, but neither of you could forget it. You went on to introduce yourself, to go over the basics of the course. But all the while, you could feel his presence beside you, like a shadow, a whisper of the past. You weren’t just teaching history anymore. You were living it. And you both knew it would only be a matter of time before everything else fell into place.

Tags💌: @picketniffler @sptbear @heartpatch @immyowndefender @nobodyssfool @behomewhenthestreetlightscomeon @idkwhylou @jasminedragoon @ro-nahime-things @hduuc56 @mamustreads @itsafullmoon @tuquoquebrute @ccmoonshine @fvispunk @here-briefly @elisha-chloe @geekandbooknerd @guelyury @dlwrish @legoemma @scrappyskin @orcasoul @kluvspedro @onlythehobi @stormseyer @spideybv28 @spacelatinos4life @hduuc56 @foledean @negrita2345 @capswife @missadangel @spencercmlover @leahwwinchester @areyoutheretoru @nosebeers @discowitchyy

You had met before. And now, you were meant to find each other again in this life.

in this life, Gods would be kind to lovers like you.

[inthelibrarybtw]

you want me to pretend? | seven

SERIES MASTERLIST

pairing: college!basketball!captain!rafe x college!student!reader content: fluff, college au, smau/irl, cursing

summary: You were trying to make one problem disappear. You were tired, so you lied. That small lie led you to contact the last person you wanted to ask for help. It wasn’t that you didn’t like Rafe; only that you didn’t want to deal with his constant teasing more than you already did. Also, you two weren't that close, but this one lie was going to bring you two closer and maybe help some truths come to light.

word count: 0.9k

authors note: I don't have much to say more than I wanted some fluff after last part and that I fell asleep all afternoon and forgot to post earlier lmao

06 | 07 | 08

Sophomore year - October 2022

“Kelce just texted that they are coming up,” Rafe announced to everyone present.  

“The song—shit, where’s my phone?” Sarah asked, stressed.  

“I’ve got it; I will play it when she comes in.”  

“Look at you, taking initiative,” JJ teased, “or is it more than just initiative?”  

“Shut up.”  

“Why is he even here?” JJ asked, but before anyone could answer, they heard a knock on the door.  

“Shut up, JJ!” Kie whispered, slapping his arm.  

They all quieted down as Rafe backed the song, getting ready to turn up the volume. Sarah went to open the door, and as soon as you walked in, Rafe turned up the volume. He had chosen that song because he once heard you telling Ruthie that it was one of your favorites, and of course, he didn’t forget.  

When you walked inside, everyone shouted “Surprise!” as “Golden” blared through the speakers. Your face brightened the more you looked around. All your friends were there, and everything was decorated. You felt a warm feeling in your chest; when you started college, you had worried you wouldn’t find good friends, but seeing all of them there reminded you that things always worked out.  

One by one, they hugged you or congratulated you before returning to their previous conversations or heading to the kitchen to help prepare the food. Rafe was the last one to reach you; he didn’t know what to do. You two barely knew each other, but you also didn’t feel like total strangers.  

“Happy birthday again,” he said.  

“Thank you; I appreciate you remembering it,” you said, a bit nervous.  

“How did you spend it yesterday?”  

“It was great—mostly with my family. I went to lunch with them, and then we went to my house for the birthday cake.”  

“That’s great; I’m glad you had a wonderful day…” He paused for a second. “I brought you some flowers; hope you like them.”  

“Oh, you didn’t have to! Thank you, Rafe.” You smiled at him, and he could swear it was the best thing. Seeing you happy over something he did? The highlight of his week, and it was barely starting. Of course, he would never admit it out loud because he knows he would never hear the end of it.  

Sarah watched the scene from the kitchen but didn’t say anything. She knows Rafe likes you; it's as clear as ever, but she also notices how you are still not fully there, even if there is attraction. Everyone in that room could catch onto that, and yet no one decided to comment on it. JJ tried, but either Sarah or Kie slapped his arm to make him shut up.  

During the rest of the afternoon, you spent time making pizzas, playing board games, laughing, and truly enjoying the company of the people around you. It had been one of the best birthdays you had. Sarah had made sure to let you know that the Jellycat she got you was also from Rafe. You found the gesture extremely cute. You two talked a lot that day; it was small talk, nothing too deep, but it was something since it had been the most you two had talked in the past few months of knowing each other.  

Kelce tried to keep his mouth shut, but he couldn’t.  

“So, Rafe likes her for real?”  

“Is the sky blue?” Sarah asked back.  

“I don’t think she is that into him,” he said.  

“Oh… that’s not good coming from you.”  

“No, look, I see she is attracted to him, but I don’t know if she’s scared of liking him or something; it’s taking longer for her to warm up to him.”  

“I say give them time; I see potential there.”  

“Potential?”  

“I just have a feeling they will be together; I just know it.”

A few days later, you were hanging out with the girls and the guys at Sarah’s apartment again.  

“Okay, guys, plans for next week?”  

“I’m always down, but isn’t it a bit too soon for next week's plans?” JJ says.  

“Let her talk first,” Cleo interrupts.  

“Okay, so Topper…”  

“No,” Kie stops her. “Something always happens.”  

“That’s the fun part,” JJ replies.  

“Of course, you would say that,” Pope says, shaking his head.  

“Thank you, JJ,” Sarah says.  

“I’m with Kie,” John B says. “I was drunk for days after the last time the plan involved him.”  

“Oh, come on! It will be fun; some of his friends from the next town are coming.”  

“Yeah, he told the basketball team too,” JJ said. “Like a homecoming party?”  

“Housewarming party.”  

“Same shit.”  

“It is not the same,” Pope tried to correct him while you just looked at the scene unfolding in front of you. Cleo, JJ, and Sarah had agreed, while Pope, John B, and Kie were against it, so the tiebreaker was you.  

“Come on, Y/N,” Sarah said kindly. “It’s not gonna be a big party, I promise. I kinda know his friend, and he is more of a chill guy.”  

“Do you actually know him?”  

“Well, no, but I’ve seen him a couple of times, and he seems chill,” you sighed.  

“I guess it wouldn’t be that bad,” Kie, Pope, and John B sighed deeply. 

“This better be just a housewarming party, nothing else.”  

“The guy is moving alone, so he’s making a big deal; it was Topper’s idea to throw the party.”  

“Of course,” John B said, annoyed.  

“Can we at least know the guy's name?” Kie asked.  

“It starts with a J; let me look it up…” she said, scrolling through Topper’s chat. “Jordan, his name is Jordan.”

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[unlikeable-female-character]

Old Man Logan x Nurse!Reader - part 2

Thanks for all the love on the previous part of this here.

This is very much an AU where no one dies - Charles and Caliban make an appearance in this one - and maybe Laura will show up at some point but as I say, not adhering to any movie timelines etc etc, just doing my own thing. And as I said in another post, Logan is probably out of character but eh...what can you do?

warning - mentions of masturbation, performing the act of masturbation (both m and f), fingering (f receiving), a bit of sweary language.

barely proof read

****

You and Logan fell into comfortable routine. You didn’t frequent the diner as much as you had because why did you need to now? You were a little sad to leave such an important place behind but with your apartment and Logan’s…. ���What exactly is this place?’ You asked the first time he took you to the smelting plant he called home. You stood in the middle of what you supposed was the lounge and took in your surroundings. ‘I know it’s not exactly Architectural Digest but it’s safe. That’s what matters’ You looked at him and felt instantly guilty. There was sadness in his voice and expression, that maybe this was the best he had under the circumstances and what did you expect him to do. ‘Of course,’ you said quietly. You knew why he was here and you knew it wasn’t through choice.

You didn’t mind spending time here but you loved taking Logan back to yours and letting him spend a few hours in comfort, to sleep in a bed that didn’t creak each time one of you moved - or god forbid tried to fuck in it. The first time you had tried to do so the noise the bed made was so loud you both worried Charles and Caliban would hear out in the water tower. Not that stopped either of you…of course.

Not that either of them needed to hear the rhythmic squeak of Logan’s worn out bed to know exactly what you two did. It was fairly obvious, the nature of your relationship, when you suddenly appeared with Logan one day and continued to return. Caliban appreciated having someone else around that did more than just grunt at him (you chided Logan for that). He was extremely appreciative of your medical expertise. You often sat with him chatting about your work or helping him brush up on his first aid skills and sometimes just having a good old gossip. Much to Logan’s chagrin, who also refused to take part in the first aid lessons. ‘Don’t want it, don’t need it,’ was his reply. You may have stuck your tongue out at his retreating back for that one.

At first meeting you Charles was thrilled that Logan had found someone and rambled on about how he had known about you for such a long time because Logan was so LOUD without ever saying a word. The idea of Charles being able to read your thoughts was a little worrying but he assured you that he would never attempt to do so. He was, if nothing else, a gentleman and his word was his bond he told you.

Logan wasn’t so lucky. Especially if you’d had to spend any length of time away from each other. ‘The amount of self abuse is astonishing. I didn’t think it was possible to masturbate that many times a day. Almost impressive,’ he mused one day out of nowhere as you all sat at the table eating. ‘Jesus Christ…’ Caliban muttered burying his face in his hands. Logan nearly choked on his food, and went redder than you had ever seen him. By the time Logan had recovered enough to speak Charles’ mind had moved onto other matters. You just wanted to laugh but knew you shouldn’t.

Of course you teased him about it later.

‘Do you really do that?’ You asked. You were both sat on a blanket on the roof. You’d asked Logan if there was any way to get up there and after he had indeed found a way you insisted you go up and watch the sunset over the desert. ‘Just looks the same as it does down on the ground,’ you heard him mumble as he lead you around the building to one of the less dubious staircases though still in an alarming state of decay. ‘What?’ ‘Self abuse,’ you said imitating Charles and giggled Logan grumbled ‘He’s a nosy old fucker who needs to keep his mind to himself’ ‘I don’t mind.’ He looked at you. ‘Don’t mind what?’ ‘If you do…that…when I’m not here. It’s nice to know you miss me. Well…my pussy at least,’ you smirked. Logan stared at you. ‘I miss all of you,’ he insisted, then paused, ‘maybe I do miss that more…’ You pushed him and he pretended to fall back, pulling you with him so you landed on his chest with a thump. ‘Well,’ you said, playing with the buttons on his flannel, ‘my pussy misses you as well.’ Logan glanced at you from under his lashes. ‘And do you…?’ He asked leaving the sentence unfinished. You rested your head on his chest, a favoured spot, and closed your eyes. ‘Of course. Well…I have help. Doesn’t quite measure up. If you know what I mean…’ and you raised your head to waggle your eyebrows at him. ‘Oh really?’ He said, looking a little too smug for your liking. You poked his chest. ‘Pride comes before a fall, mister,’ ‘What does that mean?’ You sat up and straddled his hips, wiggling, (deliberately of course) before stilling over his now growing erection. ‘I mean for such an old guy you’ve still got lead in your pencil. But you aren’t irreplaceable,’ you sighed dramatically, then thought for a minute, ‘have you though?’ ‘What?’ ‘Got lead in it?’ Logan rubbed a weary hand across his face. ‘I thought you were a medical professional?’ ‘I am,’ you preened. ‘Then you know there isn’t a bone in there. And it’s Adamantium. Not lead’ You smiled down at him. ‘My point is…’ But Logan grabbed your hips and shifted beneath you. You let out an involuntary moan. ‘Don’t change the subject you bastard,’ you said leaning forward to kiss him. ‘It’s my favourite subject,’ Logan smiled and started to unbuckle his belt. You batted his hands away, took over and popped the button on his jeans before slowly pulling down the fly. You raised yourself up on your knees and started to yank down Logan’s jeans and boxers. His thick cock sprung free and you gave it a gentle stroke with your finger. Logan groaned. ‘Show me,’ you said ‘Huh?’ He opened his eyes and looked up at you. ‘Show me what you do when I’m not around,’ you said, continuing to place feather light touches up and down the thick shaft. ‘Seriously?’ You hummed and nodded. ‘I want to see,’ you leant forward and caught his mouth in a kiss, ‘it would be very hot indeed.’ Logan stared up at you. He couldn’t say it was the first time he’d ever had such a request but… ‘Would it?’ He asked ‘Oh yeah,’ you breathed. You sat up again and looked at him, taking in the sight before you. It was fair to say you had Logan entirely at your mercy, lying there exposed as he was. You pushed up his undershirt and gently ran your hands across his belly, the hair there soft against your fingers. You watched the muscles twitch beneath your touch. You let your fingers drift lower but not low enough. Logan shifted beneath you, his hard cock just waiting for someone’s attention.

There wasn’t much you and Logan hadn’t done. He was masterful when it came to eating you out and you thought he would happily die with his head between your thighs. Giving him an early morning wake up blow job wasn’t unusual either. For some reason Logan’s bashfulness in that moment made your heart clench. The man who thought nothing of pinning you against an alleyway wall and fucking you quick and hard while he shoved his fingers in your mouth in an attempt to muffle your screams was now nervous about showing you how he pleasured himself. You smiled down at him. ‘It’s okay, you don’t…’ Which was when he grabbed his cock and started to pump his hand along its length.

This was hotter than you had ever imagined it could be. Logan lying there on that rooftop, his cock in his hand, shamelessly moaning as he continued to stroke himself. You felt yourself clenching around nothing and knew that you would be taking him to bed and you didn’t care how much it fucking squeaked.

‘Are you close?’ You asked. You watched him watching himself and thought you might explode. ‘Yeah…’ he said. Or rather groaned. The word itself was only vaguely formed. His hand never stopped moving. His grip was firm but not too firm, a continual movement from tip to base, occasionally stopping to collect some of the pre cum from the tip to help his hand on its way. ‘Is this what you do when I’m not here?’ You asked Logan didn’t reply as such but just moaned out something you took to be a word of assent. He locked eyes with you then and kept eye contact with you as he groaned even louder and came in spurts across his stomach. You watched the come splatter over him and you let out a small moan. You couldn’t help notice Logan’s smile. ‘Liked that huh?’ He asked. ‘That was…oof,’ you sat back on your heels, Logan’s legs still underneath you, ‘that might have been the best thing I’ve ever seen’ Logan flopped back onto the blanket and he laughed. ‘God, sweetheart, what are you doing to me?’ ‘What do you mean?’ Logan just looked at you. He couldn’t put it into words. Since meeting you something inside him had shifted. He felt hopeful for the first time in so many years. Like there was actually something worth living for. You made the grime and dirt and hurt and pain disappear, even for a moment. And he loved you for that.

As Logan tucked himself back in his underwear and jeans you noted his smile. ‘Happy?’ You asked. ‘Very,’ he replied before surging up and placing you deftly in your back. You looked up at him as he looked over you. ‘And now it’s your turn,’ he grinned. ‘Excuse me?’ ‘Fairs fair sweetheart. I gave you a show. Now it’s my turn.’

Your breath hitched as he ran his hand between your legs. You were very wet but he couldn’t feel that through the leggings you were wearing. You moved your hips a little to press into his hand and began to roll your leggings and underwear down. Logan helped to pull them further down your legs until they rested bunched at your ankles. You stared at him as you let your knees fall slowly to each side, exposing yourself to him and the cool desert night. You saw his Adams apple move noticeably as he swallowed hard. ‘This what you had in mind?’ You asked as you ran two fingers through the slick that was gathering and then slowly circled your clit. Logan stared down at your hand and nodded.

You touched yourself slowly, small circles, longer stokes, your hips beginning to move a little, small raises up as you moved your fingers. You let out small moans as your arousal grew and you felt yourself moving further towards the edge. At one point your other hand moved up to your breast and you could feel the nipple pebbling be rather the thin fabric of your t-shirt. You watched Logan, his eyes taking in every inch of the show you were putting on. You felt his hand move up your side and under your shirt, taking your other breast in his large hand, stroking and squeezing at it. ‘Logan…’ you breathed. ‘Yeah darlin’?’ ‘Touch me,’ He grinned. ‘I am touching you baby,’ ‘No,’ you squeaked,’ inside.’ To demonstrate you moved your hand down towards your hole and pushed two fingers through fingers inside. ‘A little help?’ Logan smiled again and moved to replace your fingers with his own. You went back to your clit as two of Logan’s long, thick fingers worked their magic inside. ‘This…’ you stopped as he hit a particularly sensitive spot, ‘this is why I need a little helper..at home…no one can touch me like you can Logan,’ and your back arched as your breath started to come in quicker gasps. Your hand and Logan’s moved in unison, the slick noises of your arousal the other thing you could hear until ‘Oh god..I’m coming…Logan…I’m…..’ Logan stilled his hand as he felt you clenching around his fingers, the pretty sounds you made, that you felt no shame in making filling the air.

As you came back down to earth, he helped you put your clothes to rights and pulled you into him, his arms wrapping you so tightly to him. He kissed you slowly and deeply and you thought how odd it was that an abandoned building in the middle of nowhere felt like home and safely and love.

‘We should go back inside,’ Logan said eventually. The night was starting to turn chilled and you realised that you had forgotten all about the sunset. Oh well, you supposed there were other nights. You’d just have to try not to become distracted next time…

[michellejonesgf]

gentle, even when you're not trying to be • harry castillo x reader

characters: harry castillo x fem!bestfriend!reader

synopsis: just because you're good friends doesn't mean you know everything about eachother. (sometimes you don't even know everything about yourself.)

word count: 798

part 1/3

"so did you sleep with him or.."

this question comes from harry just as she has taken the biggest bite of her slice, and she chews for a minute and thirty holding her finger up for him to wait to tell him exactly that.

"you waited to ask a question like that just when i've taken the biggest bite of this slice?" an unimpressed look with a sideways head tilt.

harry's head dips just in quest for an answer, eyebrows raised as if to say, well?

"no i did not sleep with your extremely successful, incredibly kind and funny, and not to mention, hot as bones," she does a faux roll of her eyes as she says this, "coworker who's also an outspoken feminist and a strong advocate and volunteer for the lgbtq+ community." a dramatic sigh as she leans against the couch.

"perfect for you," harry adds, not without a tinge of envy in his voice.

she notices.

she does not acknowledge it because she cannot trust her brain these days. her brain, which, in recent times, does things like want (and oh how much it wants!) to kiss her dearest, closest friend when he smiles at her across the room as he makes her coffee when she's at his place first thing in the morning, debriefing her date the previous night. her brain, which, has the evil and very wrong urge to coil her index finger around the soft yet pronounced curl at the apex of his temple, not to fix it but to say i'm glad you're here. she is sure that is not a friend urge. her brain that, despite trying so very carefully to not, flashed the image of the only person who has held her tight as she had a particularly nerve-wracking bout of nerves, as she goodnight-kissed that very person's colleague after a great first date.

she is in deep trouble. therefore, she does not trust her brain.

"at the very least, it makes me happy that you had a good time," harry adds, supportive even when it aches him to be so.

as she reaches for one of two slices left in the pizza box, harry's fingers are already unwittingly working her drooping longsleeve up her arm and cuffing it at her elbow. he's done this enough times for it to be a reflex.

he's done this enough times for it to become a habit.

she wonders what harry is thinking about as she betrays the trust between them, the sanctity of friendship as she imagines raking her fingers through his curls.

does she know how beautiful she looks when she’s tired from the day and her eyes are drooping with sleep?

harry often finds himself having thoughts such as these and hates himself for not expressing them. but he did say he would ‘be a pal and let me set you up, huh’ like an absolute idiot when inspiration struck him just because he hit it off with a matchmaker, lucy, at a wedding.

his gaze shifts to the skyline behind her. they are both sat on the floor of his living room where she deemed it comfiest with their backs to the couch, her fingers picking at the crust of the pizza and her stare cemented somewhere between the tv and the bookshelves. she’s slowly trying to come back to herself and harry gives her a minute for it.

harry loses himself in the skyline. when they first met, she was new to new york city and spoke to him about art and what people owe each other as humans at length for 25 minutes before realising that she had mistaken him for someone else. she apologised, appreciative of his understanding hmms and tell me more about thats. he only replied with “i have a feeling we’re going to be good friends for a while.”

the feeling held true and good friends they were. within three months they were recommending each other books and wines and girlfriends and boyfriends and they put shame to the phrase ‘they were fast friends.’

no, harry and y/n knew each other, truly knew each other, and though neither had acknowledged it for the first year or so, the cake she brought him uncannily enough on the same date as the fundraising gala they met at a year ago said ‘i have a feeling we’re going to be good friends for a while (or something like that).’

now, he has seen her in almost every mood and knows how to interpret each micro-twitch of her face.

she is now looking at him, her expression curious and...sad?

he has seen her in almost every mood and knows how to interpret each micro-twitch of her face. 

well, except for that one.

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Love That Burns ~ Ending 2 ~ 51

LOVE THAT BURNS MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 3,290ish

Summary: Your group goes to fight Cassandra.

Notes: Here we go! Please share reactions! Please remember to review the timeline posted here.

Reminder: I DO NOT do taglists. Please don’t ask. Please follow and interact! I appreciate any reblogs, likes, comments, and asks!

You woke up to Laura cuddled close. Your body was achy, but not as much as your heart. After pressing a kiss to Laura’s head, you slipped out of bed and headed outside. The fresh morning air was crisp against your achy body and the sun was barely revealing itself. You took a deep breath as you tried to wrap your mind around yesterday. A version of Logan had just entered your life and a version of your long dead teammate Wade as well. How were you suppose to deal with this? 

The sight of smoke near the fire pit area caught your attention. You slowly walked over. Your heart clenched as you realized who was knocked out on the log. Logan was sprawled out on the log, one of his arms dangling over the side, still gripping onto a bottle of alcohol. You were honestly confused as to how he could still be on the log. Taking a step forward, you froze as a branch snapped beneath your foot. 

Logan shot up from the log, claws out, as his eyes frantically searched his surroundings. His gaze eventually fell on you and he too froze. You were tense, looking at Logan like you were a child who got caught with their hand in the cookie jar. Realizing that his claws were out, Logan quickly hid them, hanging his hands by his sides.

“Sorry,” both of you said at the same time.

The tension was thick, both of you could feel it. Your arms wrapped around you as you took a step back, looking down at the ground. It was harder than you thought to look at him and not have him looking back at you the way that your Logan always had.

“Sorry,” you mumbled again. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s fine,” he responded. 

A bout of silence grew between the two of you. Neither of you were able to look at each other in the eye. Logan could hear how your heartbeat was picking up, signaling how nervous you were. He clenched his fists harder to try to calm his own nerves.

“Are you… uh, are you fighting today?” He wondered.

“Yes. Cassandra may have something that will get us home,” you replied. “And I can’t let Laura fight without me.” Logan nodded, letting your answer sink in. “Are you fighting with us?”

“No… Or I wasn’t,” he shook his head. “It’s suicide.”

You shrugged. “A lot of missions are… but I’d rather die fighting.” With a twist of your hand, you relit the fire.

Logan’s brows furrowed when you winced as your hands cooled down. He stepped forward. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. It’s just… weird. Seeing you or not you or I really don’t know.” You shook your head

“I understand.”

“Was there a me in your universe?”

“Yes.”

“And is she…?”

“She’s dead.”

“Oh. I’m sorry… My husband—you—my version of you is dead, too.”

“I heard. It’s the reason Wade came looking for me.” 

Your head tilted in curiosity. “Why?”

Logan sighed, shaking his head. “Ain’t my story.”

“Mom?” You heard Laura call in the distance. “Mom!”

“I should go,” you took a few more steps back, “before Laura gets too worried.” You turned around but before you could get yourself to move, you looked back. “Take care of yourself, Logan.”

Logan’s mouth opened to say something but his mind wouldn’t let him. Instead, he watched you walk away. Was he really going to let you fight again without him trying to protect him? No, you weren’t his version of you, but you were a version. And he knew that he definitely would not forgive himself if you died and he could have prevented it.

~~~

“So, Buttercup,” Wade slipped next to you as you pulled fingerless compression gloves over your hands, “I have to tell you that your husbands’ claws are still extremely useful.”

Your head snapped towards Wade. “What?” 

“Yeah. I dug him up and had to use his sturdy bones to fight off some TVA agents.”

“You did what with my husband’s body?” Your hands formed fists which quickly went up in flames as you took a step towards Wade.

“Hey! Look! Your flames! They are even more spectacular in person, you know? And they—“

Wade didn’t have the chance to finish the thought before you blasted him against the wall with fire.

“Mom!” Laura exclaimed, rushing towards you. “Mom, stop! You can’t—“

“He dug your father up,” your tone was low. A warning. Something that Laura had rarely ever heard. “He used his bones as a weapon.”

Laura’s eyes widened as she looked between Wade and you. She was conflicted. Wade deserved what you wanted to do to him, but Laura couldn’t risk you wearing yourself out already.

“He’s not worth your energy right now,” Laura said, reaching for your arms.

“If it helps, I grabbed these,” Wade offered, pulling out two sets of dog tags from his suit. “I promise I didn’t put them anywhere inappropriate—“

You marched over and ripped them out of his grip. “Don’t think you’re off the hook for this, Wilson,” you threatened. “I will burn you alive.”

“Oh!” He clapped excitedly. “Can’t wait!”

~~~

You were smushed between Gambit and Laura in the middle row of the Honda Odyssey. Elektra was driving with Deadpool beside her and Blade in the back row. Your hand was firmly grasped around the dog tags you had taken back from Wade. The Honda Odyssey sped towards Cassandra’s base that was closed off.

“Ooh! Look at that there!” Gambit exclaimed. “You see them bigger hands come closed. Ain’t not a wanna gettin’ up inside there.”

“Gun!” Blade ordered as he stood up behind you and threw the opening on the roof.

You and Gambit lifted the gun up to Blade, who took it and aimed it at Cassandra’s base.

“Where’s he get that little beauty?” Deadpool wondered.

“That’s Punisher’s AT4,” Elektra explained.

“Which Punisher? There’s been, like, five of them.”

“There’s only been one Blade,” Blade commented, “and there’s only ever gonna be one Blade.”

Blade fired the weapon. It hit the large, closed skeleton hands, causing an explosion. Elektra sped the van up. When the van neared the fire, you prevented it from doing any harm to your group. As soon as the van was past it, you enlarged the flames, blocking everyone inside of the base. Elektra threw the van into park, bringing it to a screeching halt. 

Cassandra’s minions aimed their weapons at your group as you all exited the van. Deadpool and Gambit stood in front with Elektra, Blade, Laura, and then yourself. The van’s trunk opening caught all of your attentions. Turning to look, you saw Logan exit the van, having been hiding back there. Logan’s eyes met Laura’s first, who gave him a small smile before they flickered to yours. You were surprised to see him. He gave you a small nod before standing beside you.

“Ooh, this is gonna be good,” Blade commented.

“You know how long I’ve been waiting for this?” Gambit added. “Whoo! I’m about to make a name for myself here.”

“I don’t think you guys walk away from this,” Logan said, sparing another glance at you.

“You just make sure people know what happened here today. And when you get out of here, you have a drink for me, yeah?”

“You just stay on our six and get inside,” Blade ordered, moving to the front. You, Laura, and Elektra moved with him. “We’ll make sure you get the package.”

“And we’ll get our ending,” add Elektra.

You reached over and gave Laura’s hand a squeeze before making flames out of your fists. Laura slipped on her old purple glasses. Logan watched the interaction with a pang of jealousy. Your Logan was a lucky man, to have a wife and daughter who stick together no matter what. Too bad that this Logan believed he had ruined his chances of that long ago. 

You took a deep breath as you stared at Juggernaut, who was front and center, leading Cassandra’s minions. Everyone readied their weapons and Cassandra’s minions charged. The five of you took the front lines while Logan and Wade remained behind you. As Logan caught glimpses of you fighting, he began to realize how much he really couldn’t afford to lose another one of you. Not because of him. He stuck behind you, defending you from those trying to take you out. You knew that Logan was sticking close to you, so you made sure to try harder to defend him. Pushing aside the pain that was gradually getting worse, you continued to fight, using your fire to end people before they had the chance to get too close.

Eventually, you broke through Cassandra’s defenses. Logan and Wade rushed further into the base while the rest of you lined up in front of the opening. You still needed to get Juggernaut’s helmet and fast.

Meanwhile, inside the base, Logan and Wade found Cassandra lounging on her throne, drinking tea.

“You two escaping, I could live with,” she said as the two men came closer. “But coming back? Willingly?” She chuckled. “Boys are so silly.”

“I just need to get home,” Wade said.

“Well, that’s not on the menu, I’m afraid.” She set down her tea. “It’s death or enslavement. A la carte, of course.” She stood up and used her powers to throw Wade up against the ceiling. “Upsy-daisy.” She threw him back down, twisted him around, before tossing him against one of the side walls. “Finally, it’s nice to give someone else a chance to talk.” She moved closer to Logan.

“Not my strong suit,” he responded. 

Logan’s claws extended and he tried to throw a punch, only to be stopped. Cassandra forced his claws into his thighs before forcing him to the ground, keeping his claws in the floorboards. He grunted and groaned as he tried to free himself, but it was no use.

“Now,” Cassandra crouched in front of Logan, “we just need your counterpart.”

She smirked as Logan continued straining against her hold. Walking over to the eye holes that allowed her to see the fight, Cassandra caught sight of you. With a quick movement, she had you tangled up in netting and flying up to her.

“No! Mom!” Laura shouted.

You were about to set the netting on fire when you gasped. You could feel Cassandra in your mind, preventing you from doing anything. She threw you harshly in front of Logan, who was growing angrier. 

“There we go,” Cassandra commented, “much better.” She knelt down between the two of you. “You both are very interesting. Deadpools are a dime a dozen here in the The Void. But the two of you… Are extremely rare.” Her long fingers moved to caress your face.

“Don’t touch her!” Logan barked.

“Interesting. She’s not your Ember yet you are protective of her. Let’s see why, shall we?”

Cassandra pushed a finger into your forehead, causing you to scream, whilst doing the same to Logan. He screamed out, hating himself for not being able to protect you properly. Failing another one of you.

Both of your minds connected and glimpses of your Logan played out in front of you. Before you could say anything about it, your surroundings changed. You and Logan were standing in a field. The sky was grey. An endless row of stone monuments where lined near you. Slowly, you and Logan walked forward.

“Logan!” You heard an echo of a voice. Jean.

“Logan!” Another one. Charles.

“Logan!” This one had you tensing. It was your voice, though you knew it wasn’t you.

“Interesting…” Cassandra commented, her voice echoing around. “Not what I expected back here. Behind the anger.” 

Cassandra suddenly appeared from behind one of the stone monuments. Logan stopped, hand on the monument to keep himself up. You stood there, not knowing what to do.

“You’re hiding,” Cassandra continued. “From them. From all the ones you let down.” 

Logan let out a deep breath, leaning forward so his hands were on his knees. You reached out and placed a hand on his back, trying to comfort him in some way, and he collapsed to his knees.

“So much pain,” Cassandra noted.

“I walked away,” Logan stated, growing emotional. “They called after me… She called after me and I… I walked away. I always do.”

“Logan!” The voice of his you echoed around again.

“I know,” Cassandra said. She knelt beside you. Logan’s breathing increased as he looked forward, unable to look at you. “That’s not all you did. Is it? You found them. The X-Men.”

Screams sounded in the distance. You remained standing at Logan’s side, hand on his back.

“Dead,” Logan murmured. “Piled like wood… She was…” He closed his eyes and a tear rolled down his cheek. “Beast had clearly tried but she was… dead… her smoke and flames everywhere.”

“What did you do?” Cassandra asked.

“I started killing. And I couldn’t stop. I didn’t wanna stop.”

“All those bad men.”

“It’s not just the bad ones.”

“My little animal.” Cassandra’s smile had your stomach tied in knots.

“And I turned the whole world against the X-Men… Just once… I wanna be the man that Charles thought I was… That she thought I was.”

“Logan… in The Void, you can be what you are.”

“I just wanna be free.”

“I can set you free. I can silence all those voices.”

“No,” you finally spoke up. You knelt down in front of Logan and shakily took his face in your hands. “You cannot forget where you came from. You who are… Trust me. It’s not worth it.”

“Don’t listen to her.” Cassandra cut off your ability to speak and forced your hands away from Logan’s face. The area around you grew eerily silent. “I’ve got you. She’s not your Ember. You don’t need to worry about her. I’ve got you.”

“No,” Logan’s breathed out shaking his head as he looked over at Cassandra. “I got you.”

Before you knew it, Cassandra cried out in pain and you were back in Cassandra’s base. Wade had Juggernaut’s helmet on her and had her wrapped him in his limbs to keep it there as she fought. Logan pulled his claws from the floor and quickly cut through the netting you were bound in.

“Are you alright?” He asked, helping you to your feet.

You nodded, catching your breath. “I’m fine.”

“Get it off!” Cassandra grunted. 

“You’re gonna send us home, or I’m gonna twist your fucking head off,” Wade threatened. Cassandra laughed. “Why are you laughing?”

“I can’t send you home unless you get this thing off my head. And as soon as you do that, I’m going to force Y/N to boil your brains on an atomic level whilst I flick my bean to the Enya box set.” Logan took a protective step in front of you.

“There’s an Enya box set?”

“Either you kill me or I kill you. Both wonderful options. Except for the fact that I’m the only one that can help with Y/N’s fire problem.” Wade and Logan’s heads snapped in your direction.

“What?” You breathed out.

“Kill me and you are killing her.”

Logan took a step closer to you. “What is she talking about?” He asked.

You shook your head. “I’m fine,” you told him. 

But Logan’s eyes scanned your body, how tense you were compared to earlier, how you were standing in a way that kept your weight evenly distributed. How he had noticed you wincing from the simplest use of your power. There was something wrong.

“Just end this,” you said. “Get home and end this.”

“Do you want me to do it?” Wade asked Logan.

Logan stared at you for a moment, clearly weighing his options. Your determined look gave him his answer. “No,” he responded, eyes falling back on Cassandra. “I’ll do it.”

“I have her neck right here. It’s really no problem.”

“You’ll screw it up.”

“Oh, come on, Mr. PG-13, except the last one!”

A gun shot suddenly sounded from behind. Logan grabbed you and threw you to the ground, him on top of you, as the shots continued. Each bullet landing in Cassandra.

“What the fuck?!” Wade exclaimed.

You looked over at the person who was shooting, recognizing who it was. “Pyro?” You questioned.

“Hello, Ember,” he greeted. “Never thought I’d see you again. You have no idea what it’s like!” He waltzed further into the room as Logan helped you back up to your feet. “Day after day. Shovel the shit. Fetch the meats. I have spent my entire exis—“ Logan threw a punch to Pyro’s face, knocking him out.

“Not everyone gets a speech,” Logan said. His focus turned back to Wade and Cassandra, who had blood coming out of her mouth. “She’s gonna die.”

“Okay. Hey, hey,” Wade said. “If I take this helmet off, do you promise you won’t kill us?”

“Fuck!”

“I promise,” Cassandra whimpered in pain, “I will kill you first thing.”

“Oh! What are you like this?” Wade exclaimed.

“I wish I knew,” Cassandra laughed.

“Take it off,” Logan ordered.

“What?” Wade questioned.

“Take it off.”

“Why?”

“Just take it off.”

“This is our only chance to fix our shit!”

“Take it off!” Logan stepped closer. “I am wearing this suit. And that means a lot of things, but most of all… it means I’m an X-Man.” Pride swelled in your chest, now knowing how hard it was for Logan to admit that. “And I know your brother. As much as I want to fucking kill you, every bone in my body wants to fucking kill you, he would not let me stand here and watch you die! She,” he threw his arm back and pointed at you, “would not let me stand here and watch you die! Take your hands off. This is for him. This is for Charles.” 

Logan slowly removed the helmet. Cassandra was panting as she closed her eyes to feel her powers again. Wade let her go and stepped back. Her hand shot out to Wade and he covered his head.

“Hey, no, no, no!” He exclaimed. “Don’t you dare do me like Johnny!”

Cassandra lowered her arm and looked at Logan. “My brother loved you,” she said. “In every universe, he loved you.”

“He loved all of us,” Logan replied. 

“Hmm. Must be nice.”

“He would’ve loved you, too.”

“Yes, he would have,” you agreed. “So much.”

“If he knew about you… If he knew where you were, he would’ve torn a hole in the fucking universe to bring you home.”

“This is my home,” said Cassandra.

“Well, then at least let us save his.”

She looked over at Wade before stepping away from Logan. “You want to hear something crazy? An amateur magician rolled through here a while back. I killed him, of course. Wore his skin around for four days. But I found this,” she pulled a ring out from her pocket, “little trinket on his lovely fingers.”

“Strange!” Wade whispered.

Cassandra slipped the ring onto her fingers and lifted her hand up. Her other hand moved in a circle and a sparkling golden circle formed.

“What’s that?” Logan asked.

“This is your way home,” Cassandra said as the portal completed itself. “I do owe you for saving my life. But let’s keep things interesting.” She spun back around. “I’d say you have about four seconds before you’re Alioth’s food.”

The large purple cloud, Alioth, was racing towards the base.

“Haha,” Wade chuckled. “Race ya.”

You stood there as you watched Logan and Wade racing towards the circle and disappear into it.

next chapter >

[fangirlingalittletoohard]

Desire

From the moment you lay eyes on him, Haymitch Abernathy is all you can seem to think about. You want him, need him, and you make it your mission to have him before the two of you return to your separate Districts at the end of the month.

Part 3

3,196 words

Haymitch Abernathy x reader

Use of y/n

Warnings: alcohol, mutual masturbation, soft dom Haymitch, teasing/slight humiliation, unprotected p in v, over-stimulation, occasional swearing... let me know if I've missed any!

Masterlist

part 2 here

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It was morning when you finally managed to fall sleep, and mid-afternoon when you were awoken by your stylist flinging open the curtains. You couldn’t live like this much longer. It had barely been a week since you had first met Haymitch, and he was driving you utterly mad. You were determined to have him tonight - you didn’t think you could take this desperation any longer. 

You were dressed tonight in a plumb-purple number which fell to your feet. Again, the dress was open on either side from the waist down, this time with dainty gold chains and crystals falling down your thighs. Whereas your eyes had been painted deep purples and blacks, your lips were pink and glossy. You were sure your stylist could read your mind. You looked truly irresistible. Usually, you would feel reticent to go out looking so tempting, but at this point you would do anything to seduce Haymitch. 

As soon as your stylists had finished with you, you were down in the bar. You waited, drink in hand, until you were unfashionably late to the party before you finally concluded that Haymitch would not be visiting the hotel bar. You hated what he was doing to you. It occurred to you that, in reality, you knew barely anything about him. Still, that only increased your desire for him. He was a mystery and a challenge, and this made you even more attracted to him. 

You arrived at the party over two hours late. From the moment you arrived, men were flocking to you faster than you could swat them away. It was irritating. The looks, the comments, the unwelcome hands on exposed flesh. You felt like you were going insane. The music was too loud, the lights were too bright, the room was too warm. 

Eventually, you managed to work your way to the opposite side of the room and out onto the veranda. You took a deep breath of cool air and closed your eyes, giving your body a moment to recover from the overwhelming oppression of the party.  “Not enjoying the party?” A sarcastic voice drawled.  “Haymitch.” You sighed. Your only intention upon arriving at this party had been to find him, but now that you had, you weren’t quite sure what to do. You had come outside for some quiet and to think, and Haymitch’s presence made that extremely difficult. He was leaning on his elbows against the veranda wall, looking out over the gardens, a drink in hand. As usual, he looked perfectly at ease.  “I’m surprised you haven’t been completely devoured in that dress.” He commented, eyeing you appreciatively. This was what you had wanted, but the unwelcome attention you had received since arriving at the party dampened your excitement a little. It must have shown, because Haymitch lost the flirtatious edge to his tone as he approached you, handing his drink and asserting, “I think you need this more than I do.”  You smiled and accepted the drink, swirling it around the glass a few times before swallowing its contents. It was smoky and warming. 

The breeze picked up a little, causing goosebumps to appear over your exposed flesh. “Here.” Haymitch insisted, removing his jacket and draping it around you as he had done the previous night. Again, it smelled like him. You felt comforted. “You wanna get out of here?” He asked.  “Please.” You replied, a little more eagerly than you had intended. Haymitch slipped his arm around you, placing his hand on the small of your back over his jacket, and led you back inside and through the crowd towards the exit. His demeanour made your stomach flip. The casual dominance of his guiding you through a crowd of hundreds of onlookers, where photographers and journalists would undoubtably notice you wearing his jacket and leaving the party with his arm around your waist, made you forget about the discomfort you had felt barely ten minutes previously. You were leaving the party with Haymitch, and he evidently wanted everyone to know. 

Again, you sat shoulder-to-shoulder in the cab. The silence between you was heavy, as if you both were waiting for the other to make the first move. Nevertheless, you spent the entire journey in silence. Once you arrived at the hotel, Haymitch returned to his former position with his arm around your waist and guided you inside and into the elevator. As the doors slid shut, he moved so that he stood barely inches in front of you, his hands slipping beneath his jacket and resting firmly on the bare skin of your hips. 

As the elevator rose, he did nothing. He was so close that you could taste the alcohol on his breath, but he refused to close the gap between your lips. You were growing extremely restless. All it would take would be the tiniest of movements for your lips to touch, but Haymitch didn’t budge. The heat from his hands was electric against your hips; so close yet so far from where you needed him most. The longer his hands rested there, the more unbearable the growing dampness between your thighs became. You inhaled shakily, and the tiniest smirk appeared on Haymitch’s lips. He knew what he was doing to you, yet he continued to draw this out. He knew how much you wanted him - his smirk told you as much. Still, he didn’t move. 

Your heart sunk as the elevator came to a halt and the doors slid open. Haymitch leaned closer, but rather than connecting his lips with yours, he brought them to your ear, murmuring, “later doll,” sending a shiver down your spine, and exiting the elevator, the doors sliding shut behind him. You stood motionless. Here you were, wearing his jacket, goosebumps betraying the effect that two words of his had had on you, yet still alone. No. You were not having this. He was toying with you, and you were done playing his games. As the elevator doors slid open on the fifteenth floor, you repeatedly slammed your hand against the button sporting the number ‘fourteen.’ The doors closed, and you began to descend. 

An agonising few seconds later, the doors were sliding open again and you realised that you had no idea which room Haymitch was staying in. You began to doubt your plan (or lack thereof), when you stepped out into the corridor and saw Haymitch fumbling with a keycard. “Haymitch.” You asserted, much more aggressively than you had intended. He swivelled around, evidently not expecting you to have returned.  “Hey, doll.” He greeted, sounding surprised.  “What was that?” You interrogated, gesturing towards the elevator doors.  “What?” He asked a little defensively.  “Don’t ‘what’ me!” You yelled, your frustration getting the better of you. “Over a week!” You continued. “Over a week, you’ve been playing with me. I’m done.”  Haymitch leant against his door, failing to suppress a smirk, which made you even angrier. “Oh, you think this is funny?” You continued. “This is your fault. You see what you’ve reduced me to? I’m making a scene in a fucking hotel corridor because you’re all bark and no bite. You wind me up and then you just leave me to deal with it all on my own. I’m not doing it anymore.”

The silence that followed your outburst made you feel like a petulant child. To make matters worse, Haymitch asked, “are you done with your little tantrum?” You felt your cheeks heat up. You were pinned to the spot by his gaze. The way he was looking at you was humiliating. You wanted to wipe that stupid smirk off his face. Before you could retaliate, Haymitch swiped his keycard and opened his door. “In.” He ordered, suddenly serious, holding the door open for you. You swallowed thickly, arousal beginning to coat your inner thighs as you complied. Was he going to give you what you had wanted all along? Or was he going to chastise you for losing your temper and causing a scene? 

You didn’t have long to wonder as, as soon as the door had closed behind Haymitch, you were shoved against it, his hands gripping your waist beneath your dress, and his lips catching yours in a bruising kiss. Despite yourself, you moaned against his lips. “This what you wanted, hm?” He asked condescendingly, pressing his body against yours. You whimpered, overwhelmed by the sudden contact of his body after days of wishing for it. “I asked you a question.” He stated. “I said, is this what you wanted?” “Yes!” You replied quickly, grabbing his shirt and attempting to pull him back into another kiss. He complied, allowing himself to be pulled fully flush against you again, his tongue slipping into your mouth. One of his hands left your waist and slipped between your bodies, pushing your skirt to the side and moving between your thighs. Haymitch failed to conceal his primal groan when he felt your arousal inches from your core.  “All this for me?” He asked, pulling back from you again. You nodded. His fingers moved agonisingly slowly up your thigh. “I really have been cruel, haven’t I? Making you deal with this all by yourself.” He mused sympathetically. You mewled and bucked your hips pathetically in an attempt to nudge his fingers against your core. Haymitch tutted. “Why don’t you show me what you’ve been doing whilst you’ve been thinking about me?” He encouraged, removing his hands from you entirely.  “Haymitch, please.” You whined.  “You’ll get what you want eventually, doll, as long as you do as I ask.” He replied, cupping your cheek with his hand. You nodded and moved over to his bed, sitting on the edge and leaning back onto your elbows. Haymitch pulled the chair from the desk in the corner of the room over to you and sat down, legs spread and a noticeable tent appearing in the crotch of his trousers. You brought one hand down your body, moving your skirt and spreading your legs so that you were completely exposed to him, before slowly inserting a finger into yourself. You began to pump the finger in and out of your core, quickly adding a second finger and picking up the pace. It was, however, doing nothing to ease your tension as you watched Haymitch begin to palm his erection over his trousers. He was so close, and all he was letting you feel was your own fingers. 

After watching you for a few moments, Haymitch demanded, “tell me what you thought about.”  You were quick to reply, “you. Your fingers, your lips, your voice, your smell…” You trailed off, thinking about the previous night. His jacket had fallen off your shoulders and lay beneath you. You broke eye contact with Haymitch for a second.  “What aren’t you telling me, doll?” He asked, lowly. “Nothing.” You replied, your cheeks heating up again as you remembered the mess you had made of his jacket.  “Lying won’t get you anywhere.” He warned.  You bit your lip, deliberating. You did not want to tell him about you desperately humping his jacket, but you also wanted to do anything you could to force him out of his chair and on top of you. “I can show you.” You suggested, so quietly you hoped he might not hear. Instead, Haymitch smirked again and sat back in his chair, waiting. You inhaled shakily, removing your fingers from your core and grabbing the jacket from underneath you, lifting your hips so that you could free the garment completely. You balled it up and brought it between your legs, avoiding eye contact with Haymitch.  “Tsk, eyes on me, doll.” He reprimanded. Your entire face felt hot as you caught his gaze again and pressed the balled-up jacket against your core. You moaned at the feeling of the warm fabric against you, and instinctively bucked your hips up against it. “Fuck.” Haymitch groaned, his hips mimicking yours and bucking up against the air. He hurriedly unbuttoned his trousers, allowing his deliciously hard cock to spring up against his clothed stomach, and began to pump it slowly with his fist. You moaned, wanting nothing more than to touch it, but having to make do with his jacket. “So, you fucked my jacket because you wanted me so bad, huh?” He asked, pre-come beginning to leak from his tip. You nodded vigorously. Your hips bucked again, and you moaned, and Haymitch couldn’t resist you any longer. He was on top of you in seconds, his trousers discarded, shirt following quickly behind. Evidently finding fiddling with buttons too time-consuming, Haymitch opted for ripping the garment off his body, buttons scattering over the floor, before yanking your dress down and freeing your breasts. His mouth was on yours again as one hand busied itself with one of your breasts and the other worked on stripping you of your dress. 

In a matter of seconds, you were both naked. Haymitch brought his hand between your bodies again, this time wasting no time in teasing you and instead pressed a finger inside you. You moaned. “Fuck, doll.” He groaned, his cock twitching against your thigh. He pumped his finger a few times before adding another. You whined, his thick fingers stretching you a little uncomfortably. Already, your walls were beginning to flutter around his fingers. “I’ve got you really worked up, huh?” He asked, teasingly, as you began to grind your hips against his hand. Haymitch curled his fingers, eliciting an ungodly moan from you. He repeated the motion, and within seconds your walls were spasming around his fingers and coating them in slick arousal. “Fuck.” He repeated, grinding his cock against your thigh. 

Rather than letting you recover from your high, Haymitch quickly removed his fingers from your core and lined himself up with your entrance. You were sensitive, and were mewling and clawing at his back before he had pushed even the tip into you. Haymitch laughed lowly and began to press himself inside you, agonisingly slowly. He took his time. It was the best kind of torture. 

Finally, he had buried himself completely. You felt so full that your mind became fuzzy. All you could focus on was the sensation of his cock filling you up as you had imagined countless times over the past week. “Look at you,” Haymitch cooed, his voice grounding you again, “still with me doll?” You nodded, opening your eyes again, not having realised you had closed them in the first place.  “I haven’t even moved yet, and you already can’t think straight.” He commented, tucking your hair behind your ear. You smiled up at him sweetly, feeling so blissful that you couldn’t form words. “Such a pretty little thing” he cooed, remaining stationary, “need you to use your words though if you want me to move,” he added, stroking your cheek with his thumb.  “Haymitch,” You managed to babble, hating how pathetic you sounded.  “Yes, doll?” He replied. He was driving you insane. Your hips bucked involuntarily, and you whined.  “Need you to move.” You requested.  Haymitch smirked and slowly began to thrust in and out of you. You moaned embarrassingly loudly. “Like this?” He asked innocently. You muttered something incomprehensible. “Speak up, doll.” He demanded.  “Please fuck me.” You practically sobbed. You couldn’t take the teasing any longer. 

With your words, Haymitch immediately snapped out of his teasing and began to fuck you. He leant over you, bending your knees over his shoulders, and began snapping his hips into you hard and fast. It was bliss. The sensation of his cock pounding your walls was all you could think about. The sound of flesh hitting flesh combined with your moans was filthy and somehow managed to turn you on even more. After a minute or so, Haymitch brought his thumb to your mouth, which fell open obediently, and slipped it inside. You sucked it compliantly, and Haymitch groaned a little. He removed his thumb and brought it between your two bodies, gliding it gently over your clit. You were done for. He began to draw tight circles over your sensitive bud whilst he continued to relentlessly fuck you. “Taking me so well, pretty girl.” He praised as you began to squirm beneath him, the pleasure beginning to become overwhelming. He bent his head down and began to suck harshly on your neck. The triple sensation of his cock, his thumb, and now his lips on your neck was too much, and you felt another orgasm rapidly approaching. “Look at you,” he cooed as your legs began to shake, “such a mess for me.”  You managed to stutter “too much,” as his words sent a shiver down your spine.  “No, pretty girl. You wanted this, remember? You made a scene out in the corridor because you needed me so badly, you fucked my jacket because you were too proud to ask me to fuck you, so you’re gonna give me one more orgasm, yeah? Then maybe I’ll let up.”  You were completely at his mercy and all you could do was whimper and nod your head. Haymitch removed your knees from over his shoulders and pinned them either side of your head. The new angle gave him access even deeper inside you, and within seconds, your walls were spasming around his cock, arousal gushing out onto him. “That’s it, doll.” He murmured soothingly, letting go of one of your legs so that he could interlock his fingers with yours. He fucked you through your orgasm, then pulled out, coming on your belly. 

“Fuck,” Haymitch sighed breathily, helping you to close your legs and moving to lie next to you. He ran a hand soothingly up and down your waist, the sensation making you shudder. “You okay?” He asked, pressing a kiss to the side of your temple.  “Yeah,” you laughed, shakily, letting your head fall to the side and locking eyes with him. He looked beautiful. His hair was a mess, his forehead sweaty, his pupils blown wide, his lips pink and a little swollen. For the first time since you had seen him draped over that fountain wall, you felt satisfied. Haymitch leant in and kissed you gently. It amazed you how soft he could be after such rough sex.  “Let me clean you up.” He requested quietly. You nodded, and he kissed the tip of your nose. 

Haymitch disappeared for a few moments, but returned with a warm, damp towel which he used to clean your belly of his release. He allowed you to tend to your over-stimulated core, before dressing you in one of his t-shirts and a pair of his boxers. He brought you a glass of water and slipped beneath the bedsheets with you, pulling you as close to his body as he could and placing a kiss to the top of your head. 

Finally, you had got what you had been imagining all week. You were satisfied, for now, but you knew that as soon as the immediate bliss had worn off, your desire would be back tenfold now that you knew what Haymitch was capable of.

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Inspiration song -

[localplaguenurse]

Falling Head over Heels (Pantalone x Male Reader) pt 10

First and foremost, we've gotten quite a few pieces of fanart from @your-local-furby and @antartzz in the last little bit! We've got a smooch scene as well as a drawing and comic of MC with antartzz's oc Freida. I always get all mushy and/or feral when I get art so I really do appreciate it!

On a more serious note;

Content warnings: homophobia, as well as "queer" being used as a slur, verbal abuse/altercations, and attempted physical assault. (MC and his father get into a really bad argument while shopping.) There is also a bit of ableism but it's no more extreme than in previous chapters, and the homophobia is a much bigger thing in this chapter.

Please be cautious if that is a particularly triggering.

@thedeimoshimself @eli-chris

“Could you hurry it up already?” you hear your father ask, holding a package under his arm.

You look around the store shelves, eyes scanning over different brands of typewriter ribbons. Your fingers ache from carrying the basket of items, so you carefully swap hands. “I’d probably finish up faster if you actually helped me find the brand I need.”

Your father scoffs. “There can’t be that much of a difference between all the other brands here. I’m sure you can find… whatever it is you’re picky about from a different brand.”

“The ribbon I’m looking for is from the same company that made my typewriter,” you explain for what feels like the hundredth time, but is probably only the seventh or eighth time, “it’s specifically made for that particular brand, and since mine is an older model, it’s difficult finding adequate substitutes.”

“Have you ever considered getting a new typewriter? Something newer and more universal?”

“Why would I when the typewriter I have right now works fine?”

“Because your typewriter is older than you are,” your father states, “and I’ll give you credit, you take good care of it, but if something breaks, it’s going to be expensive and difficult to repair, and that’s if they’re even making parts for it anymore.”

“I will worry about that when it happens,” you reply, “but for now, I need ribbons, and I’m struggling to find them.”

Your father sighs. “What’s the brand again?”

“Fuscienne ruban d’encre.”

“What?”

“It’s a box with Fontainian on it,” you answer. “This store is the only place in town that sells it, and unless they’ve partnered with other suppliers in Fontaine, it should be the only one.”

Your father is quiet for a few moments, allowing you to go back to searching for your ink ribbons. The silence is nice, and it’s short lived when you hear the man sigh again. “... Is this what you wanted for a career?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Writing those… girly books.”

You give your father a look. “... Really?”

“What? That’s what they are.”

“They’re romance books. It won’t kill you to say the word romance.”

“And who reads them?”

“People who like romance.”

“Don’t play this game with me.”

“Just get to the point already.”

“I’m just saying writing isn’t the only career you could have chosen,” your father explains, “you had options when you were younger, and you still have options today. You talk about how you can only do certain things on account of your vision, but you act like they’re the only options you have.”

Your father’s words catch you off guard, and you are quiet for a moment as you mull them over. They’re… almost inspiring out of context, but in that condescending hand holding way. You can hear someone else who means well but doesn’t understand saying some of those words to you with a smile that’s too big, too bright, too rehearsed. Something that would have sufficed as motivational when you were little, but just leaves a bad taste in your mouth as an adult.

That said, this is your father, so it immediately raises a red flag. It’s one thing for him to make a backhanded comment, it’s another for him to say something that could be misconstrued into something well meaning when stripped of the full context. You know this, and you know it can only mean one thing.

Your eyes land on a small box, and you pick it up. You then sigh, realizing this isn’t your brand, the design just looks similar. You’re still looking at the shelf when you speak up. “So, why are you in the doghouse this time?”

“Excuse me?”

Your eyes finally spot the word Fuscienne. You momentarily forget the conversation and grin at the last box on the shelf. You snatch it and drop it into the basket.

Your father places a firm hand on your shoulder. “What did you mean by that?”

Right. You turn to face him. “Mom’s mad at you about a comment you made and is making you babysit me,” you reply, “I don’t care what it was you said, but I’m assuming she’ll forgive you if I said you did a good job helping me.”

(Which he really didn’t, because you are a grown man who has been to this store on his own many times before, and your father helping you navigate the store would make your outing even longer.)

Your father averts his eyes, and under his irritation, you see embarrassment shine through the cracks in his mask. He crosses his arms, and on a smaller figure, it would look like such a petulant gesture. It just looks pathetic for someone his age. “The faster we get this over with, the sooner we go home and you go back to your books.”

You answer by walking to the front of the store. The old man behind the counter grins when he sees you. “Find everything you were looking for?”

You nod, placing the basket on the counter. “Grabbed the last box of the Fuscienne ink ribbons. Lucky me.”

“You know, son,” the old man says, “I like to keep at least one pack of the Fuscienne in the back, just for you.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yes! You’re one of my regulars, and I know you like that one, so I always make sure I have extra for you in case it sells out before our next order.”

You find yourself smiling. “That’s really kind of you.”

“It’s no problem.” He starts pulling items out of your bag, ringing them up before handing them to his son, who then begins to bag the items. “How is your book?”

His son gives him a quick look. “Father, remember?”

The man behind the counter goes pale. “O-Oh, right, I forgot about the, erm…”

“No, it’s fine,” you assure the man, “progress is good! Very good. I actually got a deal with the Yae Publishing House shortly after my old publisher dropped me. I’m actually waiting for them to get back to me with their final thoughts before I officially start my final draft.”

The man grins. “Oho! That’s delightful! How long do you think it will take before you get it published?”

“I should be hearing back within the week,” you answer, “and after that… a month maybe, and I’m still deciding between cover designs, and I’m not sure what their exact manufacturing and publishing process is, so… I’m not a hundred percent sure when I’ll finally have it out, haha.”

“So I take it you haven’t heard about your old publisher?” the son pipes up.

“What?”

“You don’t know? He’s gone bankrupt.”

Your eyes go wide. “What?! What do you mean?”

“Mountains of debt, from what some of the other writers and editors have said,” the son explains. “Rumour has it the reason he started terminating contracts and laying off editors was so the money would go to paying it all off while still getting a cut of the profits from the books they had published through him.”

“Son of a bitch,” you mutter, before you feel yourself go pale. “Wait, wait, when did this happen?”

“Just a couple days ago,” the son says, “I’m surprised your girlfriend didn’t tell you. She still works there, right?”

“My girlfr… Alik? No, they’ve been out of town visiting family. Archons, the shitshow they’re going to be coming home to…”

“Wait, she– they’re not your–”

“No, no, I’m… I’m not interested in them like that.”

The son stares at you, and you see the little twitch of his lips. “You know what? That makes sense.”

“The hell are you implying?”

Your father’s voice making his presence beyond your central vision known scares you. You turn and see him glaring at the young man. 

The old man speaks up. “S-Sir, my apologies, my son didn’t mean any–”

“Are you insinuating something about my son, boy?”

You turn and see the son’s horrified expression. “I-It was just a joke, some banter between friends! R-Right?” he asks, looking to you for help.

“Father, calm down,” you tell him, “it’s not a big deal.”

He glares harder at the young man. “You’d like it if you thought my son wasn’t interested in that girl ‘like that,’ wouldn’t you?”

By the Tsaritsa this cannot be happening.

“I swear to you sir, it was a bad joke, I promise you, i-it sounded funnier in my head and–”

“I think it’s best we start going to another business,” your father hisses, “I don’t need you leering at my son.”

Horror floods your system, eyes widening and mouth agape. You feel your father staring holes into you expectantly, waiting for you to announce your disgust and disdain at such implications and storm out. Stuck in place, you see the old man’s face first, and he’s in a state of shock, too caught off by the situation to get angry. Then your eyes land on the young man. You can see he’s also shocked, but more than anything he looks humiliated, scared even. He looks like he’s about to start crying, and the sight switches your absolute horror to absolute rage.

You whip around, teeth bared in anger. “What the fuck is your problem?!”

“What’s my problem?! Ask him!”

You push your father’s chest and he staggers back. You point at the front door. “You already bought your shit so why are you even still in here? Just leave already!”

“And leave you alone with this–”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP AND GO.”

The shop goes deathly quiet. Your father’s eyes widen, absolutely shocked by your vulgarity, before his eyes narrow again. His jaw clenches, and in the quiet, you can almost hear the creaking of his clenched teeth. He gives one more dirty look to the young man before he stomps off. He makes sure to slam the door on the way out.

Your mother says he’s a good man, there are still just some traditional things he prefers. He’s very supportive of your sisters’ career or schooling choices, and is endlessly proud of his son for meeting a hard working and loving woman. It’s a side of him that doesn’t always come up, but it rears its ugly head when it comes to you, with your love of literature and romance. You’ve never been sure if it’s because your specific career isn’t the most manly of jobs, or if it’s because writing isn’t as impressive to him as becoming a surgeon or a lawyer or taking over the family business. Regardless, you’ve seen and heard some rather ignorant opinions from him. Your mother doesn’t approve of it, but her attempts at discouraging it are little more than a look, or a hand placed gently on the shoulder and a harshly whispered “honey” or “Mikhaïl.” 

Still, what the fuck was that?

You’ve by now memorized how much your purchases will cost. Fuscienne ink ribbons, stack of paper, and some envelopes. You know roughly how much the amount would weigh in your hand, so when you reach into your pouch and pull out a rather hefty handful of golden coins, it’s purposeful.

You pour the mora into the old man’s hand. “T-Take this, I am so, so sorry, I’ve never… I’ve never seen him react like that to anything.”

The old man looks at the mora in his hand. “This… This is too much, I can’t–”

“I don’t care, please take it as an apology on my behalf,” you insist. You step back and meet his son’s eyes. You place your hand on your chest, your face burning with embarrassment. “I-I can’t tell you how fucking horrified I am, and I am so sorry this happened. He’s said stupid shit before but this is new, I-I don’t know what happened but that is not okay.”

The man sniffles. “N-No, I made the joke, I–”

“It’s not your fault,” you tell him, “and, um, if I’m honest, y-your joke wasn’t off the mark, but I…” You shake your head. “You two will always be my go to shop whenever I need supplies, so I truly cannot tell you how awful I feel about this, I’m really sorry.”

The young man forces a smile, and nods, still distressed. His father pats him on the shoulder and gestures to a door behind them. You watch him step away from your things and head through the door, and you can hear the shaky breath he lets out through the closed door.

The man takes over bagging your items, which isn’t much considering you only bought a couple things, but he’s deliberately slow in the process. You wonder why, until he speaks in a soft tone. “So… you’re like my son.”

Picking up on the meaning behind his words, you immediately feel even worse about what just happened, feeling physically nauseous. “I am, if you’re talking about… not having girlfriends.”

He nods. “Not many people know, and not many bring it up,” he says, “this is the first time something like this has happened to him in the store. I… I think he’ll appreciate what you’ve done today when he’s not so shaken up. I know I do.”

You find yourself smiling, but not out of joy. “It’s nothing, really. People are fools, and my father is a court jester. It’s honestly the least I could have done, I feel.”

“Either way, I appreciate it,” he says, and then he hands you your things. “Are you going to be okay?”

“I will be,” you say, “I’m just about sick of his shit anyways, if you’ll pardon my vulgarity, and if I don’t rip into him then my mother will. Again, I am so sorry.”

“You take care now, son.”

You smile and nod, your chest tight with worry and face burning with embarrassment. Not much else is said, but there’s not really a whole lot else to say. You take a deep breath, brace yourself, and step outside.

Your father stops his pacing and immediately goes off when you step outside. “Where the hell do you get off embarrassing me like that?!”

Having lost all patience with him today, you immediately match his tone and energy and yell back. “Oh don’t give me all the credit, you did a fine enough job of that yourself!”

“That boy was out of line!”

“So you started berating him in front of his father? You started insulting him?”

“Do you not understand how inappropriate that joke was?”

“No, enlighten me.”

“He was implying you’re a queer! A queer! Why aren’t you upset about that?!”

There it is again.

You press on. “Why should I be?”

“You know why!”

“What the hell is your problem? Why are you so mad about that?”

“What are people going to say if they think I raised a queer?”

“It can’t be anything worse than what they’re going to say about you going off on an old man and his son for stupid reasons!” You grin angrily at him. “Front page, ‘owner of Kuznetsov Shipping Company verbally abuses shopkeeper's son.’ Like you need the bad press when you’re starting to get your shit back together. Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with you today?”

“What’s wrong with me? I could ask the same thing to you!” your father spits. “You’re going to defend some… some…!”

“Let’s not say anything too deplorable now,” you tell him, like a parent talking to a fussy toddler, “you might want to save that for when we get home.”

“This is your fault,” your father growls.

“How is this my fault?”

“Those prissy little fairytales you keep writing,” he answers, “they think you’re a queer.”

“And what… what’s wrong with that?”

“What’s wrong with– son, are you gay?”

“What? No! Besides, I don’t have to be gay to think you’re being an ass, I can still see you, and they can probably hear you spouting hate from the palace.”

“You don’t have a wife, or a girlfriend, you don’t try to find one, and you spend all day reading girly books!”

“Like you’re any better,” you snap, and then immediately regret.

“What was that?”

Fuck. Well, you’re already in it now.

“You are obsessed with Pantalone,” you tell your father, “obsessed with getting on his good side, obsessed with making sure he likes you, your practices, that we don’t embarrass you in front of him, you even hijacked the afternoon tea he invited me and only me to! You want to point fingers and call me gay because I write romance? At least all my books are about men and women! You literally spend every day thinking about how to impress another man.”

You watch your father wind his arm back, but he’s stopped and seized by gloved hands. You step back in surprise, and when he’s pulled back, you can see he’s been grabbed by two guards. It brings you back to the present moment, and reminds you that you aren’t one of two people in the whole world. You look around the snowy street and see people, couples and families and a couple tourists, frozen in their spots on the street just staring at the spectacle. You look up at the shop and see the old man watching you, concerned.

“Unhand me!” your father yells.

“Sir, I’m going to ask you to calm down before you do anything stupid,” replies the guard.

A third guard steps out from behind the first tow and approaches you. “What is the meaning of all this yelling?”

“A-Ah…” You look over and spot your dad, no longer resisting, glaring daggers at you. “It’s… a family dispute.” 

“A family dispute?”

“Look, I’m sorry about causing a scene,” you answer, “my father and I had a disagreement, no one got hurt–”

“Because we stopped him from hitting you.”

“I know, I know, just…” You sigh. “I don’t want to press any charges, if there’s a fine for disturbing the peace, we’ll pay it.”

The guard looks to the other two, then to your father. He sighs, then turns back to you. “... Fine. We’re letting you off with a warning.” He looks over at your father and points at you as he addresses him. “You’re only off the hook because of him,” he says, then turns to you, “and you’re still on your feet because we stepped in. Remember this next time you let a family dispute get heated.”

“O-Of course, sir,” you reply.

The guards let your father go, and he gives them a dirty look while he straightens his coat back out. You don’t bother with sticking around, electing to instead turn around and walk down the street of murmuring people. Your father doesn’t bother calling out for you to follow him home, heading in the opposite direction instead.

You keep your gaze forward as you head to a currently unknown destination, just wanting to be anywhere else. Maybe the bakery down the road, something sweet would do a good job washing the bitter taste out of your mouth. 

The Pantalone comment was stupid, you think as you happen to pass the man himself, though your humiliation and wish to not be seen makes you figuratively blind to that fact (as well as literally). He stops when he recognizes who just passed him, half tempted to call out and ask how you’re doing, but refrains. Your body language is obvious and painfully honest, almost to a fault, and he can see you want to vacate the area as soon as possible. When he happens to look the other way, recognizing the silhouette of your father angrily storming in the opposite direction, he sighs.

“So that’s what all that racket was…”

[achilles-rage]

thirteen crows: chapter seven

summary: buck and eddie continue to keep you company, until you find something interesting at buck's apartment.

word count: 3.0k

previous chapter

series masterlist

a/n: the second last chapter already, that’s so crazy😵‍💫 i love how this turned out and i’m so sorry for the cliffhanger but it had to happen hehe. enjoy<3

warnings: stalking, slight noncon, buck being crazy (cutely<3), no use of y/n, fem!reader, plus size!reader, race inclusive!reader

As the weeks go by, you start to feel less on edge about your situation. People are still dropping dead around the city, and you’d be lying if you said the details of the murder didn’t cause chills to run down your spine, but you don’t know any of the people. For some reason, you find it a little bit easier to sleep at night knowing this.

Buck and Eddie have been a tremendous help to your feelings of comfort and safety, too. Not only do they walk you home from work every night, except for when they’re working, of course, but one of them makes sure they’re at your home or you’re at theirs most of the time.

Tonight, Eddie’s at your house while Buck babysits his niece and Christopher. He’s made you dinner; nothing special because he’s not nearly as skilled in the kitchen as Buck, but you appreciate it nonetheless. You park yourselves on your couch, your leg partly over his as you sit cross-legged beside him, which is making it painstakingly hard for him not to pull you over his lap and press hot, open mouth kisses down your neck.

“There’s more here. You want any sweet- heart?” you hear him ask loudly when he goes to the kitchen to get you both some water. You’re so engrossed in the show you put on that you don’t think too hard about the pause between sweet and heart. You smile, shaking your head, although he’s not able to see you from the kitchen.

“No, thanks!” you yell back, and Eddie can’t even answer. His hands are gripping the side of the counter as he bows his head, taking deep, steady breaths. He almost fucked up. Like, really fucked up. His jaw is clenched as he tries to calm himself down; he knows you’ll get curious if he spends too long in the kitchen. But he knows how badly it would’ve gone if he let his words actually slip, which makes it hard for him to slow his racing heart.

He remembers the realization on your face when they called you sweet girl as they killed Isaac. He knows that you’d put two and two together. You’re their smart, sweet girl, of course you’d fucking put it together.

After a minute, he comes back into the living room with two cups of water, and you thank him absentmindedly, barely even glancing at him before your eyes are back on your show. He lets out a long exhale as he lowers onto the couch beside you, extremely grateful that you hadn’t caught on.

He knows he’d be able to come up with a plan, but he’s extremely happy that he doesn’t have to now. He’s enjoying his time with his sweet girl, and he doesn’t want to cut it short by using one of her own knives to shut her up. The thought does make his dick twitch though, and he grips his fork tighter as he pictures it.

When you’ve both finished your dinner, he pulls your legs onto his lap, patting the top of your thigh gently as he gives you a soft smile. You feel the heat rushing up your neck as you feel his fingers grazing your inner thigh, but you smile back at him anyway.

“Thank you for being here.” you say in a quiet voice after a little while. He looks over to see you laying back on the couch, legs still over his lap, and fighting hard to keep your eyes open. He chuckles softly, and he can’t resist the urge to reach a hand over and cup your cheek in his hand, rubbing his thumb over your skin gently. 

He smirks when he sees you lean into his touch, and he’s not sure what he likes more; your eyes full of terror, or you looking so soft and safe with him here.

“You don’t have to thank me. We told you we’d protect you, and that’s what we’re gonna do.” he tells you, his voice slightly rough even though it’s full of care. You smile, and your eyes finally close as you rest your head completely on the backrest of the couch.

“I’m losing you here, honey. You should go to sleep.” he teases quietly, hand still caressing your cheek. You smile, although your eyes are still closed, and nod, mumbling a soft “okay” before you stand up slowly. 

He helps you get to your bedroom, then when you’re happily tucked into bed, he turns off your light and goes back to your living room. He takes your dishes to the kitchen and cleans up the mess, moving silently as he tries to distract himself from your plush body in the next room.

He groans softly when he goes to check on you an hour later, and if he didn’t already have a plan, he’d call Buck and tell him to come over right now so they can have their way with you.

He knows they can’t, though. He told you earlier that he was going to spend the night, and if the two masked men snuck into your apartment while Eddie was supposed to be there, he knows that you would either never trust them again, or you’d figure them out, or both.

So, he goes back to your living room and makes himself comfortable as he lays on your couch. If it were up to him, he’d be in bed with you, arms wrapped firmly around your soft middle. He knows he can’t, though; he doesn’t want to move too quickly.

As if someone decided to answer his prayers, he hears your frantic voice from the other room, calling his name.

He’s in your room in an instant, sitting beside you on the bed as he cups your cheek and rubs his thumb across your skin again, shushing you softly. He tries to act concerned as he takes in your tear-stained face, but he loves the sight, and when you ask him in the sweetest voice he’s ever heard if he’ll stay with you, he smirks.

He lays beside you, getting under your blankets and wrapping a large arm around your waist, pulling his chest flush against your back. When he’s sure you’re asleep, he whispers in your ear in a gruff voice.

“Good night, sweet girl.”

The next morning, your bed is cold, and when you sit up, you see the note on your bedside table. If it weren’t there, you’d assume you dreamed the entire night. Eddie’s always so sweet, of course, but he was so good to you last night. You feel a little embarrassed about asking him to sleep with you, but after the dream you had of the men terrorizing you, you certainly don’t blame yourself.

You feel a little more on edge this morning, though, even though Eddie’s note told you that Buck would be coming by later in the afternoon to keep you company. Last night, you could barely tell what was a dream and what wasn’t. You swear that as you were about to fall back asleep, you could hear the men’s voices, and the name they call you, although you know it couldn’t be. Eddie was right there.

You feel like your dreams are bleeding into your real life, and for the rest of the day, even after Buck comes over, you feel a little extra jumpy. Buck hardly notices though. He’s so excited to have you taste test his improved brownie recipe that he doesn’t notice the way you jump when he drops his phone right in front of you.

Almost a week later, you’re at Buck’s apartment. It’s almost sunset, and you’re still sleepy from staying up so late. You’re still in your pajamas, and your eyes feel heavy with sleep as you lounge around his place.

You worked the night before, an earlier shift than the closing ones you’re used to, and when Buck got you back to his apartment, he insisted on having a “sleepover,” as if that wasn’t what you’ve been doing for the last few weeks. When you got to his house, he made you shower and change into pajamas, and when you went down to his living room, he had popcorn, chocolate, chips, and sour candies spread across the coffee table. 

Your heart had swelled at the sight of him looking so proud of himself, and you couldn’t help snuggling up to him when you sat on the blanket-covered couch beside him. Your head stayed in place on his shoulder the entire night, and by the end of the first movie, his hand had made itself firmly at home on your thigh.

You both stayed up until almost 5am, and when you woke up the next day, well into the afternoon, his head was laying back at an awkward angle on the couch and your head was resting in his lap. 

Now, you’re sitting at his kitchen table, one leg crossed under the other as you text Tara, laughing silently about how her closing shift went with the new guy that was nice, as it turned out, but extremely stupid.

“Oh, before I forget; did I leave my sweater here a few days ago? The blue one?” you ask Buck after a few minutes, tearing your eyes away from your phone and looking over to him making dinner.

“Uh, yeah. It’s in my closet. I washed it for you. You got pasta sauce on it.” he tells you, turning and giving you a fake disappointed look as he says the last sentence. You roll your eyes, laughing softly as you stand up from the table.

“Well, thank you.” you begin in a sarcastic tone, “I’m gonna go grab it.” 

Before he has a chance to respond, you’re dragging yourself up to his loft, still feeling a little groggy from staying up so late and sleeping through half of the day.

When you pull open his closet doors, you don’t see your sweater anywhere. Since you don’t want to distract Buck from dinner, you begin to move the clothes around, hoping that maybe your sweater had just fallen off a hanger or is hidden under some of his shirts that are hanging up.

You’re halfway into his closet now as you get on your knees, moving the various articles of clothing on the hardwood floor when you see a sliver of a very familiar mask. Your stomach drops as the shirt you’re holding finally moves away from the mask completely, and you drop the shirt as you kneel there, frozen.

It has to be a coincidence, you think. It can’t be Buck; he’s Buck. 

Buck continues to absentmindedly get dinner ready as you go upstairs, and not even a minute later his eyes widen as he remembers what’s shoved in the back of his closet. His grip tightens on the knife he’s holding as he darts towards the stairs, taking them two at a time as he races to his room.

You whip your head around when you hear him coming up the stairs and get up quickly, but not before Buck gets a perfect peek of you kneeling down from behind, your ass on display for his eager eyes.

Buck can see the uncertainty in your eyes as you stand up, and he knows you’ve found the mask. He takes a step closer, and his eyes darken as he sees you take a step back, a quiet chuckle escaping his throat as he takes in your sheepish demeanour. 

“You weren’t supposed to see that, sweet girl.” he growls as he takes another step closer. He knows he should play dumb, should make up a harmless story about it; it’s what Eddie would do, but he can’t help it. The look in your eyes is so close to fear, and it only makes him push further.

Tears form in your eyes when the realization hits you. The other night when Eddie was over, it wasn’t you dreaming. He had been the one to say it. You can see the predatory look in Buck’s eyes as he stalks towards you, and although you try to move away from the closet and further away from him, he’s still blocking the staircase. 

You let out a soft whimper as your back hits the wall behind you, your whole body shaking as you watch him cross the distance between you. 

When he finally gets to you, you have to crane your neck up to look into his eyes, your lip quivering as you speak.

“No. It can’t be you.” He smirks, his empty hand coming up to rest against the wall beside your head as the one with the knife slowly drags the blade across your neck and down towards your chest.

“It is, baby. Surprised?” he purrs, then leans down towards the crook of your neck as he inhales your scent. You shudder, turning your face away from his as tears fall from your eyes, and he chuckles again. The sound of his dark laugh makes your blood run cold, and in a split second, you’re darting around his large frame and trying to run for the staircase. 

You need to get out of here. Now.

He grabs the back of your shirt before you can get far, however, and you yelp loudly as you’re pulled back against his hard body. You thrash against him, your frightened whimpers echoing through his apartment, but as soon as the knife moves up to your cheek, the sounds die on your lips. 

“There we go, sweet girl. We’re not gonna hurt you. Not if you’re good for us.” he whispers in your ear, his other arm firmly around your plush middle. Your legs almost give out as you realize that you’re not getting out of his strong grip, and even if you do, you’re sure he isn’t planning on merely scaring you with that knife.

“Then take the knife off my neck.” you try to say sternly, but your voice comes out in a shaky whisper. He nibbles on your ear, a smile making its way onto his face.

“If I do, will you run?” he asks in an almost cocky tone. You shake your head quickly, and he smirks, lowering the knife from your neck hesitantly.

“You promise you’re gonna be good for me?” he asks, his breath tickling your ear and making you shiver.

“Yes.” is all you say; it’s all you can force yourself to say. You’re sure that if it wasn’t for his strong body behind yours, your legs wouldn’t be able to hold you up right now.

He throws the knife onto the bed a few feet away, then turns you in his grip, holding your hips firmly as he presses his body against yours.

You search his eyes for any signs of softness you’ve grown used to as he studies your face, but it’s long gone by now. His eyes are filled with lust, and he has a devilish smirk as he leans his head down to capture your lips in a desperate kiss.

You freeze as you feel his lips working against yours, and it’s not until he lets out a low moan that you finally kiss him back, brain cloudy as you give in to him. You know there’s no way out now, so you might as well go along with his actions.

You hate to admit, but he’s an amazing kisser, and you immediately know who the more eager kisser was between the two masked men when they were in your apartment. You can’t help the whimper that escapes your mouth as he slips his tongue into your mouth, and one of his hands moves up to your jaw to tilt your face further up into the kiss.

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted you like this?” he murmurs against your lips, and you moan again at his words. You can feel the guilt eating away at you as you feel the familiar feeling of desire in the pit of your tummy and the pool between your thighs, and you hate yourself for being so turned on by how desperately he’s kissing you.

He’s just so attractive, and he’s so eager to have his hands and lips on you that you can’t help the inappropriate thoughts filling your brain. 

“I knew when I saw you at work that I had to have you.” he mutters, pulling back just long enough to take in your tear-stained cheeks and heaving chest.

As he leans back in to place kisses on your neck, you suddenly snap out of it. He killed Grace. And Isaac. Right in front of you.

You continue to let him kiss you, however, and when his grip loosens on you for a split second, you’re pushing him away and racing towards the stairs again. His brain is so fogged over with his need for you, that it takes him a second to respond. He grabs the knife off the bed and follows you down the stairs, an angry expression on your face.

You make it all the way to the kitchen before he’s on you again, grabbing your hips and throwing you to the ground. You yelp in pain as you hit the ground, but roll over quickly, trying to fight him off you as he kneels down to straddle your hips. 

He dropped his knife in the struggle to pin you down, so when he’s finally over top of you, looking down with a devious smile, he has to improvise. 

You feel the air ripped from your lungs as his hands go to your throat, tightening more and more as he watches you struggle to breathe. You’re still thrashing in his grip, but he keeps his hold strong until your movements become slow and sloppy. 

As your eyes flutter closed and everything goes black, the last thing you see is him leaning down to whisper in your ear, and the last thing you hear is his rough voice saying “just let us take care of you, sweet girl.”

next chapter

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[nyarumie]

Brains to Brawn. (Chapter 1)

narumi gen x f!reader — 1.7k words, co-workers to lovers, narumi loves kisses, multiple parts, semi canon compliant, in denial reader.

STATUS: Ongoing. Chapter links: 1, 2, 3

Author's Note at the end! Happy reading ♡

Cross-posted on ao3.

Requests, prompts, or any messages are appreciated! Just open my ask box.

The shift in the tides of the First Division wasn't subtle. It wasn't the way the large bodies of water swayed with greater force against Ariake Maritime Base's sturdy walls, nor did it have to do anything with Regular Officers being transferred from one division to another.

The first change in the atmosphere was when Second Division Captain, Hikari Shinomiya, died. Tense. Strict. A single drop of needle could disrupt the entire defense force—ironically seeming so quiet despite the sounds emerging from the Officers' even more rigorous training.

The second wave of change felt rowdy, raucous—but hopeful. Narumi Gen had made quite the scenario even before officially joining the Defense Force. An unleashed combat power of 24% even without donning a suit at least once in his life, showing great aptitude potential for Kaiju No. 1 weapons, and... having a blatant display of disrespect and chaos, as the higher ups would describe. What seemed to be the hope of the nation turns out to be the First Division's biggest headache. Most times.

The third was when things started to be more obvious—to most people, a shift in leadership means a shift in everything. Shortly after Narumi joined the Defense Force, the Head of Operations eventually had to retire. Kurusu was given the prestige to be the young Head of Operations. At the same time, Narumi had already been appointed as a Platoon Leader, a sign that the youth will shoulder the fate of this country and power will emerge across all divisions.

The next wave is you.

From the previous year, the Defense Force's annual selection involved both Officers and Operators. You were tempted to apply in both, for simple reasons: As an operator, you know you're extremely smart—emerging at the top of your class in university and having reading as a hobby enhanced your intelligence. 

On the other hand, you simply think it would be fun to try the Officer Selection Trial. Who knows? You were pretty athletic, diving here and there to save volleyballs on your university's sports fest. Hell, you even won an MVP award twice.

But you have bills to pay and concerts you'd love to attend, so you let the rational part of your brain win and opt for the safer option. With a fellow youngster like Kurusu leading the Operations, all worries about bonding with your co-workers were thrown out the window.

In fact, it seems like you went overboard with bonding with them. You all were friends and swore to do your job properly so as to stick together til the end, but how come you're the only one facing this... baffling scenario?

'A little fun in your normal working day as an operations manager won't hurt', they said.

'The captain won't find out about this anyway', another added.

You should've known that the normal working day applies only to your co-workers. You, on the other hand? It literally changed the trajectory of your life—for better or for worse. Internally groaning, you wondered why you didn't push harder when you were against their idea of 'fun'.

When your co-workers suggested doing something for fun, you never thought it would be testing out each other's unleashed combat power, if you even have them; you're all managing the operations, after all. Doing calculations in your head, you estimated you'd all be getting a percentage ranging from 1% to 3%.

After pleading with Kurusu for what felt like an hour, your little unassuming friend group got permission to use the combat power technology. 

"I'm an MVP for volleyball in our University, y'know? If I get an 8%, maybe I can smash a ball or two on a yoju's head. Might get recruited on the spot too.", you said with humourous arrogance.

Your co-worker who was prepping the machine chimed in, "We don't have balls for weapons. And don't get your hopes up, the most you'll be getting is probably a 2%. It's impossible for anyone to get a 0% after all."

With a pout, you denied that you're hoping for a good result. You're pretty satisfied with your job, anyways. Good pay, safety secured—what else could you ask for?

"Alright, prep done. Who's up first?" 

"Oh, I'll go! I proposed the idea, so I should be the one taking the first step!" said your enthusiastic co-worker. There were only 4 of you anyway, enough to fall into a line, letting yourself go last.

Sometime along your little fun, Kurusu entered the room, feeling uneasy about giving permission against official purposes. As expected, your friends got a range of 1% to 3%. They were all cheering as you got ready to lay down, as you were initially against the idea of having fun with these machines.

"Show us your 8%, then!" they laughed.

You rolled your eyes at them as your co-worker is sticking the device to certain pulse points to extract your body conditions. 

"Keep your head straight and calm down. I'll activate it in a few minutes. We wouldn't want any irregularities in your readings—like you getting 8% from your volleyball experience." she snorted. 

Following further instructions, you closed your eyes and kept your composure. It surprisingly felt comfortable, despite the hard surface. It's probably because you haven't slept well comfortably in so long.

"Extraction in 3, 2, and 1..." 

It was Kurusu who surprisingly spoke this time. "Well... You almost got an 8. You're on 6%." he announced, still looking confused at the screen. 

"Can somebody give me a gun? Or a sword?" you asked.

You thought their necks will snap at how fast they turned their heads to you. They looked at you as if you just had asked for the most incredulous thing, which in this case, does sound frightening. 

"Gonna kill us for doubting you?", they joked. "What for, though?"

"Trying to see if I can get that combat power up if I hold those. We're already having fun here, wouldn't hurt to test a few more things, right? Just don't let anyone know of this, or we'll all lose our jobs." you said.

They turn to Kurusu, eyes hopeful, asking through their gazes if it's still within his given permission to issue weapons.

Curiosity piqued, he didn't hesitate giving approval this time. "Alright. Just do make sure to get some less powerful weapons." With a sigh, he mumbled, "My first year as head operator and I feel like I'll already lose my job..."

Once you were provided with your 'weapons', you were instructed by Kurusu this time. "Just hold them as naturally as you can. You may choose between the two weapons provided. Lay them down next to you if you don't want it tested."

Holding the gun in one hand, you heard their countdown go off again. You let yourself relax while waiting for the results.

"Huh. A small increase, but quite a feat. You're smart for suggesting to hold these weapons. It's actually now on 8%. Try the dagger."

You let go of the gun and did as you were told. It took you a while to get as natural as you can while holding the dagger, but decided to not put in any effort as you were just having some 'fun' anyways.

"...That was higher than the gun. 10%. You're unbelievable." 

'What's so unbelievable about that?' you thought. Not a single result elicited any reaction from you. Hell, now-promoted Platoon Leader Narumi had a whopping 24% even as a normal civilian. Why would yours be any unbelievable? Maybe it's the first and only time an operations manager got this number. Who in their right mind would test this out for fun anyway?

"Hey, I'll try holding both of these. Let's end our fun and curiosity here." you announced. By this time, you just want this to end. But you are as intrigued as they are, hence suggesting a final test. For some reason, you felt yourself become uneasy at the last attempt. You know it never ends good whenever a sudden wave of uneasiness washes over you, so you force yourself to keep the relaxed state you were previously in.

From your peripheral vision, you saw Kurusu nod. You took both weapons in your hand. The procedure repeats, for the last time.

And then there was silence. You thought you fell asleep, but moved your fingers just to confirm you're still awake. Opening your eyes, you turn to look at your co-workers who were currently gawking at the huge screen.

"Um... You..." started Kurusu. "You uh, just got an 18% unleashed combat power with both weapons in your hold." 

Oh.

Now that's unbelievable. 

"...And our fun little session ends here! Can somebody assist me here so I can continue my work?" you asked in a rush.

"No. You stay there, I'm not done with your analysis. I'll have to command everyone to go back to their stations." Kurusu said, seriousness suddenly taking over his voice.

He continued speaking, "Not only do you have an 18% unleashed combat power, you also have a potential aptitude for Kaiju no. 3 cells." 

It's as if your ability to speak was taken. 18% unleashed combat power sure is something for someone in your level, but to have an aptitude for an identified kaiju...? No wonder he asked them to leave. Word about this finding mustn’t spread, at least, not for now. Your co-workers are new in the job, so they probably don’t know how to identify an aptitude reading for identified Kaiju.

"Um... So... Do we report this to the Captain or something?" you hesitantly ask after a few minutes of blanking out. You don't know what else you can say at the moment, totally taken aback by the suddenness of it all.

Before Kurusu can even respond, you hear a voice coming from the doorway.

"Huh. No wonder those operators flocked out of the room in a hurry. I've spared you the job. The old man is already informed." 

Your eyes widened, soul leaving your body upon hearing it. You know you'd have to eventually report this to the Captain, but this soon? And what's worse, that voice...

Standing lazily at the doorway with his phone in one hand is no other than the newly promoted Platoon Leader, Narumi Gen.

Author's Note(s):

My first fic! I've actually never wrote anything like this before, as I've only spent my entire life writing academic papers 😭 Thus, constructive criticism and feedbacks are always welcome!

I also apologize for any inaccuracies in the terminologies I used, my brain is pea-sized when it comes to some canon minor details.

I thought I'll be able to finish this in a single chapter, but I think a max of 3 wouldn't sound so bad. I can't write continuously or my head will explode omg

I'm not sure about the holding weapons thing, but I included it here based off how they tested Mina to have great aptitude for guns. I also recall a chapter saying Soshiro's combat power for firearms is so low, hence why he's a close quarters combatant.

Also, about the Kaiju No. 3 thingy, It's not gonna be canon compliant since we don't have any info on that identified Kaiju so I'll just be making stuff up for the sake of this fic lol.

[wosoimagines]

Disappointment

part 8 of rivals

Jo has to deal with the disappointment of an injury.

3,295 words

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I grinned as I waved to my teammates who were sitting up in the stands. I knew that many of them would be here, but I hadn’t expected them all to show. Many of them waved back to me. 

It had been extremely lucky that the finals for our State Championship game was in the middle of the week. I knew that if it had been at the end of the week then none of my national teammates would have been able to make it.  

Even some of the retired players had shown. 

Jill being in the stands hadn’t been too surprising either. I had only started playing again during the State Tournament. I appreciated that she waited until now to come to watch me playing. It allowed me to get my bearings especially as I had only been called up as a training player during April for the team to get an idea of where I was with my recovery. 

I tried not to let her eyes being glued onto me get to me too much. But it was hard. 

Especially with the way my knee decided today of all days it was going to ache. I knew I should have just cautioned myself and sat out the game, but this was finally my shot at a State Championship. It was the first time I had finally made it this far into the tournament. If I didn’t this year, then I would only have one more year before I was headed to college. 

Maybe that’s why I had decided to risk playing today even though I should have rested with the Olympics right around the corner. I was a lock for the Olympics roster after all, so long as I was healthy.  

Healthy being the keyword. 

I just had to prove that I was healthy enough to get through the Olympics and then I could rest before my school season started up again next year. I was sure that Jill would give me the time off. Especially if I proved to be as big of a part of the Olympic game plan as Jill wanted me to be. It’d give me plenty of time to heal up my knee the rest of the way before we went into the new year. 

But I tried to shake my head clear of the thoughts and the nerves that came with the eyes on me. 

It wasn’t just Jill being here that had pressure on me. Most of my family had come out to watch. It was the first time this season that they had come to one of my school games. But I knew the main story that was following this game. How I was supposed to lead my team to the championship. I was the only one who would be on the field who had even had the chance to play with the national team. 

It was all anyone had been talking about. How could we lose? Plus, with my history with Jennifer? The fact that we were playing Lawson High meant we should have the game in the bag already. They had been one of the lowest seeds in the tournament. They shouldn’t have even made it this far.  

This wasn’t like the World Cup. Here I was the leader. Here I was the star. Here I was the one who was expected to get the win for my team. 

Maybe it’s what made the pain worse. Maybe my knee could hold my own weight, but the added pressure was what made it crumble. 

Because one second, I was planting my right foot to take a shot with my weak foot, and the next I was face planting into the turf.  

You know how people say pain is all in your head? Well, they’re liars. Because of all this added pressure that made my knee crumble, that pain was now etched itself into every bit of my body. I had to muffle the scream just to give myself hope at saving my spot at the Olympics, but I wasn’t sure that this pain was going to be something I could ignore this time. 

I wasn’t surprised by the quickness of our athletic trainers. The questions were quick to start. The same questions I had been asked nearly two months ago. 

I was honest with them like I was last time. This time I hadn’t heard or felt a pop, but I didn’t think I’d even try to walk off with this pain.  

I didn’t. 

I was helped to the locker room as I was kept off my right knee. I had briefly heard my coach talking about moving me from the starting line up to the bench in case I would be able to play after my knee was looked over. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that he should completely change the game plan now. 

Everything started to just mesh together as the trainers checked over my knee. I didn’t even really register the trainers reaching out to schedule an MRI for me tomorrow or as they got a brace fitted onto my knee. I was mostly left alone as I tried to really get a grasp on what all of this meant. 

I hadn’t been surprised by the student trainer who had been left with me, but I wasn’t even sure who it was until I snapped out of my haze. I knew that I could go and sit on the bench to watch the match. I hoped that my team would win, but I had no idea what kind of mindset they could possibly be in after knowing that I already had one knee scare just months ago and now I wasn’t coming back out to play. 

I wondered how long it would take. For the team to forget about me. It seemed to always happen. Even with my own family. I had often been forgotten. 

“Turn it off.” 

I lifted my eyes just enough to meet Catherine’s. 

“The light. Turn it off and leave.” 

Catherine hesitated. 

“Go!” 

I didn’t miss how Catherine jumped, even as I looked away from her. 

But it was enough because the room went dark, and the door shut. After all, I’d have to get used to this feeling soon enough. Being completely by myself. 

They’d get someone else near my age to take my spot. Mallory Pugh. She seemed likely to fill my role. Mal had been seeing call ups ever since the beginning of the year. 

Maybe she wouldn’t take my playing time just yet, but as the team’s baby. Becky and Alyssa could decide they like her more. See more potential in her. Jill probably would as well. Who wants someone who’s broken on the team? 

The United States Women’s National Team was meant to be the best in the world, not for broken athletes. Ultimately that’s what I was now. 

I hadn’t even picked a school to commit to. There was no telling how few would want me now. Scholarships, especially for soccer, were few and no one would want to waste one on a player who had a major injury and might never be the same again. 

I’d be lucky if Stanford or UNC or UCLA would even still want me. Not with all the players that they recruited. I’d be even more replaceable with– 

The lights flicked back on. The clacking of cleats against the floor was a familiar one. It was what really pulled me from my thoughts as my eyes landed on my teammates who were quickly filing into the locker room. I didn’t pay much attention to our coach who was giving the halftime speech, but rather the excited looks that my teammates were sharing. 

“Don’t worry, Jo,” Isabella said as she patted my shoulder when she walked by me. “We’ll get the championship for you.” 

I furrowed my brow in confusion as I watched the rest of the team head back out. I knew that I should go out to support them. It would be expected of me after all. 

I was moved as quickly as I could to change my jersey out to the shirt I had worn to the game today. Once I had finished that, I used the crutches to get out to the field. Catherine was the one to meet me at the end of the tunnel.  

The second half hadn’t started just yet. So, I was greeted with claps and cheers. 

But I didn’t deserve them. There was nothing impressive about hobbling out on crutches. Especially to face the fact that my team was down without me. 

Except they weren’t. 

We were up 2-1. 

I furrowed my brow as I moved to sit on the bench. 

“What happened?” 

I wasn’t even asking anyone in particular. Just in general to the others who were sitting on the bench with me. 

“They opened the scoring, but we’ve been dominating since,” Ellie said. I furrowed my brow. We were the powerhouse we were because of me. Right? “Don’t worry. Jennifer hasn’t done anything this game.” 

That wasn’t what I was worried about. 

If my high school team, who was supposedly only a powerhouse because of me, could win a State Championship without me, then what use would Jill ever have for me again? 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

“Finally got revenge, huh?” Pinoe grinned at me from across the table. It took everything in me to not sink down in my seat. “Bet the only thing to make it sweeter is if you had been able to be on the field today.” 

I didn’t say anything, but I did nod. I didn’t want to alarm my teammates either. They all had enough to worry about without me knowing that they would forget me after long. 

“What are they thinking?” I raised my eyes to meet Alyssa who was sitting across from me. “About your knee. What did the athletic trainers think?” 

“They’re not sure,” I shrugged. “I didn’t hear a pop this time so they’re not sure if I just sprained it. They set up an MRI for me first thing tomorrow.” 

“Are your parents going to go with you?” Becky asked. I shook my head. “Lys and I will take you.” 

Maybe they wouldn’t forget me after all then? Or maybe Becky just wanted to go with so that she could let the coaching staff know how it went. It wasn’t like this MRI would be rushed though. I’d have to wait a week for the results. 

“How bad do you think it is?” 

I deflated in my seat a bit. No one had asked me just yet what I thought about the injury. Sure, I had been asked about the pain and what was the worst, but not what I thought it could be. 

“I don’t think I’ll be going to the Olympics.” 

The whole table went quiet at the admission. I turned my gaze to my plate which still had a piece of pizza on it. I didn’t want to meet anyone’s eyes. 

“Then you’ll get your rest and you’ll be back with us for the Victory Tour after the Olympics,” Kelley said. 

I shook my head at that. I didn’t think that this was going to go away. 

“I don’t think it’s gonna be that easy.” 

The team stayed quiet at that as well. I still refused to meet anyone’s eyes. I knew that these Olympics were meant to be an ushering of a new era. 

“Then we’ll get through it,” Becky said, resting her hand on my thigh. “And when you’re finally cleared to play, we’ll be right here to help you get back to the team.” 

I wasn’t even sure what this team would look like when I was able to come back. We were trying to move forward, so the vets I knew now would be retired and the players in their prime would be the vets. There was no telling what our younger core would look like. More so, there was no telling if I would even be a part of that younger core. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

“You guys didn’t have to come with me, you know?” 

Becky and Alyssa both glanced at each other before turning back to me. 

“You deserve to have someone here with you,” Alyssa said softly. 

It was weird. My parents hadn’t come to these kinds of appointments with me since I was able to start driving on my own. But then again, none of my appointments had the possibility of being so serious. 

Maybe they already knew the results of my scans. Maybe it wasn’t actually as bad as I thought. 

My head turned from the two older players when the door opened. 

“Hey, Jo.” 

“Hey, Lance,” I sent the man a small smile. I wasn’t too surprised that he would be the doctor handling my case. “Becky, Alyssa, this is Lance Beck. He’s friends with my older brother, Angus.” 

“We went to high school together,” Lance said. Neither Becky or Alyssa really looked surprised to find that out. “So, your knee.” 

“Yeah.” 

“How long are we looking at her being out?” Becky asked.  I didn’t bother to look at her over my shoulder, but Lance did. “And is it her ACL?” 

“It is,” Lance slowly nodded. He turned his gaze back to me. “I am curious to know how you’ve been playing on it. There’s quite a bit of damage to your ACL. I’d wager you tore it a while back.” 

I lowered my head. I tore it during the CONCACAF Tournament then. 

“Back in February,” Becky spoke up.  

“Have you had trouble walking on it?” Lance asked. I didn’t answer as I knew how upset Becky and Alyssa would be with me. “Jo?” 

“I mean, it hurt, but I just thought I needed to rest it. I figured it’d be fine. We’ve all had days where we couldn’t walk on a knee. It comes with being an athlete at our level.” 

The room went completely silent at that. 

“You’ve had days where you couldn’t walk on it?” Becky was next to me in an instant. I didn’t get the choice to look away from her as her hand rested on my cheek and kept my head facing her. “Jo, be honest. What do you mean you’ve had days where you couldn’t walk on it?” 

I sighed as my eyes flicked to where Alyssa was standing behind Becky now. 

“There have been times where it just... crumbled out from under me,” I shrugged. I wasn’t entirely sure how to describe it. “Sometimes I plant it wrong, other times it’s just like my knee can’t hold up any weight at all. I can’t put any kind of weight on it for at least a day.” 

“How often has this been happening?” 

I was able to move my head just enough to look at Lance. I gave him a small shrug. 

“It hasn’t happened since last camp.” 

“It happened at camp?” 

My eyes darted back to Alyssa. I tried to shrink back, but with Becky’s hand still on my cheek I wasn’t able to. I knew Alyssa wouldn’t be happy about that since it had been the first time I roomed with her. 

“Jo, did your knee give out on you while you were at camp?” Alyssa asked. 

I hesitated but nodded after a moment. 

“It was on an off day. I didn’t want anyone to worry,” I rushed to get out as Alyssa ran a hand through her hair. “I didn’t think it was a big deal. The scans had come back clear, and the Olympics are this year. Jill wants to move to a newer era and get me more involved. I didn’t want to risk that.” 

“Okay,” Lance said as he stood up. Becky looked at him before letting go of me. Lance took a few steps to move in front of me. “I understand why you didn’t tell anyone, Jo, but you could have made your injury a lot worse. If you want to play professionally, you’re going to have to learn to talk whenever something feels off or there’s pain. You could have ended up with a chronic ACL deficiency and I wouldn’t be able to fully fix that.” 

“So, what are the next steps?” 

Lance glanced to Alyssa over his shoulder. When Lance turned back to me, he gave me a small smile before patting my leg just above my good knee.  

“We’re gonna get Jo fixed up. I’m pretty confident that we’ll only need one surgery to fix her ACL,” Lance finally said. I sighed as I rubbed the back of my neck. “After that, you’ll rest for a week and come see me. We’ll get an idea about the kind of pain you’re still in and then decide if you need another week of rest or if we can begin rehab. The PTs will stay in contact with me, and we’ll decide if you might need another surgery or not. So, please, Jo, be honest with them about the pain you’re in.” 

“What happens if I need a second surgery?” 

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.” 

“We can schedule the surgery today?” Becky asked. Lance looked over his shoulder at her. “Even without her parents here?” 

Lance nodded. 

“Scheduling it won’t matter. I’ll let your parents know that at least one of them needs to be there. Just stay off your knee until then.” 

“We’ll schedule it,” Alyssa said as she stepped forward. “And then we’re gonna have a serious talk with Jo about telling people when you’re injured.” 

I just followed the two through the office before we stopped at the desk to check out. I didn’t pay much attention to when the surgery was being set up other than agreeing to the earliest time as possible. 

Neither of them said anything as we made our way to the car. It wasn’t even until we were all inside and buckled up. 

“Are you seri–” 

“Why do you care?” I cut Becky off. She turned to look at me with her eyebrows raised. “Give it a few weeks and no one will. Not parents. Not my siblings. Not Jill. And I’m sure you two will follow suit. That’s how it’s always been.” 

The two stayed silent. 

“Everyone eventually stops caring, so just go ahead and stop pretending. It’ll be easier on me if we just stop now.” 

“You really think we don’t care?” Alyssa turned to look back at me this time. “Jo, if we didn’t care, we wouldn’t have come with you to the MRI scan. We wouldn’t be here today. We came to support you. Because you shouldn’t be alone to get those kinds of results.” 

“So, you could tell Jill,” I cut in. Alyssa sighed as she shook her head. “You know I’m right. You’ll drop me off at home and then Becky’s going to call Jill to let her know.” 

“I’m going to call Jill to tell her so that you don’t have to. Would you rather have to do that yourself? Tell her you can’t go to the Olympics? Or I can do it for you.” 

I huffed but looked away from Becky. 

“Jo, we both care about you. That’s not going to change. We might not be able to be here for you all the time, but we’ll check in. We’ll call. That won’t change,” Becky said. I didn’t look at her, even when she put her hand on my knee. “Jo, you might not believe, but we do care. We’ll both be here for the surgery, and, after that, we’ll call at least every week, if not more.” 

I scoffed at that. I was sure that they would. 

[exaflux]

How good is BTAA Scarecrow at therapy really? (An Analysis) (Part 2)

[Part 1]

Alt title: What the hell is JoyCure anyway?

Now onto the long overdue second part of this analysis series looking at the most ethical psychologist the world has ever laid eyes on. We simply must rate his performance!

I apologeese for the delay on this. Been in my drafts for over a month blegh.

This is a very long analysis compared to the first part, word of warning.

This part contains- more breaking down of psychology approaches some in less detail if covered in the first bit, Harvey almost falling off a skyscraper, and in the conclusion some talks on JoyCure and a talk on how Jon views "trust" (if you're into character analysis)

Disclaimer- I am not a trained psychologist or therapist or anything of the like, I just like psychology as a topic. This writing is purely for fun.

Harvey and Two-face will be referred to seperately in this analysis, but if referring to both Harvey will be used as default. Jonathan is still Jonathan.

Delightfully surprised by all the people who enjoyed the first part by the way! The likes and reblogs are much appreciated~

Session two-

The following all takes place in S2, Episode 7 unless otherwise stated

This session starts out with Harvey and Two-Face talking amongst themselves, focusing on a strange noise they can mutually hear in the background. In his confusion, Harvey asks Jonathan if he's still there, to which he responds: "Yes. I'm right here, Harvey. You can leave your blindfold on until I tell you to remove it, please" (10:37). Immediately responding to the questions of a worried client would help with setting their nerves at ease while minimising the amount of time they'd experience distress, with the added bonus of some trust building. Also Jonathan is so polite here! What a nice man.

That sound that Harvey's hearing, by the way, is explained by Jon as such: "That's Harmony, Two-Face. You've never known a moment of it in your entire tortured existence" (10:55). Reminder that wording matters as it can influence client outlook, especially in a therapy setting. Describing a client's experiences as a "tortured existence" is quite negative and is not an example of a good therapy practice.

A bit further on Jonathan starts advertising his goods explaining why Harvey is hearing weird stuff, claiming "the JoyCure has brought peace at last to your long inner conflict. You simply must trust me. Remember, we talked about trust when you agreed to put that blindfold on for me?" (11:24). This sets the scene as a trust exercise. Not too bad. "You said to cooperate. We cooperated" "Yes, Harvey, cooperation, that's exactly what today's lesson is all about [...] I want you to cooperate with you" (11:36) Never mind. Please do not gaslight your clients then claim you were talking about something completely different when they catch wind of it. 🚩❌ The memory is actually quite suggestible. You can influence a person's memories by both wording used in a question and how you word it. As a psychologist Jon should know this.

Directly following on from Jon's previous statement, Two-Face says he doesn't get what Jon means, so he goes on to clarify "We have oh so many ways we wage war within ourselves every day. You're just an unusually extreme case" (12:01). This is a very interesting thing for Jon to say given his tendency to negatively describe his clients' situation, and at a blush I almost said this was within acceptable therapy practices. Almost. See, here he establishes that everyone suffers from inner conflict, and Harvey's situation is just a step above that. It's notable enough to comment on, being "unusually extreme" but it's still very much kept within the realm of normal behaviour. Imo the language use here ("extreme") doesn't necessarily have a negative connotation but is an observation, but your mileage may vary. This sounds good, right? But then you have to ask- why is Two-Face needing to ask about this to begin with? This session has been set up as a trust exercise already, and these have to be discussed and agreed to beforehand. It's ethically necessary. This tells me that Jonathan has completely neglected to explain the how and whys with Harvey before all this stuff was set up for the session. He broke ethics.

"I am going to take off your blindfold now, and then I'd like you to tell me how irrational you believe your fear of high places to be" (12:42). Always good practice to give clear and easy to follow instructions to clients if you're doing an exercise with them. After Harvey removes the blindfold, finding himself standing outside of a skyscraper window, Jon wants to know his thoughts- "Tell me how do you feel?" (13:18). Again therapy stuff. Therapists ask questions on how their clients feel about certain experiences, and in identifying a feeling clients can then work towards learning why they feel that way.

We find out that Harvey finds himself unbothered by how high up he is, and later that this is due to the drug he took, JoyCure. Immediately after being asked whether he'd like to look at the view alongside Harvey, Jon responds "Thank you, I'll stay here inside where it's safe" (13:40). As if it isn't obvious enough already, standing outside a skyscraper window isn't exactly safe. Therapists, don't ask your clients to do this either. Jon throughout most of this segment doesn't sound too bothered by his own breaching of ethics, in fact he sounds like a kid who just got told they'll be getting $50 worth of Robux after class for peak gaming. Maybe it's because he's still a therapist and considers all this as progress in his client? Who knows. Either way, Jon slowly gets Harvey to do increasingly more and more dangerous things on the ledge outside the window: "In fact, you might even dance a jig on that narrow ledge if I asked you to" (14:30), "[...] you would walk to the end of that flagpole if I asked you to, I bet" (15:07). Again, this is dangerous. At the very least he's just suggesting this. It's not like he's telling Harvey (who's still relying on others to make decisions for him at this point) to walk that flagpole, right? "Yes, I want you to show me you can walk it like a tightrope [...] Walk to the very end" (15:22). Ah.❌ At the very least he's celebratory of his client's achievements, exclaiming "Congratulations Harvey!" (15:56) when that flagpole does get walked like a tightrope. Nice.

"Now this next part is very dangerous. When you're ready, turn around and come back" (16:06)- Once again, wording matters in therapy settings. Stating that the next part of the exercise is dangerous would definitely not help with putting client's worries at ease.

Neither Harvey Two-Face nor Two-Face Two-face can make heads or tails cough cough of what they've been told to do. "What do you mean when we're ready?" "Simply discuss it amongst yourselves. When you mutually decide you want to come in, turn either to your left or alternately turn to your right and come back" (16:15). Jon again making his instructions clear to his client. Two-Face becomes uneased at this response however and wants Jon to tell him what to do, with Jon declining to (16:39). This is still within the realm of normal therapy practices as Jon can't do this exercise for Harvey.

Also, at this point it'd be good to mention that despite me characterising this whole thing as a "trust exercise" up 'til now, that isn't strictly the only thing it is. This whole scene is actually an example of exposure therapy. This form of therapy is performed normally on people to help treat phobias and various anxiety conditions, OCD and PTSD. As the name suggests, this is done through presenting the client with whatever thing is a trigger to them in feeling anxiety and over time through exposure they'll (in theory) feel less anxiety over the trigger. One caveat though- you're still supposed to talk about this with a client beforehand, understand how comfortable they feel with doing the exercise and be completely willing to stop the exercise if the client no longer wants to do it. It's apparent already that Jon hasn't done this. There's multiple types of exposure therapy, this one is called gradual exposure, or systematic desensitisation. With this version of the therapy a client is supposed to make a tier list of what things give them least to most anxiety called an (exposure hierarchy), then they work their way up at their own pace. Jon here seems to be calling the shots though much more than his clients on how much they "face their fears" as it were, especially given Harvey can't make any decisions for himself.

In fact, to make things even worse again, Jon increasingly makes the exercise more anxiety-inducing than it needs to be. He presents Harvey with more and more decisions ("Come on, Harvey. Turn right or turn left. Then once you've turned, do you lead with your left foot or your right?" (16:53)) then plays dumb about knowing that Harvey can't currently make decisions on his own, "Ah, but you're without your coin. I'd forgotten." (17:11). Of course he's BSing about forgetting, especially when you notice how he suggested walking the flagpole earlier ("you would [...] if I asked you to, I bet" (15:07)) which makes one wonder if he was wanting to see to what extent that Harvey would actually do what he was told. Hmm... Either way though, he's being a twat and deliberately causing distress. ❌❌❌

This part is the juiciest bit of the session- Harvey tells Jon that he's afraid, and Jon talks about the drugs, JoyCure, he put Harvey on. Unfortunately, the details on JoyCure will be left for the conclusion as it is too juicy. But, about Harvey being afraid, Jon has this to say- "Your real fear isn't high places. The fear your feeling right now? That's the fear that defines you, Harvey. The fear of having to make a decision [...] No coin. No counsel. Just the two of you." (17:34). To recap everything that has went on so far, Jon tried to make out all this was a trust exercise (and according to Two-Face, he was just told to co-operate) and then it turned out that all this was actually an attempt at gradual exposure. But now we find it actually isn't, because the fear that that therapy would have treated isn't actually a fear anymore due to JoyCure. Instead, Harvey has been dunked directly into his real fear, making a decision, which is closer to a different type of exposure therapy: flooding. Flooding (unlike gradual exposure) is basically the theraputic equivalent to throwing you in the deep end of whatever you're made anxious by. It's a valid therapy technique, but is only used in particular circumstances and again with the consent of the client first. Do we think that Jon got permission from Harvey to do this type of therapy? Probably not.

If it's all too much info to understand, here's a simplified diagram:

At this point the session devolves more and more into being a train-wreck. There's hardly any actual therapy going on.

As a rundown:

Harvey wants off the flagpole. Jon's immediate response is to faux panic about Harvey slipping before mocking him with a fun fact, "Did you know a baby's first instinct is a fear of falling?" (18:02). ❌

Two-Face threatens Jon with a "I'll kill you!" and Jon barks back "You said "I"! That's a breakthrough! One of you is taking charge!(18:10). A breakthrough is another word for a milestone in therapy. But really him calling it a "breakthrough" I don't think should be taken at face value for... Obvious reasons here. ❌❌

And finally, right before the session ends, our world renowned psychologist says "Come on now. You simply need to agree upon a strategy before it's too late" (18:24). Which I mean, he's making light of the situation and how easy it sounds (in theory) for Harvey to have both his halves work together. Definitely not an empathatic approach like you'd want from a therapist.❌❌❌

In conclusion:

Just as with his first second? session with Harvey, Jonathan demonstrates good skills as a therapist, but misuses those skills repeatedly. Again, he ignores ethics and purposefully causes distress to his clients, being even worse about it than the first session somehow. At least in the first session you could argue that he made some attempt to follow standard therapy room procedure up until a point. Here though? Definitely not.

In fact just to overview everything that happens in the session, because it's a bit much to process all at once:

Harvey goes to do this exercise blindfolded, not being told what's happening until he's already outside the window. Jon goes on this whole "trust me" spiel and Two-Face points out they were told to co-operate.

Jon talks about his drug JoyCure and how it's stopped Harvey's conflicted feelings. He then tells Harvey to remove the blindfold and report how he's feeling.

He then suggests/outright tells Harvey to do increasingly dangerous stunts. You could argue this is gradual exposure therapy, but done in the worst way possible.

After he gets Harvey to walk the flagpole, Jon tells Harvey he can come back whenever he's ready. During this he's very vocal and clear on what Harvey should do. Harvey can't make a decision, Jon knows this.

Harvey shits the bed because it turns out the real fear he has is over making a decision for himself. Jon knew this the whole time, and knew that JoyCure wouldn't help with that. Suddenly the method of therapy used has shifted to become flooding therapy.

Jon absolutely refuses to assist Harvey during any of this when it comes to overcoming his fears. The session only ends because Jon's secretary calls him.

So what can we get from this beyond our wonderful analysis subject being absolutely atrocious as a therapist? Well two major things stand out.

Firstly, that Jon knew from the beginning how everything would play out. He knew how JoyCure would affect Harvey and to what extent it would. He knew that "the fear that defines" Harvey was decision making, and he most likely figured this out this from as early on as the first session if one remembers how that went. Everything from beginning to end was elaborately set up in the session to make Harvey face his defining fear head on. This plays out very similarly to the first session- Jon steered everything in the direction he wanted it to go in just to make Harvey acknowledge his fears.

Thing is though, this premise has some... Interesting implications if one looks at what Jon talks about at the start of the session. Now granted I did try saying that Jon was speedrunning therapy last part of this analysis series. That idea still stands imo shitposty as it is. But to add to it though, to focus on how Jon apparently "talked about trust" before the session began. Two-Face responded that they were told to co-operate though rather than trust, and unless it's a situation where Harvey Two-Face misinterpreted something that was said, chances are he was just told to go along with it not that he has a choice. Trust was also mentioned first session too, where Jon explains that establishing a bond of trust would be the best way for him to help Harvey, and that translates to him removing Harvey's coin. Hell, Jon even tells Harvey "I think we're gonna make excellent progress if you just put your trust in me" as early as their first meeting (S2, E4, 33:04).

So what might this all mean? Just going off of the two sessions observed so far, Jon's method of doing therapy is to seek out what main fear makes a person tick, then try and get the person to acknowledge and/or face it head on whether they'd like to or not. His idea of "trust" is just having a person be unable to (or at the very least, not likely to) resist. As for his intentions about all this... That's honestly up for discussion. But! I'm hard pressed saying that none of it is him actually wanting people to overcome their fears. Not downplaying how terrible he is mind, but it'd be perplexing that a psychologist who would be only focused on traumatising clients (who can also uncover what a client is frightened by so rapidly too!) would still choose to try and get the client to recognise that fear in themselves rather than just, ya know, not telling the client their deepest fears and scaring the heebie jeebies out of them. He even goes as far as to set up a session on a skyscraper to make an elaborate point about Harvey's defining fear. He tells Harvey beforehand what he needs to do in the session, and it isn't just doing everything he says: "I want you to cooperate with you". If Jon talks about "trusting him" it's bad news. He asks whether Skids trusts him during the infamous Stabberscotch scene too, again a moment where the person he's asking to trust him is forced to co-operate (S2, E4, 5:06), reinstating the point. That said, given Jon's belief that "fear sets limits on courage" (S2, E4, 4:15), I don't reckon that him wanting to see people overcome fear is out of any streak of benevolence as much as him just wanting to see how far that person's fear goes. The possibility they might be able to overcome the fear might be the real enticing thing for him.

Second major thing that stands out, that this JoyCure thing he put Harvey on. It stops Harvey from feeling his fear of heights but not his fear of making decisions. As for why, I wager it's because JoyCure is a drug that causes feelings of euphoria and dulls basic fear caused by instinct, but it doesn't help at all with fears you actively think about.

If you're really confused right now by what I mean I don't blame you, but it'll make sense.

At the beginning of the session, Jon uses the co-operation talk to segway into rambling about conflict. According to him, everyone feels conflict, and Harvey is just a step up from that. Conflict is caused by fear, and "When what we know is false coincides with what we fear is true, that’s a conflict and there are casualties." (12:13). Harvey is on the drug, and he seems hunky-dory, not arguing with himself, but then again he doesn't have to: Jon is giving him instructions rather than making him do anything on his own. His fear of heights seemingly vanished, he doesn't feel even slightly nervous being asked to dance or walk a flagpole so high up. But, again, he's being told to do this. In fact, remember I mentioned earlier that Jon gave a fun fact, "Did you know a baby's first instinct is a fear of falling"? That's the thing, Jon is saying here (whether intentionally or not) that a fear of heights is hardwired into us from birth. Harvey's fear of it isn't unusual at all, but JoyCure prevents him from feeling that instinct anyway. And to elaborate further, "When what we know is false coincides with what we fear is true, that’s a conflict", but Harvey is scared of heights, scared he might fall off because the height will harm him, and he's on a skyscraper so it's true. There is no inner conflict in knowing his feelings are unfounded, because they are.

So overall, if I'm right with this idea anyway self-preservation while on JoyCure goes functionally out the window. You'd normally get nervous putting your hand near a hot stove tops for example, knowing you'd get burnt, but if you took JoyCure you wouldn't feel any nerves at all about it. To again quote Jon, "Fear is a furnace which must be fed. What I have done is empty your mental coal tinder" (14:22) talking about how the drug works, that whatever "tinder" is there (in this case instinctive fear) is emptied. So, I suppose, consciously fearing is the equivalent of adding tinder again? I mean, Harvey starts feeling fear because he consciously has to make a decision, he has to think about it actively and worry actively, rather than just have the fear be reflexive like it would be dealing with something dangerous. I imagine because of this the drug also wouldn't work as a treatment for anxiety disorders. Very Sadge 💔

FINAL SCORE FOR THE SESSION:

🎊 1/10 🎊

How the hell Jon got worse than first session I have no idea but here we are. The extent of his therapy here is using psychological theory to prove a point to his clients that they're terrified of making decisions on their own. Elaborate and impressive! He probably spent more time planning how this session was gonna go than actually doing what's expected of him as a therapist.

This man does not care about ethics, client's feelings or whether his sessions might kill a man.

In fact he knows his sessions might kill someone. He plans them out after all:

"When what we know is false coincides with what we fear is true, that’s a conflict and there are casualties"

[excalibur-gone-missing]

Paring: Daichi Sawamura x fem!reader

Requested: No

Genre: Smut

Warning(s): Somnophillia, cunnilingus.

Summary: Daichi is annoyed after practice, thankfully you look a bit too delectable today.

Word count: 650

Other works

Beta reader: None

a/n: I would greatly appreciate it if all of you could take a moment to comment on this fic. As an author, I find great value in your feedback, as it allows me to better comprehend my readers, and I thoroughly enjoy interacting with all of you. Constructive criticism is always welcome, so don't hesitate to talk about this fic or send me an ask.

[permanent taglist] [only for those interested, don’t fill the form otherwise]

Daichi loves hearing you blabber as he rams into you with all his might. It's not always that he gets this horny and needy, but on the days he does, you are in for a ride—literally!

It started right after he got back from practice, extremely angry at himself for not being up to the mark and messing up the practice for the whole team.

The moment he came in, he immediately searched for you, only to find you asleep on the couch. It's not a rare sight to see you waiting for him, but those shorts paired with his tee were the breaking point for him.

You looked so beautiful lying there all pretty for him.

No matter how freaky you both were in bed, the topic of consent always took first place. So when he first heard you suggest trying somnophilia, he was a bit concerned, to say the least.

But the first time you both tried it, it was like heaven for him. So, the sight of you sleeping in shorts was too inviting for him to resist.

Immediately going towards you, he quickly removed your shorts and latched his mouth onto your cunt, hungrily lapping at it to create some wetness.

Your reaction was a bit slow, but he could slowly but surely hear the small moans emitting from you. Soon enough, you were awake, the feeling of his mouth on your now throbbing cunt too much for your sleep-induced brain to handle, so it woke you up.

Your moans immediately increased in volume, prompting Daichi to add a finger along with his his already attached mouth. Your hands soon found their place in his hair, pulling on it.

"Tastes so good I could die here," he says before continuing to abuse your pussy.

Within seconds, you are bursting onto him, squirting all over the man's face with a loud moan of his name. And being the man he subhe wastes not a drop of your precious cum lapping it all up like a starving man.

As Daichi emerges from your pussy, he gives you a look of extreme need. Within seconds, you are underneath him.

"Gonna fuck you so well," he says as he takes off his pants, letting his throbbing cock breathe. It's been almost five years since you and Daichi have been together, but the size of his cock still shocks you.

You used to wonder how it would fit, but from previous experience, you know it will. He immediately sinks into your puffy warm hole with a moan.

"How are you still so fucking tight? Did I not prep you enough?" he groans. Before you can respond, he starts moving, inducing moans after moans from you.

"So good Mura," you can barely form a sentence with how good he makes you feel. A ring of thick cream forming at the base of his cock due to the endless thrusting.

"Will fucking fill you up with my seed until your tits are all swollen with milk," he says while thrusting into you with all his might.

"Do you want that? My babies?" He rams into you like his life depends on it.

"Need, need your cum," you are just a blabbering mess at this point, barely able to form a sentence. The pleasure is so intense that it makes you almost cry. Soon, you reach your climax, cumming all over his dick, making him reach his peak too.

After a few loud moans, and a few "you milk my dick so well," you both calm down. He immediately moves over to hold you, making you rest your head on his chest.

"You want me to make us a warm bath?" he asks gently while rubbing your shoulder.

You nod, numb from all the lovemaking. Kissing your forehead, he immediately takes you to the bathroom to clean you up and get you ready for bed.

The End

a/n: thank you so much for reading, please don’t forget to leave a review

[stylesispunk]

"I couldn't want you anymore" | Part 4

Artist! Joel Miller × Florist! Reader

series masterlist | previous chapter | next

summary: when Sarah's mom comes back into Joel's life to fight for their past relationship, Joel needs to convince her he is in a happy relationship with the florist next to his gallery in order to make her go away. The problem is, that he and the florist can't stand each other's guts or that it's what he thinks.

warning: age gap (Joel is 36 and reader is 28). Remember that "Bee" is reader's nickname, fluff, some feelings are being confessed, smut, angst, EXTREME ANGST. Okay, this is where everything goes to hell.

a/n: This one is more than 7k and is the longest piece of writing I've written here, so please, give it love🥺 Reblogs and comments are appreciated and help a lot be noticed by more people. I love this one, not the writing but the chapter as a piece? Sorry for any grammar mistakes and sorry in advance for the chapter.💌

masterlist

The next morning, it was Sunday and you thanked God for it. You were tired and the events from last night still lingered in your head, Joel, Connell's proposal, and the mix of feelings because of it. 

“Move to London?” you asked Connell, as if you couldn’t believe the words that came out of his mouth.

Connell looked at you with a patient and reassuring smile, understanding the magnitude of the decision he had just proposed. He reached out and gently took your hand, his touch comforting.

"Yes," he replied softly, "Moving to London would be a big step, and I don't want you to say yes right now. Take all the time you need to think about it. I'm willing to wait."

You nodded, appreciating his understanding and patience. The idea of moving to a new city, even for love, was overwhelming. You needed to consider your job, your life, and the ties you had built in your current home.

“Or is there someone?” He asked, “Oh my god”. He covered his face with his hands. “I can’t believe I didn’t ask about that”.

You graced a tiny smile, comforting Connell

“So, is there someone?” 

“It’s complicated.”

Connell's expression softened as he gazed into your eyes. "Bee, I want you to be happy. If there's someone else in your life, I'll respect that. But I just had to be honest with you about my feelings and my intentions."

You appreciated his understanding and his willingness to accept your situation, even if it was complex. The bond you had shared with Connell was strong, but your involvement with Joel had added layers of confusion and uncertainty to your life. It was a tangled web of emotions that you needed to untangle before making any decisions.

Connell leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on your forehead. "Take all the time you need to figure things out, no matter what. You choose me or choose whoever the other guy is, I'll be for you."

With his reassuring words, you felt a weight lifted from your shoulders, knowing you had Connell's unwavering support, whatever decision you eventually made, and that made your heart feel at ease for once. 

Nevertheless, you didn´t remember what happened after that. You both drank wine, you mostly, and you knew that you drunkenly confessed everything about your and Joel's “agreement” to Connell.

You felt embarrassed. Having Connell back helped you to see things clearly, and with your birthday coming soon, you were even more stupid for doing this at your age.

You decided to go back to sleep to avoid overthinking it. However, your attempt to do so was interrupted by a knock on your front door. You groaned and glanced at the clock; it was eight in the morning, and you couldn't bear facing a person at this time. Nevertheless, and still feeling a bit dazed from last night's wine, you dragged yourself out of bed and stumbled to the front door. Last

When you opened the door, you were met with Joel standing there. He looked like he hadn't slept much either. There were dark circles under his eyes, and he appeared slightly disheveled as if he had rushed over to your place first thing in the morning. 

"Joel, what are you doing here so early?" you asked, still rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

Joel hesitated before answering, his face displaying conflictive emotions "I needed to talk to you. Can I come in?"

You felt like this wasn’t a good idea right now, but you stepped aside, allowing him to enter your home.

 As he entered, you couldn't help but notice he was carrying two bags.

"I brought breakfast," he said, offering a faint smile.

You couldn't shake the nagging feeling that this was an attempt to make amends after last night's dinner with Lauren, and you were on guard. You didn’t want to show him he was having an effect on your emotions. 

"Joel, what's all this?" you asked, gesturing at the bags as he placed them on the table.

Joel took a deep breath, his gaze on your eyes. "I know I messed up last night, and I'm really sorry for everything that happened. I was hoping we could talk and sort things out."

Your guard was still up, but the sound of his voice touched your heart. "Joel, last night..."

He cut you off gently, "I know, Bee, I know. I want to explain. Please, let me."

"I won't pretend that last night wasn't complicated," Joel began, keeping his gaze on the breakfast he was preparing. "I know I hurt you by having dinner with Lauren. But please believe me, it wasn't what it looked like."

You remained silent, letting him continue.

Joel's voice held a note of frustration as he explained, "Lauren and I have a history. Yes, but we have something in common and Sarah wants to know her mother. I can’t deny her that right.”

You wanted to believe him, but the doubts lingered. "Actions speak louder, you know?”

“I have nothing with her,” he said, widening his eyes as he looked into her eyes. 

You could see the sincerity in his eyes. You wanted to trust him, to believe that he had good intentions. It was a complicated situation, one you had never expected to find yourself in.

“So, what are you suggesting?" you asked, your voice cautious.

Joel sighed, with relief and anxiety in his expression. "I'm suggesting that we reevaluate our agreement. Maybe we can redefine our boundaries and communicate better about our feelings."

You considered his proposal, thinking about how this might change things between you two. Despite the pain and confusion, a part of you also cared about Joel. It wasn't easy to let go of something that had brought so much comfort into your life. 

“Okay” you smiled in agreement. Knowing you should tell him about Connell’s proposal, but you hadn’t the strength to do it. 

Joel mirrored your actions, and he turned back to the breakfast he was preparing; you felt the weight of the both of you on your shoulders. This situation was far from simple, and your heart was torn between wanting to trust Joel or starting a new life with somebody you already trusted.

“So, you woke up today and decided to come here?” you asked.

“Actually, yes, that’s what I did,” he laughed. “I didn’t know you were in a hangover though, sorry for that. Did you and Lily hang out last night?”

“Actually, I had dinner with Connell,” you said, anticipating his reaction.

“Your ex?”

“Yes.”

Joel's expression shifted, his eyebrows furrowing slightly as he processed the information. He clearly hadn't expected that response.

"Dinner with Connell," he repeated, his voice tinged with a mix of surprise and uncertainty.

You nodded, feeling the need to explain. "He had something important to talk about, and he's leaving for London soon. It felt like the right thing to do."

Joel took a moment to collect his thoughts, then replied, "Well, I guess it's good you two talked. You should figure things out. I mean, he's your ex, and he's moving away."

His words were calm and understanding, which was a relief. You had braced for a more tense reaction.

"Yeah," you said, appreciating his mature response. "We're just trying to be on good terms before he leaves."

Joel gave a small nod, his expression thoughtful. The conversation had taken a different turn, and the complexities of your feelings and relationships weighed heavily on your mind. You hoped that both Joel and Connell could find their respective places in your life, but the path ahead was far from clear.

You just omitted the part when he asked you to leave with him. 

Joel gave a small nod, his expression thoughtful. The conversation about Connell hung in the air and Joel decided to break the tension by returning to breakfast. He finished preparing the meal, and the two of you sat down to eat. The atmosphere was lighter, and you both made an effort to talk about less complicated topics, sharing stories and laughs over your food.

You still found it funny how you both went from not talking at all to talking about anything. 

After breakfast, as you helped Joel with some preparations for his upcoming exhibition, you couldn't help but think about the new direction your life was taking. Joel had proposed reevaluating your agreement, and Connell had asked you to go with him to London. The decisions ahead were daunting, and you knew that clarity would be hard to come by.

Joel was also deep in thought as he arranged some artwork, and eventually, he broke the silence. "Bee, I know things have gotten complicated, but I genuinely want to make this work.”

His words were sincere, and you could sense his determination. It was a lot to process, but you couldn't deny that you also cared about Joel. The choices you had to make in the coming days would be defining moments in your life, and you hoped you could find a path that would lead to happiness and fulfillment, no matter how complex it might be.

With your birthday coming in three days, you felt that your new year of life would be different. 

The timing couldn't have been more challenging as Joel's upcoming art exhibition was just around the corner. The preparations for the event were in full swing, and you were doing your best to help him with the decoration and catering.

The gallery was buzzing with activity. Paintings were being hung, sculptures were being arranged, and the space was being transformed into a captivating display of Joel's artwork. You couldn't help but be impressed by his talent and dedication to his craft.

As for your "relationship," you and Joel were navigating it with care. It was a tricky balance of pretending to be a couple while not letting your true feelings get in the way. Sometimes, the lines blurred, and it became challenging to differentiate between the act and reality.

You worked closely with Joel to ensure that the gallery's decor matched his artistic vision. Together, you chose color schemes and hung string lights to create a warm and inviting atmosphere. The collaboration brought you closer, and as you worked side by side, there were moments when you exchanged genuine smiles and shared laughter that felt far from fake.

Convincing everyone about your relationship was an ongoing challenge. You played the part of the affectionate girlfriend, exchanging hugs, kisses, and sweet nothings with Joel. The outside world saw the two of you as a couple, but you knew the truth lay somewhere between reality and pretense.

As the event drew near, the question that remained was whether you could maintain the charade or if it would evolve into something real.

The day of your birthday dawned, and you couldn't help but feel a mix of emotions. The recent developments in your life, your family and friends’ birthday wishes, and Joel’s upcoming art exhibition made this birthday unlike any other.

As you made your way to the gallery to leave the usual cup of coffee for Joel, you felt a sense of excitement. You couldn't deny that you enjoyed spending time with him, but you also knew that this fake relationship was getting more complicated by the day due to feelings getting involved. 

When you arrived at the gallery, you were greeted by the soft glow of string lights and the familiar scent of freshly brewed coffee. The space looked even more beautiful now with Joel's artwork on display. It was evident that he had put his heart and soul into his work.

Just as you set the coffee on the table, Joel appeared, a warm smile on his face. He walked over to you and pulled you into a gentle hug, pressing a soft kiss on your cheek. "Happy birthday, Bee," he whispered.

The simple gesture was filled with genuine warmth, and it touched your heart. You felt your cheeks blushing at his touch. 

"Thank you, Joel," you replied with a smile.

Joel gestured to a small gift wrapped in a simple but elegant box. "I got you a little something," he said, his eyes filled with anticipation.

You accepted the gift and carefully unwrapped it, revealing a beautiful necklace. It was a delicate piece of jewelry with a pendant in the form of a flower that resembled his art and your essence together. You were taken aback by the beauty and thoughtfulness of the gift.

"It's beautiful, you said, genuinely touched by his gesture. "Thank you, Joel."

He smiled, and for a moment, the line between pretense and reality blurred again. It was a birthday gift that felt meaningful, not just because of the necklace, but because it came from someone who had become an important part of your life.

Joel pulled you into another hug, and you realized that, despite all the complexities and pretense, this connection was becoming real. 

"Thank you for this," you said, gesturing to the necklace. "It means a lot to me."

Joel took your hand and looked into your eyes; his gaze was sincere. "You mean a lot to me."

Your breath sucked in, leaving you breathless as his words hung in the air. You knew that this fake relationship had evolved into something more, something that was real.

Joel's hand in yours felt warm and reassuring. As you stood together in the gallery, you couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation for the future, even if it remained uncertain. Your birthday had taken an unexpected turn, and you had a feeling that more surprises were yet to come.

"The gallery is closed for the morning because we have someone to celebrate today," Joel said with a playful grin.

You chuckled; the weight of the world momentarily lifted. "Alright, what's the plan?"

Joel leaned in and whispered, "I have a few more surprises up my sleeve. But first, let's enjoy some coffee together."

........................

The day moved forward in a whirlwind of excitement and celebration. Joel had arranged a surprise birthday party for you in the gallery. Your friends, including Lily, and even Sarah, were all there to celebrate with you. It was a beautiful gathering filled with laughter and warmth, and you couldn't help but feel grateful for the people in your life.

Joel played the perfect host, making sure everyone felt welcome and comfortable. You saw how he effortlessly blended with your friends. His charm and genuine smiles seemed to win everyone over.

As the evening progressed, the party was in full swing, but Joel leaned in to whisper in your ear, "I have one more surprise for you. Why don't you come to my place tonight? Tommy won’t be there and Sarah will stay with Lauren tonight, and I was hoping for some alone time."

You couldn't help but smile,"I'd love to."

Joel's eyes sparkled with anticipation, and you realized that there was more of him that you hadn't fully explored. 

The clock ticked away the hours, and eventually, it was time to leave the party behind. You said goodbye and made your way to Joel's place, with him by your side, and the atmosphere completely changed after that.

When you arrived at Joel's home, it welcomed you with the soft lighting and cozy ambiance in his living room. Set the perfect mood for what was to come. Joel's living room was bathed in the soft glow of light, and you couldn't help but feel a warm sensation at the gesture. He excused himself for a moment and disappeared into the kitchen, leaving you wondering what other surprises he might have in store.

As you sat there, Joel returned with a small tray of desserts. On it, there were beautifully plated mini cheesecakes topped with fresh berries, and a bottle of your favorite wine was chilling in an ice bucket nearby.

"This is the second part of your birthday surprise," Joel said with a mischievous smile. "I thought we could end the night with something sweet."

Your heart swelled with affection for his thoughtfulness. As you indulged in the delicious treats and sipped wine, the evening took on an even more romantic tone. The intimate setting, combined with Joel's genuine affection, made your birthday feel like something out of a fairytale.

You found yourself drawn to Joel's eyes, and he to yours. It was a moment when pretense gave way to something authentic, something that had been growing between you for the last two months. With every shared smile and every tender touch, the unspoken emotions between you became stronger.

Joel reached out and took your hand, his fingers gently tracing circles on your palm. The atmosphere was charged with unspoken desire, and it felt like the perfect time to take things to the next level, to explore what was real and true between you. 

“Bee,” he said, looking straight into your eyes. 

They were focused, eye to eye with his lips close to yours. 

You were completely alone. You were in his house and both of your worlds were mixing together to become one. And your heart pulsed at the sound of the nickname he gave you years ago, something that seemed foreign back in those days, but now the tone lacing the sound of his voice sent a shiver down your spine. 

“Happy birthday, Bee” he smiled, attaching his lisp to yours for a passionate kiss, flipping you over so he could be over you.

After that, everything happened so fast. Neither of you knew when you got rid of your clothes, but there was too much desperation in your touch, you wanted to see the way his fingers could make a mark on you, tracing lines of invisible traces over your body.

He was hovering over you, meeting your lips in a passionate kiss. He was in the right between your legs where you wanted him the most now. 

He detached his lips from yours for a moment to look down at you for a moment. To admire the features of your face, and the nature of your body being displayed just for him right now. You felt the crimson color rushing up to your checks and for a moment you felt embarrassed under his stare, but he smiled at you.

“You look beautiful”. He swallowed hard, stroking your cheek with his thumb.

He kissed you again, slipping his tongue past your lips, gasping when he felt your fingers running your fingertips across his bare chest, tracing the lines of a map leading to where you couldn’t stop.

With one of your hands, you pulled him down by his neck to hold you against your lips again. Once you tasted them, you couldn’t get over the taste of them over yours, and you couldn’t get over the whimpers he left in your mouth. 

His hands on your tights only increased the sparks in the place you wanted him the most, you wanted to follow the path even when you knew it was leading to a treacherous destination. 

You continued kissing slowly as he caressed your thighs, as he wanted to worship your body and devour every single sound coming out from your mouth. He kissed you down over your neck, kissing, nipping your skin between his teeth.

And God, he loved the way you were making him feel. The fact this time was different to that night in the gallery some nights ago. At this moment, you weren’t driving for only passionate reasons, but for caring feelings for each other. You weren’t in a rush and that turned him on. He was hard for you and he wanted to meet where religion was, between your thighs. 

Both of you gasped out loud the second he started to push slowly inside you. His hands reached for yours to interlock them together as he kissed you with softness, whispering “You’re so beautiful like this”. He was hypnotized by the way you were nervously laughing as you tossed your head back in pleasure. He bit your neck, causing your hands to follow their way up to his neck and his hands roamed down all of your body without a layer of clothes on you, focusing on every thrust, going deep to make sure he was making you feel good. 

You opened your eyes to stare back at him, looking completely focused on you. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes as his hands caressed your breasts as he kept devouring your lips, your back arched followed by a moan against his lips. Every thrust felt so good you couldn’t help but feel you were in heaven. You could feel you were getting close as you squeezed him and you kept your eyes locked on each other. He pushed faster, with one hand caressing your cheek and the other holding your leg to ensure you fell apart. 

The noises you made drove him crazy, feeling himself coming to the edge of the cliff. He wanted to look at you under him as you came, and with a loud gasp, it happened and he did it at the same time, falling over your bare chest, with your heartbeats becoming one.

Yes, you had sex and you crossed the line you couldn’t, but at that moment, you didn’t care.

You sighed softly under him, and Joel raised his head to look at you, showing him a cute smile that he wasn’t tired of, and you kissed him on the lips. 

“I love you,” you said tiredly before falling asleep.

I love you.

Those three words were echoing in the shadows of his mind. His expression hardened and he felt his blood rushing. He couldn't be sure, but the impact it had on him was undeniable.

Now in the stillness of the room, he looked down at you, nestled in his arms, 

He wanted to respond, to say those words back to him, but he hesitated. The weight of his complicated past with Lauren, the confusion of your fake relationship, and the promise you both had just broken kept him silent.

A few hours later, you woke up alone in Joel’s bed. You can't ignore the heavy feeling nestling on your chest. You made your way to the living room, and you found him sitting on the couch, his gaze lost in the soft light of the lamp.

You walked over and sat down beside him. “Couldn’t sleep?" you asked softly, your voice trembling.

And the way your voice sounded made Joel’s heart break. 

 Joel sighed, his shoulders slumping. He knew he couldn't keep you in the dark any longer. "Bee, I need to be honest with you," he said, his voice low and heavy. "This... relationship we've had, it's been confusing for me. I'm not sure where my feelings stand, and I can't keep pretending."

You listened attentively, your heart pounding. The room seemed to close in on you, and the silence felt suffocating.

Joel finally met your gaze, his eyes filled with regret. "I need to figure things out, Bee. I'm sorry, but I can't continue like this. I can't say those words back to you. Not yet"

You felt tears welling up in your eyes as the weight of his crashed down on you. 

Tears welled up in your eyes as the weight of his confession crashed down on you. The vulnerability of those three words that you had uttered at the peak of the moment was now the breaking point between both of you. 

Joel continued, "We should end this, Bee, for both our sakes. This... fake relationship isn't fair to you” 

“But...but you said you cared about me” you whispered.

Trembling, Joel nodded his head as he reached for your hands, but you stood up from the couch to hide the tears streaming down your cheeks. Joel couldn’t help but feel he was already losing you.

He stood up, quickly grabbing your arms, and tears flickered in his eyes. But she refused to look at him at this moment. 

“I care about you, Bee…You have to trust me, but I-” 

“Do you love Lauren?”  you cut him. 

You could see Joel was taken aback by your question. 

“Bee, no. Look at me…I don’t love her” he said as he shook his head fast as if he was trying to stop the breaking pieces falling from you. 

“But you don’t love me either,” you said, taking a step back to keep yourself away from Joel. “All you wanted from me was to take me to your bed, Joel.” 

He tilted his head to have a glimpse of your face. When you looked up, your eyes shone with the tears dancing inside them. Joel took a step closer to you, holding your face and pressing his forehead against yours. 

“No,” he said immediately “Bee, you have been the best thing that crossed my path-” 

“Do you love me?” you asked in a breathy voice with the last strength you had left. That’s the last answer you need to prevent your falling.  

Your question hung in the air, heavy and unanswerable. When you demanded to know if he loved you, you were met with silence. 

The pain in your eyes was undeniable, and in that moment, you felt nothing but shame and heartache as he held your face in his hands, still keeping your foreheads together as if he was holding onto the last moments, he was going to have you this close.

Joel's heart shattered along with yours, and yet, he remained silent. 

“You made me promise not to love you, Bee,” he said, as his voice didn’t have strength left.

“This is over, Joel,” you whispered. 

Joel felt his soul leaving his body when you removed both of his hands from your face.

At that moment, your heart was glass and he dropped it.

And yet, he didn’t speak. 

He was still there in the middle of his living room, not knowing what to do and how to act. The truth was that he did love you, but he had let his own demons and insecurities build a wall between you and him, and now it was too late to turn back time.

He had built a life with tall banners around his family, to protect them and himself from the people coming into his life. He stopped believing in love and fairy tales the day he and Sarah were abandoned by Lauren, and he didn’t let another one come closer to him in years until you settled next to him with flowers and effortless smiles. 

He found himself smiling at you the very first days, until a bouquet of flowers and a card came to his office, a “gift” from you, and he thought you had second intentions, so he dropped the flowers and the card in the trash. He didn't know, but that was the very first time he broke your heart.

You, on the other hand, were crestfallen when you found the flowers and the card in the trash. You thought you could have brightened Joel’s days with the gesture, not knowing his real behavior. That time, the rejection hurt, and it made you question what was wrong with you. 

That day you stopped talking to him, only keeping a polite distance, and your smiles became more reserved once he appeared in your sight. 

And you become “enemies” after that. 

And in the middle of those memories, Joel lost track of time. The door fell shut. You were gone. 

Once you stepped out of Joel’s house, a sob escaped from your lips, and a heavy feeling settled in your heart. You couldn’t bear the feeling of humiliation consuming you. 

You didn’t have a destination in mind, the heavy steps over cobblestones were breaking the silence of the still night. You were walking in a world that felt foreign and unwelcoming, navigating through a tumultuous mix of feelings you thought you had never had to experience. 

You didn’t know what to do or who to call, you didn’t want to bother Lily because it was one in the morning and she would probably have slept, and you couldn’t face her after you promised her you would keep your heart safe from breaking. 

You thought about calling Connell, but you didn’t want to drag him into this mess. You felt so humiliated and broken on your own birthday night and everything seemed to be falling apart. 

You walked for what felt like hours, unable to find a direction. The tears you had been holding back began to flow freely down your cheeks.

And as the night deepened, you found yourself standing by a park bench, your legs finally giving in to exhaustion. You sat down, looking at the distance, lost in the memories of your time with Joel. And what started in a distant room ended up with you crying on a parking bench in the middle of the night. The pain was unbearable, and the feeling of abandonment cut deep to the bone.

You just couldn’t make up your mind about the thought of a person coming into your life, making you navigate through a lake of turbulent and magical emotions, painting your darker skies in vibrant colors just for them to walk over your own peace of mind, leaving scars they promised they would never leave on you.

Sitting on the park bench in the darkness, you felt vulnerable. The weight of the pain enveloped you. You knew you couldn't stay there forever, but you also couldn't bear to go back to your empty apartment, the place where you had shared moments with Joel.

In your fragile state, you reached for your phone and dialed Connell's number. Your heart ached, and the tears in your voice were unmistakable when he picked up.

Connell's voice was filled with concern when he said your name "What's wrong?"

The sound of his voice provided a small comfort, and you tried your best to steady your emotions. "Connell, I... I don't know where to go, and I didn't want to be alone. Something happened, and I—"

“Hey, easy. Breathe” Connell's reassuring tone came through the phone, "Just tell me where you are and I’ll be there."

You sent him the location of the park, and he promised to be there soon. While you waited, you let yourself cry softly, finding solace in the idea that someone who truly cared for you was on their way.

Connell arrived a short while later, and he wrapped his arms around you, offering comfort in his embrace. He listened as you cried on his shoulder while you tried to erase your memories and take away the pain. 

The next morning, as the sun's first rays peeked through the curtains, Tommy walked into the living room expecting to find you and Joel making breakfast together. 

Once he stepped inside, beaming, he found Joel in the same spot as last night. 

“Bee is still sleeping?” Tommy joked.

But as soon as he saw the state of Joel sitting on the couch, his eyes bloodshot, and an empty bottle of whiskey on the coffee table, he knew something was wrong.

"Joel?" Tommy asked, taking a seat beside him.

Joel finally turned to his brother; his voice heavy with remorse. "I ruined her.” 

Tommy had been through his fair share of tough times with Joel. The first time was the day Lauren walked out of his life, leaving him alone with a baby, Sarah, without any explanation, but now, he could sense the gravity of the situation. Joel was seriously broken this time. 

“What happened?” Tommy asked.

Joel didn't reply immediately, instead choosing to take a long, deep breath.

“What happened?” He urged.

Joel told him the events from last night, how you told him you loved him, how he couldn’t say those words back, and the moment he had broken your heart. As he spoke, the tears welled up in his eyes once again. It was the first time Tommy had seen Joel this torn. 

Tommy let out a deep sigh, and he placed a reassuring hand on Joel's shoulder. "Brother, please tell me you didn’t let her go home alone and break down on her birthday night.” 

Not until then did it occur to Joel that something could have happened to you. He stood fast and ran to his bedroom, to grab his cellphone and call you, but Tommy stopped him before he could do anything. 

“Easy Joel”, he said, reassuring him “She is not going to answer your calls right now.”

Tommy's words only deepened the weight of Joel's remorse. He dropped his phone back onto the coffee table and clenched his fists, feeling utterly helpless. "What have I done, Tommy? I love her” 

Tommy continued to be the voice of reason. "You need to give her space, Joel. Pushing her right now might only make things worse. Let her cool off, and then you can talk to her when she's ready. But you need to give her time to heal."

Joel knew Tommy was right, but it was excruciating to think about leaving you in pain. He shook his head "I’m going to her place," he murmured, already walking past Tommy. 

He couldn't bear the thought of you being hurt and feeling abandoned. Tommy understood his brother's pain but also recognized that this might not be the best time to confront you, especially if you were still reeling from the heartbreak.

"Joel, I get it, but you need to be cautious," Tommy advised as he followed Joel to the door. "Let her have some time to herself. She needs to process what happened, and then you can talk."

Joel turned to Tommy; his eyes filled with desperation. "I can't just leave her like this, Tommy. I need to make this right."

 "You should have seen her face” he murmured; his voice heavy with regret. 

“Listen, I can call Lily and ask about Bee, okay?” Tommy said.

Joel offered a small nod in response, his thoughts consumed by the image of your heartbroken face. As Tommy made the call to Lily, Joel's mind raced with remorse, knowing he had caused you pain.

after a brief conversation with Tommy, and turned to Joel. "She's with Connell. It seems like that's where she went last night."

Joel felt a pang in his chest, knowing that you had sought solace with Connell. He couldn't help but wonder how you had ended up there and what you might be telling Connell about what happened.

As the morning sun began to filter through Connell's windows, you found yourself sitting in his cozy living room. On the previous night, your birthday had ended badly, but Connell's presence had provided you with some sense of comfort. 

Connell, always thoughtful and caring when it came to you, had made you a cup of tea, which you held in your hands as you stared out the window. The silence between you two was comfortable as if words were unnecessary. 

After a while, Connell cleared his throat and said, " I’m not sure what happened last night but I want you to know that I'm here for you, no matter what."

You turned to him, your eyes filled with gratitude. "Thank you, Connell”, you gave him a small smile.

Connell nodded in understanding. Then, he reached behind him and held a small gift-wrapped box out to you. “I got you a little something for your birthday. I hope it brings a smile to your face."

You accepted the gift with a warm smile, feeling grateful for Connell's existence. Unwrapping it carefully, you discovered a beautiful, handcrafted necklace inside. It was an elegant piece of jewel with a delicate design.

"It's stunning," you whispered.

 Connell chuckled softly. "You used to love unique and handmade jewelry, so I thought this might be something you'd like. I bought it in London a few years ago."

As you held the necklace in your hands, you felt a surge of emotion. Connell's kind gesture and the beauty of the necklace warmed your heart and provided a much-needed distraction from the turmoil of the previous night. You thanked him sincerely, realizing that you were fortunate to have him who genuinely cared about you. 

Memories of your past relationship with Connell rushed back to you. There was a time when you and Connell had been a strong team, and those feelings and connection you had shared, and it had been an important part of your life. But that had changed, and you had moved on.

As you sat there with Connell, the temptation to lean in and kiss him was strong, but it was Joel's face and his presence that you couldn't forget. You knew that, deep down, your heart belonged to him.

With a heavy heart, you offered a grateful smile to Connell and thanked him once again for his kind gesture.

"Connell, thanks for your gift” you said, offering a sincere smile. "But I also wanted to talk to you about something important."

Connell nodded; his blue eyes focused on you. "Of course, What's on your mind?"

You took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. "This job in London…

Connell leaned back in his chair, looking at you attentively.

You took a moment to gather your thoughts before asking, "Connell, have you made a decision about that job?"

Connell sighed and leaned in closer, his voice low and sincere. "I have decided to go and I know I asked you to come with me, but you and Joel- “

“I’ll go with you” you said.

Connell's eyes widened with surprise, “Are you sure about this? It's a big step, and I don't want you to feel rushed or pressured into it just because you’re hurt.” 

You met Connell's gaze. "Connell, this isn't just about being hurt; but about an opportunity to start a fresh life. I want to be with you in London."

Connell's surprise gave way to a warm, grateful smile. He squeezed your hand gently and leaned in closer. " I can't express how happy that makes me. We're going to have a wonderful time in London, I promise."

Connell pulled you into a warm embrace, your heart should have been soaring with joy, but a shadow of doubt crept in. At that moment, with his arms wrapped around you and your future looking bright, you couldn't help but think about Joel.

Joel, who had broken your heart. Joel, with whom you had shared an intimate connection that you could never forget. Despite your determination to start fresh, the memories of your time with Joel, the emotions you had felt, and the connection you shared with him echoed in your mind.

Connell pulled back slightly, his eyes searching yours. "Are you sure about this? I don't want you to have any doubts."

You forced a smile, feeling a sense of guilt for letting your thoughts wander. "I'm sure, Connell. Let's make this move and embrace our future together."

A week later, after the painful night with you, Joel was in the gallery, his heart heavy with regret as he finished the final details of his upcoming exhibition. The art pieces were carefully arranged, the lighting adjusted, and he scrutinized every corner, but it was a task that felt empty without you by his side.

He knew, deep down, that you wouldn't be there for the exhibition. The absence of your presence was like a void in the room, and the pain of knowing he had pushed you away was a constant ache in his chest.

No flowers from you this time, not the sound of your laugh echoing through the halls and he felt he was dying inside. 

In the midst of his preparations, Lauren was in the gallery with him. He told her you and him had broken up and it seemed like she was trying to comfort him somehow as she took advantage of Sarah as “something” they had in common. Her presence was a reminder of the choices he had made, and it infuriated him. Joel couldn't help but glance out of the gallery window toward your flower shop. It was a habit, one that he couldn't seem to break, even though he knew it was over between you two.

It wasn’t real, he thought, but for him and you it became the most adventurous story of love. 

"Why is she gifting flowers today?" Joel asked, unable to keep the curiosity from his voice as he saw a group of people gathered outside your shop.

Lauren turned her gaze to the window, following his line of sight. She sighed softly and said, "You don't know?"

Joel shook his head. "What should I know?"

"I think she's selling the place," Lauren explained. Her tone was gentle, and she appeared concerned about the situation.

Joel's brow furrowed as he processed the information. Your flower shop, a place that had meant so much to you, was being sold. The weight of the recent events pressed down on him even more. It was yet another consequence of his actions, and he couldn't help but wonder if this was yet another step in the direction of erasing him from your life.

"Can you excuse me for a second?" he told Lauren, deciding he was going to confront you.

As he left the gallery, Joel's steps were determined, and his thoughts were a mess of remorse, regret, and a glimmer of hope. He knew he had to speak with you, to clear the air, even though he wasn't sure where your conversation might lead.

Joel's heart raced as he approached your flower shop. The sight of it, now decorated with flowers, brought back memories of the moments he had spent there with you. He took a deep breath and pushed open the door, his eyes scanning the interior for a sign of your presence.

"Is it true?" Joel's voice, which had been silent for a week, sent shivers down your spine, memories of his touch still fresh on your skin.

"What's true?" you asked without looking at him.

"That you're selling your shop?"

You nodded, unable to meet his searching gaze.

"Is it because of me?"

"Joel, please," you pleaded, your voice edged with a mix of frustration and pain. "Just let it go."

"Please, just answer me," he implored.

"No," you replied, the weight of your decision heavy in the air. "It's not because of you. I just need a fresh start."

He countered, his voice filled with doubt, "And you think moving to another part of town will give you that?"

"I'm not moving to another part of town," you said, your voice unsteady.

"What do you mean?"

You took a deep breath, and your gaze met his, knowing this would be the final blow. "I'm leaving."

Joel's heart sank, a heaviness that seemed insurmountable. He didn't want to hear the rest, but you continued.

"I'm leaving to London with Connell."

"No—"

"No, Joel, you can't," you replied firmly “You can't come here and tell me what I should do. You have no right."

His frustration was rising, "You're escaping. Can you be more childish?"

 Joel's world crumbled around him. The woman he was in love with, the one who had brought color and life back into his existence, was leaving. And worse, she was leaving for London with her ex-boyfriend. 

You chuckled bitterly, the pain in your heart mingling with your exasperation. "Goodbye, Joel." You said, signaling the door. 

"Bee! Listen to me!" He shouted.

But you were done listening. The years of mixed emotions, the moments of joy and confusion, had finally boiled over. You had made your decision, and you couldn't bear to keep going in circles with him.

"You were my biggest disappointment, Joel."

With those words, you turned away from him and walked behind the counter door, leaving Joel standing there, with a heavy heart.

At that moment, Joel realized the depth of his mistakes and the price he had paid for being an idiot. He felt a burning need to make things right, but it was already too late. Your departure for London with Connell was the beginning of a chapter in your life that he could no longer be a part of. 

With a heavy heart, Joel turned away from the flower shop and walked back to the gallery, his steps heavy with the weight of what he had lost.

And you were left there crying while losing the grip of the hand of the man you felt you would be getting over your whole life. 

a/n: Okay, sorry again. But what's going to happen next? 👀

tags 💌: @joeldjarin @borhapparker @fatima-marisa @kirsteng42 @paleidiot @harriedandharassed @runningmom94 @pedr0swh0r3

[skeletinmoss]

The curse of the dark Phoenix

Chapter 22: Council

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"Yes... I would like a word with them too," King Thomas agreed as he stretched himself.

"Terance said they are in the sanctuary," he told them, bending down to touch his toes, giggling in excitement when he succeeded.

"You can tell me what really happened while we head down there," he instructed as he got up and walked in brisk steps towards the doors gesturing with his hand to call his sword to his hand and opening the heavy doors. "Even magic is easier!" He exclaimed, delighted.

"Halt. Who are you?" One of the guards announced as both aimed their blades at the king.

“Where is the king!?” they demanded.

"I am right here. I am the one who covered for you when you skipped on practice, James," the young king declared, flustering the guard who immediately lowered his sword. "So let me through. I am going to talk to my council!" King Thomas said, pushing past them.

"Your highness, wait up," Roman insisted as he rushed to the king’s side, followed closely by the others.

"A magical bond, huh?" King Thomas asked curiously as Roman caught up. "Yes, it was an accident. I was caught off guard by the ashes and such," Roman shrugged. "I imagine you were," his king mused before turning to Virgil. "What happened? I was hoping I'd get answers through this investigation. This is beyond my wildest hopes, though," he told his mentor.

Virgil nodded and explained what they'd been able to figure out so far.

The king frowned, and they came up on the door that led to the sanctuary. "Something always felt off. But I had no proof," he mused. "I can't believe he stabbed you," he added.

"It's all just assumptions for now. Once Remus figures out where the ruins are, we might learn what really happened for certain," Virgil said.

"Hm," Thomas nodded before laying a hand on the door, and with a magical glow, it opened.

"Come on," he instructed, heading down, the spring in his step returning in moments.

Virgil chuckled at Roman's amusement. "I can't blame him. After my crash course on aging, I imagine experiencing youth again Iike this comes with a deep appreciation for the lack of body aches," Virgil concluded. That made sense.

"Good catch on pulling him away. I guess I forgot to warn him with the nerves," Virgil admitted.

"You weren't sure you'd reincarnate," Roman concluded. His voice teasing, but his heart disapproving.

"I wasn't sure if I’d manage to return myself to late twenties. There was a chance I’d end up in my thirties or something," he admitted casually. Though his heart was genuinely remorseful.

"Hm, that would explain the grey hairs," Roman mused, getting a playful push from Virgil in retaliation.

They both laughed, and they got to the bottom of the stairs. Startling Terance, the real one.

"Y... your majesty?" Terance asked, shocked. The rejuvenated king handed Terance the sending stone back.

"Thank you for letting me borrow this. Where is the council?" Thomas asked.

"Ah... the- the meditation room sire," Terance explained.

"They are trying to connect with their guide?" Roman realized.

"And they’ve been in there for days? This is gonna be good!" Remus cackled.

"Curious that they waited until you three were successful," Janus mused.

Virgil was extremely annoyed at this news and strode forward only to come to a sudden stop when he caught sight of one of the statues. "The fuck?" He said.

"Those were made right after the plague. I had nothing to do with them," the king promised.

"Is that supposed to be the council of ten?” Janus huffed, unimpressed as he looked at the 10 statutes set along the walls.

"Why in the world, do I have six arms?" Janus huffed.

"Um, to symbolize that you have a hand in many pots?" King Thomas suggested.

"At least you look like you. I'm hotter than this guy by miles," Remus complained, indicating the monstrous, vaguely humanoid looking collection of animal parts, that was supposed to represent him.

"Well, you do like to change shape," Patton offered.

"Uhu. And what symbolism has this?" Virgil wondered. Indicating the much more scantily dressed, winged statue that held Virgil's likeness holding a bouquet of flowers in one hand while reaching out benevolently with the other, eyes downcast to anyone who passed bye. Roman had only been in the sanctuary for the ritual and had been too distracted to pay it any mind. Which was a good thing. It would have messed too much with his head. Both for the ritual and upon meeting Virgil in the flesh later.

“Those types of clothes haven’t been in style for centuries,” Virgil huffed. Roman blushed as he realized that at one point they had been in style, very much so, specifically for people of high rank. Though he was pretty sure that when it was in style it wasn’t common to have only half the chest covered.

"Let's focus on the task at hand," Logan suggested.

"Yes, excellent idea," the king agreed leading them to the ritual chamber.

They could hear arguing on the other side of the doors.

"Killer entrance?" Virgil suggested.

"Oooh can we?" Remus grinned excitedly.

"I think it would serve them right," Janus agreed. The three ancient high mages gestured to be given room.

Thomas, Roman, Patton and Logan stepped back and watched as they transformed to their guide forms.

Virgil beat his wings and blew the door open. He'd have to teach Roman how to do that.

He imagined seeing the solid oak doors be dammed open was already a shock. But to have a Chimera and a basilisk come through, and it definitely warranted the horrified screams.

Roman entered right behind Janus, prompting Virgil to land on his shoulder.

He took a look around the room. No one was turned to stone but they were all understandably frightened.

"We're back," he announced, trying not to laugh. It was a little funny.

"You!" Desmond, the de facto leader of the council and honestly a particularly insufferable character, exclaimed. "You return. You disturb our meeting! And you bring these beasts in!?" he surmised accusingly, but also still terrified.

"I should have known sending you out was a mistake. You probably faked your rituals! I knew you were trouble the moment you walked into my classroom. You snotnosed, novice wannabe..."

Roman dipped into his magic, calling it not to his hands but his voice. He thought of Janus swaying the knight and king Thomas ordering Virgil to transform.

"Shut your mouth you petulant overhyped stagnant wind bag," he said calmly. Stunning the head council mage into silence. Not in disbelief. He tried to talk back but found his mouth incapable of producing sound.

"I believe the term 'wannabe' is better suited for a mage pretending to be worthy of the position of Star council while he hasn't evens scratched the surface of what that entails," he added.

"May I present. The true high Mage of the stars, Virgilius fate spinner, the dark phoenix,” Roman offered. Virgil took his que and jumped off of Roman’s shoulder. Soaring up to the roof and then diving down, changing form mid dive and landing in his human form. They were far enough underground that the sun didn’t overpower his amulet anymore it seemed.

He looked down on the trembling councilman.

"Me and my friends have a few questions we'd like answered," he said, prompting Janus and Remus to shift back to their human forms.

"And you better answer honestly," the king warned as he joined them.

Roman was struggling not to laugh at the way the councilmen stared at the king, realized what had happened, and all flailed in wordless panic. It seemed as though his spell had affected every council member in the room.

Realizing they couldn't talk had them even more upset, which was even funnier.

"How did you do that?" Virgil asked.

"Um... I just channeled my magic through my voice instead of my hands, and I used the insult to get him off guard so he'd be more susceptible... kind of what Janus did..." Roman pointed out.

"Janus can sway people a little with care. Thomas managed to give me an order because I already swore myself to serve him on his 18th birthday. This is neither of those things," Virgil smirked. Then Roman realized.

"Did I just make my own spell?" He asked, astonished.

Virgil nodded fondly. "Congratulations, Roman, great wizard high Mage off disarming wit," he bid

"Wait, wasn't buddy new?" Patton asked.

Virgil pursed his lips. "That would have to be put up for debate for a jury as golems aren't new exactly. So they’d have to debate on whether Buddy is distinguishable enough from others to be considered unique. But in Roman's case, Buddy falls under herbalism, so it doesn't count regardless," he explained.

"Oh, right. Forgot about that," Patton admitted.

"As entertaining as this is, and it is truly a delight to behold," Janus said, looking at the frustrated council members. "It will be hard to interrogate them if they can’t talk," he pointed out.

"Oh, right," Roman realized. He frowned in concentration and took a deep breath.

He focused on the head council member, felt the hold if his magic, and loosened it. "I will shut you up in an instant if you get annoying," he warned.

The councilman nodded in understanding, though he clearly wasn't happy about it.

"Your majesty... they used forbidden magic on you?" he asked, horrified. Hm. He might have been just as much of a believer as Roman was a few days ago.

That or he was upset that their king no longer believed in the rules set out by Gustav.

"Clearly the plague wasn't what Gustav said it was. And I will trust my mentor and my family's longest ally above the fear mongering tales of someone who jumped on the opportunity to improve his influence as soon as his friends started disappearing," the king countered.

The councilman clearly didn't know what to say to that.

"Tell us what brought you here," Virgil ordered.

The man hesitated but gave in. "Knowing that the ritual could, in fact, be survived, we made the executive decision to attempt to complete it. We could not have great mages in our ranks without rising ourselves. Especially if they succeeded in finding the arch mage. We weren't going to bet against them a second time." Roman nor Virgil were very happy with the implications off that. "We decided that it would be in the best interest of the kingdom if we took the next step in our studies. If the arch mage hadn't disappeared, he would have given us his blessing long ago," he continued.

"We were unsuccessful so far," he admitted displeased.

"How did you get chosen to be members of the council?" Virgil huffed

"We were tutored and hand-picked by the arch mage himself." Clearly, that was a point of pride to him. And a few days ago, that had earned him Roman's respect by default.

"And you were his favorite, right?" Janus mused. Oooh, good plan. Flattery tends to loosen the tongue.

"Well, he had me as second in command do I suppose he saw potential in me," the older man agreed with false modesty.

"Then he must have given you some insight in his plans for the kingdom," Janus continued.

"Yes, actually. It was imperative that the king didn’t pursue magic again, for the sake of his health.

The council was to focus on keeping relations with the neighboring kingdoms stable. We didn't have the manpower to provide the idyllic lives of the past.

Distribution of information related to magic could only be done by official libraries and with approval of the council. Those sot of things. To protect the people from forbidden knowledge. I did a lot of governing in the five years before he disappeared as he spent a lot of time in the tower. Personally, I think the dark magic from his past had finally caught up to him. Truly tragic," the mage concluded.

Roman looked at the others. Something felt off.

"Why didn't you ever try to find Gussy if you are such a devoted fanboy?" Remus wondered curiously.

That clearly was the right question.

"Well... you see... uh..." he stammered.

"I suppose you liked the power that came with his absence more. Where is he?" Virgil pressed.

"I really don't know. Last I saw him he was headed for his tower. He claimed he had figured it out. He didn't give more details," the mage rushed slightly panicked. Good. He deserved it. Power hungry prick. What kind of sick person bet against people surviving anything?

"Guards!" Virgil called.

The two knights who'd blocked their path earlier sheepishly shoveled into view.

"That was a good stealth spell. Your teacher can be proud. Would you mind putting the council under house arrest? I'll make sure they don't use their magic," Virgil instructed.

"W-what? I don't know what you mean!" One of them stammered flustered.

"We already know of the secret mages. Don't worry. Now," Virgil made a gesture and a faint purple glow lit up the entire group of mostly still mute council men.

"There. That should hold out for at least a week," he noted.

"You have no right!" The head council exclaimed.

"Actually the only one who'd have more right is the king himself," Logan countered.

“Virgil was mentor and closest confidant to the first king, and after that a very close advisor to every king and queen that followed up until Thomas’ father. He was Thomas’ mentor both in life and in magic. He was head of the council of ten since its founding. He was general to our armies. He has every right,” Logan argued.

“Well put darling,” Janus purred in approval, making Logan blush.

“He is right. Unless the king disapproves, he has the authority to order the knights to detain you,” Janus added.

The councilmen paled. “Should I take back my spell, or is it better if the knights don’t have to listen to them complain?” Roman wondered.

"Hm. Best not. Just in case one of these fossils works themselves up unto a heart attack," Virgil mused.

"Hey!" King Thomas protested. Being older than most on the council, he would take offense to that.

"I said what I said. I'm still a bit shocked that I didn't need to save you from a heart attack at any point during our conversation," Virgil stated seriously. Roman could feel he was just teasing, though.

Which, honestly, was wild to Roman even though he could understand how Virgil's relationship to the king was different from most of his subjects.

"Well," he sighed. "You lot get one chance. If I hear complaints, you'll have to suffer in silence," he warned as he let go of his hold on everyone.

"To be honest, I was only aiming for him," Roman admitted.

"Your magic is more potent now. It's like waking up with much more physical strength. You'll walk around using much more force than necessary and constantly break things or misjudge how hard something will be to lift for you.

You have to relearn it a bit," Virgil offered.

That made sense.

Ten soldiers came in and took the disgraced council away to their chambers.

"Good. With that out of the way. What is next?" King Thomas asked.

"Well, me and Roman need to get in 8 hours... I'm pretty sure I locked my room, so that should still be around," he said.

"Even if it hadn't been locked, Father and I would never have allowed anyone to rake it," the king promised.

"Good. I remember the way," Virgil smiled.

"Patton, can you help Remus narrow down which ruins Gustav might have been talking about?" Virgil asked. Patton nodded. "Of course, I'll do my best," he promised.

"And I shall help this one get ready for his ascension. We'll do the ceremony shenanigans you boys wake up," Janus offered, laying his hands on a flustered Logan's shoulders.

"And i presume you will want to teach the baby bird to fly?" He added.

"That would be for the best. The sooner we start, the easier he'll pick it up," Virgil explained.

"And then we'll go and kick Gussies butt!" Remus grinned eagerly.

Thomas frowned.

"With the council gone, the country needs you here more than ever," Virgil pointed out.

Thomas nodded. "Come back soon. Hopefully, with more old friends," he bid.

"We aren't gone yet," Virgil smirked, laying a comforting hand on Thomas' shoulder. "We'll probably stick around a day or two. I would like to pay your father my respects. Hus is the only funeral in your family line I missed. I wish to rectify that as best as i can," he explained.

"He would appreciate that," Thomas smiled carefully.

Virgil squeezed his shoulder and turned to Roman.

"Care to join me?" He asked. Roman smiled and took his hand.

And suddenly, they were in front of a dark wooden door decorated with silver stars.

"That took a bit more out of me than I thought. Good thing I'm about to sleep like the dead," Virgil mused tiredly. Waving his hand.

The door glowed and opened for them, revealing a Room with a large bed and a desk.

"Cozy," Roman noted.

"Through that door, I have access to my own home should I need anything," Virgil revealed, pointing at a door half hidden behind a silk purple curtain.

"Really?" Roman asked.

"It saved time traveling. And teleporting here every time was a pain. The room is mostly for show. I rarely slept in the bed or used the desk. But no one knew that. Virgil smirked, amused as he ked Roman to bed.

"No memories this time. We both need actual sleep," Virgil pointed out.

Roman nodded. Just looking at the bed made him realize just how exhausted he was. 8 hours sounded great.

They got ready, and soon enough, they settled in each other's arms.

Roman was too tired to feel flustered about it.

He barely heard Virgil wish him a happy dream before he was taken by darkness.

He was walking down a forest path. Following something.

The plants around him felt more alive than usual. Welcoming him. He could swear he saw deer and birds and rabbits pause what they were doing to acknowledge him.

The very ground he walked on seemed to urge him onward. Humming a tune he came up with but never finished ages ago.

The forest gave way for open sky, and the sun was setting before him in a welcoming ocean. The moon popping in in the sky. Even merging with the sun for a brief moment, forming an eclipse. Which shouldn't be possible.

Then Roman realized what he had been chasing.

A light phoenix was sat a few steps before him. Glowing against the darkening sky.

Roman walked over and very carefully reached out.

The phoenix bowed his head, and as soon as Roman's finger touched his head, they were one and the same.

He looked around and took to the sky. Higher and higher. When he looked down, he saw no ground but endless night. He was surrounded by stars that happily blinked at him. Rejoicing in his presence.

He landed on nothing and bowed.

The sky enveloped him with live and joy and sorrow like nothing he ever felt before.

He empathized. When the righteous fury came, he did not flinch back. He had nothing to fear.

The fury simmered down and hope took its place.

Roman righted himself full of determination.

There was no one there with him. But he felt almost like someone kissed him on the forehead.

He felt encouraged.

He bowed again and took flight once more. He intended to return to earth. He found himself approaching a light that got brighter and brighter. Until he shot upright in bed.

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Love That Burns ~ Ending 1 ~ Moving On

LOVE THAT BURNS MASTERLIST

< one-shot: still

Word Count: 3,090ish

Summary: You and Logan grief the loss of your child.

Warning(s) - spoilers:  depression, anxiety, doubts, body image issues, talk of stillbirth, talk of child death.

Notes: This will be my final one-shot for Love That Burns. This is a one-shot for my 1st ending of Love That Burns. This takes place after the numbered chapters.

Reminder: I DO NOT do taglists. Please don’t ask. Please follow and interact! I appreciate any reblogs, likes, comments, and asks! 

Grief came and went in waves. Especially when it came to the loss of your son. But things were getting better. You and Logan were making sure that the two of you were working through that together.

Now, it had been almost a year since that tragic loss. You were asleep in Logan’s arms. He had already woke up and was just focused on you. Some nights it was harder to go to sleep or stay asleep. Logan had this fear that he would wake up to your heart not beating. He couldn’t go through that again. He knew, despite his healing factor, he would never be able to survive that.

Logan knew that there was a possibility of waking you, but he couldn’t help himself as he began pressing kisses to your face and neck. You began to stir awake.

“Logan?” You rasped.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he mumbled against your skin. “Can’t help myself.”

“Hard night?” He hummed in response, nodding into your neck. “I’m sorry… anything I can do to help?”

“Just let me hold ya.”

“Always.”

~~~

“I want to check in with you, Howlett,” Scott said, catching Logan in the hallway.

“What is there to check in about?” Logan questioned, confused.

“Your wife. Y/N hasn’t been on a mission since the pregnancy. Do you feel like she’s alright to be put back on the roster?”

Logan took in a sharp breath. Personally, he would never let you on a mission again. That had little to nothing to do with the pregnancy, but his overwhelming need to protect you. He thought to how you were doing. Yes, he could still see the pain dwindle in your eyes at times, especially when you saw Jean and Scott with Rachel. But it was getting better. You were getting better. Despite that, everything in him was screaming at him to say no. To tell Scott that you weren’t ready yet. So that’s exactly what he did.

“No,” Logan’s response was firm, with no room for argument. “Y/N’s not ready to be put back on the roster.”

Scott gave Logan a questioning look, but didn’t press it. “Okay. I’ll still have her benched then. But I’m not telling her.”

“I can handle it.” 

Could he? You would either be grateful that Logan had said that answer, or extremely pissed off. And he would have to wait a few hours to even find out. You were busy teaching a class.

“Okay, then I have a second question,” Scott continued. “You haven’t been on a mission since the pregnancy either. Are you ready? Or is this a question I should be asking Y/N?”

Logan took another moment to think. He felt ready. In fact, he was spending way too much time training, just trying to get all these pent up emotions out of him. Logan talked to you about how he was feeling, so you knew. Maybe going on the occasional mission would help him to heal.

“I’m ready,” Logan answered. “I don’t want little missions though. Only when the whole team is needed. I’m still needed here. With Y/N.”

“Understood.”

~~~

After class, you found yourself in the woods, far in the back of the property. You had a little fire pit made of lava rock that Logan built for you years ago. The quiet place had become more sacred since you buried Jimmy out here. You lit the fire with a slight movement of your fingers and sat yourself down against one of the big trees. You just needed a moment to breathe, just by yourself. There were harder days and easier days when it came to the loss of your son and the multiple timelines in your head. Today seemed to be a harder one.

Closing your eyes, you let yourself fall asleep and dream of previous memories and raising your son. At first, the dream was positive, light and bubbly. And then it quickly took a dark turn, ensnaring you in it’s dark tentacles, preventing you from waking up and seeing the sparks fly off you and onto the trees.

~~~

“Has anyone seen my wife?” Logan asked. 

Logan had gone to your classroom once he was done for the day, only to find it empty. He then searched the lower level and your shared bedroom before heading to the kitchen, where most of the adults were.

“Last time I saw her, she was in her classroom,” Ororo answered. 

“She’s not in there,” stated Logan. “I can’t find her anywhere.”

“Bobby! Storm! Bobby!” Rogue shouted as she rushed into the room. “Has anyone seen Bobby?! Or Storm?!”

“What’s going on, kid?”

“There’s a fire at the far end of the—“

Logan didn’t wait until Rogue was finished before be had bursted out of the back door and was sprinting to the back of the property. There were flames licking the tops of the trees and black smoke rising. Ororo had summoned rain clouds and it began raining over the fire.

“Y/N!” Logan yelled. “Sweetheart!” His paced quickened when he saw you slumped against the tree. “Y/N!” He was by your side in an instant, ignoring the flames surging around. “Hey, princess, wake up for me.” His hands came up to cup your heated face. Logan grounded his teeth at the burning pain but didn’t let up. You gasped, lurching forward as your eyes frantically searched around. “Hey, hey, hey. Focus on me, sweetheart. I’ve got you.” Your eyes more more focused on the smoke, flames, and rain around you while tears started down your face. “Princess, please. Look at me. Focus on me.” Your eyes finally snapped to his. “There’s my girl.”

“I—I’m s-s-sorry…” you stuttered, heaving breaths.

“It’s okay, princess. Everything’s okay. Storm’s puttin’ out the fires. No one else got hurt.”

Your heart dropped. “Someone got hurt?”

“Just you, sweetheart. Come on.” 

Logan lifted you up before you could say anything else. Your arms weakly wrapped around his neck as you melted into his hold. Everyone who had gathered around watched silently as Logan carried you back to the mansion. Logan’s senses focused in on your irregularly beating heart, trying to calm his own frantic worries. He took you back to your bedroom and set you down on the bed.

“I’m sorry,” you whimpered as he pulled away.

He shook his head. “No, princess. Don’t apologize.”

“My mind took control. I couldn’t—“

“Sssshhhh.” He sat down and held you. “It’s okay… It’s okay.”

Logan held you while you cried until you fell back asleep. Once he was sure you were completely out of it, Logan slipped out and headed down to Charles’ office. Charles was still in there, sitting near the window, staring at the grounds that you had burnt down.

“Professor?” Logan said as he entered.

“Come in, Logan,” Charles urged. “Let’s have a chat.”

Logan sighed as he shut the door and went over to sit beside Charles. He rested his arms against his knees and leaned forward, hands clasped together. The two men sat in silence for a few minutes.

“I thought she was gettin’ better,” Logan admitted quietly. “I thought… It’s been a year.”

“A loss like the one you two shared isn’t a simple fix, Logan,” Charles responded. 

“I think… I think I need to take her away.”

“If you take her away now, Logan, she’ll never come back.”

“Then tell me what to do, Charles. Tell me how to fix this.”

Charles sighed, thinking for a moment. “Maybe you take her away, but not too far. The opposite end of the property has a small one room cabin. Where the two of you can still be a part of everything around here, but have more of your privacy.”

“But what else can I do? She’s my wife. I want to— I need to fix this.”

“This isn’t a fight you can charge into, Logan. This is a long uphill climb that will never end. It will get easier with time. But a grief like this stays with you forever. Though… I did have a small mission that I was going to send you two on before the events of today.”

“Y/N is in no place for a mission.”

“Maybe it’s just what she needs. It’s a simple mission. I’ve been in contact with a young mutant located in Mexico. I want her retrieved and brought back here.”

“You know a mission like that is never as simple as it sounds.”

“Back up will be on standby.”

“She’s not ready.”

“Have you asked her? Maybe it will be the thing that will make her start to feel normal again. Talk to her in the morning.” Charles wheeled back and turned around, stopping before he headed out. “You can’t make every decision for her, Logan. Even right now. Even if you mean well.” Then he rolled out, leaving Logan to his thoughts.

~~~

You woke up cuddled into Logan. His arms were firmly around you. Glancing up at him, you were met with his eyes already staring at you. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” he muttered, leaning down and kissing the top of your head.

“Hey,” you hummed. “Did you sleep?”

“No.” Logan pulled you on top of him, securing you tightly to him with a sigh. “You scared me out there.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“I know, princess, I know.” Silence enveloped you both for a long while before Logan spoke up again. “I don’t think we’re doing as good as we think we are.”

“I think you’re right.”

“Scott asked if I felt you were ready for missions before the fire started.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I told him no. I don’t think you’re ready and I think today proved it.”

You pushed your up so that you could look down at Logan. “And what if I feel differently?”

“Honey—“

“No. What if I feel like it could help me get some of this grief out in a different way? Did you seriously make a decision for me without talking it through together?”

“I am just trying to keep you safe. I’m worried and I know that your emotions can control your powers and I don’t— I cannot lose you, darlin’. It would seriously kill me.” He took your hands, carefully holding them in his large, rough ones. He sighed. “Charles also mentioned a mission. A small one. A young mutant that needs to be retrieved from Mexico. Charles says that people will be on standby if something goes wrong.”

“And you said no?”

“I said you weren’t ready.”

You pulled your hands free from his grip and got off the bed. You paced back and forth along the side of the bed. “You can’t— I thought that we were passed making decisions for each other.”

“Sweetheart, you have to understand, I don’t know what else to do. I can’t attack this grief like I would anything else battling against you. This is something I’ve never experienced before, for my self or someone that I love. So making decisions is they one thing I can do.”

“No, making decisions together is the thing that we can do to help us through this. Together is the key word.”

“I didn’t mean to upset you, princess. You gotta know that.”

“I know. But it still did.” You stopped pacing and stood at the other end of the bed. “I’m going on that mission. Tomorrow.”

“Okay, I’ll tell Charles and Scott and we’ll head out—“

“Alone.”

Logan shook his head. “Not a chance, honey. You know that doesn’t fly with me. We do this together.”

“You benched me, I’m benching you now.”

He stood up and reached for you but you pulled back. “Can we not do this, sweetheart? Let’s sleep on it. Please. Come back to bed.”

“No,” you crossed your arms over your chest, almost pouting like a child. You stepped back, hitting against the bedroom door.

“I’ll sleep in the chair or on the floor. Just, please, come back to bed, princess. We can deal with this in the morning.”

“Will we deal with it? Or will you just tell me how I’m going to deal with it?”

Logan sighed, taking another careful step toward you. “I didn’t mean hurt you in making those decisions.”

“Well, you did.”

“I know. I know. And I know that I will have to work for your forgiveness. But can we go to bed and revisit everything in the morning? Please, sweetheart.”

“You’ll sleep in the chair?”

“If that’s what you want.”

You sighed, shoulder shagging. “No… it’s not what I want.”

Logan stepped closer, slowly wrapping his arms around you. You leaned into him, not hugging back. The two of you stood like that for a still tense silent moment.

“Logan,” you whispered against his chest. “Take me to bed and hold me.”

“Anything, sweetheart… anything.”

~~~

The next morning, Logan’s arms were still wrapped around you. The two of you laid there, both awake but let the silence swirl between you.

“I need to go on that mission,” you finally whispered. “With or without you.”

“You’re not going anywhere without me, princess,” Logan mumbled. “Ever… We do this together.”

~~~

Despite his hatred for flying, Logan still insisted on flying you both to the mission in Mexico. The two of you landed on top of a building near the facility. Logan scanned the area from the rooftop, focusing on the facility that you were supposed to infiltrate. You noticed the moment Logan tensed, shoulders tight, nostrils twitching.

“You smell anything?” You asked.

“Metal. Chemicals. Blood,” Logan murmured. “But there’s somethin’ else… somethin’ weird. Familiar.”

You exchanged an uneasy look before the two of you began approaching the facility. You moved in sync— quiet, fast, efficient. The place looked abandoned, but you both knew better than to trust appearances.

Inside, the halls were narrow and sterile. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting a sickly glow on rusted lab equipment and locked doors.

“Kid’s in there,” Logan muttered, sniffing the air near a sealed chamber.

He slid his claws out and sliced through the control panel. The door hissed open. Both of you stepped inside cautiously. In the center of the room sat a small girl— maybe eleven, maybe twelve. She was crouched, wild-eyed, her dark hair tangled, fists clenched at her sides. She wore a hospital gown stained with blood. Her knuckles were split open. Then you saw them. Two gleaming claws, slowly extending from her clenched fists. You froze.

“Logan…” you gasped.

“I see it,” he responded.

The girl didn’t move. She just watched. Her eyes flicked between you both like she was deciding what to do with the two of you.

“Hey,” you called softly, crouching down to her eye level. “It’s okay. We’re not here to hurt you.”

No response. Just breathing— sharp and shallow. 

“She’s got claws,” Logan said slowly, his tone unreadable. “Like me.”

“Could just be a coincidence,” you tried to explain it off. “Some kind of… replication experiment?”

Logan didn’t answer. His jaw clenched tighter as he stared at the girl. You turned your focus back onto the girl, stepping forward slightly.

“What’s your name, sweetie?” You asked.

She hesitated. “Laura,” she rasped.

“Do you know where you are? What they were doing here?”

“Tests. Training. Fighting.”

You took a slow breath. “Okay. We’re gonna get you out of here.”

The only movement Laura made was the claws sliding out of her feet. Logan stepped in front of you.

“We’re not the enemy, kid,” he told her, voice hard.

Laura’s gaze snapped to him. She sniffed— subtle but purposeful. Her head tilted. “You smell like me,” she noted quietly.

“What?” Logan’s brow furrowed as he questioned.

“You smell the same… but older.”

You and Logan exchanged a loaded look.

“She could be a clone,” you suggested, not biding the unease in your voice.

“Or somethin’ worse,” muttered Logan. “They’ve tried before.”

Just then, the alarm blared overhead. Red lights pulsed. Doors slammed shut in the distance.

“They’re coming,” Laura said flatly.

“Time to move!” Logan growled, stepping forward. 

Laura didn’t resist as he grabbed her arm and pushed her toward the exit. The three of you ran through the facility. Gunfire began to ring out from the far side of the hallway. You threw up a wall of fire and turned to Logan, your eyes flowing faintly with your powers in a way they hadn’t in a while.

“You get her to the jet,” you told him. “I’ve got this.”

“No, sweetheart—“

“Logan. Trust me.”

He stared at you for a beat longer, reading in between the lines. He sighed, nodding. “I’ll get her to the jet. But if I have to come back in here for you, you are never leaving the mansion again.”

You gave him a smirk. “I’ll be right behind you.”

You turned back, enforcing your fire wall. Logan watched you for a second more before pulling Laura along with him. You let your emotions bleed into your flames. The grief. The sadness. The hope. The purpose. You weren’t broken. You were just… healing. The long way round. And maybe helping someone else was the first step back to helping yourself.

~~~

Outside, Logan strapped Laura into a seat before his focus turned back to the facility. He hated not being by your side, but he also knew—deep down—that you needed this moment. To fight. To protect. To reclaim something of yourself. And when you finally appeared through the smoke, walking calmly, power humming just beneath your skin, Logan’s breath caught in his throat. You met his gaze and for the first time since you lost your little boy, there was peace in your eyes.

“You okay?” He asked, quickly meeting you at the bottom of the jet. 

You nodded. “Yeah… I am.”

He opened his arms without hesitation, and you stepped into them, finally allowing yourself to relax.

“Let’s go home,” you whispered. 

~~~

The jet touched down back at the mansion just before sunset. Laura hadn’t said a word since Mexico. She sat quiet, her eyes darting with practice wariness. Jean and Hank were already waiting in the hangar when you lowered the jet steps. 

“She’s injured,” Jean stated, already stepping towards Laura, calm and careful.

“She’s not gonna let you touch her,” Logan warned. “She’s… defensive.”

Laura glared at Jean but didn’t resist as the redhead knelt down in front of her. 

“You’re safe now, alright?” Jean said softly. “No more tests. No more needles. Just a few scans so we can make sure you’re okay.”

Laura eyed her suspiciously before look at you. You gave her an encouraging nod and a smile. Then Laura looked back at Jean with a nod.

“We’ll take her from here,” Hank said.

You and Logan watched them lead Laura further into the lower levels. 

The moment they disappeared, Logan huffed. “Charles knew.”

“He always knows,” you sighed.

Logan stormed inside without another word, you following close behind. His boots thudded against the polished floors as you made your way toward Charles’ office. He was already there, of course, sitting near the window as if he’d been waiting.

“Logan, Y/N,” he greeted calmly.

Logan didn’t hesitate. “What the hell did they do?”

“They created her using your genetic material.”

You inhaled sharply. “They cloned him?” You kept still as Logan began pacing liking a caged animal.

“Not a direct clone. It’s more complicated than that. Her genome was engineered using Logan’s DNA, yes. But the result is… different. Laura has two X chromosomes. They spliced up the genetic code with a donor egg to stabilize the process. She wasn’t grown in a tank— she was born, raised in a lab.”

“So… she’s… his daughter?”

“In everyday that matters? Yes.”

Logan’s hands were curled into fists, claws threatened to poke out. “You knew this!” He exclaimed. “You sent us there knowing who she was!”

“I suspected. But it had to be you two who saw her first. If I’d told you everything, you wouldn’t have gone.”

“You’re damn right I wouldn’t have! They made a weapon outta me. Again! And now she’s just a kid with my blood and their scars.”

“Logan,” your voice called out to him through the haze of his anger. He spun to face you. “She’s… your daughter.”

“No. No.” He shook his head. “I… We… We were supposed to have a kid. Together. A mix of the two of us. This… This is… She’s an experiment. She’s—“

“Your daughter. And you are not going to push her aside.”

“But—“

“Logan,” you reached out and took a hold of his hands. “This… This may be our chance. I know it’s strange and it’s not the same. But… I think that this is the universe granting us what we want.”

“I sent the two of you on that mission for a reason,” Charles added.

Logan focused on you, eyes scanning yours to make sure you were okay. All he saw was hope staring back at him. He sighed, tension slipping from his shoulders.

“We can do this,” you told him softly, stepping closer. “Together. Like… like we’ve been meaning to. Okay?”

“I saw it in her, she’s got my rage,” Logan mumbled. “You prepared for that?”

“I’ve dealt with your rage in every lifetime. I think I can handle a mini you. You think you can handle two women in your life?”

“If one of them is you, then yes.” He wrapped his arms around you. “So, we really doin’ this?”

“Yes.”

“Together?”

“Always.”

[icey--stars]

Prompt List for Azris Requests... (Closed)

I want to write Azris. Badly. But I am extremely bad at doing things unless there is someone waiting on me-- then my achievement/fear of failing people motivation kicks in XD. (If you're anonymous, add a little emoji to know you by so I can update you!!) (And yes, this is me weaponizing my people pleasing tendencies against myself.)

SO, here are a couple of prompts/random words that I offer to you all. Send me a couple in an ask and I'll attempt to write a oneshot. You're free to add in extra things as well!! (IF I get an idea from your list of prompts. Beware the fact these requests may take up to a month or longer due to my executive dysfunction and endless college papers. JUST DON'T LET ME FORGET. OMG. MY MEMORY SUCKS.)

My ONLY rule for this set of prompts is that I'm not going to write active smut for my boys. I apologize, but my mood for writing smut for the past year has been nonexistent 💀 (I will still write aftercare scenes though!!! just... without the smut before them lmAO)

I HIGHLY encourage you to specify Az or Eris for these prompts! (Ex. the "Scars" one- do you want me to write about Azriel's or Eris's scars?)

If you particularly like a previous oneshot/series of mine and would like to see the prompt set in that some storyline, say so!

Without further ado...

↢ 『 ☾ 』 ↣

"If you do that again, I will throw you out that window... What are you doing?" "Checking how high it is to see if its worth it."

Exhaustion (specify a type of exhaustion if you send this! like work/school exhaustion, post-nsfw activities exhaustion, etc...)

"How long have you not slept?"

Forgetting an important date

Drunk/High

Scars

"Is that blood?!"

Family (specify H/C or fluff for this one!! so many choices!!)

"You knew, didn't you?"

Flames

"Are you... alright?" "I don't want to lie to you."

"Stop saying sorry!"

"How's your day going?" "I haven't killed anyone yet."

Warm

Pets/Hounds (and all my extensive headcanons with this one XD)

Dreams/Nightmares (choose one!)

"Excuse me, who is holding the knife here?"

Storms

Blankets

"Get the fuck behind me."

"I didn't mean that."

"This is not what it looks like." "Are you sure about that?"

Kidnapping

"Close your eyes. This is not going to be pretty."

"Breathe."

"Stay, please?"

"You look awful." "Thanks. Appreciate you mentioning that."

"Would you just sit still for one second?!"

"How did I wait this long to kiss you?"

Blushing/Flirting

Choose however many you want! And feel free to add extra requests in addition to these! Just know, the more complicated/specific the prompt/request is, it may take longer b/c I want it to be perfect 🥺

love y'all, hope you're having a good day :D

CLOSED FOR NOW. THEY WILL RETURN!!!