#I will love any song that stops in anticipation | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lavenderspence · 10 months ago

Text

To Lean On You | Spencer Reid

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Content Warning: post prison!Spencer, mentions of addiction, prison talk (typical for the prison arc), gun use, mentions of death, suggestive themes, idiots in love, angst, so much angst.

Word Count: 8.6K

Summary: You and Spencer wasted years, truths hidden, feelings uncertain, and a fear of the unrequited. It took ten weeks, isolated, silent, and broken, for the realization to strike. There was no life, if you didn’t have each other.

A/N: It’s finally here! Wow, writing this was a wild ride, honestly. Over a month of writing, blood, sweat, and tears poured over it (there were in fact some tears). This is also the first thing I’ve written in 3 years and I'm very happy to finally be out of my slump. It's probably the angstiest thing I've written ever, and at the same time, I feel like it's not the greatest, but deep down, I still love it, haha. Let me know if I've missed any warnings. And, enjoy and any feedback is appreciated. <3

Here are some of the songs I listened to while writing this if you want to get into the mood:

Hearts by Jessie Ware

The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived by Taylor Swift

Lost Without You by Freya Ridings

In This Shirt by The Irresponssibles

masterlist

79 days, 3 hours, and 27 minutes - that’s how long it’s been since he got arrested in Mexico.

70 days, 6 hours, and 13 minutes since you saw him being pulled out of the courtroom after he was deemed a flight risk and denied bail. 70 days, 6 hours, and 13 minutes have passed since you last saw him.

65 days, 7 hours, and 11 minutes, since he was transferred to Millburn Correctional Facility, and this whole nightmare, had started.

Per Penelope’s carefully crafted schedule, every team member has made numerous trips to visit Spencer - every member except you. You’d only made one trip out, and that had been 3 days after he’d been transferred.

March 4th, 2017

It’s been 8 days since you saw him led in cuffs out of that courtroom, where Penelope had broken down in Luke’s arms, everyone too shocked to make a sound. He’d looked back, his eyes meeting yours briefly, and it had been as if you’d almost seen your reflection in the mirror, every emotion had run between you both in a matter of seconds.

Shock, you’d almost been sure they would grant bail, and you’d be able to take him home. Almost.

Fear, for his future and his well-being. Fear of the uncertain.

Desperation, the desire to run to him and take him into your arms, finally, and to not let go.

Except you’d held his gaze for as long as you could before you’d looked down and turned your head to save him from seeing you break down in tears. You’d made a hasty escape after that, not sparing any of your teammates a glance, and walked out of the courthouse, stopping by a tree outside. The urge to curl up into a ball and hide, pretending none of this had happened, was strong, and then a hand wrapped around your shoulder. You had turned around, only to see Rossi and one of his sad little smiles, the ones you rarely saw.

“It’s going to be okay,” he’d said, squeezing your shoulder. ”The kid is strong.”

You’d sniffled, trying to hide the tears in your voice. “Yeah, well, I’m not sure I am," you’d whispered in despair.

You were better than you had been 8 days ago, calmer. Although still heartbroken, you were looking forward to seeing him, seeing with your eyes that he was okay. Garcia had seen him, 2 days ago, before you’d been sent out on a case.

“He looks good. I mean, as good as that big genius brain of his can look in prison. His eyes were sad though, really, really sad.” She’d paused as if to assure herself it would be alright, “I’m sure he’s looking forward to seeing you, sweetness.” She’d squeezed your hand, but her statement hadn’t rung true.

Your hands were shaking, you weren’t sure what from. The anticipation you’d felt? The nerves? Or the words you had a hard time coming to terms with.

“I’m sorry, but your name isn’t on Spencer Reid’s approved visitor list,” the guard at the checkpoint had said after rechecking the list.

“There has to be a mistake, I made an appointment,” you insisted, feeling yourself unravel. It wasn’t possible, you knew for a fact you were on that list, Emily had made sure of that.

“Look, lady. There are only 10 names on that list, and yours is not one of them. Now, you need to move, because there are people here waiting to see their loved ones.” you’d hiccuped and turned around, walking to the lockers to unlock your gun, badge, and phone.

“I’m here to see a loved one.” You’d wanted to scream, but you knew it would have been futile. There wasn’t anything you could do at that moment.

You walked to your car, dialing Emily’s number, “This is Prentiss.”

For a second, only your breathing could be heard over the sound of the wind, and then a tiny sniffle. You wiped at your eyes and nose, and then spoke up, barely, “Why am I not on Spencer’s approved visitor list?”

“What do you mean? Every member of this team is on the list. So is his lawyer and Diana, even Derek,” you could hear the surprise in her voice, yet you couldn’t keep calm any longer.

"They refused to let me see him! I made the appointment, Emily, and I came, hoping I’d finally see him hear his voice, and ask him-” Your voice broke mid-sentence, and after taking a deep breath, you continued, “Ask him if he was okay, and I was denied because out of the 10 names on that list, it seems mine’s not one of them.” You finished defeated, barely above a whisper.

All was silent for the moment, save for what you could hear was Penelope’s voice on the other end of the line, quietly asking what was going on, “Let me call Fiona and the warden, and I’ll see what happened. Meanwhile, I need you back here, because we just got a case.” Her voice wasn’t leaving anything up for discussion. Still, you couldn’t go, not until you saw him.

“Emily-” she cut you off.

“It’s not a discussion. I’ll resolve this, but I need you here and your head in the game. Am I clear?” Her voice was stern, but maybe that’s exactly what you needed. Maybe.

“Yeah, clear. I’m on my way back.” You took a deep breath and started the car and the journey back to Quantico, but your mind stayed right there, on the bars that kept you away from the one thing you held dearest.

As it turns out, there was nothing the warden or Fiona could do. Even Emily Prentiss, Unit Chief of the BAU, couldn't “resolve” the situation. Days, weeks, and months passed, and for 70 days you couldn’t see him, isolated out, not even knowing why.

“-to be in the courthouse in one.” You snapped out of your thoughts, only catching the end of the sentence, digging the heels of your hands into your eyes. You were tired, and it had little to do with the fact that you had been up all night, going over all the evidence with the team and tracing Lindsey Vaughan’s steps to a T in an attempt to exonerate Spencer and finally bring him home.

You were exhausted, both physically and mentally. You’d been up for more than 24 hours now, but then you hadn’t been sleeping all that well to begin with. Every single night was spent wondering how Spencer was doing, and every time you closed your eyes, you saw him in that cell in Mexico.

His eyes were red, high out of his mind, barely coherent, dirty, and injured - a far cry from the person you were used to seeing every single day - energetic, passionate, and brilliant. After 12 years, if there was one image you wished to erase from your memory, it was this one. Not all the blood you’ve seen spilled, every victim, be it men, women, or even children, all the horrors of the job, but this. Maybe it made you a bad person, but there was nothing worse than seeing the one person you held dearest at their lowest and not being able to do anything to stop it.

Every waking hour that you weren’t on the job was spent wondering how he was doing and if he was okay. If he was healthy, unharmed, and safe, or as safe as an FBI agent could be in prison. But most of all, the one thing that had kept you up at night, slowly destroying your sanity and making you question everything, had been the one question you couldn’t seem to get an answer to.

“Why doesn’t he want to see me?”

You’d asked everyone and had waited with battered breath for an answer, a clarification on the matter, and it never came. As shocked as you had been at the notion that you wouldn’t be seeing Spencer for an indefinite amount of time, your team had been even more shocked. They knew the kind of relationship you and Spencer had, how close you’d become over the years, and how much you relied on each other.

You’d asked every team member, you’d asked yourself, you’d even asked Spencer in a few of the letters you wrote to him, and then there had come a point where you just stopped.

You were torturing yourself more than enough, day after day, and every single night, asking yourself a question you wouldn’t get an answer to. Not as long as he was locked up in that hellhole and you were out here, trying to keep together the pieces of something, that was on the verge of breaking.

You felt a hand taking hold of yours, and for a second, you tensed up. Pulled out of your thoughts, you looked up and were met with chocolate brown eyes, full of worry - Emily’s eyes.

You glanced around the room, only to realize it was empty, save for the two of you. You hadn’t felt when the others had left, that’s how deep in thought you had been.

“Where did you go? I’ve been calling your name for a while now,” she spoke gently, squeezing your hand. If you were honest, that’s the first time she asked you anything about the situation. You’d spent weeks suffering in silence and trying to pretend that you weren’t slowly dying on the inside.

You briefly thought about lying, it wouldn’t be the first lie you’d told since Spencer had been incarcerated, but you didn’t have it in you to hide anymore.

And so, for the first time since Spencer’s hearing, you told the truth.

“Nothing makes sense anymore, Em,” it left you in a whisper, “I’m barely holding it together. I feel like I’m drowning sometimes, and just when I breach the surface, I’m pulled back in. My mind, it’s...I question everything, all the time. My mornings start with thoughts about him, and my nights end with tears over him, over this entire…this nightmare. I keep waiting for my alarm to go off, to wake up and realize that this has been a plot of my imagination, some cruel joke my mind has conjured, designed to show me... "Your eyes welled with tears, prepared to admit something you should have long ago. Emily gave your hand another squeeze, prompting you to continue, and so you did, admitting it for the first time aloud.

“Designed to show me that I can’t live a life that doesn’t have Spencer in it.” You wiped at your eyes, willing your tears at bay. When you dared to look up, you were met with the eyes of the only other person besides Spencer who has been a constant rock in your life for the last 11 years. What you saw in her eyes then wasn’t surprise like you’d thought, but relief. It took you a moment to fully read her, but it was like a switch had gone off when you finally did.

“But you’re not surprised to hear this, are you?” you smiled sadly, a light laugh leaving you.

“I wouldn’t be a good friend if I didn’t have my suspicions, and I’d be an even worse profiler,” she smiled at you, “Plus, there are some feelings that you just can’t hide,” you blinked, and then you blinked again. You hadn’t come right out and said it, and yet she knew, she somehow knew.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” you tried to backtrack, but you knew it was a losing battle. Emily knew you well enough to smell your bullshit from miles.

“That’s exactly how you meant it, and don’t even try to deny it. I see it every damn day. It’s how you leave the room whenever you hear someone talk about visiting Spencer. You don’t want to hear how he’s doing because you wouldn’t believe it, not unless you see him with your own eyes. But you can’t, so you’ve resigned yourself to the torture of not knowing instead of giving yourself the smallest amount of peace by asking. You’ve been suffering in silence for almost three months, too stubborn to say anything, thinking you were doing yourself a favor. And what for? You’re crying yourself to sleep every night and coming to work the next morning, pretending everything is fine when clearly it’s not. You think you’re fooling everyone, but the only person you’re tricking is yourself. And how’s that working out for you?” she had a point, and it’s not like you weren’t aware of that fact. You knew what you were doing wasn’t okay or healthy. You had the most stable support system imaginable to get you through the hardest parts. It was hard, though, especially when the person who was suffering the most was the person who’d taken your heart with him.

“Way to call me out, boss.” you were just about ready to end the conversation, you couldn’t take any more of this. You’d promised each other long ago that you wouldn’t profile each other but you had a feeling that was exactly what Emily was doing right now. Maybe not on purpose, and with every good intention imaginable, but you didn’t want that. You didn’t want one of your best friends to try to understand you based on behavioral analysis right after you’d spilled your soul out to her.

“Just calling it the way I see it, someone has to,” she smiled, but then she shook her head a little before continuing. “What I want to know is why you didn’t say something earlier. You know I would have been there to listen, and so would have the team.” Damn, Emily Prentiss.

You didn’t have to think hard about it, you’ve been ruminating over everything for days. You were trying not to, but whenever your mind wasn’t focused on a case or the many drinking nights spent in Penelope’s purple adobe, that was where your mind would take you.

“Out of fear, I think,” you started, unsure for a second, still nervous to admit it. It wasn’t exactly what she was asking, but it was a start, “I was afraid, and I still am. I’ve been baiting myself into thinking it was just some sort of fondness, a little stronger than that which you feel towards a friend, and far lesser than what it actually is. I thought that if I didn’t say anything, I could go on lying to myself, and nothing would have to change, we wouldn’t have to change. Because words hold meaning, and an admission like that holds weight. What would I have done if it was just me who felt like this? I would have ruined the one thing we’ve both cherished for over a decade.” It felt good to finally say all of this out loud instead of holding it inward. But then again, Emily always knew when you'd had enough.

She’d told you time and time again the same thing Hotch had asked of her when she returned to duty after faking her death: “Let me know when you are having a bad day.”. Honestly, you’d held off long enough, and so had she. It was a whole miracle she hadn’t pressed you about your behavior earlier.

“That’s not what I was asking,” you said, shaking your head with a smile to let her know that you weren’t done speaking.

“Everyone was suffering as a result of what happened in Mexico, what I was feeling wasn’t any different, Emily.” You were flippant about it, you always have been. You preferred isolating yourself and hiding everything instead of seeking a shoulder to bear the weight of what you felt.

“Our sadness came from the fact that our friend was framed. And yours? That’s different.”

“It isn’t,” she scoffed, getting up. Now you really felt like you were about to get scolded like a child.

“Yes, it is. God, you and Spencer are the same. It’s like I’m looking at his doppelganger without the whole… IQ of 187. You share some of the worst qualities a person can have,” you laughed at that, “You are both changeophobes-” you cut her off

“Metathesiophobia, fear of change.” She only raised her hand at you, as if to say, “See, you even sound like him,” which made you laugh even more.

“You close yourselves off after a sad or traumatic experience, silently hoping you’d be able to get through the worst of it on your own. Most of the time, it’s evident that’s not the case. You only ask for help when you’ve reached rock bottom or have no other choice, but you’ve had a choice from the get-go. Your stubbornness even stems from the same anxieties, it’s infuriating,” she seemed to calm down then, in defeat maybe, or she hadn’t been mad, to begin with, she sat down again.

“My point is, it shouldn’t have taken you learning that he might be coming home today to tell me all of this. I’ve known for a long time that there was something far more than platonic friendship on your end. You shouldn’t have tortured yourself since his trial to try to put the puzzle pieces together. You aren’t late, you have all the time in the world to say what you feel and what you want, and rejection shouldn’t be a factor, believe me. You need to make peace with that fear because Spencer is coming home today. And whether you are ready or not, you both need to have a serious conversation.” You appreciated her determination about Spencer being released, but then again, you had more than circumstantial evidence to support the fact that he was innocent. But, as always, Emily was right. He was coming home today, and after months of not seeing each other, there were a lot of things you needed to say.

“I know. Thank you, Emily, for everything,” you whispered, squeezing her tight.

Spencer’s POV

The first breath of fresh air after being on the inside for months felt far more overwhelming than he thought it would be. Being in charge of your being and your responses and emotions felt almost unnatural like the feeling of it didn’t belong to him. The sound of the wind and the traffic, people’s voices, and even the simple act of getting comfortable in the leather seats of the jet overwhelmed any ability to concentrate and think straight.

In itself, it was strange. The prison was loud, the prison commissary at breakfast, lunch, and dinner was a cacophony of prisoners talking, cells being opened, and guards barking orders. The yard was loud too, although, in the middle of nowhere, nature could still be heard - the sounds of trees and the lone birds, if he had to guess a mix of Mourning Dove and Field Sparrow. Their songs were soothing most of the time, a welcome distraction from the usual noises around him.

Without the atmosphere he’d gotten used to and subjected to all of those sounds and people whose presence he found comforting before, he now felt almost out of place. He wanted to feel at peace, he wanted to feel free, and although he technically was, his mind was more trapped than he’d actually been in that 2 by 2 cell in cellblock C.

He kept replaying some of the hardest moments from his time in, every threat, every punch he’d gotten, and the phantom feel of the fists connecting. Luis’ blood on his hands, the smell of bleach incorporated with the drugs, the tip of the sharpened toothbrush embedding into his thigh. All he’d done to survive, harm, and more harm, only to make it out alive.

He barely recognized himself. He’d deliberately ignored looking at himself in the small plastic mirror in his cell, for fear of seeing what he’d had to become. Gone was the Spencer who’d use his brain to get out of situations, whose obliviousness more often than not helped to balance his intellect with the socially acceptable. Gone was the bubbly personality of a kid excited to share a plethora of facts with his friends.

In his place sat a man, tormented by the reality of the hatred felt towards him. The reality of being a pawn in a game whose complexity could have been his downfall. A man whose genius, as much of a blessing, could sometimes be a curse. A man who had felt too much and was made to experience far more loss than his quaint heart was able to take. In the end, he kept losing, be it his father, by no choice of his own. His mentor, at the hands of a killer’s insanity. His friends and loved ones, hoping for a better life or his freedom, made to rot in a place he didn’t deserve to be in.

Some would doubt that he had anything at all left to lose. All in all, how much more could the scrawny twelve-year-old child prodigy, left to survive in a public high school, take?

His mind had been plagued by that question for years. He’d thought about that more than he’d like to admit. After every loss, there’d been a split moment where he’d asked himself what was next. What would be the next thing life would take from him? And every time, he’d had to wonder if, next time, life wouldn’t reach for the one thing he couldn’t allow to be taken from him. The one thing that, were he to lose, he’d never recover. He had hoped, sometimes prayed, that after everything he’d seen, everything he’d lived through, this would be the one thing that’d be spared.

Locked in that cage, he’d tried even harder to ensure that there wouldn’t be another loss in his life - not anymore. Be it good or bad, he’d done everything. For 70 days, he’d had to assure himself he was doing what he thought was right, and what he wasn’t saying, he’d be forgiven for. He’d had to dodge questions and see the disappointment in his friend’s eyes, and when that wasn’t enough of a burden to bring all of his anxieties to the surface, he’d resigned himself to reading the words of the person he was doing all of this for - you.

He’d reread every letter to the point where the edges of the papers were worn out, even though he’d known the contents by heart on the first read. He tortured himself by looking at your handwriting, analyzing the slanting of the words and the pressure of the pen. The little stains on the paper, he didn’t have to be a genius to know, were your tears. It broke his heart, to know he was causing you this much pain. He didn’t need to be there to see it, he felt it through your words.

He often questioned if it was worth it, if he was protecting you, or himself, or maybe even what you were or weren’t.

Even now, the weight of your words sat heavily on his mind, and right by his heart, in the pocket of his jacket, he felt the weight of the 9 letters you wrote.

As he looked over from the little window of the jet, he couldn’t help but wonder if, in his desire to shield you from everything, he hadn’t gone too far. Ultimately, was he going to be forgiven, or be forced to pick up the pieces of the reality broken by his own doing?

“Don’t do that.” JJ’s gentle voice startled him from the overwhelming nature of his thoughts. She’d spent the last 30 minutes since they boarded silently observing him, waiting for him to pick up a conversation. But he’d decided to stay num.

In every twitch of his fingers, in his desire to get comfortable but being unable to, she could see that he was restless. If she had to guess, his mind was much the same.

“Do what?”

She gave him a look, one, had he not known her long enough, he might have been offended by. Clearly, she was offended herself, watching him play the clueless card.

“Spence, I don’t need to profile you to know that your mind’s running a thousand miles a minute, contemplating your decisions, and I don’t think you should. You did what you thought was right, and no one blames you for that, not for Mexico, and not for what you did after,” she spoke evenly, gathering even Penelope and Alvez’s attention from where they sat. He looked over, receiving a smile and a nod from both before focusing on JJ again.

Rationally, he knew she was right about everything. He didn’t need to run himself ragged with everything he could have done differently, or search for the perfect way to explain, or overall, the perfect outcome of his own decisions. He knew there wasn’t one, there was no perfect way to say what he needed to, no perfect words to pick so he could fix this and erase the pain he knew he’d caused.

Perfection wasn’t something you could strive to achieve, because there’s no such thing as perfection. The term was diverse, everyone had a different perspective on what that might look like. If for JJ, perfection was the family that waited for her at home every time she returned from a case, for Spencer, perfection was vastly different.

For him, perfection was the rich aroma of coffee that could cause someone’s insulin to spike because of the amount of sugar in it. The softness of a book page between his fingers, or the familiarity of a book he’d read before but needed to revisit.

Perfection was the sound of your laugh whenever he was the one to prompt the sound. The way your eyes lit up every time you listened to him babble on. Perfection was the time he got to spend with you every day, every hour, and every minute that he could remember with almost scary accuracy.

He could sit and wonder what the perfect way to go about this was, but there simply wasn’t one, there was only the truth. And as painful, hopeful, or even a little dumb as it was, that was the best he could give.

And maybe that’s what his mind should focus on instead, the truth, in its simplest form, at its core the truth he’d hidden for months, and then the truth he’d hidden for years.

He had wondered long enough if he’d made the right choice. He spent plenty of time focusing on the shame he’d felt, prompted by the disappointment he’d seen in his friends’ eyes whenever they brought up your name. How he’d sit, silent, or give an answer so short and angry, it’d add even more shame to the one he already felt.

Beyond his time in prison, where he spent most of his time questioning his decisions, he spent years before that questioning himself as a person. His place on the team, his intelligence, even his failings. His inability to form relationships where he’d be seen as more than Dr. Reid, or the skinny kid, pretty boy, or a genius. A relationship that’d make him feel like simply Spencer, without the added adjectives, that sometimes made him feel like a circus clown.

Only when he’d been locked up, had he started to realize that he’d finally built a relationship with someone with whom he could be himself. The most basic, boring, and peaceful version of himself, and slowly, all had started falling into place.

How content he felt whenever he was around you, the desire to tell you every good or bad news he received. How when you asked about his mother, it warmed his heart, or how worried he felt when you acted stupid in the field. How out of control he’d felt when you’d gone missing last year. Or even, at the time, the unexplained jealousy he’d felt seeing you talk with another man.

Morgan had asked, once, twice, a lot, if maybe he didn’t have a crush, but he’d denied it, every time. And every time he’d question himself, he'd dismiss the idea just as quickly.

Yet, upon being forced away from you, the pieces had started mending into one.

Every realization he’d had was like a new broken piece being glued to the overall mosaic. And every new piece added built everything he felt about you. And it was a lot, and it was overwhelming, and so, so right, it sometimes felt wrong. Because he was inside a prison of his own doing, and you were out there, made to wait for him, for an explanation, for the truth.

And he’d vowed to himself that the moment he was out, he’d put everything on the table, no matter how much he’d fucked up or how much he’d hurt you. He’d sit there, and he’d let it out, and if necessary, he’d even beg for your forgiveness.

Because there wasn’t a moment in this life, he wanted to live through, without you there with him.

Your POV

You pulled the trigger, your eyes focused, and your hands steady. Three consecutive shots were fired, each one hitting its intended target. Three more followed, and then as many as it took to empty the magazine.

You put down the gun and took a deep breath, steadying your heartbeat, trying to rid yourself of the deep-seated anxiety you felt. An odd sense of calm overtook you whenever you found yourself at the shooting range. Maybe it was the everpresent scent of gunpowder or the quiet only disturbed by the firing of a gun. Or even the possibility of escaping your rising thoughts, the desire to run or scream, sometimes both.

There was a sense of solitude there that almost made it easier to breathe. The repetitive motion and the weight of the gun in your hands felt like second nature.

Front sight, trigger press, follow through, just like Hotch had taught you all those years ago. As long as you held that gun, your mind was quiet, and you focused on something other than the worry you felt.

It made sense you found yourself there shortly after Emily had shared the long-awaited good news - Spencer was finally free, and JJ, Penelope, and Luke were on route back with him. For a short moment, you’d felt the weight being lifted from your chest, and then it dropped again, now tripled.

Suddenly, your earlier conversation with Emily had gotten as real as the target before you. Even with the sense of peace, you’d felt after, your thoughts on the matter clear, you still felt a sense of dread at the idea of seeing him.

As if he wasn’t your best friend, the man who’d long ago won your affection and captured your heart, but rather a stranger who held your future in his hands. And he might as well be, because whatever the truth to the questions you wanted answered was, one thing was for sure.

It’d either make or break you both.

You picked up a new magazine, and loaded the gun, aiming at the target before releasing the safety. Before you fired again, you released a breath, and with it, all the feelings within you - fear, uncertainty, yearning, and the sense of madness, which, although mild, was persistent.

You fired once, twice, your aim impeccable, and then, out of nowhere, you missed.

The hair at the back of your neck rose, your heart rate quickened, and the feeling of another’s presence in the room was unmistakable. It took you just a second to put the pieces together, the intrusion felt like anything but that.

Instead, for a brief moment, the person brought with them a familiar feeling of calm. In the next instance, though, reality came crashing like a tidal wave, and you knew you’d run out of time.

Your hands shook as you put down the gun. You could feel him watching you, probably standing next to the door, as if he couldn’t will himself to move closer. The anxiety was palpable in the air, although you couldn’t really say if it was yours or his, most likely, it was a mix of both.

You went to reach for your protection but hesitated. Once you took it off, there’d no longer be an excuse for you to ignore him, you’d finally have to meet the reality he’d so carefully crafted for you.

Even though you felt like you could barely breathe, the desire to finally lay your eyes on him won out.

Without missing another beat, you took off your earplugs and then your eye protection. You could faintly hear the sound of shoes squicking against the floor. He could never stay still when he was nervous.

You picked up on the sound of your own breathing too, the beating of your heart was almost erratic. You were waiting, what for, you weren’t sure.

He was waiting too, for you to turn around, to lay his eyes on you. Like a sadist, waiting to see the pain he’d caused, or a masochist, wishing for his own in turn.

70 days of slowly killing you both.

When you finally dared to turn around, it took you a moment to fully take him in. He looked like the Spencer you knew, yet there was something different about him too. Dressed in his usual suit and tie outfit, he didn’t look comfortable. His posture was rigid, almost defensive. It wasn’t a conscious decision, that much you were sure of.

His hair was longer, pushed back, curling at the ends, and he’d lost some weight. Not much, but enough to make an impression after all this time. He looked pensive, like the weight of the world sat on his shoulders, but maybe it was just the weight of the consequences he had to face.

Your eyes ran over every inch of him multiple times, intentionally avoiding his gaze for as long as possible. Seconds and minutes passed, and you weren’t really sure how much exactly.

Spencer knew, though, of course, he did. If his fear of meeting you eye to eye was as great as yours was, you knew he was counting until the torture of the act itself was over.

89 seconds he’d counted, although now with you there, they felt longer than the days without you did.

When you eventually met his gaze, you felt a part of your heart chip on the inside. What people said about the eyes being a portal to one's soul couldn’t have been more right in that moment. Spencer, a man who excelled at hiding his emotions when he really wanted to, had let them out as clear as day for you to see.

His eyes sparkled with so much sadness and guilt that it threatened to take you apart even before he had the chance to talk. Something softened within you at that moment, but in the next instance, it was like someone else took over.

One moment you wanted to cry for him or with him, and the next you felt like your whole being needed to be let out.

“Is that…is that all you can offer me right now? More of your silence? Don’t you think I’ve had enough of that?” The questions, a few of many to follow, had a bite to them.

His face fell a little, taken aback by your tone. He fidgeted with his fingers, unsure what to say, or where to start. How could he answer your question? He pictured a scenario where his words flew freely, where he gave you an explanation worthy of forgiveness and a confession, so earnest that it ended with you in his arms.

Try as he might, the words didn’t come to him, just a barely audible accusation.

“That’s not fair.”

You scoffed, as if in outrage. A madness, one born out of so much heartbreak, took over, it was blinding. If someone had asked you to explain yourself, you’d say that wasn’t you. You’d never be so forward, almost cruel, to him, but at that moment, being mad sounded so much better than being vulnerable. Like a shield, you weren’t ready to let go of yet.

“How exactly is this not fair, Spencer? It’s the truth!” you yelled, and you felt free, finally letting it all out. “You want to know what isn’t fair, though? The way you isolated me OUT of your life! For three months, I’ve had to stand on the sidelines and beg for scraps, just to know you were okay. Every pitiful look I’d get from the people I consider family felt like another stab to the heart. That’s what’s not fair!” You were screaming so loud. It was a good thing the range was soundproof, otherwise, the whole of the BAU would have been deep in your business by now.

If he looked surprised by the accusation, he didn’t really show it. His posture took a turn, though. The rigidity disappeared, and in turn, it opened, as if the need to comfort you overpowered the uncertainty or the mask he’d had to hold while imprisoned.

You didn’t want his comfort, not right now. Maybe later, when all was said and done, you’d get to have a normal conversation without the frustrations of the past. At that moment, you just wanted everything out of your system. You wanted the questions, the answers, and the truth.

His silence continued as he started closing the distance between you. You wanted to move, to create more distance, but there was nowhere to go. You were squeezed between the range, and him. Whatever else was left than to continue begging for clarity.

“It’s not fair being sent away the first time I came to see you. To learn you didn’t want to see me! Each time it was my turn to visit you, do you want to know where I was? I sat outside that fucking prison, wishing for a glimpse of the person who’s been my rock for 12 years! Holding back tears, thinking you didn’t…you didn’t care like I did. Is this what I really deserve after 12 years by your side?” You almost slipped, you almost told him, and maybe you should have, it might have prompted him to talk or to say something. But no, he stayed silent. Step after step, he limped, his cheek twitched, and his brows furrowed, but like a coward, he remained quiet.

He was meters away from you, three more steps, and he’d completely close the distance, and meet you face to face.

“Say something, Spencer, damn it!” Your throat burned from the strain, and he advanced even more. “Anything,” you finished in a whisper, and all of a sudden, all the fight left you, and your eyes watered and your vision went blurry.

He was just a step away then, and when you looked into his eyes, you couldn’t help but see how they shined.

He reached forward, one hand taking hold of your arm while the other went to hold your waist, but you shook your head. “No, Spencer, please,” you whispered. You didn’t want to find yourself in his arms, because that would be the last of your composure, gone. You’d surrender to the feel of him like you even had a choice not to.

He didn’t stop, not until you were snug into his arms, one of his hands at the back of your neck, holding your head tenderly, but the arm around your waist held onto you as if he was scared you’d slip away from him.

Once in his arms, you finally let go, breaking down into pieces, hoping he’d be able to hold them all from crumbling to the ground.

“Hey, shh, it’s okay. I’ve got you.” He kept repeating, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on your pulse point. All the while, you could only stand, your arms at your sides, as if paralyzed.

Being in his arms felt like being home somehow. It felt so right after having been deprived of the feeling for so long. It felt like there was nothing wrong, and nothing could go wrong at that moment.

Even though you hadn't initially wanted his comfort, somewhere deep inside, you craved his tender touch. You craved the feel of his body near and the faint scent that was so uniquely him - a mix of coffee, fall, and old paper, books. You realized then that you craved the sound of his voice too, another part of him you’d been deprived of.

The voice of the always rambling boy that never failed to bring a smile to your face, even when you couldn’t understand him sometimes.

And the more he whispered, his voice broken and shaky, the harder you cried. You’d thought nothing could match the heartbreak of his actions or the anger of his silence, but the reality of being held against him brought the realization that your suffering mirrored his own.

If you’d been dying on the inside for months, he’d been on the other side of the link holding you tethered to each other, dying just as much.

And you couldn’t hold yourself back any longer after that. You buried your head in the crook of his neck, and your arms finally circled his waist underneath his suit jacket, fisting the back of his shirt as if it were your one lifeline.

You felt him exhale when you finally returned his touch, most likely in relief, before he dropped a light kiss on your head.

You cried for the relief of having him back and close. For unspoken truths and time wasted, years of figuring out feelings clear as day. For all the anger, for all of his silence, for all you felt for him.

He cried for all the pain he’d caused you and for all the time he’d wasted being alone instead of being with you. He cried for himself, he cried for you, and he cried, overwhelmed by his feelings for you.

You clung to one another, crying, and minutes were passing and neither of you cared. Not when you had each other.

After a while, when both your tears dried out and your cries quieted, but you still felt the need to hold each other close, you dared to murmur a broken “Why?” hoping he’d hear, hoping he’d understand.

It didn’t take him long to mumble a reply, no longer silent.

“All the words in the world available, and I wish I could explain.” it came out just as quietly, both of you scared to break the little bubble you’d found yourselves in.

You pulled back from him, wanting to look into his eyes, red-rimmed and still sparkling when you felt yourself begging again.

“Then try, please, because I’d rather know, and not understand, than not know at all.” And it was the truth. He could speak in riddles if he wanted, but you needed to know why he’d made that choice.

You looked at him expectantly before he pushed a piece of hair back, and his hand once again settled at the back of your head, gently cupping it.

“I wanted you safe from a world you didn’t belong in,” he admitted on an exhale, like a lifelong secret he’d gotten tired of holding onto.

You looked at him in wonder, and it was on the tip of your tongue to tell him he didn’t belong in that world either, but just as you opened your mouth to speak, he shook his head.

“I was ashamed when I had you removed from the visitor’s list. I didn’t want you to see me like that, like a criminal,” he started, pulling you into his arms, not wanting to admit it to you eye to eye, out of fear of being right. Of course, he was wrong, but that didn’t stop him from wondering.

“The first time JJ visited me, they leered at her like they were being fed fresh meat, taking her in, committing her to memory. A cage full of animals. I knew then that I didn’t want that for you, and any guilt I had at keeping you away disappeared that day. It hurt me, knowing I was failing you and whatever trust you had in me,” he whispered, wishing to keep the reality of his thoughts and his feelings in a little bubble as if you only existed in it.

“I’m not the same person I was before, I couldn’t be him, even if it meant losing a part of myself in the process. I couldn’t really be a decent human being without bearing the consequences. Everything I saw, everything I did, and everything that was done to me, I don’t think I’d ever fully be the person I was before. And that too, I’m thankful I spared you from seeing.” It would explain his rigidity, a defense mechanism he’d had to get used to.

And while everything he’d said thus far was true the biggest truth, he’d had yet to say. He had yet to really explain why he’d done what he’d done in the first place. He was stalling, still afraid, but the longer he held you, the longer he felt your heart beating in time with his, the more sure he became.

To hell with the consequences, to hell with whatever happened after, he was right here in the now, alive, breathing, his arms around you, finally at peace.

He pulled back, took your face into his hands, and finally whispered.

“Most of all, though, I knew I loved you enough to risk us if it meant keeping you safe.” It left him in a rush, a confession waiting to be let out for months. A feeling he’d had for years, and a moment where he could finally be open about it.

“What…?” you licked your lips, shocked that you might not have heard him correctly. ”What does us mean?” This part of the conversation felt like you were daydreaming about it, it just didn’t feel real.

“It means whatever you want it to be. Whatever you want us to be.” All of a sudden, it was that simple.

“So, you love me?” You had a hard time taking it all in, yet your heart fluttered in pure happiness. “And you…you want us?”

"Yes.” Even before you were done speaking, he was already answering. He was desperate to finally admit he was absolutely smitten by you.

Months of figuring out your feelings, years of hiding them, a conversation to finally prompt a confession out of you, and all this time it was reciprocated. You could have cried, happiness like no other coursing through you, pure bliss.

You wanted back into his arms, you wanted to kiss him so badly that your blood was burning from the need to feel him like you'd never been able to before. And yet, you knew there was something else you needed to do before you could finally do it.

“Spence, you don’t push away the people you love, no matter the cost. You rely on their love to help aid you when you’re at your lowest.” You gave his sides a light squeeze before you looked back into his eyes, only to see them hopeful and uncertain at the same time.

He looked hopeful, for the possibility that you might actually love him back, but uncertain because it felt like you might be pushing him away this time.

“I can’t go through this again. Having to watch you wither away, in prison, at home, or by your own thoughts, I won’t be able to handle being pushed away again,” whispers, cries, pleas, memories full of heartbreak intertwined with present confessions full of joy.

His eyes watered then, his lips trembling. Any sign of hope was gone, and in its’ place stood the realization of a man who’d maybe gone a little too far. He’d pushed you away, and now, it was your time to be the one sticking and twisting the knife deep, breaking his heart in the process.

If someone were to ask him at that moment what his biggest regret was, he’d say this. This was his biggest regret, his own choices.

A tear escaped him, and you reached up, wiping it away gently before you spoke again.

“If..if this is going to go anywhere, you need to rely on me. You need to believe that I can handle anything and everything, just as long as you are by my side. All those years of being pushed away - your addiction, Maeve and Gideon’s deaths, your mom’s diagnosis, Cat Adams - you weren’t alone then, you aren’t alone now, and you won’t be alone in the future. You’ll always have me by your side, you’ll always have my support. Most of all, you’ll have my love, but when things get hard, I need you to lean on me, and trust that I can help you because together we can pull through everything, anything is possible as long as we are together.” You finished on an exhale, full-on crying now. You could barely see him, but from the little you could, you saw tears streaming down his face, and a smile that grew wide, happy.

Those words, he knew them word for word. For 13 days, he’d repeat them, no longer needing to see them written down, he had them engraved in his brain. Your letters he could recite, but your final one he’d remember as long as he lived.

“I promise to lean on you and trust that you’d help me because together we can pull through everything, anything is possible as long as we are together,” he whispered back, his eyes searching yours for just a moment before he pulled you in, and finally, his lips met yours.

He kissed you, tentative at first, testing the waters. He wanted to take his time, commit your lips to memory, gentle, and plump, exactly how he’d imagined they’d feel. The more he kissed you, the more he couldn’t stop. Passion, urgency, desire - his kisses turned desperate like he wanted to swallow you whole and never let you go.

He bit your lip gently, asking for access, before his tongue intertwined with yours and he pulled you flush against him, closing any gap left between you. Chest, hips, there wasn’t an inch where you weren’t touching.

It felt so familiar, even though you hadn’t kissed before. So right, like no one's kisses had felt before. As if your whole lives, kissing each other was the missing piece in a complicated puzzle, waiting to be put together. Coming together as one, it felt magnetic, a feeling of euphoria, pure ecstasy, no one else mattered, no other feeling mattered at that moment, other than your hands on each other and your lips locked together.

Time was passing by, and you didn’t care. Years of missed opportunities, hidden feelings, and long-awaited realizations all led to this moment. Starved for each other, a kiss full of fervor and even the taste of tears was present. Unimaginable, but very real.

When you finally pulled apart, he wiped your tears, and you wiped his in turn, before he gathered you back in the comfort of his arms, laying a kiss on the side of your head.

And between the four walls around you, nestled in each other’s arms, the place where no one could touch you, in a shared breath you both whispered.

“I love you.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated!

#spencer reid angst #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid #spencer reid fic #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid x you #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid self insert #criminal minds angst #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds

1K notes · View notes

hauntsoul · 4 months ago

Text

— Beneath the Spotlight.

SYNOPSIS: You, a devoted fan, are thrilled when Park Sunghoon, a famous idol, slips a secret note into your pocket at his fan meeting. But as the days pass, you start to wonder if his fleeting attention was ever meant to last.

GENRE: 18+ (minors dni), toxic, angst, little fluff.

WORD COUNT: 7.1k

PAIRING: idol!sunghoon x obsessedfan!reader (sunghoon is pretty toxic)

WARNING: toxic dynamic, oral (f. receiving), fingering, overstimulation, no protection, bathing together, phone sex?, masturbation (f), choking, creampie, reader has no self respect. halfway through is not proofread.

AUTHORS NOTE: hello! this is my first ever post so i hope you all will enjoy it. this is actually based off a manga i read a while ago, so full inspiration from there. i hope you all love the story. <3

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Park Sunghoon.

A name that tastes like honey on your tongue.

A name that echoes in your mind, sending you through spirals.

A name you’ve engraved into your heart.

His face dominates your world. His posters cover every inch of your walls, his piercing gaze watching you wherever you go. Your lockscreen? A candid shot from his last concert, sweat dripping down his jawline, his expression so intimidating it feels intimate. His voice? It fills every moment of silence, every song on your playlist filled with his songs, his melodic tone.

You’re obsessed. Not the dangerous kind, not yet, but close enough to feel the lines blur. You know him better than you know yourself, or so you tell yourself. For three years, you’ve followed his journey. From him starting his path on the ice rink, his movements elegant, to the idol on many global stages, with millions of fans following him. Including you of course.

Currently, he stands in front of you. Well, in front of thousands. The stage lights catch every angle of his sharp features, making him appear almost otherworldly. The microphone amplifies his voice: smooth, melodic, and commanding, as he speaks to the audience.

You’ve been to countless fan meetings before, how could you ever miss one? But no matter how many times you see him, the sight of Park Sunghoon always leaves you fascinated.

He smiles as he talks about the little things, the cheery moments he shared with his family during his break. The crowd laughs, cheers, and some even shout desperate attempts to catch his attention. And he rewards them with a polite smile, a small nod, or a fleeting glance.

But to you, every gesture from him gives you butterflies. His black hair falls effortlessly into place, framing his flawless face. His piercing eyes scan the crowd, and even though they never land on you, it feels like they do. The tiny mole near his eye, the way he smiles, it’s all too perfect, too intoxicating.

You can’t stop staring. You can’t look away.

"Now, it’s the fun part!” Sunghoon exclaims, his voice sparking excitement through the crowd.

The audience buzzes with anticipation, murmurs spreading around rapidly. Fun part? Your stomach tightens, a mix of curiosity and hope swirling inside you.

The stage lights brighten as staff members hurry onto the platform, carrying a small table with a large glass bowl resting on top. Sunghoon steps forward, his presence catching everyone’s attention.

“In this bowl,” he announces, his voice smooth and teasing, “are slips with seat numbers. If I pick your number, you’ll get the lucky chance to come on stage and take a photo with me.”

The crowd explodes into cheers and screams, the energy palpable. Your heart hammers against your ribs. Could it be you? Out of thousands of people, could you really be the one?

Sunghoon dips his hand into the bowl, the motion slow and deliberate. Your breath catches as you watch his fingers swirl through the slips of paper, your body tense. The air feels heavy, and every second stretches longer than it should.

Finally, he pulls out a slip, holding it between his fingers like it holds the secrets of the universe. The audience hushes, a sharp silence falling over the room. Your palms are clammy, and you press them against your thighs.

“B14!”

Gasps ripple through the crowd as heads twist, scanning for the lucky winner. You glance down at the back of your seat, where “G25” is engraved, and disappointment sinks in. Not you.

“It seems like B14 isn’t here,” Sunghoon remarks, his tone light. He reaches back into the bowl, his hand swirling through the papers again.

Your heart races faster, the hope creeping back in. Your fingers clutch the armrests, nails digging into the fabric. Time slows as he pulls out another slip, unfolding it with a teasing smile.

“G25.”

Your heart stops. For a moment, the world seems to blur, the only thing you hear is the pounding of your pulse.

Your seat number.

Your heart thunders wildly in your chest. You’re going to be up close with Park Sunghoon.

Slowly, you rise from your seat, your knees shaky, the weight of thousands of eyes falling on you. But it doesn’t matter, not when his eyes find yours. For a brief moment, Sunghoon stares, his gaze sweeping over you in a way that makes your breath hitch. The corner of his lips curls into a slow, deliberate smirk. He lifts a finger, motioning for you to come on stage.

And you do.

Each step toward him feels surreal, like you’re walking through a dream. The bright stage lights blind you for a second, but then you see him. Right in front of you. Closer than you’ve ever imagined.

He’s perfect… no, more than perfect. Up close, he seems almost unreal, his features sharper. The crowd murmurs, some fans letting out squeals of excitement, but all you can focus on is him.

Sunghoon extends a hand, his fingers long and steady. Tentatively, you place yours in his. His palm is warm, his grip firm, and it swallows yours completely. With a gentle tug, he pulls you closer, so close you can feel his breath ghost against your skin.

Then, he wraps his arms around you.

Your heart threatens to burst as he holds you, his embrace firm yet careful, like he knows exactly what this moment means to you. His scent: fresh and intoxicating, fills your senses, and for a second, the world disappears. You don’t want to move. You don’t want this to end.

A camera flashes, and Sunghoon tilts his head toward you, his lips brushing close to your ear.

“Look at the camera, princess.” he whispers, his voice low, sending shivers down your spine.

You glance up, dazed, and meet his smirking gaze as the camera captures the moment.

You plaster a smile on your face as the cameras flash, capturing the moment that feels too perfect to be real. But then, you feel it; a subtle movement, his hand slipping into your pocket. Your heart skips a beat. Did he just…?

You turn your head slightly to look at him, confusion flickering in your eyes. Sunghoon doesn’t say a word, only meeting your gaze with a soft, knowing smile. It’s the kind of smile that makes your knees weak.

Your heart flutters, the moment feeling surreal, almost too good to be true. His closeness, the way his presence dominates everything else, leaves you breathless. But as quickly as it began, it’s over.

The staff gestures for you to step down, and disappointment washes over you like a cold wave. You force yourself to walk off the stage, each step feeling heavier as the distance between you and Sunghoon grows. Your chest tightens as you return to your seat, the memory of his warmth already fading.

But still, you smile faintly to yourself. You got a picture with Park Sunghoon, not just a picture, the picture. His arms were around you, holding you like you mattered, even for a fleeting moment.

As you settle back into your seat, a strange sensation tugs at your memory. The pocket.

Your hand shoots down to check, your fingers brushing against a small slip of paper. Pulling it out, your breath catches. Written in messy handwriting are the words:

“Call me. +0 xxxx xxxxx xxx”

Your heart stops, the paper trembling in your hands. You glance up at the stage, where Sunghoon continues to smile and interact with the crowd, as if nothing had happened.

When you finally get home, you collapse onto your bed, clutching the small slip of paper in your trembling hand. Your eyes scan the number over and over, your thoughts racing uncontrollably. Is this a joke? Why would he do this?

Your heart pounds in your chest as doubt creeps in. Was he just playing with you? Or could this really be real?

Your other hand hesitates as it slips into your pocket and pulls out your phone. The paper crinkles softly in your grasp as you stare at the digits, debating with yourself. But before you can talk yourself out of it, your fingers move almost instinctively, typing the number into your contacts.

You pause. Your thumb hovers over the screen for a long moment before you finally gather the courage to send a single message:

“hello?”

The moment the message delivers, you throw your phone onto the bed, your heart threatening to burst out of your chest. You bury your face in your hands, convinced this is all some elaborate prank. Maybe he does this at every fan meeting. Maybe—

Your phone buzzes.

The sound jolts you, and your head snaps up. Your breathing falters as you reach for the screen, hands shaking slightly. With a swipe, the notification pops up:

“hello princess.”

Your heart freezes. The room feels smaller, like the air’s been sucked out of it. Staring at the message, you feeling your heart beat rapidly.

It wasn’t a prank. It was real.

And Sunghoon had just texted you.

“R u real..?” you type, your hands trembling as you hit send.

The response comes almost instantly, as if he was waiting for you.

“Why wouldn’t I be? I put my number in your pocket, after all.”

You stare at the screen, biting your lip. The words feel surreal, like something straight out of a dream or maybe a cruel joke. You sigh, still unable to shake the doubt crawling through your mind.

Before you can respond, another message pops up:

“By the way, I told you to call me, not text me.”

“So call me.”

Your heart races, the pounding in your ears almost drowning out everything else. For a moment, you just sit there, staring at the screen.

Could this really be happening?

Your thumb hovers over the call button, hesitation gripping you. But the curiosity, the chance that this might be real, pushes you forward.

With a deep breath, you press it.

The phone rings twice. Just twice.

Then, the other line picks up.

Your heart stops as silence falls between you, your hand gripping the phone so tightly your knuckles turn white. You stay quiet, your mind scrambling for what to say, still half-convinced this is some elaborate prank.

But then you hear it:

“Are you gonna speak to me?” His voice is smooth, teasing yet commanding, the kind that makes your chest tighten.

It’s really him. You’re actually talking to the real Park Sunghoon.

“H-Hello…” you manage to stutter, your voice barely above a whisper.

He chuckles softly on the other end, the sound sending shivers down your spine. “You sound nervous, princess. Didn’t I tell you to call me? And here you are, all shy now.”

“I-I just didn’t know if it was really you…” you admit, your words tumbling out awkwardly.

“You doubted me?” he asks, his tone light but with a faint edge of amusement. “Do you think I go around giving random fans my number?”

“No! I just—” you stammer, but he cuts you off."

"Relax,” he says, his voice dropping slightly, more serious now. “I wouldn’t waste my time playing games like that. If I put my number in your pocket, it’s because I wanted you to use it.”

The way he says it... so certain, makes your heart race even faster.

“O-Okay…” you stutter, unsure of what else to say.

“Good.” He pauses, and you hear the faint sound of him shifting, like he’s getting comfortable.

For a moment, there was an awkward silence, and you couldn’t help but feel a strange mix of confusion and excitement talking to him.

"I’m sorry, but I just want to know… why did you want me to have your number?" You ask, your voice trembling slightly, unsure of how to phrase it. "I mean… isn’t this kind of dangerous for your reputation?"

He laughs, the sound low and rich, like it’s just for you. "Anything’s worth a risk if it’s with a pretty girl like you."

The words hit you like a wave. Pretty. Park Sunghoon just called you pretty. Your heart flutters uncontrollably, a rush of warmth flooding your cheeks. You can almost feel the heat spreading across your face as your mind tries to catch up with his words.

"Y-You think I’m pretty?" You manage to ask, barely able to form a coherent sentence.

"Did you think I was just playing around?" He pauses, a smirk evident in his voice. "I don’t give out my number to just anyone, princess. I gave it to you because I wanted to."

You swallow hard, trying to steady your breath. The idea of him wanting you feels almost impossible, but his confidence, his voice, so sure of itself, makes it feel like nothing could be truer.

"You’re still quiet," he adds, his voice dropping lower. "You’re shy, aren’t you?"

"I’m not shy," you lie, but even you can hear the hesitation in your voice.

"Mm, sure you’re not." He laughs again, but this time, it feels more teasing, like he’s enjoying every bit of your nervousness. "You’re just nervous because you know I’m real. You can hear my voice, feel the heat between us already. Don’t tell me it doesn’t make you want me, too."

Your breath catches. The way he speaks, so sure of himself, like he already knows everything about you, makes your pulse spike. "I… I don’t know what to say."

"You don’t have to say anything," he murmurs, his voice almost a whisper. "Just listen, and let me show you how real this is."

Your heart beats faster, the line between fantasy and reality blurring with every word he speaks.

"Just admit it," he continues, his tone turning more seductive. "You wanted this. You wanted me to notice you. And now I have."

You can barely breathe, his words echoing in your mind. "I… I didn’t think it would be like this."

"Of course, you didn’t," he says, his voice full of confidence. "But now that we’re here, don’t pretend you’re not enjoying it. Don’t pretend you don’t want more."

You bite your lip, your thoughts racing. How could you want anything else? He made it clear that he was interested in you, and the idea of it is too thrilling to ignore.

"Tell me," he presses, his voice low and husky, "do you want more?"

Your heart stops at the question. But the truth is, you don’t even have to think about it. "Yes." The word slips out before you can stop it.

"Yeah, princess?" His voice is a low, teasing drawl, almost like he's savoring every moment.

You can feel your breath hitching, your nerves on edge, unable to believe this is really happening. Just a few hours ago, you were in the crowd, just another face in the sea of fans, and now your here, getting wet while he's on the other line.

You couldn't help it. The way he teased you, the tone of his voice, dominant and authoritative. You could feel your panties grow increasingly wet the more he talked to you.

You needed him, and you wanted him to know that.

"Sunghoon.." you murmur as you slowly slide your hand underneath your underwear, your fingers feeling your aching clit.

"Mm, I'm listening princess. I know what you want." His voice gets raspy, which only led to you to rub your clit in a faster pace. God, it felt so good. This wasn't the first time you've touched yourself to Sunghoon.

But this was different, he could hear you. He could hear your light whimpers as you rubbed your clit to his voice. You imagined his large veiny hands slowly going down on your aching wet cunt and fingering you till you couldn't take it anymore.

Suddenly, he hangs up the phone.

You stare at your phone screen, wide-eyed and in disbelief. The call abruptly ends, leaving you in the sudden silence. Your heart pounds, a mix of confusion and frustration clouding your thoughts. Was that it? Did he just... hang up?

For a moment, you can’t bring yourself to move. You stare at the blank screen, hoping he might call back. Maybe it was an accident, right? Maybe he had to go. But as the seconds tick by, you feel your disappointment kicking in.

You clutch your phone tighter, trying to calm your racing mind. Was he playing with you? Why would he do that? You thought everything was going well. But now... there’s only silence, and it makes your thoughts spiral.

"Did I do something wrong?" you whisper to yourself, unsure if you even want an answer.

Minutes pass. You’re about to convince yourself that it was all a mistake when your phone buzzes suddenly, breaking the silence.

It's a message from Sunghoon.

When you click on the notification, your shocked to see that it wasn't a message he sent, but a location.

Your pulse quickens as your eyes scan the address. It’s a motel, not too far from where you live. The realization hits you like a cold wave, leaving you both excited and nervous at once. What was he thinking? Why here?

You stare at the screen, your heart racing as your fingers hover over the keys. Is this real? You ask yourself.

But before you can talk yourself out of it, you find yourself typing a response, your mind still whirling.

"I’m on my way."

The ride to the motel feels like it takes forever, your thoughts bouncing between excitement and anxiety. You keep imagining what will happen when you get there, what he’ll say, what you’ll do. Your hands are clammy, your stomach doing flips with each passing minute.

Finally, you arrive, the dim lights of the motel casting long shadows over the parking lot. The nerves in your body are almost overwhelming, and yet, you feel a magnetic pull urging you forward.

You take a deep breath and step out of your car, the cool night air brushing against your skin. Every step feels heavy as you walk toward the entrance. Your heart beats faster with each step closer to the room.

You reach the door, and before you can even knock, it swings open.

There he is. Park Sunghoon. Standing just a few feet away, his expression unreadable. His eyes meet yours, and in that moment, the world around you seems to disappear.

"Come in," he says, his voice calm but holding an intensity that makes your pulse race.

You hesitate for a moment, unsure if you should take the step forward, but his gaze holds you in place, pulling you in. You don’t say a word as you walk into the room, your breath shallow, your body tense with anticipation.

The door shuts behind you with a soft click, and you’re left standing there, face-to-face with him.

As you step into the dimly lit room, the door softly closing behind you, the air shifts. The space feels smaller somehow, as if the weight of what’s about to happen is pressing in around you. Sunghoon stands in the center of the room, looking at you with that familiar intensity, his eyes dark yet filled with something more.

He doesn’t speak at first, just watches you with a quiet sort of patience, as if giving you time to adjust to the moment. Your heart races, and you feel the familiar flutter of nerves settle deep in your stomach.

“Come here,” he says, his voice low, coaxing.

You hesitate for a moment, the air thick with the unspoken tension. You know what he wants, but there’s still something inside you that holds back, unsure of whether you should take that next step. But Sunghoon doesn’t wait for you to make up your mind. With a few slow steps, he closes the distance between you, his hand reaching out to gently cup your cheek.

His touch is soft but firm, as if he’s grounding you, and you can’t help but lean into it. His thumb brushes over your skin in slow, soothing circles, and the tension between you builds, an electric current crackling in the space around you.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, his words so quiet you almost think you imagined them. But you didn’t. His eyes never leave yours, studying every flicker of emotion that crosses your face, as if he’s searching for something, something to pull him closer.

You swallow hard, your pulse quickening at his words, feeling like they hold more weight than they should. There’s something in the way he says it, the way his voice dips, just turns you on.

The space between you seems to disappear in an instant, and Sunghoon leans in just enough to rest his forehead against yours. The proximity makes your breath catch in your throat, the tension between you almost suffocating, but at the same time, you can’t tear yourself away.

For a moment, neither of you moves, both of you just breathing in the same air, letting the silence stretch between you, heavy with anticipation. You feel like you’re on the edge of something, but you’re not sure what that something is yet.

“You don’t have to be nervous,” he says softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I just want to be close to you.”

Before you can react, Sunghoon tilts his head just slightly, his lips brushing against your forehead in a light, lingering kiss. His breath is warm against your skin, and the softness of his kiss sends a flutter through you. It’s gentle, but the weight of it makes your chest tighten, a quiet but undeniable ache building inside you.

When he pulls back, just enough to look into your eyes again, you can see it in his gaze, he wants you right now.

It’s your turn now, and without thinking, you close the space between you, your lips meeting his in a rough, intense kiss. It’s everything—the warmth of his mouth against yours, the way his hand slides to the back of your neck, pulling you closer with a quiet urgency. The kiss deepens, his tongue making way into your mouth. His free hand makes it's way under your shirt, as he manages to unclasp your bra easily.

You pull away from the kiss, looking at his piercing eyes. Sunghoon breathes slowly, staring right you with a smirk on his face. And just like a flash, you could feel him roughly pull up your shirt, causing your bra to fall in the process. Now you stood completely topless infront of him.

He stared at your delicate breasts, before lowering himself to lick your hard nipple. You bite your lips to hold back a whimper that dared to escape. He looked so fucking good. His eyes wander back up at yours before he latched his mouth on your entire nipple, sucking softly. You could feel yourself grow wet at his actions as you whimpered softly at the gentle pleasure Sunghoon was giving you. He slowly pulls away and gives small kisses to your breast before trailing it down your stomach.

"You're so fucking pretty. I need to taste that pussy princess." Sunghoon whispers before pulling down your skirt, revealing the cute pink lacy panties you wore, just for him.

He smirks at the sight of them, your stomach churned in embarrassment as he slowly pulled down your panties, a trail of your wetness sticking onto the pantie as it went down.

Sunghoon almost drools at the sight of your wet pussy. All you guys did was just kiss and yet your already this turned on? He felt himself getting hard just at the mere sight of you being this pathetic. He pushes you lightly against the wall, making you lean on it before spreading your legs slightly more open. Your whole pussy is now in clear view infront of him and the scent of your cunt is driving him crazy.

His lips make contact with the plush of your inner thighs, planting small kisses in different spots. His teasing only further driving you crazy and more needy. You let out a breathy whisper saying his name, and he just smirks while looking up at you.

His hands hold your thighs apart while he uses his thumbs to spread your pussy lips, giving your clit more space. He brings his mouth closer to your cunt before licking a small stripe from your leaking hole to your clit, spreading your wetness alll over. That action alone leaves your stomach churning. His tongue starts to give your clit small kitty licks.

"Mpmh, oh.. fuck-" you whimper as you bite your lip to prevent any more noises from leaving your mouth.

Feeling riled up, Sunghoon starts to suck on your clit. His eyes never leaving yours, staring at you while his tongue works wonders. Your fingers fists his hair as he slowly brings his fingers up to cunt, inserting a finger in. You tug his hair harder at the sudden feeling of his long finger inside you, making him moan into your wet cunt. Your moans can't stop leaving past your lips, this only motivates Sunghoon to insert another finger inside, thrusting them at a quick pace.

"It's so fucking good Hoon!-" You cry out loud, his thick fingers feeling inside your warm walls, already having you see clouds.

“Taking it like such a good girl..” he mumbles, the vibrations of his voice stimulating your clit even further.

You could feel your stomach forming a knot, it was too intense. Your legs feeling weak and the only support being Sunghoon's hands that are gripping your thighs tightly. You couldn't take it anymore.

"H-Hoon- 'm close!" You babble out. Sunghoon continues to curl his fingers inside you at an even faster pace, his tongue pressed hardly against your clit making an '8' motion. The knot becomes too tight, and you couldn't hold it in anymore.

You finally let loose, letting your orgasm wash over you. Your legs begin to tremble as you grip Sunghoon's hair so tight, you almost felt like you were about to rip some of it off his hair. His tongue and fingers slowed down a little, helping you ride off your orgasm. You take heavy breaths, looking at him as he just smiles before starting to thrust his fingers in and out of you at a rough pace.

"Hoon- I can't take it-" Your choke out your cries as now he starts to overstimulate your cunt. Your legs start to shiver and kick around gently, trying to get him off your pussy.

"Be a good girl and stay still." His voice, raspy and dominant. He only looks up at you with a smirk as his fingers ram in and out of you, making you feel the familiar feeling of the knot in your stomach again.

Not even two minutes had passed by since your first orgasm, and your already feeling your second orgasm wanting to unleash all over his fingers. Sunghoon curls his fingers, directly feeling your g-spot which sends you over the moon. And with that, you squirt all over his fingers. Making a sticky mess from your cunt to his fingers to the floor.

You look at him, still in a daze, your heart pounding relentlessly inside your chest. You were nervous—really nervous. You hadn’t done anything like this in forever, and now… with Park Sunghoon? The thought sent your mind spiraling as a bead of sweat trickled down your temple.

He seemed to sense your hesitation, his sharp gaze softening just enough to catch your unease. Without a word, his hand moved, fingers still dirty with your cum, and cupped your cheek.

“Let’s take a bath together, yeah?” His voice dropped, low and smooth. His lips curved into a faint smile. “We can’t have you all tensed up here.”

Before you could gather your thoughts, he straightened, turning with an almost lazy confidence as he headed toward the bathroom.

The warm water sunk you, soothing your tense muscles as you leaned back against the tub. The room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of a single light above the sink. You ran your fingers absentmindedly along the surface of the water, thinking about him.

A soft knock at the bathroom door startled you.

“You decent?” Sunghoon’s familiar voice called out, teasing but warm.

You managed a nervous chuckle, “We’re way past that, don’t you think?”

The door creaked open, and there he was, his dark hair slightly damp from the steam, clinging to his forehead, his eyes catching the soft light. Without saying a word, he stepped into the room, letting his towel drop with casual ease.

You quickly looked away, your cheeks flushing as the sound of water shifted behind you. You felt the weight of him stepping into the tub, the water level rising as he sank in across from you.

The space between you felt both small and vast, the soft lapping of water, the quiet hum of his breathing. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence hanging comfortably in the air.

“You’re quiet,” he finally said, his voice low.

“I just…” You paused, searching for words. “I’m still trying to process all this. It feels… surreal.”

He leaned back against the edge of the tub, his dark eyes studying you. “I get that. Believe me, I do.”

You tilted your head, curiosity piqued by the sudden seriousness in his tone. “Do you?”

“More than you think.” He let out a soft sigh, his gaze dropping to the water. “People always see me as… well, him. The idol. The perfect image. The untouchable Sunghoon.” His lips twitched into a bitter smile. “But that’s not who I am. Not really.”

His words hung heavy in the air, and you felt your chest tighten. You leaned forward slightly, resting your arms on your knees. “Then who are you? Really?”

His eyes flickered up to meet yours, something raw and unguarded glimmering beneath the surface. “I’m just a guy. A guy who’s scared of letting people see the parts of him that aren’t perfect. The parts that don’t shine on stage.” He paused, his jaw tightening for a moment before continuing. “There’s so much I keep buried. So many things I’ve never told anyone.”

Your heart ached at the vulnerability in his voice. “Why are you telling me this?”

He hesitated, his fingers tracing small circles in the water. “Because… with you, it feels different. Like I don’t have to try so hard. Like maybe, just maybe, I can be myself for once.”

His words hit you like a wave, and you felt your chest swell with an emotion you couldn’t quite name. He looked up again, his gaze softer now, the smallest hint of a smile playing on his lips.

“It’s scary, you know,” he murmured, his voice barely audible over the water. “Letting someone see all the messy parts of you. But with you… it doesn’t feel so scary.”

The weight of his confession settled between you, and you realized how close you’d leaned toward him without noticing. You reached out instinctively, your fingers brushing against his beneath the water.

“I’m glad you trust me,” you said softly, your voice trembling with sincerity. “It… means a lot.”

For a moment, he just looked at you, the intensity of his gaze making your breath hitch. “You’re special,” he said finally, his voice steady, resolute. “And I don’t say that lightly.”

The warmth of his words wrapped around you like a blanket, and for the first time since stepping into the tub, you felt completely at ease. The space between you... it felt safe.

The two of you sat there, the water cooling slightly as time slipped away, sharing stories and moments that no one else would ever know. And in that quiet, steamy bathroom, you felt a connection deeper than you’d ever imagined.

"It-It's too big.. fuck I can't-" you hiss out, your words coming out breathy as Sunghoon inserts his tip inside your wet hole. Of course, you both being naked in a bathtub together would lead to you being bent over the tub, his hands on your hips as he slowly inserts himself in.

"You can take it for me princess, be good and let me do the work." He says in a husky whisper.

Your walls suddenly feel full as he inserts himself fully inside your cunt. You led out a load moan, the pleasure overwhelming you. Sunghoon adjusted himself, gripping onto the flesh of your hips before starting to move.

He first moved slowly and carefully, putting just enough force to make his dick enter you all the way and make you feel completely full. His movements were perfect, the mixture of his precum and your cum from your previous orgasms creating the perfect lube for his dick. His hand on your hip tightened as he was feeling drunk every time your pussy swallowed his cock and he felt the warmth of your walls covering every inch of it.

"Fuck princess, you feel so fucking good. God, I love you and this sweet cunt of yours."

The sudden confession from your idol only makes you further clench around his cock, making him groan as he frees one of his hands from your hips to wrap them around your neck, lightly choking you.

“I-I love..- ngh-” you muttered out barely, “you..!” you emphasized that word really loudly, causing him to chuckle and to only quicken his pace, knowing the affect he had on you.

His cock twitched inside your pussy, making you understand that he's going to cum soon. You weren't getting any further from your orgasm as his movements became more rough. The sound of your guy's skins slapping each other and moans echoed throughout the bathroom. You could feel your chest burn up as he continues to quicken his pace, his balls hitting your cunt which vibrated towards your clit, giving you extra stimulation. His thrusts became more needy, and you could barely form coherent thoughts and the grip on your neck only become tighter, having you take quick breaths between each thrust.

“Hoon...!” you moaned out his name before you couldn't take it anymore. You could feel you wet yourself around his cock, causing him to let out a small chuckle as the scene got more messy. Sunghoon, no longer able to hold back, thrusted a few more times before he finally came. The sudden feeling of his warm cum filling you up inside made your legs twitch, Sunghoon groans from the feeling of satisfaction of the long needing orgasm. You both pant heavily as you both ride out your orgasms, before he pulls out, leaving your cunt empty with only his cum inside.

He admires the sight infront of him. You, bent over, with his cum dripping out of your pussy. His fingers grabs any cum lingering outside and brings it up to your hole before inserting his finger in gently, preventing anything from spilling out of your sweet cunt. His gentle action causing you to let out a small moan as he pulls his finger out of your sensitive pussy.

"You really enjoyed that didn't you?" He teases, making you turn your head to look at him and nod.

The two of you walked side by side, the soft hum of the city filling the silence between you. You clung to his arm, your grip firm as if afraid he’d slip away. The cool night air kissed your skin, but despite your closeness, something felt off.

Sunghoon’s focus was on his phone, his face illuminated by the glow of the screen. His brows furrowed occasionally, his thumbs tapping away with an ease that made it clear whatever he was doing held more importance than your presence beside him.

You glanced at him, your chest tightening with unspoken words. You tried to shake the creeping feeling of being invisible, telling yourself it was just nerves. After all, he had spent the night with you. That had to mean something, right?

“Did you have a good time tonight?” you asked softly, your voice barely above the hum of passing cars.

“Hmm?” he murmured, his eyes still glued to his phone. “Yeah, it was fine.”

Fine. The word stung more than you wanted to admit. You bit the inside of your cheek, hoping he’d elaborate, but he didn’t. Instead, he typed something quickly and let out a quiet chuckle—clearly amused by whatever was on his screen.

Your fingers tightened around his arm as you tried again, forcing a smile. “It’s nice out tonight. The city looks so pretty at this hour.”

“Mm,” he muttered, nodding absently.

Your smile faltered, and you turned your gaze to the ground. Each step toward the train station felt heavier, the initial glow of the night dimming with every passing second.

When you finally reached the platform, the faint rumble of an approaching train filled the air. You stopped walking, turning to face him. He didn’t notice at first, too busy scrolling on his phone, but you gently tugged on his sleeve, catching his attention.

“Sunghoon,” you said, your voice wavering slightly.

He looked up, his expression unreadable as he slipped his phone into his pocket. For a moment, you thought you’d see the same warmth he’d shown earlier, but his face remained calm, distant.

“I’ll text you when I get home, okay?” he said, his tone light but firm.

Your chest tightened at his words, but you nodded, forming a smile “Okay.”

The train screeched to a halt in front of him, and he took a step back, creating just enough space between you that it felt like miles. He gave you a small nod, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, then turned to board the train.

You raised a hand in a half-hearted wave, watching as the doors closed behind him. The train pulled away moments later, leaving you standing alone on the platform.

It had been two weeks. Fourteen days of silence that chipped away at you, piece by piece.

After that night, after the promises whispered between breaths, you had waited. You’d replayed every moment, every touch, every word, trying to hold onto the warmth of him. But as the days stretched on, that warmth faded, replaced by an icy void in your chest.

You had convinced yourself that he was just busy. He was an idol, after all. His life wasn’t like yours. He had schedules to follow, appearances to make, fans to please. But even those excuses began to crumble under the weight of the silence.

At first, you’d kept it casual.

"Heyy! Did you make it home safe?"

"How are you?"

But when days passed with no reply, you became more vulnerable.

"Did I do something wrong?"

"Please, just let me know if you’re okay."

Each message went unanswered, some marked with the cruel sting of seen, others left on delivered, hanging in the void like a conversation with yourself.

The realization crept in slowly, like a shadow swallowing the light. He had used you. What felt so real to you—his touch, his whispered words, the way he’d held you so close—had been nothing more than a fleeting moment for him. A single night. You were just another girl to him.

And yet, even as the bitterness settled in your heart, there was a part of you that couldn’t let go. You couldn’t delete the messages you’d sent. You couldn’t bring yourself to block his number. A part of you still held onto the foolish hope that he’d text back, that he’d tell you it wasn’t what you thought, that he cared.

When you received the email reminder about his next fan meeting, your stomach twisted. The ticket had been booked weeks ago, back when the idea of seeing him again filled you with joy instead of dread. You debated not going, but the ticket was non-refundable, and deep down, you couldn’t resist the thought of seeing him again. Even if it hurt.

The day of the fan meeting came, and you moved through it like a ghost. The outfit you’d chosen weeks ago: a perfect blend of cute and casual now felt heavy on your body now. The usual excitement you felt while waiting in line, surrounded by fans buzzing with energy, was absent.

When Sunghoon finally stepped onto the stage, the crowd erupted in cheers, screams, and tears. You looked up at him, your breath hitching for a moment. He looked just as perfect as you remembered, his dark hair falling over his forehead, his smile as radiant as ever.

But as you watched him laugh and interact with the crowd, you felt none of the joy you used to. Instead, it felt like watching a stranger. The man who had held you, who had whispered promises in your ear, felt so far away now.

Your eyes followed him as he scanned the crowd, his gaze briefly landing on yours. Your heart leapt despite itself, but the moment passed as quickly as it came. His expression didn’t change. There was no flicker of recognition, no smile, no warmth. He simply looked away, moving on as if you were just another face in the sea of fans.

You tried to swallow the lump in your throat, but it refused to go away. The rest of the fan meeting blurred together, the moments dragging on painfully. By the time it ended, you felt relief—relief that you could finally leave, that you wouldn’t have to keep pretending you were okay.

You stood up, clutching your bag tightly as you made your way out of the venue. The noise of excited fans filled the air, but it all felt muffled, like you were underwater.

As you stepped outside into the cool evening air, your phone buzzed. You paused, your heart skipping a beat. Without thinking, you pulled it out, expecting it to be a notification about the event.

But it wasn’t.

His name flashed across your screen.

Your breath caught as you opened the message, your fingers trembling.

“Same place. Tonight.”

You didn’t reply. You didn’t need to. Deep down, you knew you’d go.

For a moment, you felt like the world was spinning too fast, like you were losing control. And maybe that’s exactly what he wanted.

Because even though you knew better, even though every part of you screamed that this wasn’t love, you stayed.

And he knew you would.

611 notes · View notes

greengoblinswifey · 5 months ago

Note

first, i’m a big fan of your work! i’d like to make a request for the fratboy!nicholas series. i was listening to rude boy by rihanna just now and that inspired me to think about nicholas finally channeling his inner dom. i need HIM! i’m talking praise and degrading, but his cute ass would still ask for consent of course and reader is hyping him up.

Fratboy!Nicholas Chavez x Fem!Reader

warnings— SMUT. dom!nicholas, fingering, oral, face fucking, choking, consent checks, unprotected sex, rough sex, degrading kink, praise kink, hair pulling, ass slapping, face slapping(with dick), creampie, overstimulation, aftercare, fluff.

a/n— thank you and i love that song omg🫶🏽requests are still open and i’ll answer all as soon as i can, it’s been a rough few days with the whole election and kamala’s unfortunate loss. this is a bit long but enjoy!

Nicholas arrived at your dorm that night with a new energy, his usual relaxed demeanor replaced by something more intense, more purposeful. He didn’t bother with the small talk or the sweet smile he usually gave when he saw you. Instead, he stepped in and closed the door behind him, eyes locked on you with a focused determination you hadn’t quite seen before.

“Tonight’s different,” he said, voice a bit lower than usual as he took a step closer. “I- I’ve been thinking. About us. About trying things, uh, differently.”

You raised an eyebrow, surprised but intrigued. “Oh, really? What brought this on?”

He chuckled, a bit of his usual lighthearted self breaking through. “I love when you take the lead but I decided I’d like to see what it’s like for me to take the lead, for both of us. I wanna be dominant, so I can make you feel as good as you make me.”

Moving closer, he reached for your hand, his grip firmer than usual. “If it’s something you’d be into, of course,” he added. His intent was clear, he wanted to create an experience for both of you, one where he could be the one guiding things, setting the pace.

You gave a small nod, lost for words, both surprised and excited by this new side of him. “Alright, Nicholas. Tonight, ima let you do your thing, show me what you’ve got.”

He smirked, confidence growing as he took in your approval. “Oh, I plan to, tonight I’m gonna give it to you harder,” he said, the playfulness still there but mingling with something deeper. He gently brushed his hand along your arm, lingering, studying the way you reacted to each of his movements. His touch, though familiar, held a new sense of authority, as if he’d spent time thinking this through and knew exactly what he wanted.

“You know,” he said softly, eyes meeting yours, “I think I’ve always been drawn to letting you take control. But I want this to be different, for both of us. I want to explore it with you, because you’re the first person I’ve trusted with this part of me.”

He pressed his body close, his hand moving up to rest firmly around your neck as you sat on the bed looking up at him, the action sending a spark through you.

“You like this?” he asked, his voice low, his eyes searching yours. You nodded, lips parting in anticipation, but he only gave you a soft smile, raising an eyebrow. “I need to hear you say it, so I know you’re 100% comfortable. Are you okay with this?”

“Yes,” you murmured, your voice just as steady as his. “I’m okay with it. I’m more than okay.”

He smiled, a glint of mischief lighting his expression. “Good girl,” he replied, “because tonight, I don’t plan to hold back.” His hand lingered at your neck as he leaned in closer. “But we need a safe word. I want you to know we can stop at any time.”

You thought for a moment, grinning as an idea came to mind. “Banana. You know I hate bananas,” you said with a smirk.

He chuckled, his grip easing as his thumb brushed lightly over your skin. “Alright pretty girl, banana it is.”

His intensity ignited something deeper in you. This was a side of him you’d never seen, but it made you crave him even more. In that moment, you realized that this shift in him wasn’t just about trying on a new role, it was a way for him to show how much he valued and trusted you, a way for you both to explore something new together in a safe environment.

Your eyes fluttered shut as his thumb gently ran across your lower lip. “Open,” he murmured, his voice rough and commanding. You obeyed, letting his thumb slip past your lips, your gaze meeting his as you sucked on it. There was a flicker of satisfaction in his eyes as he watched, a mix of curiosity and control.

“Good girl,” he praised, though there was a hint of a smirk that made his words feel more teasing than sweet. “I knew you'd be an obedient slut for me.” His fingers followed, and you could feel the arousal between you both growing as you took his fingers in your throat, this new dynamic thrilling you in ways you hadn’t expected.

He slipped off his shirt and then his pants, revealing the toned muscles underneath and his hard cock swinging. You felt your heart race as he looked down at you, his expression filled with lust and a look in his eyes as if he wanted to devour you.

“Your turn,” he said, a trace of a smile on his face. “Fucking strip.”

You followed his instruction, stripping down piece by piece. When you got to your underwear, he reached forward, and with a quick, decisive motion, tore it off. “I’ll buy you ten more,” he promised with a wink, his voice filled with an excitement that made you grin.

He tossed your torn underwear onto the bed with a grin. Gently, he used his hard cock to trace along your cheek, spreading his pre cum all over your face as his onyx eyes met yours.

“Stick that tongue out,” he murmured, his voice low and you felt your pulse quicken. You followed his request, sticking your tongue out and he used his cock to slap on your tongue, the taste of his pre cum making you moan.

“You’re doing great baby,” he murmured. As you met his eyes again, you could see how much he was enjoying this newfound confidence, his smile widening as you took him into your throat.

“I’m gonna treat you like a slut yeah? Gonna hold on to your pretty curls and fuck your throat, remember your safe word if you want me to stop at any time or just tap my thigh twice,” he said, taking himself out of your mouth and rubbing it all over your lips.

His eyes searched yours for any reluctance or fear, only to find pure admiration and lust. Smirking, he held on to your curls, and shoved his cock into the back of your throat. You squeezed your eyes shut, focusing on not gagging as his hips snapped forward.

“I like the way you pull my hair,” you muttered around his cock.

“Fuck yeah, take it baby, take my fucking dick down that throat,” he moaned, his head falling back.

He pulled out, looking down at you with his face contorted in pleasure as he used his dick to drag across your face and slap your cheeks.

“You like that sweetheart? Is that okay?” he asked and you nodded frantically, wanting him back in your mouth.

Sensing your desperation, he began fucking your throat again, this time his pace never faltered as he began chasing his orgasm. You swirled your tongue over his cock as much as you could, he made your mouth feel so full, just the way you liked it.

“That’s my good girl, my good fucking slut just taking my cock in her mouth, that’s all you’re good for isn’t it?” he chuckled, darkly.

You hummed around him sending jolts of pleasure throughout his body. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum down your throat and all over that beautiful face, get ready slut, stick that tongue out for me again.”

With a deep moan, turning you on even more, his load spurted on your tongue. He began stroking his cock vigorously, making sure every drop was either in your mouth or all over your face.

“That’s my girl,” he moaned, “you look even prettier with my cum all over your face. My fucking slut. Make sure you swallow it all.”

After his high subsided, he pulled you into a close embrace. “That was more than I could’ve hoped for baby, are you okay? Was that okay?” he asked warmth in his tone that left you feeling closer than ever.

“It was more than okay, stop worrying,” you smiled, playfully nudging him, “I like when you take control.”

He smirked and his demeanor immediately shifted again. Nicholas pushed you on the bed, the shy virgin since forgotten.

“Spread those fucking legs,” he demanded. You complied, spreading your legs and revealing your pussy glistening.

“You’re soaked baby, does me being in control turn you on? You like when I take the lead?”

You nodded, dipping your fingers between your thighs trying to subdue the throbbing but he grabbed them before you could. “That’s my fucking job and I’m the only one allowed to touch this pussy unless I instruct otherwise, got it?”

“Yes sir.” You throbbed even more at his firm words and he swore his cock twitched hearing you refer to him as ‘sir’.

“My slut is learning, good girl.”

He knelt down, his mouth immediately engulfing your pussy without warning and you cried out.

“Nicholas,” you moaned, your hands instinctively going to his hair as you squirmed under his touch.

“Mm— stop fucking squirming and take it,” he murmured in between licks.

You struggled to contain your moans as his tongue focused on your clit and giving you no room to adjust, he slipped two fingers inside you, curling them and immediately finding your g spot.

“Fuck, you taste amazing, baby,” he muttered, his licks now becoming more precise as you clenched around his fingers.

“Please don’t stop, please, keep going, just like that,” you moaned, your back arching from the bed as you felt your orgasm approaching.

“Oh I’m not fucking stopping until you squirt for me baby, so go ahead, squirt on my tongue,” he commanded.

As soon as the words left his lips, your legs clamped around his head but he forced them back open, his slurping, sucking and fingering relentless and you squirted all over his fingers and in his mouth, still sucking everything that came out of you.

“What a good little slut, that’s my good girl, keep gushing on my tongue baby, you taste amazing.” He continued fingering you and flicking your clit through your orgasm, getting as much as he could out of you. You tried to squirm away, the pleasure was becoming too euphoric but he continued until there was nothing left in you.

“Give me a kiss, you did so good for me baby,” he said, voice thick with lust. You leaned up and kissed him, your arms wrapping around his neck and pulling his body between your legs.

“Eager now are we? Calm down sweetheart, you’ll get this dick, I know you want it,” he smirked.

“I absolutely love this side of you,” you beamed, giving him another kiss on his wet lips.

Before you could say anything else, you gasped as his cock filled you, inch by inch.

“Fuck Nick, baby, you feel so good,” you whimpered.

“I know baby, I know, just lay there and take this cock, I’m gonna fuck you hard.”

Your gasps filled the room as Nicholas began pounding mercilessly into you. Somehow, he managed to fit every inch inside you each time he bottomed out and slammed back in. Your nails dug into his back as he kept bruising your cervix. His pelvis snapping against your clit sent shockwaves through you and you could feel the impending orgasm.

“Scream for me baby, I wanna hear you scream like a whore from how good my cock makes you feel.”

His request was granted as he pushed your legs behind your head, pounding into you deeper with his hand around your neck.

“You look so fucking sexy spread open for me like this, I fucking love this pussy,” he moaned, his grip tightening just enough to have your head spinning.

You closed your eyes, clenching tightly around him and getting lost in the pleasure.

“Hey, open those fucking eyes, I want you to look at me when you’re cumming on this cock,” he murmured.

Opening your eyes, your jaw fell open with sweet moans leaving it as you came on his cock. Your body quivered but he kept going, determined to take everything out of you.

“Good girl, good fucking girl, I know it feels good baby, I know.”

He let go of your throat and you wrapped your arms and legs around him, pulling him close.

“Oh it’s not time for cuddles yet sweetheart, I wanna make sure this pussy remembers the fucking shape of my cock,” he said, his voice low but rough.

You were dripping for this man. He was so sexy dominating you.

He swiftly flipped you onto your stomach and pulled your ass up to him. “Arch that back for me, just the way you know I like it, slut.”

You arched your back and he spread your arousal all over your hole with his fingers making you shiver. You loved the way he touched you there, the way he showed you what he had.

He slapped your ass, admiring how sexy you looked with your ass in the air for me. “All for me, all mine.”

He rubbed the bulbous, leaking tip up and down your folds before slowly slipping inside you.

You winced at the intrusion, his cock slowly filling you. “Hey sweetheart, is everything? You remember your safe word right,” he asked, his demeanor changing and his cock pausing inside you.

“I-it’s okay, give it to me, baby,” you begged.

He leaned down and kissed your shoulder before the switch flipped again. He firmly gripped your waist before thrusting the entire length of his cock into your tight pussy. You moaned in unison, feeling each other fully and hearing the sound of your pussy squelching.

“Hear that baby? You get turned this on from being fucked like a slut?” he laughed, slapping your ass as he pounded into you from behind.

You moaned from the sting of the slap, your pussy clamping around him.

“Wow, you’re such a cock slut, my cock slut, take it.”

Muttering incoherent words, you shivered under his touch, all you could think about was how good it felt to have his dick just constantly pounding into you.

“Do you like it?” you managed to croak it, “you like fucking me like this?”

“You know I do,” he grinned, slapping your ass before grabbing your curls and pulling you back to his chest, “now rub that clit for me.”

You did as you were told, your back arching off his body as he held your hair, pulling your head back and sucking on the sweet spot on your neck. “Cum for me baby, be a good fucking cock slut and let go.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you cried, tears of pleasure rolling down your cheeks as your body convulsed and you squirted on his cock, soaking him and the sheets below you.

“I never get tired of this gushing pussy,” he whispered into your ear, sending shivers down your spine. “I’m gonna keep fucking you and I want you to cum one more time for me.”

You whimpered in response, your body weak, not sure if you could cum anymore.

“I know a slut like you can cum one more time, take it, make me proud.”

His hand moved to around your neck, squeezing gently as he pounded into you.

“Take it, take it, take it, take this dick,” he moaned, his pelvis slapping against your ass.

“Mm- mhmm,” you moaned, willing this side of him on as you tried your best to take whatever he gave you.

“Your pussy is gonna have my cock forever engrained inside of it,” he chuckled, his pace now faltering.

“C- cum for baby, I know you have it in you, be my good girl, my pretty fucking girl and cum for me,” he said, breath shaky.

A cry left your lips as the fountain erupted from your pussy for the last time.

“M’ so proud of you baby, now take my cum deep inside your slutty fucking pussy.”

You both moaned as he pumped his load inside you, your pussy tightening around his thick cock that stretched your walls as he filled you to the brim.

“Good girl, that’s it sweetheart.” He thrusted slowly, making sure every drop was deep inside you before pulling out.

You both fell on the bed and he quickly pulled you close, turning to face you as he cupped your cheeks in his hands.

“Are you okay my love? Did you enjoy yourself?” he asked, a worried look in his eyes as he saw your tear stained face.

“I’m okay baby and I did, so so much,” you smiled.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked, wiping away the cum and tears from your face.

“You didn’t Nick, it was perfect, I love this side of you, thank you for telling me you wanted this.”

After the intense moments you’d shared, Nicholas softened, pulling you close and wrapping his arms around you. He pressed gentle kisses to your forehead, his fingers brushing through your curls in soothing, slow strokes. You melted into his embrace, feeling the warmth of his touch calming you, grounding you.

He whispered, “You did amazing,” his voice soft and filled with affection, his eyes still holding that glint of admiration. He continued to hold you for a moment longer, his thumb tracing gentle patterns along your shoulder.

After a while, he shifted, carefully slipping out of bed. “Stay right here,” he murmured, giving you a reassuring smile as he found a warm cloth and returned to your side. With tender care, he helped clean you up, his touch gentle, a quiet attentiveness in every movement. When he was done, he wrapped you back up in the covers and climbed back in beside you, pulling you close once more.

Nestled against him, you felt a mix of peace and contentment, the atmosphere in your dorm was now replaced by a calm that only he seemed able to bring. His fingers traced soft lines on your arm as he whispered, “I’ve got you.”

457 notes · View notes

vanteguccir · 1 year ago

Text

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤQUALITY TIME * MATT STURNIOLO

SUMMARY　::　where Matt skips Tara Yummy's 1M party to have quality time with his girlfriend.

FEATURING　Matt Sturniolo x reader　REQUESTED?　yes.

WARNINGS　::　none.

AUTHOR'S NOTE　::　that is my work, I DON'T authorize any form of plagiarism; copy, "inspiration" or translation! | english isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

Matt's car glided through the moonlit streets of Los Angeles as he headed toward Y/N's apartment after dropping off his brothers at Tara Yummy's 1 million celebration party. The radio played the playlist created by him and Y/N, which they constantly fed with new songs that reminded themselves of each other.

Matt smiled as he looked to the little surprise he had prepared for his girlfriend. He made a brief stop at a flower shop on the way, where he bought a simple bouquet of pink tulips - Y/N's favorite. His eyes momentarily found the bouquet carefully wrapped and placed on the passenger seat before returning his gaze to the road.

Upon arriving at the building where Y/N lived, his access to the parking lot was quickly granted, the doorman already knowing him very well. The boy didn't take long to take the bouquet in hand, locking the doors and taking the elevator to the corresponding floor.

The sound of the keys against the front door lock sounded faintly through the living room, followed by the sound of the door opening and closing seconds later, Matt quickly taking off his shoes and resting them against the wall.

"Baby?" His voice echoed through the walls, expanding to the nearest rooms, while his eyes quickly surrounded the space, searching for the girl.

"Kitchen!" Y/N shouted back, an involuntary smile growing on her face almost automatically, her body reacting to Matt's presence.

Matt made his way to the kitchen and found Y/N with her back to him, focused on the counter as she moved her arms over the ceramics. With a smile on his face, he approached her silently and hugged her from behind, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his hands on her stomach covered by her hoodie and little green apron.

"Hi, pretty boy." Y/N murmured softly, rubbing her hands together to shake off the flour before wrapping her arms around his, caressing the hoodie-covered skin. "I thought you were going to Tara's party."

"Without my girl? Never." He responded in a low tone against her neck, laying his head on her right shoulder so that his face was facing her neck and sealing her jaw gently. "I brought you something." Matt pulled away slightly and retrieved the bouquet he had rested on the table.

Y/N turned to him with eyes full of curiosity and confusion, which soon turned into pure ecstasy, her heart overflowing with love.

"Oh my... Matt, they're beautiful!" The girl beamed, accepting the bouquet and cradling it in her arms as if it was a newborn.

"I always bring you flowers, I don't know how you still react so surprised." Matt murmured jokingly, smiling as he watched her enjoy the little gift.

As Y/N carefully arranged the tulips in a new ceramic vase, Matt approached the oven to peek at what she was preparing. The delicious aroma of freshly baked cookies filled the air, making his stomach growl with anticipation.

"Did you make cookies?" The boy asked excitedly.

"Yes! I was baking it to take it to you tomorrow." Y/N nodded quickly, returning to her starting position. "Do you want some, hon?"

"Yes, please."

Matt watched in awe as Y/N bent slightly, opening the stove door and carefully taking out the baking tray with her hand covered in the soft yellow fabric glove, resting it on the counter.

He knew he was lucky to have someone so incredible in his life, someone who cared about making every moment special.

The girl rose to her tiptoes after closing the oven, opening the cabinet above the stove and retrieving two dessert plates designed with little strawberries. She placed them side by side next to the tray before taking a small spatula and moving two cookies to each plate carefully, afraid of breaking or dropping them.

Matt walked over, taking one of the cookies from the tray with the tip of his fingertips, ignoring the slight burn from the high temperature. He lifted his own hand, blowing on the sweet before biting off a piece, closing his eyes automatically and letting out a sigh of pleasure through his nose. The way the cookie was still warm made it melt in his mouth, the chocolate exploding against his tongue, multiplying the variety of flavors.

"Is it good?" Y/N giggled, watching him with a smile gracing her face, receiving a quick nod with wide blue eyes. "Come on, baby."

She took the plates in her hands delicately, leaving her kitchen and walking to the balcony with Matt following close behind as he licked his fingers, removing all the chocolate residue.

The night was cool and clear, with the sky dotted with twinkling stars. The couple snuggled into the cushioned chairs that decorated the small space, Matt quickly reaching for the pink blanket that was folded on the small table on the right corner, opening it and throwing it over his and his girlfriend's legs, protecting them against the light breeze.

"Oh! Matt, remember the dog constellation I was telling you about the other day?" Y/N's excited voice cut through the comfortable silence, her eyes lighting up just like the stars above them.

"Sirios? No, wait, Sirius... Right?" Matt frowned, a cute look of confusion spreading across his face as his eyes darted from Y/N to the sky and back again.

"Exactly! Sirius, the brightest star in the night sky. Right there." The girl raised her arm that wasn't holding her plate, pointing her index finger upwards.

Matt looked in the indicated direction, navigating through the stars for a few seconds until he found it.

"Wait, it's actually beautiful. What else do you know about it?"

Y/N smiled truthful, her heart warming at being able to talk more about something she loved so much, without having restrictions or feeling ashamed for her excitement.

"Well, Sirius is a binary star, which means it is actually two stars orbiting around each other. It is part of the constellation Canis Major, the Greater Dog, and is known as 'The Dog Stars'. Oh, oh! Do you remember Sirius Black? My favorite Harry Potter character? So, this star..."

Matt listened intently, slowly chewing the small cookie pieces while keeping his eyes fixed on Y/N. Her passion for astronomy and the universe always fascinated him, and there wasn't a time when she brought up the subject that he wasn't willing to give her his full attention.

As the night progressed, Matt and Y/N continued to stargaze, lost in conversations about the cosmos and its mysteries.

As the last cookie crumbs disappeared from the plates and the sky began to brighten with the sun that appeared over the horizon, Y/N felt a wave of comfort and contentment envelop her body, resting the ceramics on the corner table and moving gently towards Matt, settling on his lap.

The boy opened a big, involuntary smile, automatically wrapping her with his arms and the pink blanket, protecting them from the slight cold of dawn, while she laid her head on his chest, feeling the peaceful rhythm of his heartbeat and serene breathing.

Together, they kept their eyes fixed on the sky that was beginning to take on color, the sound of the first cars on the street, and the laughter of children going to school filling their ears.

Little by little, Y/N began to feel the effects of exhaustion after staying up all night, her body relaxing against Matt's comforting warmth. Sleep came like a gentle wave, enveloping her senses in an embrace.

Her breathing became slow and regular, while her body became limp and light. Her brain shutting down and giving in to deep sleep, to the point where she didn't hear the little whisper of "good night, petal" from her boyfriend, let alone his arms carrying her to her bed, where they finally slept in each other's arms.

1K notes · View notes

elizaleclerc · 9 months ago

Text

vicious 🍒

charles leclerc x reader (smau)

summary: singer!reader starts soft launching a relationship with charles leclerc amidst a new album and tour after a messy breakup with lando norris...

song: (literally every single one mentioned lol)

author's note: back on my smau bs! faceclaim is sabrina carpenter bc DUHHH!!!! i honestly just loveee the messy drama and petty posts w this one

NEW ARTICLE: VANITY FAIR

After almost two years of fiery romance, pop singer Y/N and F1 driver Lando Norris split after cheating rumors

Rising pop sensation Y/N had temporarily put her music career on hold to accompany her new boyfriend, F1 rookie Lando Norris, on his journey to dominance. The couple's public debut was in Monaco, following Norris's first Formula One win last year. After being photographed together several times after that, the pair finally decided to be more public with their relationship, with Y/N attending every Grand Prix at Norris’s side.

The media was ablaze with chatter about their fairytale romance, causing fans of both stars to swoon and declare them the next "it" couple. For nearly two years, Norris and y/l/n were inseparable, gracing every magazine cover and dominating headlines. But suddenly, everything changed. Rumors began circulating that Norris had been secretly seeing a stunning model for the past three months, sending shockwaves through the fandom. Soon, the once inseparable pair stopped appearing in public together, leaving fans to speculate if their relationship had met its bitter end. Now, all eyes are on Y/N as she prepares for her highly anticipated next album. Will she address the rumors and set the record straight, or will we all be left in the dark?

yourname proud to announce my second album, vicious, will be yours november 15th <3 more news soon x

liked by f1, charlesleclerc, landonorris, and others

-user8465 YES YES YES

-user9902 oh we're about to get all the answers

-user4558 if the album is as good as the cover photo we are about to get FED

-user5041 everyone place bets on how many of these songs are about lando...

landonorris A steady couple of weeks for the team, ready to take on more tracks soon!

liked by maxverstappen, mclaren, f1, and others

-user4902 sir are you aware you are about to get cooked

-user5506 um id go into hiding if i were you

-user4558 people already jumping to conclusions yall calm downnn

-user1141 have you not SEEN the cheating rumors??

-user4558 we have literally no idea what happened between them tho

-user1141 girl i fear we are about to know tho

yourname all because i liked a boy :,)

liked by charlesleclerc, sonymusic, f1, and others

-user0402 please tell me the caption is a lyric on the album i might die

-yourname shhhh...

-user0402 I DIED.

-user5903 charles being messy in the likes i cant

-user4304 y/n i don't think we are ready truly

yourname the first single, feather, is out now for you to love and enjoy!! kisses

liked by charlesleclerc, sonymusic, yourbestfriend, and others

-user3560 oh she's moved ON.

-user2094 "you wanted me, no DUH" we all said in unison

-user3932 im so sorry for your loss lando!!!

-user8856 she really just called this man a waste of time...icon behavior

-charlesleclerc A tune.

-user6678 CHARLES??

charlesleclerc Feels good to have a couple wins under our belt, the fight for the championship isn’t over yet.

liked by yourname, f1, scuderiaferrari, and others

-yourname red looks best

-user7704 hey so what does this mean

-user5089 charles dominance could bore fans

-user6723 so no ones gonna say anything about y/n in the comments? okay

yourname the vicious tour, coming to a city near you <3 check my website for more info ;)

liked by maxverstappen, charlesleclerc, sonymusic, and others

-charlesleclerc the ticket is already in my cart

-yourname what a loyal fan <3

-maxverstappen can i tag along?

-user4783 omg what did i walk in on

-user4370 charles and y/n i- um- how did-

-user3904 i need this album like yesterday i cannot wait any longer

yourname vicious is officially out now!!! creating an album is always so daunting, but everything i went through this past year has brought me to where i am now :,) the lyrics, melodies, and tears flowed out of me like a literal waterfall and this record slowly evolved into something so personal and beautiful, and i hope you all love it as much as i do. for those who have bought tickets to the tour, i'll see you all so soon. xoxo

liked by charlesleclerc, landonorris, maxverstappen, and others

-user3204 i simply have no words this is beautiful

-user5103 how is it possible to both cry and shake my ass to this album

-user0989 i know lando is somewhere sobbing and shaking

-user6434 everyone reply with ur fav songs so far!!

-charlesleclerc Picture You ;)

-yourname cheeky.

-user5568 could it be perhaps...because...its about you, charles?

charlesleclerc WORLD CHAMPION! It feels so good to finally have a WDC. The team has put in countless hours of work this season and it finally paid off. Red Bull and McLaren challenged us all year, but I've always had faith in myself and this team. This is a moment in my career that I will never forget. I'm ready to enjoy some time off, but I'll see you on the track soon.

liked by yourname, f1, scuderiaferrari, and others

-yourname my champion <3

-charlesleclerc ❤️

-user6845 OMG THIS IS NOT A DRILL

-user3579 we all love you charles!!!!

-user9356 charles wdc and y/n soft launch in the comments yall are we okay

-user5602 once again lando is probably crying and throwing up

-user1362 karma tastes so sweet

-yourname tell me about it

yourname he's good for my heart ☀️

liked by charlesleclerc, f1, sonymusic, and others

-charlesleclerc mon amour <3

-user5412 she's got him using that heart im obsessed

-user7584 going from wag to wag again she's truly iconic i fear

-user0049 girl why hide the face we recognize that man anywhere

-maxverstappen Soft launch of the century.

charlesleclerc my two loves. welcome to our little fam leo <3

liked by yourname, maxverstappen, f1, and others

-yourname love u both <3

-user6731 oh my god i might cry

-user0823 u can tell charles is so perfect for y/n im so happy for them

-user7803 charles better treat her well or we ride at dawn

-charlesleclerc i'll love her forever

-user4812 CRYING I LOVE THEMMM

thx for reading!! might make a part 2 with y/n on tour...

#formula 1 #formula one #formula one fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 #charles leclerc #f1 imagine #charlesleclerc #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x reader #social media au #smau

696 notes · View notes

planetnini · 1 year ago

Text

LOVE TO KEEP ME WARM !

࿔･ﾟ*࿐ for the first time ever satoru is left puzzled just by a simple question from tsumiki, but he knows just how to prove his love for you + gn!reader. fluff with some angst— use of nicknames (baby, sweetheart), found family trope <3, girl dad satoru agenda, he is a bit insecure but it gets resolved, cutest fucking declaration of love ever, surprises! snow shenanigans, mistletoe kiss, satoru is the best boyfie ever i love him (5.8k words)

notes. this is a gift!!!! so it will cater to the interests and personality of my person but everything else is very vague :) merry new years secret santa thing @scarameows-world !!!! very late by the time this gets published but whtever.. i'm the reindeer that's been up in your inbox <3 we had alot of good talks and i hope we can stay in touch after this :") now here's a cute little fic i made for you about the one and only gojo satoru. title is inspired by this song

gojo satoru is a man whose proficiency knows no bounds. he is a force to be reckoned with ushering a new era of powerful sorcerers and curses due to his possession of both the six eyes and limitless technique. he could do almost anything as one might expect and everything came naturally to him. he never had any doubts about himself, but then came along you.

satoru was a natural when it came to flirting, but he was not accustomed to the rejection he faced in his early days when you would ‘let him down easy’– it was nothing short of disastrous, always ending in banter between you two. yet somehow you had your wicked ways of making him chase even though all you two did was flirt. after several attempts to woo you and you finally stepping up, one thing led to another now here you were, co-parenting two kids with the man you once swore you’d never be with. satoru was 100% sure that he would be yours for infinity, but it wavered on this particular day.

satoru was on a little errand run with tsumiki whom he had entrusted with pushing the trolley around as he scanned the list you had made for tonight’s dinner and activity. she was a young and incredibly happy girl who was much friendlier than her brother, megumi. when satoru adopted the two, tsumiki had taken a liking to him immediately whilst megumi took a liking towards you so he had taken her on the trip. it had been going well, with them doing the final grocery run after spending what felt like hours picking out the perfect wreath for the front door, however tsumiki’s question stopped him right in his tracks.

“do you love y/n?” she asked, a little curious look decorating her features.

“that’s a silly question. of course i do!” he uttered, scanning the wreaths with his eyes picking out the perfect one because quite frankly, he didn’t know how to react.

people naturally assume that growing up from a family who viewed him as an ornament and coddled him that he would be a closed book or lacking in social skills but his first few years at jujutsu tech proved everyone wrong: he was not just a pretty face who could get away with just that. in the end, his love for others was his weakness and tsumiki had brought up something that satoru had failed to anticipate. what did she see that satoru couldn’t and was that even possible?

she took the wreath from his hands and put it into the trolley bringing him back to the present, “how do you know you love y/n?” she paused, and tsumiki must be sadistic for making him suffer like this, “what does it feel like?” she asked, looking up at him.

satoru looked down at the child, surprised by her questions. he paused for a moment, considering how to articulate such an answer to a complex question. was it that hard to believe that gojo satoru was capable of loving someone?

while satoru would never admit it at the start, he needed megumi and tsumiki more than they needed him. after suguru’s defect, they especially reminded him that sometimes blood wasn’t all that important when it came to the people you loved. he loved them but in a completely different way than he loved you. a love so unequivocal that it was impossible for people not to know how truly and deeply in love satoru was with you, so he wasn’t sure where he went wrong but perhaps it wasn’t enough.

“well,” he began a thoughtful look on his face, “loving someone is different to everyone. i guess i can’t really explain it other than a warm, fuzzy feeling inside and it makes you feel like everything is right…” he replied, her eyes lighting up with understanding, “you care for their happiness the most, that you’d even share your favourite candy.” he chuckled with a playful glint in his eyes, trying not to sound too sentimental.

“so you feel warm and fuzzy when you see y/n?” she looked up curiously at satoru.

he chuckled, ruffling the child's hair, "yeah, exactly. now come on, let’s finish this quickly so we can go home. get something for yourself and your brother.” he winked to which tsumiki nodded eagerly, seemingly satisfied with his answer as she rushed down the aisle finding something to bring home.

the atmosphere between satoru and the girl was no longer tense but satoru’s mind was swirling. he was reflecting on the innocence of the question as he took control of the trolley now, finished with his chores for the day. he even went as far as buying you something too but tsumiki had inadvertently planted a seed of doubt in his mind and now satoru was spiralling. did he love you enough? was his warm and fuzzy feelings strong and genuine, or was it something he convinced himself of after everything that went down? the simplicity of her question left satoru questioning himself and for the first time in forever, he is unsure of his relationship with you.

“i thought i told you that they can’t stay up late.” you spoke while washing the dishes. satoru could only lightly chuckle as he rinsed the plate, putting it on the drying rack. he knew you only meant well but he enjoyed seeing you like this more than he had expected: seeing you so worried and being such a caring person towards them. it was not like he had forced you to take care of them, it was through your own volition that you practically raised them.

“come on…” he drawled a little pout on his lips, “they said they didn’t want to decorate the tree without you tomorrow.” he reasoned, knowing that the two children in the living room were your true weakness and that just as much as you do for them, they’d do for you too. the way a simple sentence morphed your furrowed brows into a look of gratitude proved his point.

“do they actually want to decorate the tree with me or is it only because you bought them sweets today?” you accused.

“they’re much older now,” he reassured with a tone you doubt has any good intentions, “besides, i think it’s fair if we stop their ban on sweets, don’t you?” he asked with a simple hip nudge and you roll your eyes at the gesture.

he was happy with this, with how things were going in your life right now, in fact he couldn’t get enough of it. his request was simple, but you wasted no time immediately retaliating, “you just want to freely eat your sweets and use them as an excuse.”

“what little faith you have in me!” he gasped and you have to stifle a laugh, “plus, they’re kinda scary when they don't get their way.” he joked, leaning back on the counter with his arms crossed to get a better view of you who had just finished washing and drying your hands after dinner.

“how the higher-ups trust someone like you on those missions, i have no idea. i wonder how they would react if they found out you can’t handle two children.” you said, flashing him a smile. mentioning the higher-ups in the conversation made satoru’s blood boil but it had been tamed when he caught that little shake of your head combined with your smile. he had been contemplating the nature and depth of his feelings for you but tonight had proved that it was all a fluke– just seeing you was enough to remind him that nothing about loving you could ever be doubted, because loving you was as natural as breathing.

satoru leaned down to meet your eyes as you turned to face him, “sweetheart, if you want me home instead of on missions, you could just say so.” he smirked– a signature gojo satoru look that you couldn’t tell if you loved or hated.

you narrowed your eyes at him, “i hope you get put on more missions.”

“you wound me.” he grunted, a hand over his heart feigning hurt but you knew that he was joking.

“you can take it.” you hummed, eyebrows scrunching as he stared down at you lovingly with a smile etched across his face.

there have been so many moments between you, satoru and the kids that blossomed with joy– something that felt lost in a world rife of evil– but you forget that you’re both still fairly young, thwarted into roles of guardians. you loved satoru since you were teens and seeing that this was your first relationship ever, it is only normal to feel insecure, and normal that you have doubts that satoru could ever truly love you.

while staring at satoru your mind can’t help but swirl with thoughts and he catches on immediately, perceptive as ever due to his six eyes and well, being gojo satoru. he sees it in your contemplative sighs that he had been hearing throughout the week, in your crafted smile, the way your shoulders are tensed and your jaw clenched: he knows you’re feeling some way right now because even your eyes don’t have their usual spark. your name rolls off his tongue so naturally, as if he was born to say it, as he reaches up to brush his hand across your cheek.

“what’s on your mind?” he questioned with a tilt of his head, thumb caressing your cheek. to him, the signs are as clear as day that you were troubled with thoughts of something and he wouldn’t rest until he found out what was going on in that beautiful mind of yours.

that warm fuzzy feeling intensified, secret moments between the two of you that the young girl was unaware of. it’s times like this you’re grateful that satoru is so in touch with how you felt most times and you can’t help the relief that settles in your heart when you realise you were so lucky to have him in your life, “it’s nothing,” you shook your head with a smile plastered on your face, “just… thank you for everything you did the other day,” you said, genuinely appreciative of his contribution to megumi’s birthday dinner, “i know you don’t think that he likes you but he really does look up to you.” you admitted.

“my charms aren’t all that bad.” he hummed, a proud nod as you snorted at his holier-than-thou tone.

your eyes closed at the soft contact of his lips on the crown of your head, warmth spreading all throughout your body during the cold winter month. you crave him and his touch, and you’re lucky that he hasn’t been put on any missions, specifically requested (he threatened the higher-ups knowing his status) to stay home with you and the others for just a couple of weeks. a small sigh left his lips as he started moving his hands away from your face up over his blindfold, the loss of contact made you pout slightly. your hand came over his, stopping him with a simple action, “are you sure you want them off?” you whispered, your voice dripping with concern.

“i want to see you.” he said, without an ounce of hesitation in his response.

“i don’t like the migraines it gives you when you have them off.” you retaliated as you shook your head resolutely. he wants to listen to you, seeing how much you cared for him and laid your heart out for him. the love you had for him was overflowing and he did not know how he got so lucky.

“i can take it,” he insisted, voice a mix of both amusement and affection, “besides, i’ll endure any and all amounts of pain just for you.”

“after that declaration, i better not hear a complaint out of you.” you said, smiling up at him as you begin to unwrap the blindfold yourself. your delicate fingers moved the bandages around his head, undoing the white bandages. the gesture made satoru relax in your touch as you pulled them away from his face. being able to let his guard down after suguru had been difficult but you were a rare (and lucky) case.

once the bandages are undone, you can see that he’s wincing and squinting, probably due to the oversensitivity. adjusting to his surroundings, you brush his cheek with your thumb and his eyes flutter open to have a look at you, “hi beautiful.” he breathes out, utterly captivated by you.

you mirrored his look, squinting as you leaned forward with a smile wanting nothing more than to kiss him until–

“what’s taking so long?” tsumiki yelled, surprising you and making the two of you jump from your spot. if satoru was masking his pain before, he wasn’t doing so now as he screwed his eyes shut and you feel extra protective of satoru now that his blindfold was off. he was extra sensitive to loud surroundings so when she came in shouting the two of you with his guard fully down, you knew satoru probably was still adjusting to having his blindfold off with the kids.

“did your brother put you up to this?” you asked.

“we were just wondering where you two were.” she replied bashfully.

“i told you they were kissing.” megumi groaned from behind her and if you weren’t embarrassed before, you wanted to dig your grave now that he had said it out loud.

“actually, we were rudely interrupted.” satoru complained, narrowing his eyes at megumi. living with them, you know how much megumi truly looked up to satoru but moments like this question why they were always at each other’s neck

megumi rolled his eyes, “have some manners you two,” you ordered, making tsumiki chuckle a bit, “i’m sorry for making you guys wait so long.” you apologised and you see megumi nod slightly at you.

“are you two in cahoots?” satoru whispered in your ear but you pushed him away jokingly. megumi was first to leave the room and tsumiki followed suit, but before satoru joined the two, you reached out grabbing his hand, “i know you said no presents this year, but-” you said, handing him a wrapped rectangular box.

“you said no presents for christmas.” he blurted out, confusion taking over his features.

“well, i sometimes doubt if you ever listen to me,” you looked up at him and you would be right because satoru had bought and wrapped your gift already, “just think of it as a very belated birthday present then.” you smiled at him, anticipating his reaction to your gift.

he opened the box carefully and he could see an engraving on a case, and his heart sunk. he knew he was in love with you, but was it possible to love you even more than he already had? he picked up the case and took out the special glasses he wore when he went out instead of the usual blindfold.

“i remember you said you needed new ones after they broke.”

“correction, when megumi broke my other ones.” he corrected. you rolled your eyes at him, and give him a light peck on the cheek, “thank you.” he spoke before you could make your way to help the children.

“don’t break them again, i’m not made of money satoru.” you warned and situated yourself on the floor, sitting cross legged as you peered over at what the two had been up to when you and satoru were in the kitchen. tsumiki was unboxing some tinsel and megumi was taking care of the ornaments. to be honest, you weren’t sure when you became one of those families who went full out for christmas. the only things you ever really did was presents or stockings and having dinner together. you were overlooking the process, not really helping, or rather not knowing how to as you had never really had a tree let alone decorate one.

“you’re not going to help?” tsumiki questioned, with a tilt of her head as she began to decorate the tree.

all the attention is turned to you now as you shake your head untangling some of the lights for the tree, “i mean, i’ve never really celebrated christmas with a tree and it’s for you guys right?”

“that’s sick and twisted!” satoru gasped, slumping down right next to you with his new sunglasses, “so you mean you’ve never had a christmas tree?” he exclaimed, and quite frankly you don’t really see the big deal.

“i wasn’t blessed with being born into a family like yours.” you teased and he took serious offence to that, not because he was offended by your comment but more so your nonchalance.

“well, anything you want to do for christmas?” megumi asked, putting some of the ornaments on the tree. he always had an artistic perspective and you were glad he was putting so much thought into where each one went.

“i’m not going to be home until late at night, but i guess i’ve always wanted it to snow big enough that i could build a snowman.” you shrugged, looking at the kids.

“that’s impossible.” megumi groaned.

“how are we going to get it to snow?” she exclaimed.

“exactly. it’s alright,” you reassured as you stood up from your spot, “as long as i’ve got you guys, that’s all i could ask for.” you winked at them as you helped them get to the higher spots of the tree. satoru sits there watching as you now start to help the two decorate the tree and decide to help out. you are too distracted to see that his mind is swirling with ideas– he is determined to make your christmas a little more special and he has some ideas up his sleeve that he can’t wait to use.

you feel the exhaustion of staying up late last night settle deep into your bones when you’re on your way home from the mission. it wasn’t like you didn’t get enough sleep, you got just the perfect amount but not being home today to celebrate with the kids and satoru kind of made your heart sink. it had always been the four of you the entire day and sometimes occasionally with the others but being away from home, away from them had taken a big toll on your heart.

you wiped at your eyes with a yawn as you began making your way down the path to your house. the cool winter night was in full swing, trees moving slightly in the small rush of wind that passed by along with the small sprinkles of snow. you took a deep breath and rubbed over your arms as you looked up at the sky. you weren’t lying when you said you wanted snow, it had always been a dream of yours to see falling snow, and enough that it might be enough to build a snowman, it was just something that hadn’t happened in a long time.

you reached the house but the eerily quietness and lack of light concerned you, were they watching a movie or something or did they go out and not tell you beforehand? you brushed off your worries, unlocking the door walking into an empty house. the whole room was dark, nothing could be heard and your heart was stuck in your chest, stopping at just the mere thought of not being completely alone right now.

you could hear some whispers and instinctively your hand went up, charging up your cursed technique as you hear some shuffling until an array of fairy lights went off above you, decorated meticulously going up the stairs and some nice garlands all around, warm lighting and while you’re staring at the lights, you don’t notice the three standing right in front of you.

“welcome home.” they shouted, and you swear you had felt that much relief in your entire life.

“i could’ve hurt you guys!” you exclaimed, a hand over your heart. the soft vinyl record you distinctly remember shoko gifting you after seeing you eye it last christmas playing from the living room, and you couldn’t help but smile.

“well that defeats the whole point of a surprise if i told you, right guys?” he said, and it is only now you realise that he has a santa hat on with the other two in ugly sweaters. you know megumi would be less than happy to be dressed in this right now but you assume he did so for you and couldn’t help the way the corner of your lips curved up at the sight. this… this is what you loved about your little family, and you knew it was wrong to call it a family– the two kids aren’t yours, and you’re not married to satoru but this moment, combined with the cute late night you shared with them just the night prior confirmed that you were all closer than that and how much they loved you.

“you did not need to do this for me,” you sighed, a little overwhelmed by how well decorated everything was. you hadn’t even noticed the holly, the bells, candles, and a bunch of other festive decorations– they really went all out. you wonder just how they pulled it all together but then you remembered that satoru would stop at nothing when it came to his gestures, “and you definitely did not need to drag them into this.” you added, kneeling down in front of them so that you could hug tsumiki and as you stood up you looked at megumi and ruffled his hair despite how much you know he hated when satoru did it, when you did it, you weren’t met with the same grumpy huff.

satoru gasped, “hey, these two were asking if you’d like them and i pointed them in one direction okay?” he defended but as you looked down at the two they were shaking their heads as if to refute his words, “don’t listen to them. they did it because they love you just as much as i do.”

respectfully, you hated satoru but not in a way that was malicious but for always making you feel like the luckiest person on earth. for being friends with you back then when it seemed like the world wasn’t on your side, for allowing you to stay in his life after losing his friend, for letting you take care of two of the most beautiful children ever. he was one of the sweetest people you ever knew and you doubt any gift or gesture would be enough to make up for the man that he is. without realising you had tears stream down your face, and you bring your hand up over your face to cover it. you weren’t usually the type to cry over something so trivial but here you were.

“i can’t believe you made y/n cry on christmas.” megumi complained, trying to lighten the mood as tsumiki’s mouth dropped.

"y/n's fine!" satoru reassured and you can’t help but laugh as you wiped away some of the tears. before you could speak satoru went over to you, engulfing you in a hug, “you better not apologise for crying. there’s nothing you need to be sorry for.” he reassured, rubbing circles on your back. you nod profusely, trying to keep yourself calm in front of the others (not that they’d never seen you cry before) before pulling away from the hug. you stared into his cerulean eyes, out and free from their usual blindfold or glasses, “it’s nice to see you my love.” he whispered, meant only for your ears.

you chuckled, pressing your lips into his cheek before turning around, “how about we open some gifts? how does that sound?” you smiled and their eyes lit up, brighter than the lights all inside the house and they scattered off like little mice to the living room where the tree was, with quite a few presents under the tree (courtesy of satoru’s money but joint in terms of thinking of what to get them) and you followed behind. satoru threw his arm over your shoulder as you took a seat on the couch as they got ready to unwrap their gifts.

“are you hungry?” he asked softly as they started unwrapping their gifts, the one in the penguin wrapping paper which satoru had wrapped up himself.

“i had something to eat on the way back.” you reassured and he nodded.

the two had spent quite a while opening satoru’s gifts. you noticed that the presents were some things the two children had mentioned once a very long time ago and were quite surprised that satoru had hand picked these gifts himself without asking you for help. you knew that he noticed every little detail about the people in his life but it made you wonder if he got you a gift after you said not to. you wouldn’t be mad if he didn’t get you one and vice versa.

“i got you that one.” you spoke, trying to contain your excitement as megumi picked up your gift, wrapped in some candy cane paper. you watched as he unwrapped it, revealing a digital camera and you hear tsumiki exclaim, excited for her gift now.

“a camera?”

you sat up, moving away from satoru as you leaned forward, “i know there aren’t that many pictures of you guys around the house so i got you that so we could start printing some out and putting them up.”

megumi couldn’t hold in his gratitude any longer bringing you in for a hug, “thank you y/n.” he said, and you hugged him back, kissing him on the cheek. satoru was going to make a comment about how he also wanted a hug after all the gifts he gave but it was a special moment shared between the two of you and he was not going to ruin the moment.

as megumi was setting up his camera with satoru’s help, you turned to tsumiki and watched as she unwrapped her own gift, she looked up from the box to you with shock all over her face, “y/n…” she whispered, voice cracking, “i can’t take this.” she said, handing you back the box.

“hey.. it's okay,” you reassured, lightly pushing the box back in her direction, “it’s a gift tsumiki.”

you watched her pull out the necklace, the stunning small heart shaped engraved with her initial on it but that wasn’t all you got her. after observing the necklace and helping her put it on, she opened a box that contained a letter, telling her of how much you adored her with special keepsakes from some memories you shared throughout the year. you have never seen her so happy and when she hugged you, you catch the stare that satoru is giving you– absolutely entranced by how much you loved them. a simple flash takes you off guard as megumi takes his first picture on the camera.

“how about you guys get your coats, i have something to give y/n.” satoru stated and they ran off with excitement in their bones at his plan. he had filled them in but they weren't convinced he could pull it off.

“talk about a successful night.” you chuckled, picking up the wrapping paper and throwing it in the bag that satoru was holding.

“get changed.” he spoke, taking the bag from you and now it’s your turn to be surprised again.

“what? where are we going?”

after getting changed, suspicion arising from his sudden ask of getting changed. you walk out of your room seeing everyone in their coats, scarves, and you watch as the children begin to walk out first leaving the two of you alone.

“what are you up to satoru?” you questioned, furrowing your brows.

“since you thought you could cheat your way around buying me a gift,” he replied honestly, which took you off guard, “i thought it was only fair if i got you some things as well.” there was a small box in his hand, and you took it from his hand. you held your breath as you unwrapped the paper to see a box tied with a ribbon. you opened the box, revealing nothing but a sheet of paper.

you definitely weren’t the ungrateful type but you were expecting something else like maybe a ring, a necklace or something else but as you examined the paper you looked up at him with your mouth wide open. it was a receipt of something you had been eyeing for a couple months but nothing you could excuse spending money on. you had been an avid lover since you were young and it was always your dream to have one of these.

“satoru.” you said, honestly starstruck at his gift.

“you have been eyeing that for so long,” he reasoned with a simple nudge of the shoulder, "merry christmas."

“i can’t accept this.” you shook your head, giving it back to him but you know it is relentless to deny his gifts especially after you pulled your little secret gift on him the other day.

satoru gave you a stare and pursed his lip, “you are keeping it. end of discussion.” he smiled as he started to wrap a scarf around you. satoru had always looked good in winter clothing, a scarf tucked around his neck and due to his infinity, he was never cold but still dressed to the occasion with his designer brands. he was so handsome…

“and since you’re not saying anything i'm assuming you don't like it?” he taunted. you told your brain to make a coherent sentence or at least move so you don’t make a fool of yourself just looking at the gift. you stared up at him, you used your free hand to push the scarf down from the bottom half of your face, "you know i thought you weren't going to get me anything?"

satoru had never stopped at any words faster than he had those, "what?" he answered with a shaky voice.

you scoffed holding his hand in yours, looking anywhere but into his eyes, "i thought you might do a whole 'i'm your gift' thing," you admitted, a little ashamed you had such little faith in him, "i guess you do love me."

"y/n..." he uttered, "if i have ever made you doubt i love you then i have failed as your boyfriend," he spoke and you could feel your whole body warm at his words. "you are everything to me even if you and megumi are in cahoots and pray on my downfall." he said and you shoved him. he winced lightly at the push and smiled as he pulled you close to him once more, eyes moving down to your lips then back up to your eyes.

“that was really sweet of you.” you uttered, looking up at him.

“sweet enough for a kiss?”

“unless you make it snow, i’m not kissing you.”

“i think i deserve just one…” he teased as he leaned closer to you.

a hand suddenly grabbed yours, tsumiki's gloved one, and once again stealing that moment between you and satoru, "y/n! didn't you hear me?" she gasped as you saw the wet snow on her coat go from crystal into a wet drop.

"what happened? is megumi okay? are you okay?" you asked, hand brushing over her face as if to check for any injuries.

"it's snowing!" she exclaimed as she made her way back out.

you looked over at satoru baffled but you could just see him smile at you mischievously and you run out and to your surprise, the snow is pouring down from the sky and you now know that your christmas wish has been satisfied. looking up at the sky, you put your hand out as the snow falls into your hand and you chuckle even though you are freezing your ass off.

the children began throwing snowballs at each other and one hits you at the back of the head and you turn to see all three of them standing there staring at you. they all point at gojo before you decide to pick up some snow for yourself throwing it at him back, thankful his infinity was still down.

you truly appreciate satoru doing his best to make you happy because it was all you ever wanted. he got a snowball in the face before falling down on the floor, and all of you chuckled at him landing on his back as he began to sit up, snow covering his whole back side and all in his hair.

you knelt in the snow and began to make the snowman you've always wanted to during christmas with the help of the two and when you're done you notice him standing at the front porch just staring as tsumiki started doing snow angels and megumi's two wolf shikigami joining him in the snow. you don't know when he let them out but you just smiled as you approached satoru, "what are you doing here?"

"just admiring you," he complimented and you shake your head, "did i do okay?"

you stare at him in bewilderment before moving to press a kiss to his cheek, "you did well satoru. more than that if possible."

he smiled cheekily and you move your hand to drag him back into the snow, "come on..." you hummed as you tried to pull him away from the front porch but he refused to move and you stare at him with a tilt of the head, "what's wrong?"

"you said you would kiss me if i made it snow.” he recalled, hand on his chin as he tried to refresh your memory.

“how the hell did you manage to make it snow?” you snickered but he didn’t look like he was joking. you don’t know how he managed, he would never say but you shook your head, “sorry babe, i don’t think you can control the weather… it is quite unpredictable.” you shrugged, giving him a fake guilty look.

“it’s a christmas miracle!” he yelped with his smile that you know and have grown to adore so much and you follow his gaze to the mistletoe above your head, "you know the rules." he seethed trying to seem nonchalant.

"you're an idiot," you laughed before holding his face in your hands, tiptoeing a bit before pressing your lips to his. you pulled away and brushed his lips with your thumb a little, "i love you satoru, always."

he could only pull you back in for another kiss, smiling as he did so as the kids exclaimed in disgust and horror at the sight. "i love you y/n. here's to many more years with you." he whispered when he pulled away. it was a christmas you will never forget and one that tsumiki and megumi will also never forget, dramatically reminding you that they were traumatised from your little kiss.

tags! @stsgluver @sukxma (thank you for hosting the event)

i hope you love this lynne, i apologise it's not my best work and i'm sorry it took so long. i love you, i hope you're doing well

1K notes · View notes

myownwholewildworld · 1 month ago

Text

The Road to Rome

main masterlist | ao3

pairing: marcus acacius x war prisoner!f!reader. summary: Gaul, 52 BC. Julius Caesar and his bloodthirsty army have won the final battle of the Gallic Wars atop Mont Auxois, after sieging the oppidum of Alesia for more than a month. with the war coming to a bitter end, you, the daughter of the defeated Vercingetorix of the Arverni, are taken hostage. General Acacius is tasked with bringing you to Rome, letting you believe you’ll only be an entertainment to the masses. little do you know, that’s not the case at all… author's note: well... here's my submission for @almostfoxglove angst challenge! the lovely moodboard was made by freya, and this beautiful song served as inspo too - i've included as many elements as possible from both! i know it's a beast of a oneshot, so i apologise in advance. i just couldn't stop writing. hope y'all like it, likes, comments and reblogs appreciated! <3 tags/warnings: 18+, mdni. historical accuracies and some inaccuracies. appearances of historical figures. slow burn angst (bear with me pls). enemies to lovers. explicit smut. one bed trope. sleepy shenanigans. as for the rest… creator chose not to use archive warnings, just know there’s no happy ending here. no descriptions of reader other than a female who can be carried by marcus (he's a strong boy). no age gap. wordcount: 28.1k divider by @\saradika-graphics

A chance encounter in the woods of Mont Drouot had changed the course of your life forever. Your curiosity for General Acacius had sealed your fate.

Eyeing him from the cover provided by the trees, you had aimed your arrow at him. Ever so watchful, you had listened to the nature surrounding you, alert to any signs that he might be accompanied by one of his men. Alone he had trudged forward, until his back stiffened and came to a halt.

His vacant eyes—brown like those of Baco, the Gaulish boar-God—had shot to yours through the dense vegetation. Under his intense gaze you felt paralysed for an eternal second, your skin bristling with anticipation. His head had tilted, as if he was amused with your attempt to put an end to the war the Romans had waged on Gaul.

Steeling yourself, you had briefly looked down to the arrow’s point, slotting it in position. But the moment you glanced up, Acacius was gone, vanished like an anima haunting the realm of the living.

That had been your first mistake — not killing the Roman General right there and then. His death would not have stopped Julius Caesar from showering death upon your tribesmen, but it might have had set him back enough for your people to reconvene.

Your second mistake had happened soon after the first. Another fortuitous meeting, one where you had been at his mercy. You had fallen down a hole dug up in the side of the mountain, set by the Romans in the hope of some easy food. Acacius had found you with a twisted ankle, trying to crawl your way out of the pit. He had dropped a rope, which you tied around your waist, and lifted you up. The moment you set foot on the cushioned ground, you feared the worst, but he let you go without a word nor warning.

Your third mistake had been seeking him out in the battle that unfolded on Mont Auxois, near the Gallic oppidum of Alesia. The culmination of an eight-year long feud between Julius Caesar and your father, Vercingetorix of the Arverni. Had you refrained from your compulsion, you would have died a warrior’s death alongside your comrades.

But Acacius had intervened in the nick of time, right when one of the Roman legionnaires was about to behead you as you stood mighty and proud.

“Don’t. She’ll be useful,” he had said, tone gravelly with apathy.

Those words still rang in your ears. How badly you wished he hadn’t stepped in — for the alternative was way worse than death itself.

And now here you were, tied to a wooden post outside of the Roman camp. Men eyed you from a distance — some lewd gazes, others with a disgusted look. In return, you straightened your back, bestowing haughtiness upon your posture. It didn’t matter how desperate your situation was, you would affront your future with the arrogance they all deserved.

You paid them no mind, undeserving they were of your attention. Instead, you blindly patted the dirt around the post, grabbing a flat stone. Cupping it between your hands, you twisted it around until its sharpest edge met the rope and slowly worked at it to free yourself.

One of the Romans walked by your side, followed by another. He stared at you with disdain, with a superiority you knew was lacking. Your hands stopped, worried they would see what you were trying to do.

“Gaulish bitch,” he sneered, teeth bare. “You’re nothing more than a stray dog and as such should be put down. Your brutish people deserved what they got, crushed by the Roman yoke. You’ll yield or you’ll die.”

When he sniffled and hollowed his cheeks, you knew what was to come. You turned your face the moment he spat in your direction, his nauseating saliva skidding down the skin on your right cheek. Slowly you veered your head his way, eyes devoid of emotion, while a smile crept up on your mouth.

Fast as thunder, you swung your bound feet under him, causing him to fall to the boggy ground in the blink of an eye. He snarled like the animal he was, hands deep in the mud that he unburied to reach for your ankle. Before he could, you kicked him in the face with your bare heel.

Your heart was pounding so wildly, the adrenaline rushing through your veins like wildfire consuming a forest, anticipating their every move. You glanced up at the other man, his fist coming down quickly towards your face. You swiftly dodged the blow, his hand hitting the wooden post. The second man started howling in pain, all caused by his own doing.

You couldn’t help but cackle loudly.

“Is this what you mean by the Roman yoke? You pathetic, little men,” you mocked them, fearless. “Is this all you got?”

As they stood up, your heart came to a standstill. Not because of terror, but because all your senses had sharpened. You were overly aware of everything around you, of them too. Your fingers resumed their doing, slashing the rope that tethered your hands to the wooden post.

You would never fold, never let them see the anger that brewed inside you. Your family had taught you better and you would never tarnish their memory by succumbing to two trivial men. No matter the outcome.

“What is going on here?” his voice stopped the commotion before it escalated any further.

A voice you could recognise anywhere, even though the first time you actually ever heard it was on the battlefield, barking orders like the General he was.

Slowly you looked up at General Acacius, eyes squinting with defiance. He towered above you, but his attention was directed at the two men. His arms folded at chest level, a cocked brow staring them down. He exuded imposingness, as if he was highborn. There was something about his posture, the way he carried himself, that made you swallow hard to dissolve the lump in your throat.

“Are you deaf?” he insisted when the two apes didn’t respond.

“General, the prisoner was provoking us for no particular reason,” the one who tripped with your feet lied.

Another laugh escaped your lips, face tilted up to the cloudy sky. The fucking audacity these men had was ridiculous. Being born in a society where men and women were equal, you almost found amusing their piteous attempts at belittling you.

“Oh, fuck me. Do you truly believe I would talk to any of you of my own accord? It’s like talking to pigs,” you sneered, rolling your eyes.

The two men began talking loudly and rapidly, pointing at you while their angry tone grew and grew. You understood Latin, but when they screamed like pigs in the slaughter, they stopped making any sense.

“Silence,” Acacius ordered, one steady hand extended in front of him with the palm facing downwards. “This is not how we treat our prisoners, not under my command. I was watching you both as you approached her, do not take me for a fool,” he kept on berating them.

They took a step back, brows knitting together and eyes averted with shame. It was obvious that Acacius was way above them and were embarrassed to be caught in a lie.

“Be gone now. I don’t want you anywhere close to her,” he barked, the extended hand now pointing to the forest’s boundary. “You will be standing guard tonight, the whole night.”

Then they both glanced at you, pupils blown with anger. As they walked away, you gifted them with a haughty smirk. One of them turned around—ready to hit you, you presumed—but the second man held him back and pushed him towards the trees.

When you canted your head, grin still painted on your lips, you realised Acacius was studying you intensely, as if he was trying to dive into the windows to your soul. The smile was quickly replaced with a pout and a frown when he crouched down in front of you, elbows resting on his knees.

“Men do not like it when a woman is confrontational. You would do well if you toned it down,” he offered his unrequited advice calmly, the drawl of his voice weirdly… soothing.

“Fragile men, you mean,” you corrected him, straightening your posture and lifting your chin up.

Unexpectedly, Acacius cracked a tiny smile, one corner of his mouth slightly curving.

“Yes, fragile men. There are many of them around here, so be careful,” he conceded, the half-smile lingering.

“Many of you, you mean,” you pushed the limits because you didn’t know any better.

Acacius let out a chuckle, shaking his head. It transformed his features, softening the deep wrinkles that scored his sun-kissed skin. His head had tilted to one side, his warm brown eyes locked in on yours — and then you felt it again, your body taut, your skin bristling. The intensity of his gaze almost felt like a thunder hitting you right in the centre of your chest, leaving you gasping for air.

Suddenly, his hand reached for your face, and you tried to lean back away from his touch, for your head to hit the wooden post behind. You scowled, uncertain of what he was about to do, but that didn’t stop him.

With his thumb ghosting your cheek, his eyes searched for yours — an unspoken permission. Acacius took your silence as an affirmation, and then his thumb brushed your skin, cleaning the spit off your cheek.

The delicate gesture took you aback, unsure of why he would show you such care. The contact of his thumb on your skin was thrilling, a strange sensation crawling up your spine all the way up to the nape of your neck. Your skin bristled even more to the point of pain, as if you had been thrown in an icy lake, and your breaths quickened.

You didn’t like this — the power his body emanated; the power he had on you.

“Why haven’t you killed me?” you spat out, erasing the remnants of softness from his face in an instant, the blanket of war cascading down his expression.

Whatever gentleness you had thought to see in his orbs, was gone now.

“I am awaiting Caesar’s verdict. There are other prisoners—”

“Others? Who?” you pressed, your heart racing now at the possibility of not being the only survivor.

“A few men. Including Vercingetorix of the Arverni,” his words dragged, his eyes watching you closely.

You couldn’t stop the way your body stiffened at the discovery of your father being alive. Your pupils had widened, and your heartrate had spiked even more.

“Vercingetorix?” you asked, wanting confirmation that your mind was not playing games on you.

Acacius nodded slowly, his brows slightly touching each other, eyes squinting.

“Do you know him personally?”

“No,” you replied quickly. Too quickly.

Your heart would not stop pumping, so hard you could feel your heartbeat on your temples now. You tried taming your expression, forcing yourself to calm down and pretend that the news of Vercingetorix’s capture didn’t faze you at all.

“You’ve got the same eyes,” Marcus thought out loud, scratching his stubble absentmindedly.

“No, we don’t,” you blurted out, your throat squeezing.

The man was like a hound with a chewed bone. You could see he was not going to let it go so easily — he knew you were lying. His eyes squinted and then clicked his fingers, the cracking sound momentarily distracting as you focused on his hands.

Big as paws, so broad he could easily wrap them around…

Focus.

“Why didn’t you kill me when I fell in your hunting trap?” you attempted to divert his attention from the issue at hand. “Or are you a really shitty hunter, letting your prey go so easily?”

Marcus’ brow furrowed even deeper, and you wondered if he would bite the bait. You couldn’t have him asking any more questions or he would find out the truth.

Or were you too late for that? You could only imagine what the Romans would do if they discovered you were Vercingetorix’s daughter. They would use you in despicable ways to get your father to bend to their will. As fierce as your father was, he had a tender spot for you. If he knew you had survived and been taken hostage, Vercingetorix would try to strike a deal to cut you lose.

But it would be in vain — Rome was thirsty for blood.

“You could say my hunting days are long gone. I don’t enjoy the thrill of the chase anymore,” he bluntly responded, towering above you as he stood up. “Get some rest if you can.”

“Easier said than done when I have to watch my back at all times,” you sneered, rolling your eyes.

Because if you fell asleep, your guard would be down. And you didn’t trust those two men — you knew, saw in their eyes, that they would come back for payback.

Acacius gifted you with a stern look, all the previous softness and nonchalance forgotten. This was the General you had gotten a glimpse of in the battlefield. One, you suspected, that knew more about you than you wanted. One that wouldn’t stop until he uncovered the truth of your ancestry.

Without any other word, General Acacius turned around and disappeared behind the bright red flap of a tent.

You couldn’t just wait around to see what would happen. You had to break free, or they would kill you. Or worse, use you as leverage.

With renewed strength and determination, you resumed the slicing of the rope that bound you to the post.

“How sure are you of your suspicions, Acacius?”

He had debated whether to speak of his conjecture or not. Nothing should hold him back from sharing an inkling with his old friend. If he was right, then they could get Vercingetorix to finally surrender the last enclaves of the Gauls — the bastard had not spoken one word since his capture. The war would be over, and he could return home.

So, if this was the right thing to do, why was he now doubting himself?

Your blown pupils still haunted him, the way you whispered “no, we don’t” in a hush when questioned about the shade of your eyes. As soon as your expression faltered, Marcus knew he was onto something. And he hated himself for it — for not being in a position of freedom where he could just pretend he hadn’t heard the fleeting panic in your voice.

Marcus wished he could lie to Julius Caesar; say he might have misinterpreted the signals. But he couldn’t — he was indebted to the man in front of him. Marcus owed Julius his life and loyalty for taking him under his wing and giving him the chance to make a name for himself when no one believed in a puny farmer boy from the countryside.

Thanks to his friend and his own hard work, Marcus had climbed up the military ladder, having been decorated with the title of General ten years ago. Marcus had many victories under his belt, having proved his worth with sweat, tears and blood.

“I am positive she is Vercingetorix’s daughter, Caesar,” he ended up answering, straightening his back. “I went to pay him a visit. The moment I described her, his expression flinched. It’s her.”

“You have questioned the man yourself?” Caesar asked with a smirk, lazily resting on the chaise lounge. He nodded in reply. “Hope you’ve beaten him good.”

Acacius was not one to resort to unnecessary violence if he could avoid it. There was enough blood on his hands as it was, didn’t need another notch on his conscience. So, when he visited the Gaulish chief, Marcus only used carefully delivered words to disarm his enemy. It had worked, because even if Vercingetorix hadn’t said a word, his reaction was all confirmation he needed.

He didn’t reply, standing tall in front of Caesar with his hands laced on his back, waiting to be discharged so he could call it a night and get some rest.

“We’ll use her as leverage,” his friend thought out loud.

Dread sank to the bottom of his stomach. Caesar could be… awfully creative sometimes.

His thirst for power, for notoriety, was very well known among the political sphere that surrounded Rome. Caesar had amassed gold and immense power over the last six years on Gaulish land. Julius had told Marcus in the past that this seemed to worry his allies in the First Triumvirate. With Crassus’ death last year, it was only Caesar and Pompeius Magnus who kept the political alliance intact.

But Marcus knew Julius wanted more — he’d heard his friend spoke of future plans that could hinder the Roman Republic. Those talks strayed far from what Marcus thought Caesar stood for, but they were more recurrent now, bordering on coup ideology.

Where Marcus would stand when, or if, that time came… He wasn’t so sure. He’d supported Caesar in so many of his quests and conquests, it would feel like a betrayal to the only man who believed in him.

Perhaps it’ll never come to that, he always reminded himself.

“Leverage? How so?” Marcus forced his voice to sound flat, uninspired, when, in reality, an uncomfortable feeling settled in his tummy.

“Glad you asked, Acacius,” Caesar’s smirk only reinforced his fear. “Since Crassus’ death last year, I fear my alliance with Pompeius Magnus might suffer. Although I trust my sister Julia will keep him bound and loyal, I need to ensure more allies and reinforce the ones I already have,” his friend explained, sitting up on the chaise lounge. “You are to bring the hostage to Rome. We’ll marry her off to General Marcus Antonius’ brother, Gaius.”

Dread mutated within him, rage taking over.

If there ever was a man to walk this earth whom Marcus despised, that was Gaius Antonius. One year younger than his notorious brother, the man was as despicable as one could get. A drunk philanderer, Gaius could always be found in one of two places: in a private house drinking himself to death and gambling, or in a brothel satiating his lust. The man’s manners were lacking, his ill fame well-deserved. Always so confrontational, looking for a fight to entertain himself.

Everything Marcus hated culminating in one singular person. The times they had run into each other, Gaius had always been so condescending that Marcus had to rein in the need to gut him right there and then. Antonius’ younger brother had mocked him for his humble origins, telling Marcus it didn’t matter how hard he tried, he’d always be a farmer.

So delivering a woman—any woman—to that shitbag of a man… it didn’t sit well with him at all. It would be a life sentence for you — because if you didn’t die at Gaius’ hands, you might as well wish for a quick death.

And what was worst, Caesar knew all of this, but still asked anyway.

A true friend wouldn’t, Marcus ruminated but drowned such treacherous thought.

“That would take weeks, General. With all due respect, I’ve got other responsibilities that—” Marcus started his plea, hoping to be released from such a mission.

“You’re the only man I trust, Acacius. I wouldn’t ask otherwise,” Caesar cut him off, standing up in front of him. One of his friend’s hands landed on his shoulder, gently squeezing. “I confide this assignment to you because I know you’ll get it done. Your word, Acacius?”

Marcus was between a rock and a hard place. Fear gripped him tight, his throat running dry with unspent poison pooling on his tongue.

He didn’t want to do it. But there was no way out.

“My word, Caesar,” he husked, slightly bowing his head down.

The agreement that would seal his fate.

“Why the long face, Acacius?” Antonius taunted him as he bit into the meat gripped between his fingers, the bloody juices running down his wrist and forearm. “You’ll get enough gold to retire after your mission, Caesar always pays.”

Payment was not an incentive for Marcus. He’d never wished for fortune nor recognition. He had enough money to live comfortably, a modest home where he could wind down and recover from the consequences of war. He didn’t fight for money — he fought for conviction, for the glory of Rome, for what he thought was right.

Or, at least, that was what originally had him enrol in the legion. After over two decades of bloodshed, Marcus had had his eyes open, his stance not as clear anymore. War had changed him, for better or worse. He didn’t regret his achievements, but the lives he had to saw to get where he now was.

His young self had been blind to the crude reality of war, eager to prove himself a worthy warrior. Now, with a few souls on his back and dirty hands, Marcus saw the events of his life under a different light.

“Not all of us are motivated by coin,” Marcus grunted, leaving the empty goblet on the makeshift table. “Some of us are happy with what we’ve got.”

“That’s the old you speaking, Acacius,” Antonius cackled, palming the wooden table. “You’re so righteous sometimes, it pains me.”

Marcus didn’t reply, chewing his dried bread until his jaw hurt, a dull ache shooting up to his cheeks.

It didn’t feel that way sometimes — righteousness seemed to evade him now. Because if he was certain of his own morality, he wouldn’t go through with the mission Caesar had bestowed upon him. He wouldn’t deliver you like cattle to the slaughter. Your destiny—your defeat, watching your people perish at the mercy of a Roman sword—seemed punishment enough.

But he truly didn’t see this panning out any other way. In the grand scheme of things, Marcus was just another pawn in an intricate plan he was not apprised of. Despite his station, he still had to follow orders. Disobeying them—or worse, interfering—would have him dead before dawn cracked in the horizon.

Getting killed over a stranger—an enemy—seemed ludicrous. Everything he had worked so hard for, for naught. There was no room for kindness in the midst of war.

“If you’ll excuse me, General, I shall retire to my tent,” Marcus excused himself, getting up off the bench. “Vale (farewell), Antonius.”

Marcus made his way through the camp, fires lit with legionnaires around them, sharing old wives’ tales and anecdotes from battles, their yearnings and hopes for the future. For being late, the encampment was still very much alive, the quiet chatter filtering through the smoke-dense air.

Trudging on, his tired muscles begged him for a break. War was relentless, hard on the body and the mind. But no matter how fatigued he was, Marcus couldn’t get a good night’s sleep. Although the war appeared to have come to an end, the thought of being on his enemy’s backyard was still present on his foremind.

As he walked past the post you were tied to, something caught his attention. Frowning, Marcus came to a halt, head slightly tilted with suspicion — a tingling sensation on his neck alerting of something out of place.

No, not something. Someone. Because when he looked in your direction, you were not there.

Marcus approached the empty spot and kneeled, finding that the ropes that kept you bound had been severed. His hand palmed the poorly lit ground, finding a sharp stone.

“Fuck,” he gritted out, standing up and flagging down a passing archer. “Give me that.”

The moment you saw Marcus distractedly saunter towards you, a rush of energy bloomed within you. It was now or never.

No one was coming to rescue you, because there was no one left to pick up the dusty sword of freedom. Waiting was pointless, so you had to take matters into your own hands.

When the last thread of the rope that bound you was cut loose, you crawled through the mud and ran for your life towards the forest. Barefoot, tired and thirsty, lungs burning now, you kept on running without looking back. Branches brushed against your skin, slicing your face, arms and legs. Spikey stones stabbed your soles, but that didn’t stop you either.

“Halt!”

The steadfast command almost made you obey the order. But doing so would mean going back to being a hostage at the mercy of men who had higher praise for sheep than women. Death was the least of your worries — and you would not suffer at the hands of cruel tyrants.

A quick glance over your shoulder confirmed that General Acacius was catching up with you, fast as a wolf stalking its prey. Despite the ache, the agony, you pushed forward, dodging trees and bushes in an attempt to lose him. These were your woods, the land you had grown up on, and as such you knew them like the palm of your hand. A few more minutes and you would reach a low cliff overlooking the river Oze. Just as you had done in your youth, you would jump in and let the current take you as far away as possible.

“Stop, dammit! Don’t make me shoot you an arrow!”

The warning in his now breathless voice made you look back again, realising that Acacius had a bow with him.

Panic started bubbling in your chest, adrenaline taking over your bloodstream like lava. Strained lungs and with your heart pounding in your throat, you focused on the path ahead, your feet rushing under you like thunder.

The whistling hiss of an arrow flew by your ear, kissing your cheek and drawing blood.

But that didn’t stop you, running as fast as your feet would take you. Focused on the path ahead, ignoring Acacius’ warnings, you glimpsed a clearing in the trees. Your freedom was close, just a few yards away the small cliff greeted you like your own personal salvation. So close, you could almost see the darkness spilling over the precipice.

You were going to make it — freedom tasting sweet on your tongue, despite the blood dripping onto your lips from the cut on your cheek.

As you leaped towards the abyss, another buzzing sound flew towards you. This time the arrow found its target, sinking in the back of your right shoulder as you plunged into the void underneath screaming in agony.

Dark water swallowed your body as you plummeted to the riverbed. The current was strong and unforgiving due to the latest torrential rains, battering you around and slamming your body against the hard edges of the rocky bottom. Your back hit a boulder rather harshly, your lungs vacating the little oxygen they held into the stream.

This was how you were going to die after all — not on the battlefield, not at your enemy’s mercy, but taken by the goddess Nantosuelta herself. The blurry lines of your vision began collapsing as your mind drifted away, eyes shutting and limbs limp floating around you.

Something surrounded your waist like a vine, but instead of pushing you further down, it pulled you up until your head breached the surface. The cold air kissed your face, and you coughed to clear your airways, water spilling over your lips in spurts.

“Hold onto me!” General Acacius shouted at you, gripping you closer to his broad frame.

You blinked, confused at first. Then it hit you: the Roman General had jumped after you, dragging you out of the bottom of the river. He was trying to save you from drowning, even if that meant dying with you.

Still feeling dizzy, muscles unresponsive, you managed to drape one arm around his neck whilst Acacius battled with the current. It was only ten minutes, but to you it felt like an eternity — you both went under a couple of times, but Acacius never let you go, his arm hugging you tight like a vice.

Finally, General Acacius hauled you out. You both fell to your knees as soon as you reached the shore. Having gulped down at least a pint of water, you heaved and retched until the burning sensation travelling up your throat was unbearable.

Then you dropped to one side, curled up on the river’s edge. Exhaustion coursed through your body from head to toes while your breathing calmed down. Acacius was besides you, sitting back on his heels with a bewildered look.

“Why… did you… save me?” you managed to slur some words together.

His expression softened, running a hand down his tired face.

“I don’t know,” he husked out. “I couldn’t let you die.”

His features folded as soon as he spoke the last words, avoiding your eyes. He couldn’t let you die this way, you assumed he meant, implying he was willing to let you die a different way.

“You’re bleeding,” he changed subjects, pointing to the arrowhead sticking out just above your clavicle.

“I wonder whose fault that is,” you sneered, sitting up on the ground.

The reality was you didn’t feel the pain. Your body had gone into overdrive, focusing your remaining energy on keeping you alive.

“I told you I’d shoot, and you didn’t listen,” Acacius grunted, dragging his knees towards you. “Let me see.”

Not having the mental capacity to retort back, you let him inspect the wound, his wet fingers carefully caressing the bloody skin around the wooden shaft.

“It’s gone through cleanly. I’m going to snap the arrowhead so you don’t hurt yourself. Ready?” He didn’t give you much time to process his words, because soon enough he did exactly as he told you.

Through gritted teeth, you hissed in pain, jaw clenching so hard you might break a tooth.

“You bastard,” you sneered, but your animosity didn’t make him flinch.

In any case, he was closer than he was before. His wet silvery curls dripped onto your tilted face as you looked up at him with anger lighting your eyes.

“I need to remove the shaft too but can’t do it here, you’ll bleed out. I need to stitch you up as soon as it’s out,” Acacius spoke calmly, ignoring the fury simmering in your face.

The walk back to the Roman camp was excruciating. Pain shot from your shoulder in all directions, but you pushed through it. Acacius had a tight grip around your waist as you hugged his shoulders to stand up, keeping you close to him, his hand laced with yours.

Luckily, no one was there to see your rather pathetic entrance. You only crossed paths with a couple of legionnaires who nodded in acknowledgement to Acacius, and soon after that he directed you to a tent.

Once inside, you stood in the middle of it awkwardly. The red textile walls were bright, but the rest of the decoration was spartan. A bed that would barely fit two people, a wooden trunk with a lit candle as a nightstand, a wonky dresser, two chairs and a couple of chests. There was a small cauldron in the middle of the room which had red embers in it, its warmth spilling into the space.

What caught your attention was that there were no personal effects in sight. This could perfectly be the sleeping quarters of a low rank soldier, and you wondered if Acacius had mistaken his tent for someone else’s.

“Take a seat,” he pointed towards one the chairs.

You were so knackered, you happily obliged, letting yourself fall onto the chair. You were drenched, your leather garments soaked and heavy, but still didn’t feel the snappy cold bite your skin.

Your gaze tracked Acacius as he ambled towards one of the chests. But you quickly looked away when he undid the knots that kept his chestplate in place. The clink of metal told you he was getting rid of the top part of his armour.

Despite your efforts, curiosity won. In the corner of your eye, you saw his bare back — his back muscles undulating under his damp skin, shoulders flexing as he pulled the linen shirt over his head. His waist was sculpted, slightly thinner than his chest. Two pronounced dimples on his lower back distracted you from the battle scars dotted around his frame.

Enemy or not, the man was a treat. You’d have to be blind to say otherwise.

Unfortunately for you, Acacius didn’t turn around — just opened the chest, rummaged through it and fished a fresh linen shirt that quickly covered his body. The damp skirt remained though, and you guessed the General was not as comfortable with you in the tent.

Acacius veered towards the dresser, going through the contents of the first drawer and leaving different items on top. When he turned around to face you, he was holding a bottle of wine that he extended towards you.

You blinked at him blankly.

“Removing the shaft is going to hurt like hell. The alcohol will numb your senses and if you’re lucky enough, you might not feel too much pain,” Acacius explained while you grabbed the bottle, cocking a mighty brow.

“So, you want me drunk. Here, alone with you,” your words dragged, hinting at your distrust. “It’s only fair if you get drunk too.”

Acacius huffed and puffed, sitting beside you on the empty chair, and stole the bottle from your grasp, the cork stopper flying.

“So untrusting. If I hurt you while patching you up, then don’t complain,” he grunted before bringing the bottle to his lips.

You were momentarily mesmerised by the bobbing of his Adam’s apple. His neck was thick and chiselled, stubble covering his jaw. You wondered if it would be prickly to the touch, your fingers testing the girth of his neck.

To suffocate him, obviously — nothing else.

“I’ll take my chances,” you retorted, shrugging. The slight movement of your shoulders made you grimace. “Pass me that.”

Minutes went by as you and Acacius shared the wine, taking turns on emptying the bottle. He didn’t say a word, and you guessed he wasn’t a big talker. You were comfortable with silence, but a doubt nagged at you.

There had to be a reason for his rescuing. Why would he risk his life to save yours otherwise? If he thought you were nothing, no one of relevance, he should have let you drown. But he hadn’t, and you doubted it had been out of pure altruism. Acacius didn’t know you at all except for the few exchanges you had had in the past. You were even — you hadn’t killed him in the woods, and in return he had dug you out of the hole you fell into.

“Has Caesar come to a decision about me?” you blurted out, the only explanation for you to be here right now, alive.

Acacius gave you a long look, his hand quick to rob you of the alcohol. His eyes remained locked with yours as he drank. The void in his orbs was pretty telling, but you needed confirmation from him — confirmation that you had said too much when he mentioned your father. That you fucked up.

“I spoke to your father,” Acacius drawled, studying your expression. There was no point in denying what was obvious, so you didn’t interrupt. “He didn’t sell you out, but it was pretty obvious I was onto something when I started talking about you.”

“Have you tortured him?” you voiced your worry, brows pinching.

The General slouched back, almost as if he was offended by your question. You had seen the aftermath of their grilling — broken fingers, dislocated jaws, bent-backwards knees. It wasn’t wrong of you to assume the worst of him.

“No,” he responded flatly, drinking again and passing the bottle. “Caesar has decided a new future for you. You are to be brought to Rome. You’ll come with me.”

Your heart literally stopped beating. If it wasn’t for the wine already working its magic, you might have stood up and emptied the bottle on his face. But you didn’t — instead, you glanced at him, lips pressed contemptuously.

“And what will I be doing there, dare I ask? Are you going to throw me in a cage and parade me around town like an animal so your citizens can look at a savage eye to eye?” you sneered, grabbing the bottle to quench your rage.

If you hadn’t closed your eyes, you might have seen the guilt flashing on his eyes. But you didn’t, too focused on drowning your mind so you wouldn’t think about what the future laid ahead.

“Your father will be going too,” he offered as consolation.

Your eyes did spark up at him, the idea of seeing your father one last time somewhat calming.

“Will he be coming with us?” you ventured, your hopes too quick to rise.

“No, he’s a bigger risk. A small entourage will accompany him,” he answered, fingers curling in your direction in a silent plea to give him the wine.

“Oh,” you didn’t hide your disappointment.

You handed him the alcohol and his fingers lingered around yours for a second. Perhaps it was the wine, but you caught sadness in the way his eyes watched you. Pity, probably, conscious of what your life might look like in a few weeks’ time.

“We’ll be going alone. I trust that the thought of your father’s wellbeing will deter you from trying to escape. Otherwise, I’d have to chain you and it’s not something I’d like to do,” Acacius grumbled, voice slightly slurred.

So your father’s life depended on you — on obediently following this man to your enslavement. Life was fucking cruel, but you would never be the reason for your father’s death, of that much you were sure. There wasn’t much of a decision to make there.

“Alright,” you mumbled back, straightening your back. “When are we leaving?”

“Tomorrow at the crack of dawn,” Acacius tilted his head towards you, a downcast expression eagerly studying yours.

Silence fell like a blanket again, each of you immersed in your own thoughts. When the bottle finally ran out, Acacius got up and walked towards the dresser, collecting the items he’d placed on top of it. His stance was not as firm anymore — shoulders relaxed, feet slightly wobbly thanks to the alcohol flushing his system.

“Are you ready?” he asked, dragging his chair towards you once he sat back down.

You nodded, stiffening your posture. You prayed the wine worked its miracle.

Marcus could tell how drained you were by the end of it. His hand had not been the most stable, considering the amount of grape juice he had chucked down. He regretted drinking so much, but was able to stitch you up in the end. Not his best work, but it would do, keeping the wound close to avoid infection.

Your head tipped, and Marcus was quick enough to hold your forehead so you wouldn’t fall forward. He wasn’t sure if you were drowsy because of the alcohol, the pain or because your body finally left its alertness state, or a combination of it all. What he did know though was that you needed some rest.

He wasn’t as heartless as you thought — couldn’t bring himself up to drag you outside and tie you to the wooden post again. Not when he suspected the two men would come back for payback.

Without many more options, Acacius scooped you up from the chair, careful not to wake you, and laid you down on his bed. You immediately sighed with relief when your frame sank in the straw mattress, engulfing you in its warmth. You nuzzled his pillow, inhaling deeply before your pinched brow smoothed out.

You looked so different when you slept. Your hair covering your face, long eyelashes kissing your cheeks and your mouth slightly agape, taking in soft breaths. Younger too, although Marcus believed you both were around the same age. Perhaps you were older than him, considering how weathered his golden skin had become under the scorching sun for years.

He hated himself for omitting the truth, for not telling you what would be of you once in Rome. Marcus let you believe that you would be a slave, an entertainment to the crowds, but your reality would be much more darker than that. He didn’t know you, but could safely bet that you would strongly object to being married off as a war trophy. Anyone would.

Were you married? He scanned your fingers from the distance but saw no wedding band. Perhaps it wasn’t common in your culture to wear one.

Marcus frowned — despite having lived on this land for over a lustrum, he didn’t really know much about its inhabitants and your customs. Though he wasn’t here to make allies, but to destroy the life you and your ancestors had built.

He’d never thought of it that way, always pushing such logic aside so he could do his job. As Caesar would say, “Veni, vidi, vici.” It was fucking cruel, an injustice really, but his hands were as tied as yours.

Eventually Marcus drifted off to an uncomfortable sleep, almost falling from the chair twice before he hauled over one of the chests to prop his legs up.

He’d close his eyes for a second, just to recharge for a bit, then would stand guard the rest of the night to assure your safety — and captivity.

“Acacius,” something tugged at the linen of his shirt, and his eyes slowly fluttered open. “It’s dawn.”

The words seemed to come from far away, not registering on his mind. He hmphed and shut his eyes again, knackered from a restless night. Five more minutes, that was all he needed.

“Oi, hey!”

A slap on his shoulder startled him awake, sitting up on the chair instantly as he quickly scanned the room — a throbbing headache haunting him.

Then he saw you, sat on his bed with your feet dangling from the edge, an inquisitory glance shot his way.

“Fuck,” he groaned, realising he’d fallen asleep for longer than intended. “Shouldn’t have drunk so much,” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his aquiline nose.

“If it’s any consolation, I’m no better,” you hushed, watching him intently. “But the wound seems to be healing alright.”

Marcus straightened up, pulling his chair closer, hand reaching for your shoulder in unspoken permission. You slid down the neck of your leather garment, showing him the injury. His fingertips teased around the laceration, and under his touch you shivered.

He quickly removed his hand; afraid his caress was doing more harm than good.

“Sorry. It’s a bit inflamed but otherwise seems fine.”

You nodded in mute reply.

At the same time both of you stood up — so close, you bumped into each other. Marcus almost kicked you off your feet and you tumbled back. Before you fell back onto the bed, Marcus grabbed your forearm and pulled, crashing you against his chest.

The sudden proximity brought with it your scent — earthy cinnamon with a floral hint, sweet and musky. Marcus couldn’t control the need to inhale, to take you in for a brief instant. He hadn’t let himself be close to anyone in a very long while, not when war was at the forefront of his mind. Simply didn’t have the time, always busy with battles, training or strategizing for what was next.

Your closeness briefly reminded him of a life he once yearned for. To settle down, to marry, to have a family — his kids waiting for his arrival, hugging his legs while he patted their heads in loving reassurance. But when the opportunity of proving himself worthy knocked at his door, he seized it and parked his other desires, incapable of seeing a way to reconcile those two very different lives.

Why had your mere presence suddenly unearthed those thoughts? He was only curious about you, knew perfectly what his role was — your captor, the one in charge of delivering you like cargo to another man, one he despised.

Marcus forced himself take a step back, avoiding your inquisitive gaze, letting go of your forearm and turning around in haste.

“We’ll only bring what’s necessary,” he husked out, busy with stuffing the saddlebags.

“Uhm, okay…”

Your lower back hurt. Your thighs far stretched over the horse’s back, a stinging pain pooling on your crotch. Your ass was sore due to the gentle yet constant bouncing.

You had been riding for three days. The ascent on horseback to the height of the Alps was draining. Cold, icy air bit your skin, the leather skins Acacius had secured not enough to keep the freezing temperatures away. Last night a blizzard almost wiped you out off the face of the Earth. The temperatures had dropped so much, you couldn’t help yourself but curl up against Acacius at night in an attempt to keep your body as warm as possible. He’d huffed in reply, but didn’t push you away.

Today you had only stopped at dusk after Acacius spent at least an hour finding the right spot — away from prying eyes, from a possible ambush. He did well on keeping clear of crowded paths, so well you had not seen another soul in the last seventy-two hours.

If you had a small hope of someone rescuing you, it was now dwindling. And even if that happened, you couldn’t just leave your father to his fate. So despite how many times that delusional scene played in your mind, you knew you just couldn’t act on it. You had surrendered to your destiny, whatever it was.

“We’ll set up camp here for the night,” Acacius gritted out, the first words he had spoken to you since dawn reddened the sky this morning.

He’d been given you the silence treatment since your departure three days ago, got even worse since last night. As much as you tried to discern the reason for his taciturnity, your mind ended up going back to the moment he held you close to his chest. To how your body pressed against his as both of you tried to get some rest.

Had he also felt the rushing of blood pumping on his eardrums? Had he also gotten goosebumps? Had his breath also hitched in the back of his throat?

Did he or was it only you? You’d never know. The man had become an icy wall — one you couldn’t penetrate, no matter how much you poked at it. You talked and talked to fill the silence, and his only answers were “hmm” to show disagreement and “mhm” to say yes. At one point you grew tired of his muteness and gave up altogether.

It was almost as if Acacius was unhappy to be there, as if you dragged him there when it was all the way around.

“You know, you could’ve just asked somebody else to take me to Rome. It’s not like I forced you to be here. Rather the opposite,” you gritted out, huffing and puffing while grabbing one end of the flat tent to start building it.

As expected, he just ignored you, helping out from the other end of the tent as you worked together to erect it. Grabbing a rock, you hammered the last iron spike to the ground, testing the tension of the rope.

“I didn’t have a choice,” he gritted out, crouching to go through one of the saddlebags and handed you a piece of dried meat.

You squatted down too and accepted the offering, chewing away and mildly wincing, the saltiness upsetting your tastebuds.

“A Roman General didn’t have a choice,” you repeated after him, cocking a brow. “That sounds ridiculous. I don’t have a choice, pretty sure you do.”

“I still follow orders. And when Caesar asks, you can’t say no to,” the inflexion on the word made you look his way, slightly tilting your head to one side with curiosity.

“You can’t or you won’t?”

“I can’t.”

You hmphed, shaking your head with certain disdain. You knew little of Roman politics, but as far as you could tell, both Acacius and Caesar had the same rank. One submissively accepting orders from the other without rebuttal didn’t make sense.

“You’re his lapdog,” you didn’t say it to mock him, it was just an observation based on facts. “With no freewill, no choice. Sounds like we are both hostages to the same oppressor.”

“It’s not as simple,” Acacius sighed. “The current political climate in the Republic is… complicated.”

“So, Caesar is in the middle of a political storm back home, but he’s here giving us hell for no reason whatsoever other than showing his power to his rivals. Bet he’s got better things to do then.” When Acacius didn’t reply, you pressed, “Don’t you have better things to do than warmongering? A business to look after back home? A family, perhaps?”

The last question slipped. You were not prodding, didn’t care about what his marital status was, if he had a woman waiting for his safe return. No, nothing like that.

So if you truly didn’t, why did you look at him expectant?

He briefly glanced at you, his attention shifting to the wineskin he just pulled out of the saddlebag and then to the two horses tied up nearby. His avoidance made you frown. Had you hit a nerve of some sort?

“I don’t. This is all I know, all I ever wanted,” Acacius muttered before leaning his head back to aim the trickle of wine into his mouth.

The way he carefully delivered the words… there was a lie hidden between them. You didn’t know though which one of the two statements was the deceitful one. Or both, perhaps.

“If you say so,” you shrugged, conscious that you wouldn’t get him to talk any more than what you already had.

You shared the dried meat and the wine in silence. The biting cold sent shivers all over your body, skin bristled and teeth chattering by the time you were done eating. With no fire going to keep you warm, you were dying to retreat back to the tent.

“Should call it a night,” you mumbled, grabbing your saddlebag to bring it in with you.

Acacius grunted his accord, standing up. “I’ll check on the horses and I’ll be right back.”

He turned around as you scurried away, the temperature inside the tent as freezing as it was out there. It was going to be a rough night, especially since it seemed to be colder than last. You shuffled around, putting on more layers and rearranging the different animal skins until you were cozily beneath them. Your jaw tightened and let go of a grunt, a cloud of mist forming around your lips. Still you shuddered uncontrollably, a futile attempt to rise your body temperature.

A few minutes later, Acacius entered the tent, and you were no closer to falling asleep. In fact, you were so cold, you were wide awake. In the gloom of night, you barely made out his silhouette as he prepared to lie down beside you. The General quietly buried himself under a pile of skins.

Not a word was crossed, the dead tranquillity of the night broken by your chattering teeth.

“Stop that,” Acacius grumbled, half asleep, swatting you gently. “You’re too loud.”

“It’s not like I can fucking stop it, can I?” you gritted out, frustrated with his ease to drift away. “It’s freezing, dammit.”

The General rumbled and huffed, dragging his body towards you. He lifted the skins off himself, did the same thing with yours and joined you under the blankets, throwing them all over you both. The added weight of the skins, heavy and warm, was most welcomed, but it was Acacius’ body what made your temperature underneath the covers spike up.

The man was a damn furnace.

Driven by self-preservation, your hands found his forearm and clamped around them.

Acacius hissed.

“Your fingers are like icicles,” he complained, but didn’t move away.

“If you think my hands are freezing, wait to feel my feet,” and with no remorse, you brushed his shin with the sole of one foot. Your engaged muscles started to soften, his warmth pouring into you.

“Shit,” Acacius mumbled, his jaw tightening in the darkness, but again remained still. “You may well be at risk of frostbite.”

You grunted in agreement, unknowingly seeking him as you curled up against his side. His body temperature would be enough to keep the both of you warm through the night. You began to relax, your jaw now slack and teeth quiet. Slowly you fell into a peaceful slumber, the first night you actually got some much-needed rest.

When one of your eyes fluttered open, you were unsure of how many hours had gone by. It was still pitch-black outside, only the chirping of crickets breaking the quietness around you. The breaking of dawn still a few hours away, enough to paint a smile on your face at the realisation that you could sleep some more.

You nuzzled Acacius’ chest with your nose, inhaling deeply as your eyes slowly shut.

It was then that you noticed that you were almost on top of him: your cheek gently pressed against his sternum, your arm hugging his waist, your leg resting across his with your knee right on…

Your eyes shot open, quickly looking down, your senses flaring alive.

Your knee crammed right on his groin, softly pressing on his manhood as if that was where it belonged. He was hard. Asleep still, but his cock was wide awake. You could feel him pulse against your kneecap.

Your heart picked up a pace while a hot wave washed over you, slick starting to pool between your thighs and your nipples puckering against his ribs. A normal reaction, you told yourself, considering the position you were in.

One you shouldn’t be in. Conscious of your own bodily response, you sneakily tried to remove your knee from his growing bulge, biting down your bottom lip as your fingers sank in his right hip. But Acacius didn’t let you, his hand wrapping around the back of your knee and pressing it harder on his erection, a raspy grunt hitching somewhere in his throat.

You whimpered inaudibly; afraid he would fully wake. With his hand firmly holding your leg against him, there was no point fighting this need growing within you. His sleepy coercion was enough agreement.

With half-lidded eyes, lips flat in a pout, you began to gently rub your knee against the linen covering his cock, feeling it coming alive with every brush. His broad hand was still grasping around your knee, almost guiding you, showing you how to make him harder.

Acacius groaned above you, and you quickly glanced up at him — his brows pinched, but otherwise still asleep. You pouted in frustration, a thick slick trapped between your pussy lips. Damn you for getting horny right now, it was his fault really.

Gripping his hip, you pressed your body against his, to the point where your hot cunt was rubbing against the side of his thigh. Inevitably but carefully, you humped his thick thigh, your clit catching in your undergarment causing a delicious friction that sent a thunder up your spine.

This felt too good to be sinful. Your clit was writhing, pulsing for release, as you kept on buffing your pussy on him, while your knee kneaded his now throbbing bulge. Your breasts were sensitive, perked up nipples tracing invisible lines on his ribs. Your only regret was that both of you were still clothed — you needed the skin on skin to get off, to let go. Needed to feel him in all his glory, palm him attentively until he would come on your hand…

Acacius suddenly squirmed and you swiftly stopped everything, feigning to be asleep when his eyes opened.

Marcus stirred awake, his heartbeat so loud in his eardrums he could barely hear anything else other than the rush of blood. It took him a few seconds to catch on with his own body, to feel his throbbing cock fighting against its enclosure.

He was hard, the morning glory making its presence known. Only then did he realise the actual reason his dick was begging for release: he had grabbed your leg, fingers curled behind your knee, and had pressed it into his bulge until his cock was ready to unload.

Marcus froze in place, ashamed of himself, of using you in such wicked manner. But his stiffened erection clouded his mind, his judgement — he needed to move away from you before he came in his pants like a teenager.

Carefully he undraped your arm from across his waist and lifted your knee up, scooting to one side until he was out from underneath the skins. The cold air bit his bristling skin, a remarkable contrast with the heat on his groin. He looked back at you — peacefully surrendered to your slumber, expression sweet and relaxed, blissfully unaware of how close he’d been to spill.

He ran a hand down his face while the other rearranged his uncomfortable cock. For a moment he fisted himself, digits wrapping around his achy balls, before he decided to walk outside of the tent to get his shit together.

The road to Rome was going to be excruciatingly long, of that much he was sure.

The journey through the Alps took the good part of a week. Its rocky cliffs and treacherous paths needed to be treaded carefully. Acacius relied on you when going up the north face of the mountains, but on the descent he had more experience. You both worked together through the issues that arose, on calming down the horses whenever they got spooked.

It’d been a draining experience, but with the Alps on your back, you could breathe again. Temperatures had slightly gone up, so the last two nights had been more forgiving. Meaning, the physical gap between Acacius and you when you laid together at night had grown again.

You blamed it on the solitude — for the last ten days, Acacius was the only person you had spoken to, the only person you had seen. Perhaps it wasn’t long, but considering how closeknit your tribe was, this had been the longest you had gone without having your people around.

And, truth be told, he’d not been intrinsically bad with you. Yes, he’d hunt you down in the forest and brought you back to camp so you could be the next freak on display for the Roman mob, but from what you gathered, he was being bossed around by Caesar. You wondered what kind of relationship the two had — did Acacius feel indebted to the other man? Was that why he was doing Caesar’s dirty bidding?

You had dismounted your stallion and were guiding him to the nearest river, where Acacius’ stud was drinking. You left them alone as you walked back the few yards to where the General was setting up a small pyre for a fire.

“Is that wise?” you questioned, the spot you were in rather open.

“We are almost fifty milia passuum (Roman miles) west of Mediolanum (Milan). This land is ours, has been for more almost two centuries now. We have nothing to worry about here,” he explained matter-of-factly, unsheathing his sword and kneeling.

You watched him intently as he grabbed a quartz stone nearby, tested its weight and shape on his hand. Acacius began striking the steel of his gladius against the sharp edge of the rock with quick, powerful and deliberate downward motions. Sparks flourished, short-lived at first, dying off before landing on the dry tinder.

“Come over here,” he gave you a nod, then pointed to the pyre with his chin when you crouched down in front of him. “The moment a spark falls into the tinder, blow some light puffs of air onto the bundle.”

You shook your head in agreement and bowed down, ready to do your part. Acacius gave the steel a sharp hit, and a big spark ignited, falling like a feather into the wood. You blew air gently onto the red spot, and the fire slowly turned the wood to embers.

“Where are you from?” you asked with certain curiosity, hands extended in front of you to warm them up.

Acacius’ posture stiffened almost unnoticeably as he mindlessly nudged some of the glowing coal with the tip of his sword, eyes transfixed on the flames.

“My family come from the city of Barium (Bari) in the south. They worked the land,” he shared, scratching his beard. “I left home when I was just a lad, only returned a few times a year to help out with the farming.”

“How does the son of farmers end up being a renowned General at the head of a Roman legion?” you pressed with interest, a part of you wanting to get to know him, to see the real man behind the General.

“With blood, sweat and tears,” he retorted snappily, brows knitting together as if he had taken offense in your words.

You frowned, mildly confused by his reaction.

“What have I said to upset you?”

Your inquiry took him aback, and you assumed he thought he’d not been so obvious. But you were quick to pick up on people’s subtleties.

“Nothing,” you instantly cocked a brow. Acacius sighed, “I’m not ashamed of being the son of farmers. My parents were extremely hardworking people. But classism in Rome…” he shrugged, “…is ever so present. Some people are not being able to see past that. To them, I’ll always be a terrone. I guess I’m always on the defensive when the topic surfaces.”

“Terrone?” you asked, befuddled.

Acacius gave you a stern nod.

“It’s a derogatory term some people use to refer to those who work the land, typically in the south of the Republic. Like Barium, where I originally come from,” his dark gaze drifted up, locking with yours while red sparks danced between the two of you.

The intensity in his brown eyes held you down for an instant. He was sharing a piece of him with you, a vulnerability he didn’t show often. You could tell Acacius was battling with himself, divided between trusting you and knowing he shouldn’t.

You felt the urge to put his mind at ease, to somehow let him know you wouldn’t betray this shred of confidence. The Gods knew you didn’t owe this man anything — in any case, quite the opposite. But something about him, about his demeanour… Acacius wasn’t bad, not like the others.

Acacius was just a pawn who had become knight for the greater good, who lately had found himself with more blood on his hands than what his guilt-ridden conscience could handle.

You saw that hint in battle, his blows more defensive than offensive…

In how he’d spared your life before he knew who you were.

In how he cleaned the spit off your cheek, offered a joke or two to lighten the mood.

In how he stitched you up and let you use his bed while his back suffered on a chair.

In how he’d kept you warm throughout the harshest of nights.

“I didn’t mean it that way,” you hushed, eyes averted for a brief moment before you glanced up at him through your long eyelashes. “I am genuinely curious. It’s not every day that someone breaks the chains of society.”

Even in your culture, roles were profoundly embedded in society. Families born into guilds usually carried on with the legacy of those who preceded them. Rome wouldn’t be too different.

“Since a young age I knew I wanted to become a soldier. It always appealed to me, helping the Republic keep our people safe. The training makes you or breaks you, a lot of people drop out because of it. The sons of recognised Generals are trained since birth, and those who aren’t are in clear disadvantage. I used the long days in the farm as my training,” he spoke softly, eyes distant as he got lost in his own memories. “A few years into it, I met Gaius Julius Caesar. Took me under his wing, his family too, especially when my parents died and our farm burnt down, and I was orphaned. But I still had to work very hard to prove I was worthy. That every achievement was solely down to me, and not to the people I was associated with.”

You were so invested, you could almost picture a younger Acacius in front of you, warring against the tethers of society, making a name for himself. There was something really evocating, inspiring even, about his story of overcoming. And to lose his family in the blink of an eye, just like that, it had to be the hardest blow of all.

Had the fire not been between you, you’d reach for him and squeeze his forearm. But you didn’t, probably for the best.

“Is that why you feel… obligated to follow Caesar’s command?” you ventured, hugging your shoulders and rubbing the exposed skin.

“As I said before, it’s complicated. He’s the Proconsul, I’m not. The political climate in Rome is tense. The Senate and the Consuls fear a power grab. With the war with the Gauls coming to an end, Caesar believes that the Senate will rob him of his title and mandate him to disband his army,” he explained. “And if anybody knows Caesar as I do, he won’t surrender his power so easily.”

So conquering your land, massacring your people, was just a move from Caesar to seize more power. A pissing contest with the Senate. A game to that fucking bastard.

Was it a game to Acacius too?

“And where are you in this mess?” you couldn’t stop the question from leaving your tongue.

The General took in a deep breath, his shoulders sinking in his frame, while he poked at the fire with the sword.

“I have a job to do. I volunteered to come the moment Caesar put his proposition forward,” he shrugged, visibly uncomfortable with your prodding.

“Did you also volunteer to take me to Rome?” you lolled your head, eyes squinting.

“No,” Acacius grimaced. “Caesar asked me to.”

“Asked you? Or ordered you?”

“What’s the difference?”

“So loyalty doesn’t beget loyalty. Sounds like you’re just a pawn on his board. Dispensable,” you didn’t mean to offend, just state facts. “It seems to be a one-way relationship that does not really benefit you.”

“We should rest,” he said abruptly, standing to his feet and stomping out the fire. “Tomorrow we’ll head towards the Apuan alps so we can get to Florentia (Florence). It’s a newly founded garrison town. We should be able to find an inn there to spend the night and getting some proper warm food before heading towards Rome.”

You didn’t press, knowing that you’d given him enough food for thought. Not that you were going to change the outcome with your discourse, but at least you could make him see that being blindly loyal to someone would only mean his eventual demise.

But were you not blindly loyal to your people, your father? Wasn’t loyalty what brought you here?

Well. Fuck.

The word alps was triggering. Just when you thought you were done with rocky mountains…

“How long is this whole trip going to take?”

“To Florentia, I estimate six days. From there to Rome, it should be mostly flat, but still a stretch. Another five days, I wager,” he responded while veering around, heading towards the horses as he did every single night before going to bed. “Go get some sleep.”

“Your wish is my command, General,” you mumbled mockingly, getting up and sauntering towards the tent.

Six days? Six fucking days? Sure. More like fucking ten.

Acacius had been overly positive with his estimate. Although the Apuan alps were not as treacherous as the alps shielding the Republic from the neighbouring nations, it had been one hell of an expedition.

You’d even been attacked by a pack of hungry wolves. Acacius’ horse had been injured, then the man himself had taken a bite on his wrist that almost tore his thumb apart in his attempt to rescue his stud. It had been, by far, the most stressful days since you departed from your land over two weeks ago.

But now with the gates just a few yards away, the memory started to fade. The stone path beneath your stallion’s hooves announced your arrival to the guards posted on the front. The palisade was mainly of wood, but they had begun to replace sections of it with rock. The compound was surrounded by a moat, the drawbridge shut.

“Quis es (who are you)?” the sentinel shouted from his position on the palisade.

“Salve,” Acacius stopped in front of you, extending his arm with the palm down in greeting, “I am General Acacius, transporting a hostage to Rome under Caesar’s orders. I seek refuge in your garrison, some provisions and some rest, so we shall leave in the morrow to resume our travels.”

“Ordo (written order)?”

Acacius nodded, one hand rummaging through the saddlebag until he extracted a carefully rolled papyrus scroll.

“Lower the drawbridge, let General Acacius in,” the guard announced.

The hinges of the gate creaked horribly until the wooden plank bluntly kissed the ground. Acacius moved forward and you followed quietly, feeling a thousand eyes on you. A few miles back, Acacius had insisted on tying your hands to the saddle just for show, otherwise the legionnaires wouldn’t let you in.

The same sentinel had come down the palisade and Acacius handed over the papyrus. The man, with a weathered face and a nose more crooked than Acacius, unrolled the parchment and read it a few times. Once he was satisfied, he handed back the papyrus to Acacius and pointed forward.

“If you follow this path, you’ll find the inn,” then the guard gestured to another man, who quickly appeared in front of you and grabbed the reins of your horse. “The hostage will be held in the carcer (prison).”

Your widened eyes shot to Acacius in a panic. No way in hell he was going to let you sleep in a cell, right? Surrounded by enemies who would show you no mercy.

Your sights locked, Acacius’ darkened orbs squinting before he pulled from the reins of his monture until he and his horse shielded you, towering in front of the guard who had come forward to take you away.

“The hostage will be with me at all times. I am not to lose sight of her,” he almost barked at the sentinels, who quickly withdrew. “Those are my orders.”

A rush of relief coursed through your veins, your heartbeat calming down. When the guards returned to their positions, Acacius looked over his shoulder right at you and gave you a nod as if to ask, “are you alright?”

You ducked your head in reply before Acacius led the way to the inn.

The inn was a small sun-dried brick building with two levels, with a small stable on its side. It wasn’t too big, but the noise coming from the inside meant that it was probably packed. Acacius approached the stable lad and when he dismounted, you did the same. Both of you untied the saddlebags of your respective mounts.

“Here,” Acacius said to the boy, handing him two denarii. The boy’s bright eyes widened, looking at the coins in disbelief and then at him again, his cheeks sunk in his face. “Take good care of our horses. Mine’s injured, the wound needs to be taken care of regularly. Feed them, let them drink, give them a good brush. Alright?”

“Yes, of course, sir!” the lad almost screamed too enthusiastically, then grabbed the reins of both studs and disappeared inside the stable.

“That was a lot of money,” you noted as you both walked towards the door, your hands still tied.

“Did you see how thin he was? He didn’t look older than ten,” Acacius shrugged as he pushed open the doors and walked inside with you on his heels.

Your stomach twisted for a second — had he gone hungry in his childhood too? Had Acacius seen himself in that emaciated lad? Your heart shrunk a bit at the thought of a little Acacius begging for food on the streets before he decided to take charge of his future.

You couldn’t tell now if that had been his reality in the past — his shoulders broad, muscular arms and chiselled back. He’d done well for himself, even if it had been at the expense of others.

Shaking your head to come out of the trance, your hearing got hit with loud chatter. Wooden floor, adobe on the walls, and the furniture made of oak. The place was brimming with life, and Acacius had to slither through the crowd to reach the counter. He caught the attention of an older woman and exchanged some words you couldn’t hear at all. The Romans were fucking savages, so loud it was irritating.

“Come on,” Acacius whispered in your ear as he placed his hands on your shoulders and guided you through the crowd to the back of the inn.

There he opened a door, moved to a side to let you in first, and you walked up the creaky stairs. A minute later, a set of keys clinked on his hand and opened a smaller door. The inside of the room was rudimentary but had all the necessities. A chest of drawers, a fireplace that was already running, an empty wooden bathtub, a couple of chairs and a bed.

One bed. For one person.

You turned around to look at Acacius while he closed the door behind you.

“There’s only one bed,” you pointed out, brows pinching.

“I know. It’s the only available room they had left.”

“The only available room? So… we are supposed to share this one room? The both of us? One single bed?” You didn’t want to sound astonished, but you definitely were.

Acacius scoffed, taking a few steps forward to throw the saddlebag onto the bed.

“It’s not ideal. But we’ll have to make do.”

Perhaps you were unhappy with the situation, but you could tell he was not very excited about the prospect either.

Your sight moved to the bed again, dreading the night. Not because you thought it’d be uncomfortable, but because the night when you almost came humping his thigh was still too fresh in your mind. You were not sure you could spend another one like that, too horny to nod off.

“I’ve asked the owner to prepare you a hot bath. They’ll bring up boiled water in a few minutes,” he grunted, going through the saddlebag to grab some items.

“And you?”

“The River Arno is nearby,” he answered bluntly.

“It’s freezing outside,” you complained, although the idea of a hot bath did sound very appealing after your travels.

“I’ll be fine,” he dismissed your concerns, veering around to face you. “I’ll wait for the maids to bring over the water and then I’ll lock the door.”

You huffed, rolling your eyes at him. You hadn’t even attempted to escape in two weeks, and you were so deep in Roman territory now, it was safer to remain by his side than trying to get back to your land.

“You heard what I told the sentinels. If they see me without you, they’ll question where you are,” he was quick to explain.

“I suppose that makes sense,” you grumbled, watching him approach you.

Acacius extended his hands toward you, his calloused fingers wrapping around your wrists, sending a shiver down your spine. His touch was hot yet gentle. He was standing so close to you, you could smell him — sweaty and dirty, but so masculine you felt a pulse between your thighs.

You had to focus on taming your body’s reaction, pressing your knees together to contain the slick pooling in your pussy. Surely this could only be attributed to the fact that it had been a long time since you laid with a man.

Pouting as he undid the rope binding you, your eyes fixed on how his fingers untwirled the jute. Once freed, Acacius’ thumbs stroked the dents on your skin, smoothing them out, your hands gently resting on his palms as he soothed the redness away.

Your heart pounded against your chest so loud you wondered if he could hear it. With your mouth slightly parted, you looked up at him, your gazes crossing and locking. And for a moment, the whole world disappeared around you. You could only see his weathered features, the bushy beard and moustache framing those lips after weeks in the wilderness… And his eyes, darkened and lustful.

His orbs drifted down to your waiting mouth, heartrate spiking madly now. You were sure he was going to kiss you, the hunger and flickering desire in his irises told you as much.

Then a firm knock on the door snatched the moment away.

“We bring the water, General,” a soft female voice announced.

The icy water of the Arno should have put out the fire burning within him. But when he emerged from the river, he was still… hard.

It felt wrong, extremely wrong. You were his captive; a war prisoner being delivered to another man to do with you as he pleased. And despite how much Marcus hated Antonius’ brother, his hands were tied. He’d given his word to Caesar — a bow he could not break, not without fatal consequences for the both of you. Disobeying Caesar’s orders would be classed as treason. And traitors were not tolerated in the Republic.

Desiring you was so fucking wrong. Especially when he’d lied to you about your future in Rome, about what would be expected of you. His omission of the truth had rooted in your brain, brewing for so long now, he just couldn’t come up and tell you the truth. Perhaps it was better this way, so you would be at ease for as long as possible.

Brushing his hair back with his fingers, Acacius sighed heavily before bending down to grab his belonging off the ground. He put on a fresh subligaculum and then a simple linen tunic.

When he returned to the inn, he found two bowls with a steaming stew of meat and vegetables, some bread, a jug full of wine and two empty cups on a tray. He took it off the floor and knocked on the door, unsure if you would be clothed.

“Come in,” you shouted from the other end of the door.

Marcus unlocked the door and went in, turning around to put on the latch. When he veered to face you, you had some linen clothing on, the almost translucent fabric still clinging to your wet skin. Your legs were naked from the mid-thighs down, your bare feet tapping the wooden floor as you finished braiding your hair while sitting on a chair by the fire.

He couldn’t help himself but taking the sight of you in. You looked gorgeous with the glowing of the fire reflecting on your skin, a natural beauty with a fiery aura dancing around you. It wasn’t only that though — what he had seen of you as a person, Marcus liked too. And that was the most dangerous thing of all.

A sudden throb invaded his groin when he realised your nipples were poking through the linen, the outline of your breasts shaped by the fabric stuck to your skin. Reining in the need to do something—anything—Marcus just stared at your silhouette.

“How was the dunking?”

Marcus shot his eyes to yours, afraid he’d been caught undressing you in his mind, devouring you. You had tilted your head to one side, studying him.

He steeled his posture, shook his head and put the tray down on the dresser.

“Good,” he grunted, an uncomfortable hardness taking over his cock. “Your bath?”

“Amazing,” you sighed with a smirk. “Is that food?”

Marcus nodded, passing you a bowl before he grabbed his and sat down on the other chair.

You ate in silence for the good part of half an hour. When you both were done, Marcus took the empty plates and goblets away, stacking them on top of the dresser. It was pitch-black outside, silent. Everyone had already left the inn.

“Right,” he mumbled. “You take the bed; I’ll make do with some skins by the fire.”

He was already by the saddlebags, grabbing all the animal skins to fashion a bed on the floor.

“Are you serious?” you groaned, standing up from the chair. “We can share the bed, Acacius. It’s not like we’ve been sleeping apart…”

When he turned to face you, you briefly bit down your bottom lip, your teeth sinking in the plushness the way he wanted his to dig in your lip. His resolution faltered when you clasped your fingers around his wrist and pulled, guiding him to the bed.

“Are you sure? It’s very small. We won’t fit,” he reasoned.

“It— We will fit,” you rasped, sitting on the bed.

He knew this was a bad idea, a really bad one at that, but his brain was numb. So he followed you.

You stirred in your sleep. Miraculously, you had managed to drift away even with Acacius hugging you tight from behind, ignoring the way your body screamed at you for not doing anything about it.

Your brows momentarily pinched in confusion when you sensed that there was no one behind you now, no arms draped over your frame pushing your back into his chest. You patted behind you to find an empty and cold spot.

Mildly disoriented, you sat up on the bed, rubbed your eyes and waited for your vision to adapt to the darkness, since the fire had already died out. Looking around, you found Acacius lying on the floor on top of some skins, facing towards the cold fireplace.

Was this man stupid? Had he waited for you to fall asleep to then go sleep on the fucking floor? He was more stubborn than you were. The sight made you mad, so much so you snatched the pillow your head had been resting on and threw it at him with force.

The moment the feathery pillow hit him, Acacius sat up very quickly, turning around with a bewildered expression.

“I thought we were under attack, dammit!” he growled at you.

“You are!” you screamed, grabbing the other pillow and tossing it at him.

This time, he dodged it. Infuriated, you gathered the bedlinen and pulled until it untucked from underneath the mattress, and you stood up with everything bunched up on your arms.

“What the hell are you doing?” Acacius husked out, visibly confused.

So stupid.

“Well, apparently we are sleeping on the floor now because someone thinks the bed is not good enough,” you grumbled, unceremoniously dropping everything in front of him.

“The bed is good enough, but I just couldn’t…” Acacius trailed off, and you looked at him with a cocked brow as you sat down in front of him. “I couldn’t fall asleep, didn’t want to disturb you.”

“Why?” you inquired, folding your arms below your breasts.

He cleared his throat, his eyes betraying him the moment they landed on your boobs.

Then you realised. Was he hard? Had sleep evaded him because he was too worried it would happen again? That he would unconsciously rub you against him? Because if that was the case… well, you had no complains.

“Never mind,” he muttered, jaw tight.

“I do mind,” because why fight what both of you wanted?

You shuffled around, kneeling and sitting back on your heels. Your hand landed on his powerful thigh, his muscles flexing under your touch. Your fingers slid up his inner thigh, dangerously close to his bulge.

“Careful there,” Acacius croaked, his fingers curling around your wrist to stop your advances.

Batting your eyelashes with a knowing grin, you moved your palm further up to where his leg joined his hip, your knuckles brushing the tent on his tunic. You leaned in, mouth hovering over his.

“Let’s stop pretending anymore, shall we?” you whispered, the plumpness of your lips caressing his as you spoke.

Before Acacius could reject you, your tongue prodded at his mouth, swiping his bottom lip. When he groaned, he gave you an opening — the moment his lips parted, you dove in. Your tongue finally met his, fighting one another as you breathed him in.

Acacius let go of your wrist, his hand flying to the back of your neck, holding you close as he plunged in, tasting you. You pushed your knuckles into his growing bulge and the General’s chest rumbled with satisfaction. That was your cue to spread your palm over his groin and knead it slowly.

He was big, girthy and hot. Your fingertips traced the shape of his cock over the textile, then cupped his balls and squeezed gently.

“Fuck,” Acacius moaned, and your pussy reacted with primal need.

You were drenched, the dampness your thighs harboured for him just grew. Your cunt ached for his touch, for the moment you’d been dreaming about for so long now.

Acacius must have read your mind, because his hands gripped your hips and manhandled you until you were sat on his lap, straddling him. He pushed you down, your clothed cunt stroking him — the outline of his throbbing cock softly pressing against your slit.

Draping your arms around his neck, you kissed him again, your hips swaying back and forth on top of him, causing much needed friction. Acacius palmed your ass, his fingers grabbing the flesh as he guided your moves.

“Undress,” he pleaded, raggedly breathing now.

With no shame, only desire, you leaned back a bit, grabbed the hem of your linen dress, and pulled the whole garment over your head. That was the only piece of clothing you had on, so when you casted it away, you were completely naked on top of him.

“Not even a loincloth on?” Acacius managed to sputter out, tipping his head forward until his face rested between your boobs, kissing your sternum. “And you were asking why I couldn’t sleep…”

You snickered, palm on the back of his head to press him onto your chest, fingers raking through his greying curls.

When Acacius kissed one of your taut nipples, your head tipped back, a moan bubbling up your throat as he worked your button expertly. At the same time, he pushed your hips back down, your bare pussy leaking and leaving a slick spot right on the linen covering his erection.

Scrubbing your pussy against him, your thudding clit catching on the fabric and his tongue working wonders on your nub, you didn’t think you’d last — a thunderous feeling shooting up your spine right from your core. Thighs trembling, you rode him dryly, imprisoning his head with your arms and ramming his face against your bosom.

Until you came. A moan filled your mouth and spilled over your lips, resonating between the adobe walls, as the fire in your drooling pussy reached its highest temperature. Warmth spread in all directions, your energy faltering as your hips stuttered. Acacius took the lead right then by grabbing a handful of your ass cheeks and sliding you back and forth on his lap until you were shivering above him.

“Did that feel good, hm?” he pecked your nipple before looking up at you.

His brown eyes had softened, enticing and indecent. You gave him a mindless nod, still feeling the throbbing of your pussy, as one of his hands left your buttock and navigated over the swell of your globe, reaching down.

His middle finger slipped easily along your glossy seam, from your gushing hole to your clit. Acacius petted it gently, pressing tight yet lazy circles as his palm cupped your cunt.

The fire within you was rising again.

“Acacius,” you groaned, your heart pulsing in your clit under his attention.

“Marcus,” he offered in a hush, lapping at the tip of your breast. “My name is Marcus. I want to hear you say it when you come again, sweetheart.”

The revelation was an intimate surprise, considering that Romans always referred to themselves by their cognomen, sometimes by their nomen and very rarely by their praenomen. But you didn’t dwell for long, his lone finger teasing your slick slit with a calmness you didn’t feel.

You pushed your ass back, your back arching and your face resting on the crook of his neck, when that same lonely digit traced the outline of your opening, taunting your faltering resolution as your mind went numb.

“You’re so wet, mel. So ready, so eager…” Marcus grunted, the first phalange going in and robbing you of a heavy sigh. “So tight and warm, welcoming even… You want this so badly, don’t you?” he asked for your reassurance and when you obliged with a shy nod, his finger buried down to the knuckle. “Oh, baby, so needy,” he tutted at you.

Wiggling your hips involuntarily, you forced his finger in and out of your leaking entrance, commending him to get on with it already. The General took the hint and began to finger you rather unhurriedly. The pad of his finger pressed on your inner wall as it slid in and out, picking up a pace.

By the time he inserted a second finger, you were already panting and squirming, throbbing for release. Marcus built up the pace gradually, until the palm of his hand was audibly slapping your perineum, and the squelching noises of your pussy filled the room.

There it was again: the spike in your heartrate, the maddening pulse in your clit and a tongue of lava seeping through his fingers, pooling on his covered cock.

“Marcus, fuck, I—” you hiccupped, nuzzling his jugular.

Acacius kissed your foreheard, a gentle gesture contrasting the relentless rhythm of his hand. “I know, corculum, I know. It’s too much for this sweet pussy of yours, isn’t it? Let go for me.”

At his command, you did, wailing his name with wanton abandonment while your pussy quivered around his meaty fingers, squeezing them in a tight grip as he curled them, pulling another orgasm from you.

Mind fuzzy, you kissed his pulse point, your fingers grabbing a fistful of the linen covering his chest, scrunching the fabric. Unclenching one hand, you flattened it on his tummy, pushing it down until you cupped his manhood over the tunic.

“Fuck me, Marcus,” you pleaded, tone tinged with longing whilst giving him a gentle squeeze.

Acacius growled at your not-so-subtle request, eager to get started. He helped you off his lap, standing up to remove the tunic, his subligaculum quickly following.

And there he was, towering above you, fully naked for the first time. He had several scars dotted around the map of his skin, gifts from the battlefield. But that wasn’t what caught your attention the most.

You gazed up at him in awe — his muscles sculpted, hugging him tight. Strong arms, veiny forearms, broad hands. Chiselled pectorals, a tense tummy although no marked abs, and then… a hairy trail running down from his belly button in a pronounced V line.

You followed the path of pleasure with your hungry eyes until they landed on his erection. He was as girthy as you had imagined, a good size, a throbbing vein feeding his cock on the underside. Some thick curls framed his dick, drawing your attention to the heavy balls underneath. And then the tip, angrily flushed and leaky with a pearl of precum topping it.

Your mouth watered at the sight in front of you. Still kneeling, pussy bewilderingly aching now, you leaned in for a kiss as one daring hand peeled his skin back completely to marvel at him in all his glory. Your lips pressed against his red mushroom head, fingers curled around his shaft with devotion.

You wanted to suck him off. The little taste on your mouth had you salivating, needy for something to keep you quiet. His musky scent had the world swirling around you, almost as if you were drunk.

Before you could part your lips to house him in your warmth, Marcus extended his left hand to you, palm up, the one that was still wrapped in a bloody linen cloth to protect the wound on his thumb.

With a little pout and some resignation, you took it careful not to inflict pain, springing to your feet. He didn’t speak, and neither did you, when he laced his fingers with yours and tugged at your hand. Marcus approached one of the chairs with you in tow, sat down and manspread. You were quick to understand, climbing onto his lap like the floor was lava.

“You are so beautiful, feel so good,” he muttered, lapping at the flesh of your boob while his hands settled on your hips. “And I know you’re going to feel even better riding me, sweetheart. Look even more gorgeous.”

Your cunt gushed at his words, rearing to come. When he aligned his tip with your entrance, you whimpered in need, the intimate kiss on your core driving you mad.

“Impale yourself. Show me how much you want this, mel,” he almost begged, voice throaty.

You didn’t need any further persuasion. Grabbing his pulsing shaft, you held him in place whilst sinking slowly. His cockhead slid in easily and the next few inches quickly followed. His dick stretched your walls apart, blessing you with a delightful burning as you buried his cock in your pussy down to the hilt.

You moaned to the heavens once he was fully seated. You felt so full, he was staggeringly omnipresent inside you. All your senses flared alive, so much it was almost overwhelming.

Marcus had tipped his head back — his jaw almost dislocating as he groaned, fingers digging at your hips, leaving his imprint behind. You blinked rapidly to clear your eyes from their glossiness, raked your fingers through his hair and tugged at it so he would open his eyes and look at you.

The moment your sights locked in, a strange warmth spread through your chest. Despite your dire situation, you felt safe with him, at ease. Regardless of what the future held for you, at least you would have this memento to think back to. This brief crack in time, when nothing nor no one else mattered.

“You’re handsome, Marcus. And very gifted,” you giggled, trying to put behind those thoughts now.

You cradled his face and kissed him exaggeratedly slow, your hips leisurely moving back and forth. Soon enough, you were riding him with all your might, the slapping of skin on skin ricocheting in a sinful cacophony. Up and down, back and forth — your hips didn’t miss a spot in your pussy left untouched by Marcus’ cock. You were so wild, you had to grip the arms of the chair until your knuckles ran white.

Acacius held your breasts throughout, pinching your nipples from time to time, latching onto them when your untamed rhythm allowed. Chasing the highest of highs, you felt the climax building up — a pulsating fire growing in your lower belly, your pussy trembling around his girth, swallowing him whole while your juices soaked him.

“I’m so close, s-s-s-o… fucking… close…” you mewled, your brows knitting together in concentration.

Marcus jumped into action to help you get there. His right hand darted between your bodies, middle and ring fingers flicking your throbbing clit as you rode him. Then your nub caught between his fingers — the pressure, the friction and the gentle fondling tipping you over the edge of your orgasm.

That was the last straw for your nervous system. You started coming, wailing his name as your whole body quaked above and around him. Your glistening cunt clamped down around him like a vice, squeezing him so tight you thought you would harm him. Your breathing quickened to the point of burning as you crashed down from your climax.

Quietly, you glanced down at him. Marcus’ jaw was so tight, you feared he might break a tooth. His cock was throbbing so hard, you knew he was close to release but didn’t want to come yet. You bowed down for a kiss, and the General eagerly reciprocated, his dick still cozily warm and hard inside you.

Some tears had escaped your eyes, wetting your cheeks, due to the intensity of it all. Marcus brushed them away before cupping your ass cheeks and standing up. He held you, pressed against his chest, and you draped your legs around his waist, so the intimate contact of your sexes would not break.

He walked a few steps, and then unceremoniously dropped you on the bed. The wooden plank beneath the feathery mattress squeaked loudly, but you could only focus on him. On his darkened eyes feasting on you.

The cold air nipped at your bare, sweaty body, your nipples perking up. You covered them with your palms, spreading your legs to welcome him again.

That was all confirmation Marcus needed from you — he grabbed your ankles and pulled, your ass on the edge of the mattress, and he dove in your pussy in one energetic thrust. Wrapping your legs around him again, you let him set the pace this time.

Acacius sank his knees on either side of you and blanketed your frame, your chests flush, only your hands in between as you cupped your breasts. He dug his elbows around your head and pumped into you with sharp, deep strokes at first. Every time he slid out and back in, you gasped, eyes shutting in ecstasy. Then the pace picked up and Marcus began railing you like a man possessed on the worn mattress.

He was in so deep, you could feel him nudging your cervix. First painful, but then a welcome kiss every time his thick tip stroked the very centre of your being. Marcus pumped in and out of your spent pussy in quick succession, resting his sweaty forehead on yours, his dampened curls caressing your skin.

It was too much. The feelings, the overstimulation, the constant hammering… For a brief second, you looked down and saw his cock plunging in and out, your cunt sheathing him like he belonged… like he owned.

“I don’t think I can come again,” you stammered, your whole body shaking under him. “Marcus… by the Gods I swear…” you sobbed, tears brimming again.

“Of course you can, mel. You will,” the resolution in his hoarse voice left no room for doubt.

The General bit your chin, the sensitive spot on your neck, then your earlobe, all the while fucking into you with renewed vigour. He was everywhere there was to be, a hand slithering down your belly to pet your unattended clit again.

You fell apart even when you thought you couldn’t give him one more. You came again, for the fourth time tonight. Creaming around his hard cock, you cried his name, a lewd melody ringing in his ears. If you had looked down, you would have seen the white rings of your pleasure pooling at the base of his manhood, but you were too focused on taming your beating heart.

“Fuck, you look so beautiful when you come, so blissed out,” Marcus pecked your wet cheek. “Where?”

For a heartbeat the question didn’t register in your mushy brain, so fucked out into oblivion your limbs felt like putty. His shaft pulsed extremely hard inside you, announcing his imminent orgasm. So he repeated again, this time more aggressively, “Where?”

“Mouth. My mouth,” you barely husked out. “I want to taste you. Fully taste you.”

Before he spilled inside you, Marcus pulled out rather harshly, standing up. You sat up on the bed, still feeling dizzy from your climax, and palmed the back of his thighs to push him towards you.

His cock was soaked, the thick curls all dampened and dripping with your shared arousal. Parting your lips, you welcomed his tip in the warmth of your mouth, just as you had desired not that long ago. You suckled on his palpitating cockhead while he stroked himself. Swat his hand away so you could push his length all the way down in your throat.

He tasted so manly, so musky, your head spiralled out of control as you sloppily slurp around his girth. Saliva, your slick coating him, and precum pooled in your hollowed cheeks until it all overflowed, dripping off the corners of your mouth.

A guttural groan and a hard pulse later, Marcus finally came. His white, warm seed hit the back of your throat in thick ropes, his taste bewildering as he emptied his nuts in your mouth. You milked him dry until the last drop spurted out his slit, and then you kept on going.

In a trance, you sucked him off until his cock softened on your tongue. And only then, you let go of him, gulping down his spent like it was a secret treasure. A trophy.

You fluttered your damp eyelashes to get rid of the tears and glanced up at him shyly.

His warm palm cradled your cheek, and you nuzzled against it, satisfied and content. His right thumb swiped your tears away again before he settled down on the bed, dragging you to rest on his chest.

Neither of you said a word — there was no need to speak after that.

But did he fuck you again?

Yes, he did. Two more times. Until both of you were utterly spent and couldn’t thread two thoughts together.

Every night that followed, Marcus spent hugging you and fucking you into oblivion. The dreadful cold nights out in the wilderness again were still relentless, but now they were warmer as long as he had your naked body pressed against his.

It was wrong of him to take advantage of you this way. In the moments of weakness after you blissfully fell asleep, he’d question himself. Told himself he was a monster for letting you believe that your life in Rome was going to be somewhat untroubling.

But he was now so down deep in the lie, he couldn’t tell you the truth. Marcus feared you’d curse him to death, that you’d try to escape once you learnt what was expected of you. How you’d question his true intentions if you knew of his rivalry with Gaius Antonius.

He’d even question himself on that too. Was he losing himself in you every night as a “fuck you” to Gaius? Because he’d had you before the other man did?

Or did he indulge in the pleasure you offered because… he actually liked you? Did he chase another high and did he chase the warmth growing in his heart every time you came apart with him, for him?

Guilt ate at his conscience. He was a damned man either way. Marcus couldn’t have you even if he really wanted to take you home with him. He was under oath, he’d promised you to the man he hated most. Going back on such promise would mean treason. And Rome did not tolerate traitors. Caesar would not tolerate traitors. And Marcus well knew what the punishment for such treachery was.

Death.

The word lingered in his mind as he unknowingly embraced your sleepy form tighter. Despite how much he wished and hoped for a different outcome, the truth was his hands were tied before he knew you.

A pawn. That was what you had called him. He truly was a dispensable tool. It didn’t matter how far back his history went with Caesar, how hard he’d worked for his station, how many unthinkable acts he’d committed for the glory of Rome.

The truth was… he was no one. Especially if he bit and betrayed the hand that fed him.

But… were you worth the risk? He would never know. Such leap of faith for someone he’d just met a month ago was too reckless.

And besides, you probably didn’t feel that way, just wanting to enjoy your last few days of freedom. He could ask you, Marcus thought, but what was the point of meddling with a perfectly working symbiosis? Why destroy the last remnants of peace you both could have?

Needless to say, sleep evaded him for the rest of the night, his intrusive thoughts haunting him till dawn.

You stirred awake not long after, turning around in his embrace, your face buried in his chest. After pressing a soft kiss on his skin, your eyelashes fluttered, revealing your bright orbs to him. A warm smile promptly took over your lips.

“Good morning,” you whispered, your lips pecking his chin. “Did you sleep well?”

“Morning, beautiful,” he muttered, mouth brushing your forehead. “Yes, I did. You?” he lied through his teeth.

“Like a log,” you smirked at him, and then stretched your back with an exaggerated yawn.

“Tonight we’ll arrive in Rome,” he hated to bring up the subject, especially now when doubt still nagged at him. “But since it’s quite early and it will only take us a couple of hours on horseback, I was thinking… that maybe I could show you something?”

Your worried look quickly transformed into excitement. You threw off the pile of animal skins and blankets that kept you both warm and jumped to your feet, dressing yourself.

“Is that a surprise, Acacius?” you taunted him, the tip of your tongue peeking through your teeth.

“Perhaps,” he couldn’t help but grin, your easy demeanour casting away his worries. “Let’s break our fast first and then I’ll show you.”

Soon after that, you were both sharing some wine, cheese and bread that Marcus had bought yesterday when you stopped in Vetus Urbs (Viterbo) for provisions. The birds were chirping nearby, a light breeze weaving through and rustling the leaves of trees. Just a few yards away, the vast Lago di Bracciano (Lake Bracciano) extended to the horizon, with calm and blue waters.

He could tell you were eager to get started with the day, because you finished your food quickly and then scooted over to his side. He checked the wound in your shoulder, the one he himself had inflicted. It still gnawed at him, being responsible for causing you harm. As if to erase his wrongdoing, Marcus bowed down and brushed your now healed lesion with his lips.

You sighed in contentment, ready for your turn.

Marcus let you grab his left hand. For the past few days, every day after breakfast, you would reciprocate and unravel the cloth covering his hand, inspecting the wound. It hadn’t festered thanks to your diligent efforts to help him keep it clean. The torn flesh around the injury was healing nicely, although it would leave a scar behind. Not that he minded, another one added to the collection. One to remember your little trip together.

You poured some wine on the wound, then some water from the lake. But when you were about to wrap it with clean linen, Marcus shook his head.

“We are going in the water, don’t want to get it wet,” he explained, standing up to his feet.

“In the water?” you barked, bunching up your eyebrows. “Are you mad? Do you know how cold it is?”

“I know. But it will be worth it, trust me,” he winked at you, a sly smirk curling the corners of his mouth.

Under your attentive watch, he removed all his clothes, folding the items neatly and putting them down on a rock. The cold air nipped at his skin, but he didn’t mind — if anything, Marcus welcomed the bitter cold. Considering how hot he’d burnt last night with you in his arms, he needed to cool down a bit.

Marcus rotated on his heels, gazing you up. Still clothed.

“Are you not coming then? I promise it’ll be worth it.”

You huffed and puffed, your lips pouting as you removed your garments. “It better be.”

Intertwining his fingers with yours, he tugged at you, slamming your bare body against his chest. You felt too good in his arms, soft and warm despite your cold bristling skin. Marcus leaned in for a gentle kiss, almost a puritanical peck, before walking towards the water. He tiptoed on the edge, testing the temperature, and then plunged in. His head disappeared momentarily under the water, and then resurfaced for a gasp of air.

You were on the shore, hugging your shoulders, so beautiful you looked like Venus herself. That was probably a heresy, but Marcus didn’t care — you had no comparison in his eyes. Your body was a place of worship, but the caring personality behind the façade was a sacred temple.

So, why was he secretly planning on desecrating his house of worship, you? He was a heartless, selfish bastard.

“Come,” he offered you his hand, which you swiftly accepted, joining him in the water.

You shivered, teeth chattering, and shot him an untrusting glare. “Okay, so here I am. What’s the surprise?”

He laughed at your eagerness to get out of the water, shook his head too.

“So impatient, mel. We have to get there yet,” he pushed you further into the water, following. “You see that dent in the rock over there? It leads to an underwater cave.”

“Diving? Nuh-uh, you’re trying to kill me!” you shouted in jest, a playful glimmer in your eyes.

“Just follow me, will you?”

With that said, Marcus swam towards the rock that was inaccessible from the shore. He made sure you were right behind him, and when you got to where he was, he grabbed your hand and dove.

The dive only lasted a minute or two, soon reappearing in the underwater cave. It wasn’t too big, around fifty square meters. Stalagmites hung from the ceiling, droplets eroding the rock underneath. It was peacefully quiet, only the gurgling of water breaking the silence. A crack in the ceiling allowed a lonely sunray to illuminate the cave. The walls of the cave were covered with colourful seashells and starfish, this little paradise brimming with life despite how isolated it was from the outside world.

Marcus climbed out of the water and helped you up onto the slimy rock.

“Careful, don’t slip,” he warned, holding you by your waist.

“Good heavens, it’s steaming in here!” you exclaimed, the thick humid air almost making it impossible to breathe properly.

“This is what I wanted to show you,” he hugged you to his side, pointing at the two bubbling pools, one deep and one shallow, in the middle of the cave. “It’s a geyser. This lake formed on top of a volcano, which has been inactive for centuries now, but the warmth and lava below ground has created several hot springs around the lake.”

“Marcus, this is beautiful, thank you for taking me here,” you turned around in his half embrace to kiss him, paced and sweet. “Let’s go!”

Marcus almost had a heart attack when he saw you slipping on the edge of the rock, but in the last second you managed to keep your balance before graciously jumping into the water.

When your head emerged, he was able to breathe again. You looked so carefree, enjoying and living in the moment, it tugged at his heart.

“This is fucking amazing, the water’s so hot. Come join me, please!” you splashed the water, a small wave coming at him, wetting his feet.

Marcus happily obliged and dove in immediately after.

For two hours, you swam around or perched yourselves on the rocky shore, relishing this precious moment. And when the subtle dance of your bodies became too apparent, you joined each other’s company on the shallow pool, only a few inches of water lapping at you both. Marcus took you in his arms, nestling you down on the smooth rocks, while he coaxed your thighs apart for him, exposing your core to his attention. Soon enough he was rutting into you, not maddingly but lovingly, showing you how much he wanted this moment to last. How much he wished you both could stay here forever, far away from responsibilities and honour.

You draped your legs around his waist, taking him in as deep as possible, sheathing him tightly. Your hiccups soon turned into full-blown moans, shattering around him, clenching and gushing, while he fucked you through your orgasm. With the last remnant of decency, Marcus managed to pull out of you, his load messily landing on your lower belly.

You giggled, giddy and satisfied, before you both were at it again, working together towards another climax, both of your moans and groans echoing in this tranquil oasis.

When you both were totally spent, you just laid there to gather some strength and return to the real world. It was obvious neither of you wanted to leave, this quiet retreat would be your secret. The places your minds would escape to when your bodies couldn’t.

Grudgingly, you dove together and reappeared on the other side, swimming back to shore.

In silence but both smiling, you walked out of the water.

In the dead quiet of the cave, Marcus had made up his mind. He had to say something, explain to you what was going to happen, and how much he regretted not being able to do something about it. You deserved the truth, even though it meant breaking the trust between you. Even if it meant letting you go now. Perhaps you’d forgive him, perhaps you’d understand that he had no say in the matter. Perhaps...you’d see he truly cared for you.

When you were both fully clothed, Marcus turned around to face you, anxiety spiking in his heart and mind to unknown levels, throat closing up with fear.

“Listen, mel, I need to tell you som…”

“General Acacius, how great it is to see you,” a grave masculine voice suddenly interrupted him.

With his heart crammed into his throat, Marcus veered around.

Gaius Antonius was standing right in front of him atop a brown horse, one of his men right behind him, with a nasty smile showing his crooked teeth.

The shift in the atmosphere was palpable. Since that man and his guard had interrupted, Marcus had gone quiet. It was pretty obvious from his body language that Acacius didn’t stand the man in front of him. His shoulders had squared, neck tense and jaw very clenched. It almost looked like Marcus was going to punch the man with no warning, but thought better of it.

Even after they left, the General didn’t dare look in your direction. It didn’t matter how much you tried to get him to talk back, he just didn’t.

So riding quietly besides him gave you plenty of time to sink in your thoughts and dwell in the little words the two men had exchanged.

“I’m looking forward to get a taste of my gift,” the Roman you came to know as Gaius Antonius had said, his cruel eyes flickering to yours briefly.

Something in his dead orbs sent an unpleasant shiver down your back. His features were not easy to look at and his physique was too imposing, bald, tall and extremely built — he reminded you of the one-eyed monsters the old druidesses of your tribe would talk about to scare the kids away from real danger.

You had felt very uncomfortable in his presence, to the point where you had hidden behind Acacius so Antonius would stop gazing you up.

His words still rang in your ears, a dark omen settling in the pit of your stomach. Why had he looked at you directly when he had said “my gift”? Now that the fear was almost forgotten, you just remembered he had also winked at you before licking his lips obscenely.

Your heart jolted in your chest, belly churning at the thought taking form in your head.

No, it can’t be. Marcus wouldn’t do that, wouldn’t bring you to be entertainment for a specific man, not a pastime for a crowd.

Marcus would have told you if that was the case — you two had shared enough time together, built rapport. In the last few weeks, you’d also seen a side of him that was very appealing to you, a version of him you wouldn’t mind getting to know better. His kind, playful side, the one that cared for you and your wellbeing. The one, you thought, that perhaps felt for you the same way you did for him.

With how close you two had become, Marcus wouldn’t betray you like that, wouldn’t sell you out to another man as if you were a plaything he could discard. He’d said you were going to be paraded around like a savage animal so the townspeople would see an untamed wildling for the first time. And as vile as it sounded, it wasn’t the worst-case scenario for someone like you, so even though it wasn’t great, you’d accepted the idea.

No, he didn’t say that. I did. And he didn’t confirm nor deny it. You’d been too drunk to see it then.

Your eyes widened with horror as your heart climbed up your throat, a landslide of panic coursing through your veins.

“Marcus—” you muttered with a trembling voice, even your hands holding the reins were shaking.

“We’re here,” he cut you off, still avoiding your sight.

Your eyes darted down the path, a huge gate with columns framing it right in front. It was tall, with men posted to either side of the arch, wearing full, bright armour and helmets.

A frightening feeling of doom, of plain claustrophobia, took hold of your soul. It was as if walls were closing in around you, confining you to a tiny space. Deep breaths were not helping either, if anything they made everything worse.

“Marcus, please, listen—”

“We’ll talk after leaving the horses in the stables. They are really tired and mine needs his wound to be looked after,” again, he interrupted you.

A burning sensation went up your neck, and you could feel the tears threatening to spill. Holding onto the last remnant of hope, you pushed all the emotions down — you still trusted Marcus, despite how distant he felt right now.

Ten minutes later, you both dismounted the stallions, removed the saddles and the bridles. It was dark and it reeked of nature, but you were too anxious to wait any longer.

As Marcus attempted to turn around and leave, you wrapped your fingers around his wrist and pulled from him to stop him in his tracks.

“You said we could talk now. Please,” you almost begged, your low tone almost breaking in the last word.

With a heavy sigh, Marcus faced you. His eyes, bright before, were now of an opaque brown shade. If regret had a colour, it would be exactly the same as his irises. His lips were furrowed into a pout, his brows pinching with loud concern.

And when your eyes finally locked, you knew. You knew you were not overthinking the situation — it was exactly like it seemed.

“No,” you husked out, letting go of his wrist as if his skin burnt yours, your hand flying to your face to cover your mouth. “No. Tell me I’m wrong.”

“Wrong about what?” he gritted out, averting his eyes with visible remorse.

Was the bastard really pleading ignorance? Was he such a coward, he wouldn’t tell you himself? After everything you’d gone through and shared? After so many long, cold nights spent in his embrace? Did any of that mean anything to him?

Apparently not.

“Why am I here? I’m not here to be a hostage kept in a cage, am I?” your voice was barely audible as you tried your best to contain the angry tears.

“No,” Marcus paused after his whisper. “You’re here to be married off to Marcus Antonius’ brother, Gaius. You’re a gift to the Antonius family, to keep Caesar’s allies happy.”

The explanation fell on you like icy water. Even your heart had stopped beating, your lungs vacating all oxygen within them in a painful exhale.

This couldn’t be happening. Acacius couldn’t be this heartless and cruel. Had he been faking all along just to gain your trust, to make you feel comfortable in his presence? How could he kiss you, make love to you every night, knowing that to him you were just cargo?

And then, the prospect of bedding that man… Vile rose up your throat — you were sure you wouldn’t be able to stomach it. He looked like a brute, cruel and dominant. And although you had a strong spirit, even the best soldiers ended up succumbing to the crushing force of bestiality.

“Did you know?” you begged of him, hugging yourself. “Did you know the plan all along?”

Finally, his expression folded — his cloudy eyes were bright with unspent tears, lips pressing into a sad pout. He moved towards you, hands extended to hug you, but you quickly retreated. You couldn’t have his hands on you, you needed to focus.

“I did,” he replied, dropping his hands when he read your body language. “I did, and I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you, I was going to… But…”

“But what?!” you screamed, the dam holding your tears breaking. A trickle of droplets cascaded down your cheeks, shouting again, “but what, Marcus?!”

“But I was afraid you’d leave. I’ve grown fond of you, I really have. I didn’t want to lose you, at least not yet. This morning, before Gaius arrived, I was going to tell you, give you a way out…” Marcus combed his unruly curls back with his fingers, obviously desperate for you to understand.

“Were you?” you mocked him with a sneery laugh, sweeping the tears off your cheeks. “Sure you were. So why didn’t you when they left, huh?”

“We were being followed, mel. They never left,” he reasoned. “That’s why I didn’t talk to you. Gaius and his henchman were watching us. I didn’t want him to think that… there is something between us.”

“There was,” you immediately corrected him, despite the instant hurt showing in his eyes. “There was something between us, Acacius. Not anymore.”

It broke you saying such a thing, especially when his words had filtered through, making you consider his truth. But even if he wasn’t lying, it wouldn’t change a thing. You were still here, delivered to a man who would destroy you and your soul.

“You have every right to feel that way, I understand, but please—”

“No, I’m done listening to your lies. You’re a coward, Acacius. A fucking pawn. The day you realise how dispensable you are to your fucking precious Caesar, you’ll have no one by your side. He’ll discard you just like you’re discarding me now, when you become an inconvenience,” you snarled at him, your pain speaking for you.

You wanted him to hurt more than you were right now. If his downcast features were any indication, he probably was. But he deserved every fucking word you threw at him. He’d betrayed you like no one else had before. You thought he was different, that he was good.

How wrong you were.

“I know, mel. I do know. But please let me explain—”

“General Acacius,” a deep voice interrupted your argument, both of you straightening your backs as if nothing of importance was happening.

Three guards had entered the stables and were right behind you. One of them grabbed your elbow rather harshly, almost tripping you over.

“The hostage needs to be readied to formally meet Antonius. We are taking her now,” the same man spoke.

A myriad of emotions ran through Marcus’ face, a full range of regret, grief and sadness. If you didn’t know any better, you would have thought that he truly cared for you. That this was breaking his heart as much as it was crumbling yours. You felt stupid for holding to a shard of hope, but you forced yourself to let go of the illusion.

General Acacius was like any other man — evil, greedy, heartless.

“Hope the gold is worth the pain,” you whispered, almost mouthed the words so only he could listen. “Take me away from here,” you told the guards.

When they hastily turned you around to drag you out of the stables, you didn’t look back, didn’t put up a fight either.

Only when you were thrown in an unknown, empty room, you allowed yourself to cry your eyes out and bang the walls of your enclosure, damning the man who brought you here.

He’d been witnessing your spiral into hell for weeks now. How the light abandoned your eyes, dull and devoid of any emotion. How your skin was coloured with fresh bruises every day, the ones around your neck more visible than others. He knew for a fact that Gaius would put a chain around your throat, the atrocious man bragging about it in front of him every chance he got.

How you would avert your eyes, evading his every time he tried to make visual contact with you. As if he was dead to you, rightfully so.

And with every encounter, his resolution faltered, and his heart chipped some more. Marcus blamed himself — for lying to you, for not being brave enough, for not setting you free when he had the chance, for not fighting for you, for not stopping the guards from taking you away from him. He saw in you all the failures he’d done, all the pain he’d caused. And it was eating him alive.

How badly he wished to travel back in time, to prevent all this from happening. But he couldn’t change the past. He couldn’t mend the harm his inaction had brought about.

Marcus couldn’t take it anymore, couldn’t stand by, seeing your soul slowly die. He was a fucking coward, you were right — too afraid to lose his station because all the effort and sacrifices would have been for naught.

But at what cost? He couldn’t lose you, although deep down he knew he already had. What a sick bastard he was.

“General Acacius,” Marcus Antonius greeted him. “Caesar sends his congratulations, the gold for your successful will be delivered to you tonight.”

He’d been focused on you for so long, the chatter of the hall had dropped to background noise. The room in the Antonius household was packed as people feasted and drank, celebrating the return of Marcus Antonius’ legion.

Marcus gave the General a stern nod, bringing the wine cup up to his lips to avoid talking. His throat felt dry with shame. No amount of coin was worth your suffering.

Antonius lingered; some small talk being exchanged although Marcus barely paid any attention to the man. When the other General tired of his unresponsiveness, he moved on to speak to his brother.

His chest burnt at the sight of Gaius. Marcus hated himself but despised Gaius even more so. How could have he delivered you to him despite knowing how brutal he would be with you?

“Go get me some more wine from the cellar, slave,” Gaius snapped at you.

You swiftly left his side, turning the corner into a corridor.

This was his chance.

Marcus slithered through the crowd like a snake ready to bite, leaving his empty cup behind. When he reached the hallway you had disappeared into, Marcus checked over his shoulder before disappearing into the shadows.

A staircase at the end of the corridor spiralled down into the underground, and he walked down the steps, pushed the heavy door and entered the cellar.

The room was lighted by some lit torches on the wall, the sweet scent of wine filling the room. As his eyes adapted to the almost darkness, Marcus scanned the place.

A quiet sob betrayed your presence. Sauntering, he found you in a corner, bloodshot eyes welling up as you hugged yourself.

He stood there, right in front of you, like a scarecrow. Frozen with guilt, unable to decide what to do, what to say, to soothe you. But when you looked up to him through your damp eyelashes, you made the decision for him.

You lurched forward into his chest, and Marcus instantly wrapped his arms around your shoulders, holding you close while you cried your sorrows in the crook of his neck. His heart was pounding so wildly, he feared he might drop dead at any second. Finally, Marcus found his hoarse voice, whispering soothing words while stroking your hair.

The fact that you went to him so eagerly, so uninhibited, broke his heart some more, the edges cracking and collapsing into itself. He didn’t deserve to hold you, to calm you, when he was the only reason you had been suffering unimaginably for this long.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, throat clamping down, tears threatening to fall. “I am truly sorry for being a coward, for not choosing you when I could. I was so afraid of the repercussions, of losing everything I worked so hard for…”

Marcus forced in a deep breath, the tears falling free at last. You were still sobbing, now more audibly so, and when you unglued your face from his neck to look up at him, Marcus’ breath hitched somewhere in the back of his throat. The state of you, up close, was… gut wrenching. Bruises, some fresh lacerations, but what gnawed at him the most was how lifeless you looked, so drained of purpose, of wit.

“I know it means nothing now, but I love you. From the moment I set eyes on you in that forest for the first time. And it’s taken me a shamefully long time to realise that,” because one didn’t know what they had, until they lost that one person who brightened their dark days. “You should have shot me an arrow, kill me on the spot, and you wouldn’t have suffered this much because of me.”

It felt like an empty, meaningless confession. No number of words could mend the havoc of his doing, the wounds of your heart. Only actions could.

“I know I have no right to ask, I lost that privilege the moment I lied to you. But… if you were to take me back, I’d take you away tonight, now. Damn, even if you don’t take me back, just say the word… I’d make sure you’d leave here tonight,” he husked out, heart in a fist.

You didn’t speak for what felt like an eternity. Your eyes studied his face, weighing your options. And he hoped you’d take up his offer, regardless of your feelings for him. Marcus would risk everything to right the wrong he’d caused.

“You lied to me. You let them take me away,” you sobbed, furrowing your eyebrows. “You just stood there… have been standing there in front of me for weeks… and you did nothing…”

It wasn’t accusatory, you were just stating the facts. Ones he couldn’t and wouldn’t fight you back on, because you were right.

“I did. I don’t have any excuse to offer for my behaviour other than I’m just a stupid coward.”

“You are…” you trailed off, but didn’t lean back away from him, staying still in his embrace. “But you’re here now,” you swept away the tears, some determination returning to your eyes. “You were too scared, and I was too proud. While I don’t condone you lying to me, I can see why you would. Your hands were tied as much as mine. And with Gaius and his henchman following us all the way from Bracciano to Rome… there truly wasn’t a way out there where both of us left unscathed.”

Marcus’ heart had stopped pumping blood the moment you started talking. He could honestly not believe his ears. He didn’t deserve your forgiveness, not after how badly he’d handled everything. It just felt damn wrong.

“While it might take some time for me to forgive, if I ever fully can do so, I do understand the situation you were in,” your bottom lip trembled, your words choking out.

“Oh, mel,” with tears in his eyes, Marcus dropped his hands from your shoulders. “I don’t want you to forgive me, I deserve every ounce of resentment. I deserve your hate.”

“I don’t hate you, Marcus. I love you and that’s what’s made everything way worse,” a feeble, tiny smile curled your lips whilst your delicate fingers wrap around his wrist. “And if you do love me back as you say… take me away from here, please. I can’t take it anymore. He will… he will break me for good if I stay.”

His heart jolted. He truly wasn’t deserving of you, of your love. Not after everything he’d done — or didn’t do. Closing the gap, Marcus hugged you again, pressing a soft kiss on the crown of your hair, allowing himself to inhale your sweet scent.

“I’m getting you out of here tonight.”

Marcus had kept his promise. He’d broken you free of the Antonius’ household that same night through an underground tunnel that connected the cellar to a nearby temple. The religious servants that worshipped Mars had left for the night, so escaping had been relatively easy.

Leaving Rome, however, had been a totally different matter. It was obvious that Gaius had noticed your absence, because the next morning a small entourage of legionnaires accompanied your captor to Marcus’ home. Luckily, Marcus had seen it coming and instead of going home with you, you both stalked out his place from an empty house nearby.

You had to wait till nightfall to flee, grabbing some indispensable belongings and also Marcus’ gladius, bow and arrows. Going northwards to your homeland was out of the question, given that Gaius and his brother would expect exactly that. So with a heavy heart, you accepted that you’d never return to the place you were born. Instead, Marcus had suggested to travel southwards to his hometown, Barium.

It had taken you five days to get there, feet swollen and exhausted from so much walking. Circumventing the town, you had reached Marcus’ family home. The farm had been abandoned, vines growing on the burnt façade of the small two storey farmhouse. The fences were destroyed, thick and lush vegetation taking over the farmland surrounding the building.

When you first landed eyes on the dilapidated house, Marcus’ face had torn with sadness. He didn’t speak as he approached cautiously and neither did you, giving him time to process. It had to be really hard seeing his childhood home crumbled down to its foundations, a pool of happy memories long forgotten coming back.

He showed you around, the inside of his home as bad as it looked on the outside. It was obvious people had taken the last possessions of his family, leaving behind the things that were not salvageable after the fire. The walls were still black with soot and ash, some parts of the ceiling had collapsed, the thick wooden beams becoming dust the moment you touched them.

The house was destroyed, the land barren. And Marcus stood there — steadfast, impassible. Or, at least, trying to contain the emotions running wild through his tired features.

Despite his betrayal, his lies… you felt for him. The first few days in that cell after the guards had taken you away left you with too much time in your hands. Time to overthink, to analyse, to worry yourself to death. In the end, you had come to realise that, although he could have done things differently, you understood why he couldn’t bring himself to be honest with you.

Because truth be told… you didn’t know what you’d done had the roles been reversed. If the battle after the siege of Alesia had ended in your favour, if you had taken Acacius hostage and brought him to your father… Would you have disobeyed your father’s orders of executing him? Would you have gone up in arms against your own people for someone you didn’t truly know?

Probably not. Definitely not.

So, you could only make peace with what had happened. Never forget but perhaps work towards forgiveness. Because, whether you liked it or not, you loved him. Despite how much you tried to flatly refuse that notion, you did. You fell for him, for the little details, the unspoken care, his easy demeanour. His gentleness. His heart, a bit rough around the edges, but the perfect fit to yours.

It was almost derisory. A trick of fate placed him in your path, an imminent collision of stars. Unavoidable. Final. As if Cathubodua Herself had put Marcus in your path for a reason.

“This was my room,” Marcus’ low whisper brought you back to the mundane plane.

It was a small, rectangular room. A broken window let the light in, shining on the tiny dust particles floating around. A bed with wooden posts, a wardrobe, and a chest. There was rubble everywhere, but otherwise pretty much intact.

Acacius walked through the debris and knelt in front of the chest. Taking in a deep breath, he lifted the heavy lid. You peeked above his shoulder, getting a glimpse of his past.

He chuckled; a sad gurgling noise stuck in his chest.

“My mother loved Saturnalia. It’s a festivity we celebrate in December to honour Saturn. Every year she’d made a sigillarium for me. She had a theme going on, they were always shaped as soldiers from the Roman army,” he took a terracotta figurine out, his thumb caressing the piece with reverence. “A centurion, a tribune, a legate… On my last birthday here, with them, she gifted me this.”

Marcus raised to his feet, handing over the figurine he was holding close to his heart. You took it with extreme care, afraid it would break between your fingers. The perfectly preserved sigillarium was that of a General with a black armour, a golden Medusa on the center of the breastplate. Just like the one Marcus wore in battle.

“Excuse the terrible paint job, I was never born to be an artist,” he joked, but you could see the anguish in his brown, tearful eyes. “I was so obsessed with becoming a General one day, I even wrote my name on the sole of its foot.”

You turned the piece around to inspect it and there it was, his name scrawled by a young hand.

“It’s beautiful,” you muttered, heart up in your throat. “Sounds like your mother was an amazing, loving woman.”

And he’d lost her. His father too. How alienating that had to be for a young lad with no other family.

“She… was,” Marcus barely husked out, briefly overtaken by grief. “It’s been a long time since I thought about all of this.”

You put the figurine back in the chest and laced your arms around his waist, hugging him close. He soon enveloped you too, his good hand landing on the back of your head.

Time went by, neither of you too sure for how long you both stood there. Until the hug naturally came to an end and Marcus kissed your forehead.

“Right. Enough reminiscing. Let me clean this room up a bit, we’ll spend the night here and decide what we’ll do in the morning.”

“I can help—”

“No,” he cut you off instantly. “You’re hurt, mel. You need to rest and recover.”

Gaius had put you through hell, the bruising map of your skin changing colour every single day. However, the worst wounds were not the ones visible to the naked eye, but the fragments of soul you’d lost.

And despite the pain, the emotional toll you’d taken, you were not going to let it get to you. Raised to be strong, to overcome challenges, you wouldn’t give up on yourself so easily. Not while there was a reason to keep going. In the last few months, you had lost nothing and everything. But you were ready to get it all back.

Before you could retort, Marcus guided you to a chair and got to work. Hours passed while you talked and shared snippets of your past lives, of family and friends, of childhood memories, while Acacius cleared the room. It was weird how easy it was to talk to him, how the conversation flowed naturally, never running out of topics to discuss.

“Yes, blood baths,” you said, the topic at hand having devolved rapidly into some darker matters. “Literal blood baths.”

“And you just… what? Soak in it for a while?” his confusion was so evident, you laughed.

“Yes, Marcus. It’s believed it invigorates you before a battle.”

“And whose blood is that?”

“Usually animals. Wild boars and the like,” you omitted the fact that some did use human blood, but you were not sure that his righteous mind could take that information and be normal about it.

“Usually?”

Well, he did pick up on it. You just shrugged and couldn’t help but cackle when he paled a bit at the realisation.

“I’ll stop asking questions now,” he shook his head as he laid the animal skins on the bare mattress, the room finally clean.

“For your own good, yeah, might as well.”

“Let’s eat something. Something that doesn’t bleed, preferably,” he jested, offering you a hand to stand up from the chair.

After picking up some vegetables and fruits from around the farmland, Marcus and you reconvened to show each other your findings. Some fruit trees had survived the fire as well as bushes. There wasn’t much though, considering how cold it was outside, but you would make do with what you had.

You dropped a makeshift basket on top of the chest and stepped aside for Marcus to see.

“I see you’ve gone for the berries and nuts,” he said, picking up a chestnut. “These are so sweet, here, try.”

He cracked it open and passed it on. You nibbled it, surprised of how sweet it actually tasted. The ones you had had before were bitterer, drier.

“Oh, wow, that’s amazing,” you ate the rest of it, almost licking your fingertips. “Look how plump these cherries look, I’ve been dying to try them since I picked them!”

Your hand darted forward, grabbing a handful of dark purple cherries — they looked so juicy and shiny. As you brought them to your mouth, Marcus’ fingers wrapped around your wrist, his eyes slightly widened with a sudden fear you didn’t comprehend.

“The bush you picked these from, did it have lilac bell-shaped flowers?”

“Yes?”

“Do not eat those,” he stole them from your hand, throwing them back into the basket. “That’s deadly nightshade. It’s very poisonous. A few of those berries and you wouldn’t live to tell the tale.”

“Oh,” you stuttered, your heart pumping wildly as you swiped your hand on your clothing. “I didn’t know.”

“Let’s go wash our hands in the stream nearby, then we’ll eat. Need to make sure there are no traces of those berries on your palms, okay?” he gently put a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his eyes soft again.

Perhaps it wasn’t a feast fit for kings, but it was definitely tasty. Marcus had found some pomegranates, figs and pears, and along with the chestnuts, cranberries and almonds you’d found, you both were full.

Night had fallen with a thick blanket, the stars bright and clear in the sky with a full moon illuminating the farmland around the house. Despite how desolate it all looked, it was tranquil and beautiful. You could see yourself living off the land, growing old, so far apart from humanity no one would bother you.

As you laid in bed with Marcus, you wondered what he would think of that. All his life he’d worked hard to escape this very destiny, and by whims of fate, he’d ended up exactly where he’d started.

“I like it here,” you ventured as he covered you both with the warm animal skins.

Marcus stirred under you, finding a comfortable position, but it was obvious your statement had unsettled him a bit.

“It’s not too bad,” he replied, nuzzling your hair. “I suppose that when you’re a child, everything looks worse than what it actually is. I never realised how much I missed this place until we set foot here this morning. I did have everything I wanted and needed. I wonder what my life would have looked like if I stayed, if I’d have been able to…”

He trailed off, but you knew what he meant. If he would have been able to save his parents, to put out the fire before it engulfed everything. Your heart squeezed a little — it was hard not to develop feelings for a man like him. Even when he’d let a beast take control of you. At least, he had rectified that.

“It’s never good to dwell in the what ifs, because you’ll only hurt yourself with scenarios that might or might have not happened,” you offered him some words of wisdom, kissing his jawline while your thumb traced invisible circles on his sternum. “Besides, if you had never become a General, you wouldn’t have met me.”

“And wouldn’t that have been a good thing?” he blurted out with his eyes glued to the ceiling, his guilt showing again.

A side of you agreed with him. But, at the same time, deep down you knew it wouldn’t have changed the outcome. The Romans would have won anyway, your people starved out after a month-long siege. Someone else would have taken Marcus’ place, someone who would have felt no remorse in delivering you to a beast and disposing of you, without giving you a second thought.

“We will never know,” you nuzzled the crook of his neck, his warmth seeping into your body. “And that’s the point I’m trying to make. It doesn’t matter. I believe in fate, in Cathubodua. She knows the outcome of every warrior in battle. Everything that has happened to me, to my people, was destined to be.” It didn’t make it easier though.

Marcus let go of a heavy sigh, his lips brushing your forehead with a gentleness that tugged at your heart. Because as divided as you were, as messy as this all was, your love for him was undeniable. Perhaps it was fated. Perhaps you had to suffer before you could live the life you wanted with the man you loved.

“Your goddess is definitely capricious. But I guess it makes sense,” his hand rubbed your shoulders, soothing your bristled skin.

“She gives the toughest battles to Her strongest warriors,” you joked, because that was what your father used to say.

“Well, She isn’t wrong about that. You’re the strongest person I know, that’s for sure,” he rasped, your sights locking in.

When he leaned in for a kiss, you met him halfway. The dance of tongues quickly mutated into something more intimate, more passionate. Every time you playfully retreated, he’d come and find you, dragging your tongue into his mouth. Marcus propped his elbow against the mattress so half his frame would blanket you while you just melted under his touch.

His free hand played with the hem of your shirt, unsure of what to do. The fact that he just didn’t assume what you wanted reassured you that he was, indeed, a good man. With your palm against the back of his hand, you slithered both under your garment, and when his fingers finally cupped one of your breasts, you let go.

“Are… are you sure? I don’t want— I don’t want you to think— I don’t want to hurt you. I’m happy with just holding you tonight, knowing that you’re here with me,” he confessed with a trembling voice that warmed your heart.

“I’m sure, Marcus,” you peppered kisses on his lips, his chin, his neck — anywhere your mouth would reach. “I’ve missed you.”

With a feeble smile, Marcus leaned down again, your lips fitting perfectly as his thumb swiped your nipple gently. The fondling on your breast became more pleasant with every stroke and once your taut button was all worked up, Marcus proceeded to pay the same attention to your other boob.

In no time you were breathing heavily under him, wanting to get rid of the barriers between your bodies. You fought with his shirt, and sensing your desperation, Marcus helped you get rid of it and everything else, until you both were bare in front of each other.

Marcus was kneeling on top of you, his thick thighs to either side of yours. He looked so mighty, so perfect, it was hard to ignore how handsome he was. Built like a god, you’d worship him in his temple every single day if you could. And while you devoured the sight in front of you, his weeping cock ready to take you, his eyes lingered elsewhere.

You were so lost in the moment, you’d forgotten the map of bruises dotted around your whole body. But Marcus hadn’t — you could see his irises darkening with every bruise he discovered, every mark on your skin. For the last few days, you’d done your best at covering them, but now it was unavoidable.

Gaius had done a number on you, he’d been relentlessly brutal. Every night you’d fear his mood. When he’d get you out of the crate he’d thrown you in, you knew there would be hell to pay, even though you had nothing to do with it. The month spent with him had been your darkest time, his imprints on your skin ones you wished away every night.

“I’m so sorry,” Marcus ran a hand down his face, pinching the bridge of his aquiline nose. “You didn’t deserve this. I should have acted sooner. Damn, I should have told you when we were at Lake Bracciano, give you the opp—”

“Marcus,” you called, gently removing his hand from his face so he would look at you. “What’s done is done. Let’s not think about the what ifs now, alright? I’m here now, wanting you inside me, erasing the imprint of…” you choked for a second, unable to put it into words. “Creating new memories. Can you do that, please?”

“I swear to the Gods that I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you, mel,” Marcus leaned forward again, his chest flush with yours as his fingers caressed your neck. “I love you.”

Even though it was the second time you had heard those three words strung together, this time around it felt… warm and hopeful, not desperate and hopeless.

Your hand landed on the back of his neck to push him down, your mouths crashing again.

Marcus painted a love map on your skin, his lips pressing kisses on every bruise he could find, awakening the side of you that had been dormant since the moment you left his side in the stables. Soon enough his kisses travelled south, too far down. When he settled flat between your thighs, nipping below your belly button, one of your hands darted to his head, grabbing a fistful of his curls.

“It’s okay, cor meum (my heart). Let me make you feel good, please,” he cooed, and you couldn’t resist.

Freeing his hair, Marcus slithered further down until his mouth kissed your inner thighs. A little shy, you tried hiding your core, but his insistent pecks along with his broad shoulders coaxing your legs apart melted away your last defences.

“So beautiful,” he mumbled, his warm breath fanning your glistening skin. “You are so wet already, sweetheart, and I haven’t even touched this sweet dripping nook yet.”

Before you could say anything, he lapped at your entire slit in one stroke, leaving you gasping for air and moaning his name. Marcus didn’t stop there, urged on by your little whimpers as the tip of his tongue found your hooded clit. He twirled and swirled and latched onto it, your clit throbbing in no time as Marcus ate you out expertly.

Drunk with lust, he nuzzled the tip of his nose on your nub, almost sending you over the edge when he inhaled sharply, feasting on your womanly scent. His mouth soon found your leaking hole and stroked it softly, outlining the circle of your entrance with the tip of his tongue. The moment he dipped it in, you mewled uncontrollably, grabbing onto the animal skins for dear life.

Marcus fucked you with his tongue until the tense coil inside you snapped, a million stars bursting behind your eyelids. Holding onto his hair now, you pressed his face into your pussy, screaming and shaking as you shamelessly came on his mouth. He drank your release eagerly, lapping you clean.

A last kiss on your stimulated kiss, then on your mound, and Marcus finally emerged from in between your legs with a triumphant smile, his moustache and stubble soaked with your cream.

“You taste so good, want to try?” you almost missed his question, your heart beating so hard it was deafening, but you managed to nod.

Marcus climbed up your body and bowed down for a kiss, which you eagerly reciprocated. He tasted sweet — no, you did.

“I need to be inside you, sweetheart. I can’t hold it much longer,” Marcus said almost between gritted teeth.

Gazing down, you saw his throbbing cock resting heavily on your mound. The head was glistening with precum, dripping onto your skin, leaving a beautiful pearl behind. Your cunt gushed at the prospect of housing him, needing him as much as he did you.

Wrapping your legs around his waist and with your heels dug in his buttocks, you pushed him into you. Understanding the unspoken invitation, Marcus aligned his seeping cock with your slick hole and slowly dove in, your walls parting, sheathing him as you were meant to be.

Fully seated now, Marcus kissed the tip of your nose to then rest his forehead against yours. You felt so full, so blissed, there wasn’t room in your mind for anything else. His weight on top of you provided an extra layer of warmth and protecting, his forearms framing your head.

Neither of you spoke, but when Marcus pulled out and back in, you both moaned in unison. His pace was cautious, loving, gentle. His hips waved as he softly fucked into you, drinking your moans in a messy kiss. But it wasn’t long until his slow rhythm devolved into something more urgent, more primal.

Marcus thrusted in more harshly now, the tip of his cock dragging along your anterior wall, hitting the right spot every time. He was pumping into you so hard now, that your whole body swayed under him, no matter how strong you held onto his shoulders. The slap of skin meeting skin and your shared arousal gurgling every time he hammered into you sent you into overdrive.

You climbed to the top of your pleasure, Marcus helping you get there quickly. With one last push, you finally came crashing down, your pussy juicing around his girth while your inner walls hugged him tight, clenching and pulsing wildly, commending him to follow you into a blissful orgasm.

“You’re too damn tight, holding onto me like that,” Marcus grumbled, fighting against his own climax now. “Mel, please let go, I can’t—”

You shook your head no, digging your heels into his ass cheeks again so he would continue to fuck into you, chasing his own climax. Finding relief within you. You squeezed your walls around him, wanting to milk him.

“Shit, are you sur—?”

“Marcus,” you cut him off, eyes hazy with desire, mind numb. “Come inside. Fill me up, warm me up.”

With a strangled moan, Marcus’ head fell in the crook of your neck whilst he rutted into you like a man possessed. His cock pulsed inside you, and you consciously clutched around him at the same time you raked your fingers through his sweaty curls.

Until he finally spilt inside you, his warm seed coating your walls with his pearly white. And when you thought he was done, Marcus surprised you with yet another spurt, his spent filling you up to the brim.

Marcus crumbled on top of you, his softening cock still snug inside your pussy, his whole body weight crushing you. But instead of suffocating, it felt calming, soothing. For a long while you both stayed there — you drawing invisible lines on his back, and him kissing every bruise until you both fell asleep on his tiny childhood bed.

Hooves. A clip-clop sound in the distance, slowly approaching. The wind carried a command, “They’re here, find them.”

At first, Marcus thought it a dream. But soon he realised it was no product of his imagination at all. The voices were very real, threatening the peace of his home. Even though he knew who they were, he still needed confirmation.

Getting up from bed, careful not to wake you yet, Marcus peeked through the window. His fear materialised the second he recognised Gaius and three of his goons. They were on foot, although Marcus was sure of what he heard, therefore suspected they had left their horses hidden away somewhere nearby.

You both had to leave. Now. There wasn’t much time to do anything about it — chances were not good when you were doubled in number, and you were still recovering from your injuries. He could take some lives with his, but would prefer not to get to swordfight if he could avoid it.

Lurching forth, Marcus tapped your shoulder with urgency, his thumb brushing your cheek as your eyelashes fluttered open.

“Mhm?” you mumbled, sleepy, as you rubbed your eye with the side of your hand.

“They’ve found us. Gaius is here, mel. We need to leave,” he urged you, helping you up when your orbs finally popped open with alarm. “Listen to me. We’re going to be fine. Their horses must be on the back, tied by the river. We get there, being as stealthy as possible, and we leave.”

“Marcus,” you exhaled, panicky, as you stood up.

He could see the memories flooding your mind, your eyes blurry with pain. His heart cried for you, for the harsh times he’d put you through. But you were right, there was no time to dwell on the past, he couldn’t change it. But he could protect you now, learn from his mistakes.

“Grab the bow and arrow,” he hurried towards the pile of armour, putting it on as fast as he could.

You gave him a hand, tightening the leather strips to secure the breastplate in place, and then took the weapons, while Marcus seized his gladius. Right behind you, Marcus guided you through the rubble to get to the back of the house. The voices were closer now, prominent as they talked to each other, clearing the rooms they’d already checked out.

The backdoor connecting the kitchen with the backyard was blocked with debris, so Marcus helped you up the window. When your feet landed on the ground, he perched himself on the windowsill.

“Acacius!” Gaius’ guttural groan made him turn before he jumped off the window.

The man’s features were distorted by rage, spit flying off his mouth when he repeated his name again. The sight of him made his blood boil, his primal instinct asking him to make him pay for what he’d done to you. But he couldn’t risk your safety again. Perhaps one day he could act on it.

With his heart pumping hard, Marcus veered around and jumped off the window. Your widened eyes told him you’d heard your captor’s voice now. The horror they emanated just made his chest swell with regret.

The men were too close, he doubted you both could lose them in a chase. Had he reacted sooner, perhaps you could have escaped the house before they set foot in it. But now, with them on your heels, chances were slim.

If he wanted to give you a fighting chance, to delay these men, he knew what he had to do. And, surprisingly, the decision was easy to make, as easy as breathing really. It was the least he could do for you and if he made it out alive, then he’d make sure to find you afterwards. But the reality was, he knew he wouldn’t survive fighting four men on his own.

“No matter what, you run. You run for those trees and don’t look back,” he desperately asked of you. “You hear me? You keep running.”

“Marcus—”

“You keep running,” he punctuated every word. “Promise me.”

“I… I promise,” you muttered, squeezing his hand in yours. “I love you.”

“I love you too. Now run. I’ll be right behind you,” he pushed your shoulders.

As soon as your feet rushed beneath you, Marcus stopped a few metres behind you. Swirling around on his heels, gladius on hand and standing his ground, Marcus faced the men giving you chase.

If this was how he died, it was a noble way to go.

Running on pure adrenaline, you ran as fast as your feet could take you. Your heart was thudding in your chest, climbing up your throat, your lungs burning. Everything hurt, this strenuous effort not aiding your healing at all.

“Marcus—”

When you turned around, just a few feet away from the forest’s boundary, you realised he was nowhere to be seen. You scanned your surroundings nervously but couldn’t locate him. He said he’d be right behind you, so where the fuck was he?

Coming to a complete halt, you looked in the distance and your heart plummeted to the depths of your stomach. Marcus had stayed behind to win you time. To sacrifice himself for your freedom.

“No, no, no, no,” you chanted as your heartbeat rang anxiously in your eardrums.

Desperation took over you, not being able to come to terms with what was happening. You wouldn’t let him do this, not if you could avoid it. Dying for you was not the way to mend your wounds, it would only make them deeper and more painful.

No, you were not letting him do this.

Retracing your steps, you ran back towards them. As you approached the fight, closing in the distance, you saw three bodies peppered around on the ground, unresponsive and bloody. From the distance you couldn’t tell who they were, but when your frightened eyes landed on the two figures exchanging blows, you knew they were Marcus and Gaius.

When you were only fifty meters away, a bunch of branches crunched beneath your feet. The noise, which should have gone unnoticed, alerted Marcus of your presence. His focus redirected at you for a second, eyes wide with fear for your safety, opening his flank to Gaius.

“Marcus, no!” you screamed at the top of your lungs, trying to alert him of Gaius’ next blow.

You shouted too late. Gaius struck Marcus to the floor, your lover’s sword jangling when it landed far from his hand.

Time stilled, everything happening at very slow motion.

Gaius towered behind Marcus, grabbing his hair to have him on his knees.

You stopped right in your tracks, pulling the bow above your head.

Marcus’ eyes locked in with yours, a silent plea for you to keep running, to stay away from this, all while Gaius placed a sword right in front of his neck.

You slotted in the arrow, aim clear, your target Gaius’ forehead.

Gaius laughed.

You let go of the shaft, the arrow flying fast towards them.

And just in the nick of time, before the arrowhead met Gaius’ head, your captor sliced Marcus’ throat.

“NO!” you wailed, dropping to your knees, fingers digging in the ground while your heart got obliterated right in front of you.

The arrow kissed Gaius’ forehead, then he tumbled back and fell backwards, the sound of his bodyweight not being half as satisfying as it should have been. When Gaius’ fingers let go of Marcus’ head, Acacius dropped to his side, a river of red staining his armour.

As fast as you could, you rose to your feet and skidded through the mud when you got to Marcus’ side.

He was still bleeding but was long gone. Life had abandoned his brown orbs, now dull and opaque. Marcus was still warm as you cradled his battered body close to your chest. For the first few minutes while you held him, you felt nothing. But when his body began to turn cold in your embrace, reality set in.

He was dead. The man who brought you here, the man who lied to you, the man who saw his own weakness and decided to change, the man you loved, the man who sacrificed himself so you could escape.

Perhaps the outcome would have been different had you not alerted him of your presence. What if he hadn’t heard you? What if he hadn’t been distracted? What if he had won Gaius, had you obeyed his orders? What if his death was your fault after all?

“It’s never good to dwell in the what ifs, because you’ll only hurt yourself with scenarios that might or might have not happened,” you had told him not long ago.

There was no point to overanalyse everything that had happened. What was done, was done.

Still hugging him, you cried your sorrows and regrets until the day bled into nightfall. When your eyes finally ran dry, you dragged Marcus’ dead body inside. You managed to lay him on his back on his childhood bed, and took the time to clean the blood off his skin. Sutured the gash on his neck too, changed his clothes for fresh ones, and checked Marcus’ belongings.

He still had some coins in his saddlebag. You found two denarii, which you grabbed before returning to his deathbed. Carefully, you placed the coins over his shut eyes — you knew some of the Roman rites, having seen them being performed after battles. It was payment for the ferryman who would carry Marcus’ soul over to the Underworld.

Then you snatched the sigillarium he’d shown you last night—the one his mother gifted him of a General with his name carved in the sole of its boot—and placed it on his chest. You hoped his parents were right there waiting for him, welcoming him with open arms.

You knelt by his side, keeping vigil, while your thumb gently stroked the back of his hand.

Your future was uncertain but clear at the same time. You were deep down in enemy’s territory, with no way of getting back to your homeland. Alone, with no friends and Marcus dead. Your father would probably be paying now for your escape, for Gaius’ and his men’s deaths.

There weren’t many more options at hand.

So you stood up, sauntering towards the baskets with the remaining fruit from last night. The purple berries were still there, and Marcus’ clear words suddenly came back to you.

“A few of those berries and you wouldn’t live to tell the tale.”

It was apparent now why you would have picked them. Destiny knew.

With no doubt left stalking you now, you picked ten of them and one by one brought them to your lips. Slowly you chewed them, the rich sweetness of their flavour a welcome taste on your tongue. It was true what they said, that death was sweet.

You returned to the bed where Marcus was lying and climbed on it, you curled up against his side and kissed his cheek one last time. Taking a few deep breaths, you let yourself fall in an eternal slumber.

Perhaps you’d meet him in that underground cave, perhaps he’d be waiting for you.

Perhaps this was how it was all supposed to end, what was fated from the beginning. What was truly meant to be — a lovers’ struggle, a lovers’ tragedy.

A lovers’ end.

228 notes · View notes