#I’m not one for partying or super grand outings | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

little-wicked10 · 9 days ago

Text

Hedonism

Summary: A vulnerable goddess prey to his godly appetites. She’s the prize of one man. He just has to catch her first.

Warnings: SMUT🔞, exhibitionism, voyeurism, cursing, dirty talk, daddy kink, subspace, teasing, mentions of edging, light-ish predator/prey kink, mention of safe wording, orgy stuff

Notes: This is a part 2 to buy me presents��! Ben is cashing in on his Christmas gift of fucking her at Herogasm.

All Italics - Past

Her sheer silk dress exposed everything. The muted pink barely blurred the details of her body as she stepped through the busy halls. In the sea of debauchery, she was an untouched goddess. A flower that hadn’t been scorched by the wildfire that was Herogasm. She pressed a golden goblet to her lips as she moved amongst the sex crazed and depraved. Some attempted to reach out and pull her into their pile of limbs, but the small silver chain around her ankle kept them at bay. A little symbol of her lover’s ownership over her.

The bathhouse had been reconstructed and renovated for the purposes of Herogasm that year. It was gorgeous. Every detail, from the mosaics in the large pool to the ornate goblets and serving pitchers, was immaculate. Herogasm had been turned into a monument to Roman hedonism.

Ben had a vision for his favorite “holiday” of the year. He wanted everything to be perfect, including her. She assured him that she’d bring her best, and she delivered tenfold. Her hair was curled and strung with pearls, makeup elegant and simple. She only wore her anklet for jewelry, her body wrapped in the sheer silk would be statement enough. To add something special, she dusted her body in a light shimmer to give the effect of an ethereal being.

Ben loved when her skin was soft and glowing. The specks of glitter coating his body the more he explored hers was a huge turn on. She discovered it when he picked her up from a photo shoot, and he kept staring at her shining skin. By the time they made it home, Ben looked like a stripper.

The main area of the bathhouse was occupied by a grand pool with a small marble island. A large altar with intricate carvings of gladiators in a brothel along its sides took center stage. Not one patron had dared to venture forth and break in the grand offering stone. It wasn’t for them. It was for the main event.

“You trust me?” Ben murmured into her ear, naked chest pressing into her back.

His limbs encompassed her, satin sheets pooling around them as they relaxed against the head board. She pulled the joint from her lips, “Of course, I do. Why do you ask?”

His lips pressed to her cheek, “Somethin’ I’ve been mullin’ around for a while.”

She giggled, “Uh oh.”

She didn’t have to see to know he rolled his eyes, teeth nipping her jawline, “I don’t wanna fuck the week before Herogasm.”

Her body went rigid against his before she scoffed, “How high are you?”

Ben plucked the joint from her fingers before placing it in his mouth. “I’m fuckin’ serious,” he murmured, “I want us to be super horny for this. Think that be alright, princess?”

She sighed happily and nodded, staring at the many kiss marks staining his exposed thighs. It wasn’t possible for her to leave any kind of hickey or scratch, so she found another way to physically claim him. Red lipstick.

Ben hummed, “That’s my girl.”

“Anything else?” she teased as she took the joint.

A chuckle rumbled against her back, “Now that ya mention it, there is.” She sat up out of his hold to look at him with a curious expression. The look in his eyes was dark, “I want to hunt you.”

Ben’s tone made her shiver, “H-hunt me? What does that mean?”

His fingers traced along her spine and over her shoulder blades, “It means, I chase you through the party and fuck you when I find you.” He heard her heart race, face heating up in a deep blush as she thought over the request. Running around Herogasm AWAY from him? What if someone tried to grab her? What if something happened? The thought was as intoxicating as it was nerve wracking.

“Ya know, you’re too pretty to worry? As long as ya got this lil’ beauty on,” he reached down to trace the anklet’s charm, “I’m the only one who gets to touch you, baby.”

She bit her bottom lip, “Just like we talked about?”

He smirked, “Just like we talked about.”

That was all the reassurance she needed. She reached down and intertwined their fingers, bringing his hand to her lips before kissing the back of it, “Tell me how to play, daddy.”

The rules were quite simple. Like a game of chase, but with a twist. A very, very naughty twist. She would wonder around the party as an ever evasive nymph, while he reigned over like a drunken god. Once he spotted her, the hunt would begin. The thrill sent a shiver through her.

It was heightened by the desperate ache between her legs. Being voluntarily abstinent was a challenge especially when Ben wouldn’t stop teasing her, edging her to the point of insanity. He never played fair, and it was his idea. There was also knowing dozens of people would be watching Ben fuck her like a wild beast. She surprised herself with how excited she was to play out this new fantasy.

On the far side of the room, a great laugh echoed with the many moans against the marble walls and columns. Her foot steps were slow and precise as she moved in for a closer look. Hiding behind a marble fountain, she gazed at her lover through the trickling water. Soldier Boy sat upon an ostentatious throne fit for a Roman emperor. Draped around his Adonis-like body was a deep purple toga with gold trimming and around his head a golden laurel wreath. He was stunning, a work of art. The picture of an immortal being on Mount Olympus.

Several women were laid out before his feet, pleasuring one another as he happily drank and smoked. Green eyes darted from the scene below to the room around him. The festivities had him in a jovial mood, but she could see him searching. She had done fairly well hiding from him, managing to sidle by every time he went looking. Adrenaline licked at her nerves every time she narrowly escaped. Why they hadn’t played this game before was beyond her.

A woman moaned in delight as Ben poured the rest of his wine along her back and ass. The woman arched into it, letting the liquid run down her spine towards her shoulder blades. A pang of jealousy struck her until she caught a glimpse of the pink smudge under his left ear. Her parting kiss before he stepped into the party, a possessive little stain.

She smirked as her fingers idly dangled in the water. Pride bubbled in her chest seeing how he made no attempt to remove or hide it. She rubbed her anklet against the back of her left calf as her gaze never ceased. The electricity built in the air with each passing second. His sharp eyes scanned over the orgy once more, and her body began to poise the closer he came. Shock froze her when finally his stare caught her.

“AH HA!” Ben bellowed as he jumped to his feet, “I’ve spotted her! The beautiful Venus!”

She stood up straight and gathered the skirt of her dress as she shuffled backwards. He tossed his goblet aside, the metal clank! disrupting the symphony of moans as it hit the marble floor. He stepped down the dais, over the many writhing women, towards her, “She is the only prize worthy enough for my cock.”

“Then come forth and give chase, mighty Mars,” her voice angelic as she called to him, playing into the fantasy.

A mad giggle left her lips when her bare feet turned and rushed from the room. The moment their host broke into a sprint, the spectators began to cheer and holler. Adrenaline rushed through her veins hearing him get closer. There was no way she could out run him, but she’d give him a hell of a chase. Her eyes darted about wildly looking for her next move. Blood roared in her ears and mind reeled, jeering and cackling faces a blur as she ran down hallway after hallway.

Just as she was about to dash out into a garden, an arm looped around her waist. She squealed loudly as she was swept off her feet and man handled over a shoulder. “WHO WANTS TO WATCH ME FUCK THE GODDESS OF BEAUTY?!?” Ben boomed. Her body burned as the crowd erupted in what could only be described as a horny cheer. She squeaked when his large hand swatted her ass. The crowd followed as he made his way back to the main room.

Ben laughed as he waded through the pool, sloshing water with each stride of his muscular legs. The bottom of her dress skimmed along the surface amongst the rose petals in the crystal blue waters. With a grunt, he stepped onto the platform and set her on the cold marble altar. The way the light bounced off the water made her skin look like gold, catching his attention. He felt himself drooling, “You’re fuckin’ gorgeous.”

Her teeth found purchase of her bottom lip nervously. Ben reached up and held her cheek, thumb brushing against her blushing skin, “Doin’ okay, princess?”

Her adoring eyes gazed up at him as if he was an immortal blessing her with his presence. She gently nodded her head, curls softly swaying. As she nuzzled into his palm, his thumb moved to pull her lip from her teeth, “I’m okay, daddy.”

“That’s my girl,” he pecked her lips softly, “Remember that safe word if it starts gettin’ hairy, okay?”

She leant forward, brushing her lips against his abdomen towards his chest, “Yes, my godly lover. We shouldn’t keep the mortals waiting any longer.”

His smile made her insides melt, “We shouldn’t, my lusty goddess.”

Their lips met in a fierce kiss, Ben’s fingers threading through the hair at the back of her head. The orgy crowd cheered encouragements. The kiss was all tongue and teeth, savagely driven by their sexual frustration. Her small hands pulled at his short toga as his free one began to travel her body, inching up the silk to her thighs. Ben gave her hair a single hard pull before releasing it to grab her hips and reposition her.

After moving her, she sat on his lap with her back to his chest. His strong hands placed her legs on either side of his to expose her to the entire room. A chorus of wolf whistles and hollers filled the air at her exposed cunt. “Take a good long look, boys. This’ll be the only time ya get to see such a beautiful pussy,” Ben shouted. She whimpered quietly as his calluses dug into the meat of her thighs. A deep flush spread across her body seeing all eyes at her center.

She held on to his forearms, breath shaky when a pit of anxiety formed in her chest. Her body relaxed into his more when she felt his lips brush against her ear, “Relax. Just gonna stretch ya out a lil’.” Goosebumps rippled across her flesh feeling his hands travel inward. His right hand traced over her folds, teasing her entrance, as the left began to circle her clit. The way his fingers began to caress her dewy petals morphed her anxieties back into excitement.

A gasp melted into a sigh when he slid one finger inside, teeth nibbling her earlobe as he began to thrust the digit against her soft walls. She whimpered as the fingers teasing her clit finally began to pick up pace. Ben chuckled in her ear sending shivers down her spine, “Keep your legs nice ‘n wide for everyone to see. Gotta teach these mortals how to please a goddess.”

She moaned, flexing her legs wider, “Yes sir.”

He rewarded her by shoving a second finger alongside the first. Both his hands picked up in pace and hardness, fucking into her with a purpose. Over the sound of moaning and cheering, she heard the squelching of his fingers driving her to orgasm. A week without his touch left her overly sensitive. It was embarrassing how quickly he had made a mess of her cunt.

“You’re fuckin’ gushin’ all over my hands. Bet there’s a lil’ puddle under us. Take a look,” Ben nudged his nose against the side of her face, urging her to look down between their spread legs.

She picked her head up off his shoulder, gaze meeting the crowd around the room that were witness to every move, expression, and sound she made. She could see so many men staring, drooling, pleasuring themselves to the sight of Ben’s thick fingers plunging into her wetness. A woman in the pool below them was held between two men who were fucking her to oblivion. Her eyes were glazed over, head leaned back on the other man’s shoulder, moaning to the heavens like a prayer as she never looked away from the show above. A strange heat rose knowing so many were getting pleasure just watching them.

Ben curled his fingers and chuckled when she let out a pathetic cry, “A week without me, and I already got ya squirtin’ on my fingers. Or, is it the fact that all these people wanna fuck you that’s got ya makin’ a mess?” Her body squirmed, coil tightening in her belly as she grabbed at his wrists. Her head fell back against his shoulder once again as let out more moans and whines. “D-Don’t stop! Don’t stop!” she pleaded loudly. When his teeth latched on to her earlobe, she finally exploded. Her thighs shook, nails bit into his skin, and hips rolled more erratically to chase the rest of that high.

Ben’s soft chuckle encouraged her to keep up her display, guiding her hips to rock against his fingers. She cried out when he pulled them from her fluttering walls, “Damn! That was a good one, wasn’t it, Venus?” His smirk grew when she whimpered in agreement. Before she could come out of her daze, he gently maneuvered her body to close her shaking legs and readjust their position once again. He peppered her face with soft kisses as he stood to set her on the altar and slip her dress off over her head. The orgy crowd let their approval be heard.

Delicate fingers began to undress him in earnest. Fuck, he loved her in this headspace. So submissive, so needy, so desperate for him. Just the way he liked her. “Even a goddess is powerless to some good dick,” Ben announced to the room. The room responded with laughs.

“Please, daddy,” she looked up at him with pleading eyes, cute pink hearts floating around in them again.

Ben bit his lip as he threw off his clothes, wrapped his hands around her thighs, and pulled her to the edge of the marble. Her legs hooked around his hips as she ran her hands along his body. A whine escaped her lips when she watched him line up his impressive girth. He tapped the angry red head against her soaked folds, basking in the way she writhed and whined for more. “Sssh, easy. Daddy’ll give you what you need. Just gotta tell everyone in this room how much of a whore you are for me,” he smiled.

He thought she’d be too shy or even hesitate at his command. What he didn’t expect was for her to throw her head back to the ceiling and, in a very clear and desperate voice, say, “Please fuck me, Soldier Boy! I need your cock inside me because I’m your fucking whore!”

Ben’s ego flew through the roof as their audience shouted for more.

“Fuck her, SB!”

“Desperate slut! Give it to her!”

“If you don’t, I will!”

Some of it had jealousy flaring in his chest, but that little anklet dangling off her leg doused it for the time being. He’d deal with those assholes later. Just when she was on the verge of tears, he bullied his thick cock inside her welcoming cunt. Her moan was nearly drowned out by the roar of approval. His hands moved to her hips to guide her over his length at a brutal pace, “That better, baby? Fuck, your pussy keeps sucking me in!” The orgy around them seemed to fade into the background as they fucked like savages. She couldn’t form words as she held on to the edge of the marble with one hand and his bicep in the other. She was fighting off the urge to cum, he could feel it in the way her walls kept fluttering. Probably waiting for his permission.

A feral feeling took over him, and he couldn’t stop. He refused to stop. She came with a scream, her essence gushing all over him. The first bled into a second as his hips pistoned into her. His fingers were leaving bruises in their wake as he held her tightly in place. Her third one wasn’t too far behind, but he could tell she needed a little push.

Ben spoke as the hand on her lower back slide around to strum her clit, “Want you to fuckin’ remember this. How I’m the only man that can get you like this. Only one that can fuck you till you’re brainless.”

“D-D-D-Daddy!” she whimpered, hips rolling on their own.

“Yeah. Just how I like ya. Fucked dumb and full of my cum,” he smiled.

Her walls suddenly contracted around him so tightly he could hardly pull back to drive into her. Her mouth fell open in a silent scream as she squirted like a fountain. That’s the go ahead he was looking for and the band snapped. He shoved his cock as far as he could, kissing her cervix, and painting her insides white. She trembled in the man’s hold as her body felt like she was floating. The crowd around her sounded almost muffled, her attention solely on the man that had her seeing heaven. She barely registered him picking her limp body up until he made her wrap her arms around his neck.

“You did good, baby,” he kissed her lips slowly, “Real good.”

“D-Daddy,” her mind was too far gone, body and sensation having taken over, “I…I…um.”

He shushed her as he made his way from the pool towards his throne, ignoring all the people staring in awe, “Don’t talk. We’re gonna watch the rest of the party while you stay perched on my dick so none of daddy’s cum leaks out. Okay?”

A violent shiver ran through her body before she nodded against his shoulder, “Y-Yes, d-daddy.”

He chuckled, “Good girl, Venus. That’s my good girl.”

328 notes · View notes

theetherealbloom · 5 months ago

Text

IF THERE'S NOTHING LEFT - CH.2

Chapter Two: Hold On For Dear Love

Summary: You, a skilled healer, are brought to Rome by Senator Gracchus under the pretense of treating gladiators and Roman elites. You work with General Marcus Acacius to fight against the cruel reign of the twin emperors. Through danger and shared hope, your connection becomes a source of strength as you both dream of freeing Rome.

Paring: General Marcus Acacius x F!Reader

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, ANGST, Fluff, SMUT, Age-Gap(ish), Ancient Rome, Canon-Typical Violence, Gladiators, Blood, Gore, War, Romance, Politics, Alternate Universe, Eventual SMUT, Slavery, Sexism, Misogyny, Guilt, PTSD, Rebellion, Empires, (Very Light) Strangers-to-Enemies-to-Friends-to-Lovers, Crowds, Shouting, Animals, Duels, Loose Historical Fiction, Kissing,

Word Count: 10.1k

A/N: Chat, I am giving the reader a super vague background, like it won't matter too much, lol. You’re here for the vibes, and so am I ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ So this entire fic isn’t gonna be overly complicated, I don’t think this is the fic for that. I mean, they put sharks in the Colosseum, so… we’re going to take some liberties here and there for funsies. It’s fanfiction, it’s supposed to be fun :> ALSO YA’LL I GOT INTO A GROOVE. I wasn’t planning on updating til next week but the words kept coming to me and suddenly I’m done with chapter two hehe. AND YES YES SHUSH NEXT CHAPTER IS SMUT. MAYBE. Ok enjoy girlies heheh.

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: Hymn To Virgil by Hozier

Previous Chapter → Next Chapter | Series Masterlist |Main Masterlist|

SENATOR THRAEX’S PARTY — DAY

The grand villa was alive with music, laughter, and the heady scent of roasted meats and spilled wine. Senators, high-ranking officials, and Rome's wealthiest citizens mingled among trays of fruit and platters of delicacies, their voices filling the air with a cacophony of conversation and self-indulgent boasts. Courtesans draped in sheer silks wove through the throng, their laughter as light and false as the smiles of their patrons.

You stood to the side, partially hidden in the shadow of a marble column. The position offered a semblance of privacy while giving you a clear view of the room. You made mental notes of the faces present—senators, generals, and merchants, all drunk on wealth and power. Their alliances and rivalries played out in every guarded glance and overly polite toast.

Senator Gracchus approached you with a goblet of wine, his face etched with age but kind. “You look like a soldier observing a battlefield,” he remarked dryly.

You smiled faintly, accepting the drink. “It feels like one. Though I’m not sure which side I belong to.”

Gracchus chuckled, leaning slightly closer. “In Rome, one must always choose a side, my dear. Even if that choice is to appear invisible.”

Before you could respond, a voice interrupted. “Ah, the daughter of misfortune graces us with her presence.” Senator Thraex’s saccharine tone drew the attention of those nearby. He strode toward you, his beady eyes alight with thinly veiled mockery. “I was just telling Gracchus how tragic your loss must have been. Your poor parents—what a terrible end.”

Your jaw tightened, but you forced a polite smile. “Your concern is appreciated, Senator. They are at peace now.”

Thraex clasped his hands, feigning sympathy. “Still, such a pity. A young woman like you, left all alone in this cruel city. Surely by now, you should have found a husband to protect you from its dangers?”

The words stung, though you refused to let it show. Keeping your tone steady, you replied, “I fear my reputation for independence precedes me. Not all men wish to marry someone who refuses to play the meek lamb.”

Gracchus coughed into his goblet, poorly disguising a laugh, while Thraex’s smile faltered. “How... peculiar,” he said, his tone sharper now. “Though perhaps not surprising. It would be difficult to find a suitor for one so... outspoken.”

The room seemed to hum with energy as Thraex’s face, darkened with irritation from your earlier remark, shifted into a mask of forced hospitality when his gaze landed on a man entering the crowd—a towering figure wrapped in silk and jewels, his presence as commanding as it was enigmatic. You followed Thraex's movement as he moved to greet the man, a name rippling through your thoughts: Macrinus.

You had heard whispers of him before. A former gladiator who had fought for his freedom, now a powerbroker in Rome. He supplied food, wine, and oil for the empire’s armies, manufactured weapons, and even maintained a stable of gladiators. His name carried weight, his connections extending into the darkest corners of Roman politics.

As Thraex approached Macrinus, his false charm returned, his arms spreading wide. “Macrinus!” he greeted, his voice dripping with exaggerated warmth. He clapped the man on the shoulder with an enthusiasm that bordered on theatrical. “I knew the provinces could never contain you.”

Macrinus accepted the embrace with a faint smirk, his dark eyes scanning the room with calculated ease. “I’m just here for the games,” he replied, his tone casual, though there was a hint of something sharper beneath the surface.

Thraex chuckled, his grip lingering on the man’s shoulder. “Ah well, you won't be disappointed. Rome has all the games that men like you like to play.”

“Men like me, cracks men like us.” Macrinus shot back, his grin widening. “I know nothing happens in Rome unless you… tasted it first! ”

Thraex laughed at the jab, the sound too loud to be sincere. Their exchange continued, a dance of veiled threats and mutual amusement. You lingered at the edge of the room, doing your best to blend into the shadows, your ears straining to catch every word.

Thraex handed Macrinus a gilded chalice of wine, his eyes glinting with curiosity. “What's this we hear about you being interested in standing for an election to the senate practice?”

Macrinus stiffened, his surprise poorly concealed as he let out a dry chuckle. “Me? You know, I don't even know how to use an abacus,” He sipped his wine before adding with a wry smile, “but I do understand that… it's customary for your guests to make wagers at these affairs.”

Thraex’s eyes narrowed slightly, though his smile didn’t falter. “How large a sum did you have in mind?”

Macrinus tilted his head thoughtfully, the jewels around his neck catching the light. “A thousand gold aureus?”

Thraex’s lips curled into a grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “Two,” he countered smoothly.

Macrinus glanced at the courtesan draped over his arm, as if seeking her approval. The woman gave a slight nod, and Macrinus shrugged, turning back to Thraex. “Denarius,” he said simply, the single word carrying enough weight to silence Thraex for a fleeting moment.

Macrinus walked away with an easy swagger, leaving Thraex standing alone with his forced smile slipping into a scowl. The flash of irritation on his face, so quickly concealed, didn’t escape your notice.

You couldn’t suppress a small smirk of your own as you turned your attention elsewhere. Rome’s elite might dress themselves in finery and smiles, but it was clear that every word exchanged tonight was a thread in the intricate tapestry of power. Threads you were determined to unravel.

The air in the grand hall shifted, thick with anticipation as the crowd clustered toward the edges of the room. The glint of opulence—golden goblets, silk-draped tables, and jewels adorning the guests—clashed against the dark reality of what was about to unfold. Your eyes lingered briefly on a figure across the way: a man, bound in chains, sitting quietly. There was no fear in his expression, only a smoldering anger that made you uneasy.

The sound of clapping drew your attention back to the center of the room. Senator Thraex, ever the showman, raised his voice above the murmur of the crowd. “Stand back! Stand back!” he called, his tone a mix of authority and delight.

You stepped aside, blending into the edges of the gathering, as the spectators parted to form a circle. The twin emperors, Caracalla and Geta, lounged decadently on their perch, surrounded by concubines who laughed and whispered among themselves. Their indifference to the gathering's undertones was maddening.

Thraex turned toward them with an exaggerated bow. “My emperors,” he began with a grin before addressing the audience. “Lords, ladies, senators—tonight, for your entertainment... the art of combat!”

Excited gasps rippled through the room, the revelers’ reactions equal parts anticipation and bloodlust. You fought the urge to roll your eyes. Thraex gestured dramatically toward the two men brought forward—one was the same figure you’d seen earlier, still brooding but now standing tall.

“And now,” Thraex continued, “the barbarian, versus from my own stable, the mighty Vijay!”

The crowd erupted into applause as Vijay, a towering figure in a yellow tunic, was escorted forward. His opponent, the gladiator from across the room, now squared his shoulders and met Vijay’s gaze.

“It is your gladiator?” Emperor Geta asked, his tone laced with mild amusement, as he glanced at Macrinus.

Macrinus inclined his head respectfully. “It is, your Majesty.”

Chains were removed from both men, their freedom feeling more like a death sentence. Thraex began to set the terms. “Three rounds, hand-to-hand—”

But Emperor Caracalla’s voice cut through. “Swords!” he barked, his grin wicked.

The room fell silent.

“We want swords. A fight to the death!” Caracalla continued, his voice rising with glee. “No quarter to be offered, or given!”

Thraex hesitated, his expression faltering for a moment, but the guards stepped forward, placing swords into the gladiators’ hands. You felt your stomach twist as the two men began circling one another.

The gladiator of Macrinus spoke first, his voice calm but edged with pleading. “Brother, come now. Let us not kill each other for their amusement.”

Vijay’s only response was a roar as he lunged, his sword slicing through the air. The next moments were chaos. Blades clanged as they met, sparks flying from each blow. The room seemed to shrink around the violence as tables splintered and decorations toppled.

The climax came when Vijay’s sword slipped from his grasp in the scuffle. The other gladiator seized the opportunity, driving his blade into Vijay’s chest. A sharp gasp escaped you as the larger man crumpled to the marble floor, his blood pooling beneath him.

The victor tossed his sword to the ground with a clatter, breathing heavily, his face and tunic spattered with blood. Around you, the crowd erupted into applause and cheers, their delight in stark contrast to your quiet horror.

“Remarkable!” Emperor Geta exclaimed, standing as he clapped his hands. He approached Macrinus with an approving nod. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you, your Majesty,” Macrinus replied smoothly.

Geta then turned to the gladiator, studying him with newfound interest. “From where do you hail?”

The man said nothing, his jaw set, his silence defiant.

The tension in the room grew thick. Even you found yourself leaning forward, curiosity mingling with unease.

“Speak,” Geta commanded sharply. When no answer came, his impatience boiled over. “I said speak!”

Macrinus stepped in quickly, bowing his head. “Your Majesty, he is from the colonies. His native tongue is all he understands.”

The gladiator finally raised his head, his voice cutting through the room like a blade. “The gates of hell are open night and day; smooth the descent, and easy is the way: but to come back from hell, and view the cheerful skies, in this the task and mighty labor lies.”

The poetry stunned you, the eloquence jarring against the brutal spectacle that had just unfolded. Around you, the room fell silent for a beat before Caracalla broke into a laugh.

“Poetry!” the Caracalla declared, grinning as he turned to Macrinus. “Very clever, Macrinus. Very clever indeed.”

Macrinus bowed slightly. “To amuse you is my only wish, your Majesty.”

“We are amused,” Geta said, though his gaze remained fixed on the gladiator. His voice rose as he addressed the room. “And we all look forward to seeing your poet… perform in the arena.”

“As do I your majesty's.” Macrinus gestured to his guard. “Viggo,” he said softly, and the guard stepped forward to escort the gladiator out of the room.

As the crowd began to disperse, murmurs of excitement rippling through the air, you remained rooted in place. Your eyes followed the blood trail left by Vijay’s body as it was dragged away. The victor—dripping in another man’s blood, yet unbowed—disappeared through the doors, his haunting words lingering in your mind like a ghost.

LUCILLA'S VILLA — LATE AFTERNOON

The villa of Domitia Lucilla stood as a serene contrast to the chaos of Rome—a sprawling sanctuary of pale stone walls and gardens heavy with the scent of roses and citrus. The late afternoon sun stretched shadows across the courtyard as you entered, the weariness from Senator Thraex’s debauched gathering weighing heavily on your shoulders.

Lucilla awaited you, standing poised near a column. Her cream stola shifted with the breeze, but her sharp gaze was unwavering, as if she had been expecting this moment.

“You’ve returned,” she said, warmth in her voice tempered by the gravity of her expression.

“I have, my lady—”

She waved off the formalities with a flick of her wrist. “Enough with that. How many times must I tell you?”

“Habit,” you replied with a faint smile, though it lacked its usual brightness.

Her lips twitched with amusement, but concern quickly took its place. “And how was Senator Thraex’s gathering? As intolerable as I feared?”

You sighed, the grotesque excess of the night flashing briefly in your mind. “More wine than wit. And blood, of course. Always blood.”

Lucilla’s mouth tightened, her brow furrowing just enough to betray her displeasure. She stepped closer, resting a hand lightly on your shoulder. “Rome devours itself with spectacle. It leaves nothing but emptiness behind,” she murmured.

You nodded but didn’t speak. The heaviness of her words settled heavily on you because they were true.

“And Thraex himself?” she pressed, tilting her head.

You hesitated. “He made his usual jabs about my… unmarried state. Feigned sympathy for my family. And spent an inordinate amount of time with Macrinus, the arms dealer. It seemed more calculated than casual.”

Lucilla’s eyes narrowed slightly, her mind already turning. “Macrinus does not waste his time on frivolities. If Thraex is courting him, there’s more at play.”

“Something to do with the games tomorrow, perhaps?” you suggested. “He seemed eager for them.”

Lucilla’s lips pressed into a thin line. “It’s possible. His ambitions are endless, and I fear his alliances will be the ruin of many.”

“Rome always finds a way to drag us into its mire,” you muttered bitterly.

Her hand on your shoulder tightened briefly, reassuring. “Then we tread carefully. But not tonight. Tonight, we focus on what lies ahead. The senators will convene soon, and General Acacius is to join us.”

You huffed a soft laugh, though it carried a trace of exasperation. “A grand gathering in his honor, and he doesn’t bother to attend the festivities.”

Lucilla arched a brow, her expression turning sly. “Were you hoping he would?”

Heat rushed to your face, and you fumbled for a response. “I—no, of course not. I just thought it odd.”

“Mm.” Her tone was noncommittal, but her knowing smile made you glance away.

Before you could dwell on your embarrassment, Lucilla turned down another garden path, leaving you to follow. It was there, amid the soft hum of cicadas and the golden haze of the late afternoon, that you saw him.

Marcus Acacius sat beneath a pergola, his broad shoulders bent slightly over a parchment, a quill poised in his hand. A goblet of wine sat forgotten beside him, the scene unexpectedly tranquil for a man of his reputation.

Lucilla glanced over her shoulder with a smirk. “It seems you’ll get your wish after all.”

Your stomach twisted at her words, but before you could form a protest, she disappeared around the corner. Left to your own devices, you took a steadying breath and approached. The crunch of gravel underfoot drew his attention, and he looked up, his dark eyes softening as they met yours.

“I was beginning to think you wouldn’t return,” he said, his voice low and warm, though a flicker of relief betrayed him.

You tilted your head, folding your arms as you came closer. “And I was beginning to think you’d forgotten the party was meant for you.”

Marcus chuckled, setting down his quill. “Crowded rooms filled with drunken senators and empty promises hold little appeal. I prefer the quiet.” He gestured to the bench across from him. “Join me?”

For a moment, you hesitated, the unspoken tension between you filling the air. But then you sat, folding your hands neatly in your lap.

“The games tomorrow will be particularly… extravagant,” you said, glancing at the parchment. “I’m to serve as a healer for the event.”

His brow furrowed. “You’ll be in the arena?”

“Not in it,” you replied quickly. “But close enough.”

Marcus’s jaw tightened. “It’s barbaric. They celebrate death, and you’re left to mend what’s left behind.”

“It’s Rome,” you said with a shrug, though the bitterness in your voice was unmistakable.

“Does it not anger you?” His voice was steady but insistent, his gaze searching yours.

You hesitated before answering. “Every day,” you admitted quietly. “But anger doesn’t heal. It doesn’t save lives.”

His hand moved, resting near yours on the table—not touching, but close enough that the space between felt charged. “You do more than heal,” he said after a moment. “You remind us of what’s worth saving.”

The sincerity in his words made your breath hitch. For a moment, you didn’t know what to say.

“I only do what I can,” you said finally.

“And it’s enough,” he replied, his voice firm.

Silence settled between you, but it was not empty. It was heavy with questions left unasked, with the unshakable feeling that you knew him from somewhere beyond this life.

“You’re different,” he said suddenly.

You raised an eyebrow, half-amused. “Is that a compliment or a warning?”

He smiled faintly. “A truth.”

You studied him, the edges of recognition tugging at your mind. “Have we met before?”

His hand stilled, his expression unreadable. “Why do you ask?”

“It’s the way you look at me,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “Like you know something I don’t.”

For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, softly, “Perhaps I’m just trying to understand you.”

“And do you?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, he didn’t answer. Instead, his gaze lingered on yours, as if he were searching for something—something hidden behind the words you didn’t say. His jaw tightened, and then relaxed, his hesitation drawing out the silence until it felt like the whole garden held its breath.

The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting an amber glow across the courtyard. The scent of citrus blossoms drifted through the air, mingling with the faint tang of oil from the bronze lamps. You and Marcus sat across from each other, the heavy quiet between you punctuated by the distant hum of the city below.

“I think,” he said finally, his voice low and measured, “that you’re not as much of a mystery as you’d like to believe.”

You said nothing, the truth of his words settling over you. He wasn’t the first to try to understand you, but he was the first whose attempt didn’t feel like an invasion. Still, you kept your silence, hoping it would shield whatever he thought he saw.

Marcus leaned back slightly, his gaze unwavering, though his tone softened. “You wear your defiance like armor. It suits you, but…” He hesitated, as if searching for the right words. “Even armor cracks under enough weight.”

Your chest tightened. There was no judgment in his voice, just quiet understanding, and that somehow made it worse. You turned your eyes to the horizon, watching as the light bled into dusk.

“And you?” you asked at last, your voice quiet, almost tentative. “What cracks your armor?”

He didn’t answer immediately, his jaw tightening as he looked away. For a long moment, you thought he might deflect or let the question fall unanswered. But then he sighed, his shoulders dropping slightly, the facade of the unshakable general slipping.

“The things I’ve done,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “The wars. The lives I’ve taken. I tell myself it was duty. For Rome. For honor. But when I close my eyes…” His hand curled into a fist on the table, the scarred knuckles white with tension. “I see their faces. The ones I killed. The ones I couldn’t save. Sometimes, I think that’s all there is left of me. Blood and ghosts.”

His words hung in the air, raw and unguarded. You felt the sharp sting of his pain as if it were your own, and it stirred something deep within you—a desire not to fix him, but to let him be broken without shame.

“There’s more to you than that,” you said softly, surprising even yourself with the conviction in your voice. “Let the brokenness be felt, Marcus, until you reach the other side. There is goodness in the heart of every broken man who comes right up to the edge of losing everything he has.”

He looked at you then, his expression unreadable, but his eyes—those fierce, commanding eyes—betrayed a flicker of something fragile. “And if the edge is all that’s left?”

You shook your head. “Then you find your way back. One step, one breath, one choice at a time. You’ve already come this far.”

A faint, wry smile tugged at his lips. “You sound certain.”

“I am,” you said simply. “Because I’ve seen it before. I’ve seen men lose everything and still find the strength to rebuild. You’ve endured so much, Marcus. And yet, here you are.”

His gaze lingered on you, and for a moment, the air between you felt impossibly heavy, as though the weight of both your pasts had settled there. But then, something shifted—just a fraction—and the tension eased.

“Tell me,” he said quietly, leaning forward. “How does someone like you—someone who speaks of goodness and second chances—end up in a place like this?”

You let out a soft laugh, though it held no humor. “A long story,” you said, your tone laced with irony.

He smiled faintly. “I’ve got time.”

The simplicity of his statement caught you off guard. You studied him for a moment, searching for any trace of mockery, but found none. He was patient, steady, like a man who had weathered every storm and learned to endure the waiting.

You hesitated, then began to speak—not all at once, but in fragments. You told him of the choices that had brought you here, the moments of defiance and loss that had shaped you. He listened without interrupting, his focus unbroken, as though each word mattered.

When the story faltered and the silence crept back in, Marcus spoke again, his voice gentle. “You’ve carried much on your shoulders.”

You shrugged, your gaze fixed on the table. “Haven’t we all?”

He nodded, a faint smile playing at his lips. “Perhaps. But not everyone carries it as well as you.”

The compliment startled you, and you looked up to find him watching you with something like admiration. It wasn’t romantic, not yet—but it was real, and it unsettled you in a way you couldn’t quite name.

“You don’t know me well enough to say that,” you said, though your voice lacked its usual bite.

“Not yet,” he agreed. “But I’d like to.”

Something in his tone—a quiet sincerity, unadorned by pretense—made you pause. You realized, with a small jolt, that you wanted to know him, too. Not just the general, but the man beneath the armor.

“Maybe,” you said finally, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “If you’re patient.”

His smile widened, just a little, and for the first time, you saw a glimmer of hope in his eyes. “I’ve learned to be patient,” he said. “For the right things.”

And as the night deepened and the stars began to dot the sky, you found yourself wondering if, perhaps, this was one of them.

The room was dark, the faint glow of torchlight from the grilled window casting long, flickering shadows on the walls. Lucilla stood beside you, her sharp eyes trained on the guards below as they exchanged shifts. She watched silently, her body tense but still, until the last of them disappeared around the corner.

With a soft sigh, she turned back into the room and extinguished the candles one by one. The light died away, replaced by the cover of darkness. Outside, a guard’s voice called up, noting that she must be retiring for the evening.

You remained quiet, holding the lamp as Lucilla adjusted her robes and pulled up the hood, the fabric obscuring her features. The air felt heavier now, laden with unspoken tension. She glanced at you, her gaze sharp even in the dim light.

“Are you ready?” she asked, her voice a low murmur.

You nodded and pulled your own hood over your head. The warmth of the lamp in your hand was a small comfort against the chill of the night.

Lucilla stepped closer, her hands gripping your forearm briefly as she said your name. “You must know,” she said, her voice quiet but firm, “if you do this with us, there is a possibility that we may be discovered. And the penalties—”

“I’m aware,” you interrupted gently, meeting her gaze. There was no hesitation in your voice.

She studied you for a moment longer, then nodded, a faint flicker of respect passing over her features. Without another word, she turned toward a small shrine tucked into the corner of the room.

Kneeling, she rolled back a slab of marble with deliberate care, revealing a narrow passage that led downward. The air that seeped out was cool and damp, smelling faintly of earth and stone.

Lucilla motioned for you to follow, and you descended after her, the spiral staircase winding tightly into the depths. Your lamp cast shifting shadows on the walls, and the faint echoes of your footsteps seemed louder than they should have been.

The tunnel at the bottom was carved with care, though the stone showed its age. Lucilla moved through it with practiced ease, her robes brushing against the walls as the passage widened and opened into a massive underground catacomb.

You stopped short, your breath catching at the sight. The vaulted ceilings arched high above you, their grandeur almost otherworldly. This place was built for eternity, every detail a testament to early Roman splendor. Statues of gods and long-dead ancestors stood sentinel, their marble faces solemn in the lamplight.

Lucilla’s steps slowed as she approached a series of crypts. Each one was marked with the bust of a family member, their likenesses carved into the stone. She stopped before the bust of Marcus Aurelius, her father, and laid a hand on its smooth surface.

“Father,” she whispered, her voice tinged with both reverence and sorrow, “protect us and guide us.” Her fingers lingered for a moment before she turned away, her expression unreadable.

You wanted to say something, to break the silence, but the words escaped you. There was a sacredness here that felt unshakable, a weight you couldn’t quite explain.

ANTECHAMBER — MINUTES LATER

The air in the antechamber felt thick, like the weight of centuries pressed down upon you all. Torches lined the stone walls, their flickering light casting wavering shadows on faces lined with tension and purpose. The damp chill of the underground space only added to the solemnity of the moment.

Lucilla moved forward with practiced grace, her head held high despite the gravity of the meeting. The first man stepped into the torchlight, his wiry frame and sharp features softened only by the faint trace of a smile.

“Gracchus,” Lucilla said warmly, extending her hands. “Old friend.”

Gracchus clasped her hands briefly, his grip conveying both respect and concern. “My lady. I wish we were meeting in better times.”

Lucilla’s lips curved into a faint smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “The sun shone once—it will shine again.”

Gracchus raised an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth quirking into a sardonic smirk. “And what in heaven’s name does that mean?”

Before Lucilla could answer, a low, resonant voice emerged from the shadows. “It means hope, Gracchus.”

You started slightly, your heart skipping as a figure stepped forward. Marcus Acacius. The flickering light caught the edges of his armor, making it gleam like liquid fire. His presence filled the room effortlessly, his broad frame and steady gaze commanding attention.

Gracchus let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “Oh yes. He is shiny.”

Marcus didn’t react to the jest, but his eyes flicked between Lucilla and Gracchus before settling briefly on you. His gaze held for a beat too long, making your pulse quicken.

“Did I startle you?” he asked, his tone smooth but edged with faint amusement.

You straightened, tightening your grip on the lamp you carried. “Not at all,” you said, though your voice betrayed you.

The faintest hint of a smile touched his lips, but he turned his attention back to Gracchus, his expression growing serious. “We want to take back the city. To restore Rome to what it should be.”

Gracchus’s expression darkened, doubt creeping into his voice. “An exciting venture. When?”

“On the final day of the games,” Marcus replied firmly.

Gracchus raised a skeptical brow. “How?”

Marcus’s jaw tightened, the tension clear as he measured his words. “My army waits for my command at Ostia. Five thousand soldiers loyal to me will enter Rome. I intend to arrest our emperors in front of the crowds at the Colosseum for their crimes against the Senate and the people.”

A long, heavy silence followed. Gracchus exchanged a wary glance with Thraex, who stood silently in the background. The two senators appeared burdened with years of cynicism, the spark of belief long extinguished.

Lucilla broke the quiet, her voice sharp and resolute. “We cannot continue to see Rome damaged, sliding further into corruption and decay.”

Thraex snorted softly, folding his arms. “Does he want to be Emperor?”

Marcus’s gaze sharpened as he shook his head. “I am a soldier, not a politician. Rome will be yours to administer and—”

Gracchus interrupted him, his tone cutting. “Your father spoke of returning power to the Senate. But that was a generation ago. Much has changed. The people haven’t seen hope for years, and—”

This time, Marcus’s voice rose slightly, his frustration bleeding through. “Rome is not yet ready to be a republic, but with time—and guidance—a vote by the people, for the people, would mean—”

Lucilla placed a steady hand on Marcus’s arm, quieting him. She turned to Gracchus, her voice calmer but no less determined. “Rome can live again. Do we have your support, Gracchus?”

Gracchus hesitated, his gaze shifting to you, then back to Marcus. Finally, he nodded slowly, his voice soft. “Lucilla, you are the daughter of Marcus Aurelius. He had my loyalty, and so do you.”

Lucilla allowed herself a small smile. “A political answer, but good enough. Senator Thraex?”

Thraex hesitated, his eyes flickering to you. He seemed to brace himself before speaking. “Politics follows power, my lady. Take back what is rightfully yours, and the Senate will support you.”

The room seemed to exhale as the senators gave their tentative agreement, but Gracchus’s gaze lingered on you. His voice softened. “I vowed to your parents I would take care of you. To give you a life beyond this... chaos.”

Your grip on the lamp tightened as you met his gaze, your voice steady despite the turmoil in your chest. “There is no point in life if the future of Rome is nothing but an abuse of power and position.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Marcus’s expression shift. His gaze rested on you, his brow furrowing slightly, as if he were seeing you in a new light.

The torches flickered, their flames casting light on faces filled with determination and shadows that hinted at the dangerous road ahead. You glanced at Marcus once more, and his eyes caught yours, a faint, unspoken understanding passing between you.

THE COLOSSEUM — DAY

The air around the Colosseum is alive with a chaotic energy that hums through the sprawling crowd. The great amphitheater towers above, its shadow sprawling across the dusty streets. Vendors shout over one another, selling honeyed dates, roasted nuts, and cheap wine. Children dart between the throngs, their quick fingers snatching at coin purses while wide-eyed newcomers marvel at the spectacle before them.

As you approach the towering Capitoline Arch, your eyes lift to the imposing statue of General Marcus Acacius atop a marble plinth. The sunlight gleams off the bronze plaque beneath, bearing the inscription: ACACIUS, VICTOR AFRICAE.

You pause, a faint sigh escaping your lips as you take it in. The statue is majestic, carved with precision to capture his strength and valor, but there’s something about its stillness, its perfection, that feels wrong. The man you’ve come to know is far more complicated than the warrior immortalized in marble.

Pulling your hood closer to shield yourself from prying eyes, you make your way toward the entrance of the Colosseum.

Outside the massive arena, the crowd is dense, funneling into the arched entrances like water forced through narrow channels. The scent of sweat, baked bread, and dust clings to the air.

A wagon lumbers past, its wheels creaking as it pulls into the rear gates of the Colosseum. The iron gates groan shut behind it with a finality that makes you shiver.

Your eyes catch on one of the gladiators stepping down from the wagon. He is broad-shouldered, with a grim expression and scars that tell stories of survival. Recognition flickers in your mind—he was at Senator Thraex’s gathering, one of Macrinus’ men.

For a moment, his gaze meets yours, sharp and searching. You quickly turn away, the weight of his stare lingering like a brand on your skin.

COLOSSEUM UNDERCROFT — DAY

The undercroft is a world unto itself, hidden beneath the grandeur of the arena above. The air here is damp and stale, filled with the mingled scents of blood, sweat, and the earthy musk of the animals kept for the games. Torches line the stone walls, their flames barely cutting through the heavy gloom.

You step carefully, the hem of your robe brushing against the uneven stones beneath your feet. Around you, the sounds of preparation echo—metallic clangs of swords being sharpened, the low murmur of prayers whispered by gladiators, and the distant roar of the crowd above, a constant reminder of what waits beyond.

A sudden shout breaks through the noise, and you flinch instinctively, your hand tightening around the lamp you carry.

“Keep moving!” A guard barks, shoving a gladiator forward.

You press yourself against the wall to let them pass, your eyes following the line of chained men as they march toward their fate. The air feels heavier here, thick with despair and the metallic tang of blood that never quite fades from the stone.

The main chamber opens ahead, a cavernous space carved from the bedrock, with a stone memorial spanning two centuries etched into one of the walls. The names carved there seem endless, a testament to the lives given—or taken—beneath this roof.

You step into the room, your eyes searching for Ravi, the healer who has been your closest ally in this grim underworld. He is leaning over a battered table, his thick canvas coat bristling with the tools of his trade—scalpels, needles, and small bottles of tinctures.

Ravi glances up as you approach, his dark eyes meeting yours. He nods, his expression weary but kind. “You’re late,” he says, his tone more teasing than reproachful.

“I was delayed,” you reply, setting the lamp down on the edge of the table.

Ravi straightens, his hands covered in the telltale stains of his work. “Delayed by a statue, no doubt,” he says with a smirk, nodding toward the hallway you came from.

You sigh, rolling your eyes. “Not just the statue. The entire crowd outside could rival an army.”

He chuckles softly, but his humor fades as his gaze shifts to the tools laid out before him. “It’s a mad world out there. And in here. They’ll call it glory, but we know better, don’t we?”

You nod, your fingers brushing against one of the bottles of tincture on the table. “How many today?”

“Too many,” Ravi replies grimly. “It always is. But if we don’t patch them up, they’ll be thrown back into the arena like lambs to the slaughter.”

You glance toward the memorial wall, the endless names a stark reminder of what happens when healing is no longer enough. “And yet they cheer,” you say softly, more to yourself than to him.

Ravi follows your gaze, his expression hardening. “They cheer because they’re too far away to hear the screams. From up there, it’s just a show.”

A heavy silence falls between you, the weight of his words settling in the space like a tangible presence.

Finally, Ravi breaks it, his voice quieter now. “You could have been anywhere. A villa in the hills, a proper clinic, somewhere far from all of this. Why here?”

You meet his gaze, your voice steady despite the ache in your chest. “Because someone has to be.”

Before Ravi can respond, the distant blare of a cornu horn echoes through the chamber, its mournful call summoning the combatants to the arena.

Ravi exhales, shaking his head. “That’s our cue.”

You nod, grabbing the lamp and turning toward the corridor. “Let’s hope today isn’t worse than the last.”

Ravi follows, his canvas coat swaying as he moves. “Hope’s in short supply here,” he mutters. But then, as if to lighten the mood, he adds, “But if anyone can keep these bastards alive, it’s us.”

A faint smile pulls at your lips as the two of you head toward the chaos waiting above. The sound of the horn grows louder, blending with the roar of the crowd—a noise as relentless as the tide.

The roar of the Colosseum was muffled slightly where you and Ravi stood in the shadow of the lower arches, but the sight above was impossible to ignore. Caracalla and Geta had already taken their places in the royal seats, their expressions imperious yet lacking true command. The crowd’s response to their arrival was lukewarm, tepid applause barely rippling through the masses.

Ravi glanced at you, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “They can’t even fake enthusiasm for their own Emperors. Telling, isn’t it?”

You nodded grimly, shifting your gaze to the arena floor where the fight’s Master of Ceremonies stood, clearly tense. He gestured sharply to the musicians, prompting them to play a fanfare in a desperate attempt to rouse the audience.

Through the giant copper horn mounted on a stand, his voice bellowed, “Citizens of Rome! These sacred games are held to honor the victory of Rome over the barbarians of Numidia—”

You winced at the crude remark, the words cutting through the air with their arrogance.

“And to honor Rome's legionary commander, General Justus Acacius!”

At the mention of Acacius, your eyes instinctively sought him out. There he was, emerging in white and gold, a gleaming figure against the harsh backdrop of the Colosseum. His presence was magnetic, commanding without effort. He moved with the same purpose he always did, though you could sense a tension in his posture, a reluctance masked by the pageantry.

Lucilla followed close behind him, her chin lifted with practiced grace. When the Master of Ceremonies announced her name—“Lucilla, the daughter of Emperor Marcus Aurelius!”—the crowd erupted into thunderous applause, a stark contrast to their earlier indifference.

Beside you, Ravi let out a low whistle. “They still adore her.”

“They always will,” you murmured, watching as she ascended to the royal seats under the guise of honor, though you knew better. The two Centurions flanking her were not mere escorts but guards, a subtle display of control that would escape the average onlooker.

From this distance, it seemed she embraced the accolades, her every gesture perfectly measured. But you caught the slight flicker in her expression when she glanced toward Acacius.

“You honor us with your presence. Speak to the plebeians, Acacius,” Geta commanded, his tone laced with condescension.

You held your breath, sensing the reluctance in Marcus’s stillness. He exchanged a look with Lucilla, brief but telling, before his gaze swept across the crowd, searching. When his eyes found yours, something in his demeanor shifted—resolve, perhaps, or a need for grounding.

Finally, he rose, stepping to the railing as the crowd quieted, anticipation thick in the air. His voice, deep and steady, carried over the expanse with ease.

“I am not an orator, nor a politician,” he began, the simplicity of his words a sharp contrast to the pomp surrounding him. “I am only a soldier. Real heroism is not the stuff of games.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd, confusion and intrigue mingling as Acacius’s words sank in.

“It reveals itself to us only in the service of life itself,” he continued, his gaze unwavering. “I have seen bravery in men during war, and from women, too—bravery that does not falter in the face of fear but rises to meet it. And even, once, in this arena.”

Your breath hitched, the weight of his words pressing against you. Though his gaze never left the crowd, you felt as though those words were for you alone.

“If you pray,” Marcus’s voice deepened, his tone almost pleading, “pray that the gods will deliver us bravery like that. Because Rome needs it now.”

The silence that followed was profound, the kind that held more weight than applause. Then, slowly, the crowd erupted, their cheers cascading through the Colosseum like a wave.

You watched him step back from the railing, his expression inscrutable as he returned to his seat. But as the applause thundered on, his eyes found yours again, and in that brief moment, you saw it—something unspoken yet unmistakable.

Ravi nudged you gently, breaking the spell. “He’s good, I’ll give him that.”

You nodded, your heart still pounding. “Better than they deserve,” you said softly, though your thoughts were far from the Emperors.

The tension in the Colosseum was recognized as the opening ceremony came to an end. Caracalla and Geta clapped from their royal seats, their applause mechanical and devoid of genuine enthusiasm. Below, the Master of Ceremonies stood nervously, his voice amplified by the great copper horn.

“From the South Gate... fighters from the stable of Macrinus of Thysdrus!”

Your gaze darted to the southern entrance, where the gladiators emerged into the blinding sunlight. You recognized one of them—Hanno of Numidia—whose name Ravi had told you earlier. The crowd greeted them with scattered boos and jeers, a stark contrast to the grandeur of the arena itself.

Hanno walked with measured steps, his expression stoic as he led the small group to the center of the arena. His shoulders bore the weight of more than just the armor; you could see it in his eyes.

“And from the stables of our Emperors Caracalla and Geta themselves: Glyceo the Destroyer!”

The eastern gates creaked open, revealing a towering figure clad in ornate armor, seated atop a great white rhino. The crowd erupted in frenzied cheers, the noise reverberating through the stone walls. The rhino trotted with surprising agility, its hooves kicking up clouds of dust as it carried Glyceo with the ease of a seasoned warrior.

From your vantage point, you saw the glint of weapons strapped to the rhino’s side—an axe, a sword, a mace, and a bola. Glyceo reached for the mace, gripping its heavy handle with a confidence born from countless victories.

The first gladiator dared to challenge the beast, stepping forward with his sword raised. He attempted to dodge the rhino’s charge at the last moment, but the creature’s speed and precision were unmatched. The horn struck him with brutal force, sending him flying across the arena before the rhino finished him off with a savage thrust.

Your stomach churned as the body was tossed aside like a ragdoll. The crowd’s cheers only grew louder.

Hanno stood still, his gaze fixed on the carnage. Then, almost imperceptibly, he crouched and scooped a handful of sand from the arena floor, letting it sift through his fingers. The gesture was hauntingly familiar—a ritual Maximus had performed before every fight.

Beside you, Ravi murmured, “Do you see that? He remembers.”

You glanced at Lucilla in the royal box, noting the flicker of something in her expression—recognition, perhaps, or sorrow. But she quickly masked it, her face hardening as she turned back to the arena.

The rhino charged again, this time with Glyceo’s mace raised high. Hanno sidestepped at the last possible moment, but the rhino’s horn clipped him, sending him sprawling. Dust clouded the air as the beast wheeled around, disoriented by the sunlight.

Hanno was quick to act. He flung the remaining sand into the air, creating a bright, blinding curtain that obscured his movements. The rhino charged again, unable to see clearly, and slammed full force into the arena wall. Glyceo was thrown like a ragdoll, his body hitting the stone with a sickening thud.

The rhino staggered, its massive frame reeling as it struggled to regain its footing. Hanno retrieved his sword and advanced on Glyceo, who was already scrambling to his feet. Their blades met in a clash of steel, sparks flying as Glyceo’s superior strength began to overwhelm Hanno.

You leaned forward, gripping the stone railing as Glyceo delivered a brutal series of blows, forcing Hanno to his knees. The crowd chanted, their bloodlust palpable.

Lucilla gasped, turning away, her hand trembling as it gripped the edge of her seat. Even Macrinus, who had been watching with a calculating gaze, shook his head slightly.

Glyceo raised his short sword, poised to deliver the final blow. He paused, turning to the royal box for approval.

“Shall we spare his life, brother?” Geta asked, his tone mockingly casual.

Caracalla shrugged, a cruel smile playing on his lips. “I wouldn’t mind seeing some blood.”

Geta ignored him, his attention shifting to Lucilla. “Lucilla, shall we show mercy?”

Lucilla hesitated, her voice trembling. “Mercy.” The word was barely audible, choked with guilt and something deeper.

Geta stood, raising his fist. The crowd fell silent, holding their breath as he slowly extended his thumb upward, granting Hanno his life. The Colosseum erupted in cheers, but the celebration was short-lived.

“No,” Hanno said, his voice cutting through the noise like a blade.

The crowd stilled, murmurs of confusion rippling through the stands.

“No mercy,” he repeated, his tone resolute.

Geta’s face twisted in disbelief. “Gladiator, we have spared your life. No one refuses—”

“I will not accept mercy,” Hanno interrupted, rising to his feet despite the blood dripping from his wounds. He turned to the royal box, his gaze unwavering. “I would sooner face your blade than accept Roman mercy.”

The crowd erupted in chaos—laughter, jeers, and shouts of encouragement mingling in a cacophony of sound.

“Fight on, then, fool, and die,” Geta spat, his face reddening with embarrassment.

Glyceo lunged, his mace swinging in a wide arc. Hanno ducked, his movements fueled by desperation and fury. With a final burst of strength, he seized his fallen short sword and drove it into Glyceo’s abdomen. The mighty gladiator staggered, his expression one of shock before he collapsed, lifeless, into the sand.

The crowd roared its approval, chanting Hanno’s name as he stood victorious. From the royal box, Macrinus smiled, his eyes gleaming with intrigue. You couldn’t help but watch Hanno with a mixture of awe and apprehension, your heart pounding as the weight of the moment settled over the arena.

COLOSSEUM HOSPITAL ROOM — NIGHT

The dim light of flickering oil lamps cast wavering shadows on the rough stone walls of the makeshift infirmary. The smell of blood, sweat, and burnt herbs clung to the air like a heavy shroud. Ravi moved methodically among the injured, tending to other gladiators with a calm, steady hand.

You were left alone with Hanno. He sat on a wooden stool, his posture tense despite the exhaustion etched into his features. A deep, jagged wound marred his upper arm, the torn flesh angry and raw. Mosquitoes buzzed around him, drawn to the scent of blood and sweat.

You crouched beside him, your hands deftly inspecting the wound. “This needs to be cleaned and stitched up,” you murmured, glancing up at him briefly. His eyes met yours, dark and unreadable.

He broke the silence. “What’s your name?”

You paused, meeting his gaze again as you answered, giving your name. You nodded toward the other side of the room. “That man over there is Ravi. We’re both doctors—or as close to it as you’ll get here. More men die of infected wounds than in the arena itself.”

Hanno tilted his head slightly, watching you as you prepared the tools of your trade. “This is going to hurt,” you added, your tone both matter-of-fact and soft.

You handed him a small pipe, its carved edges worn smooth from use.

“What’s this?” he asked, examining it with mild suspicion.

“Devil’s breath and opium,” you explained. “For the pain. Breathe it in.”

Hanno hesitated for only a moment before placing the pipe between his lips. He inhaled deeply, his expression neutral as the sharp, bitter taste hit his tongue. Slowly, his eyes fluttered shut, and his breathing steadied.

“The effects are different for us all,” you said gently, noting the way his features softened, the tension in his shoulders easing.

When his eyes opened again, they were hazy, unfocused. “Your voice…” he muttered, blinking at you as if trying to place something familiar.

“What about it?” you asked with a small smile, distracting him as you began cleaning the wound.

“It’s… nice,” he replied, his words slow and slightly slurred. “Kind.”

You gave a soft chuckle, focusing on the task at hand. “Don’t get used to it. This part isn’t going to feel so kind.”

He took another draw of the pipe just as you began stitching the torn flesh with catgut. The needle pierced his skin, and he hissed through clenched teeth, coughing as a puff of opium-laden smoke escaped his lips and drifted into the air between you.

“Where’d you learn your trade?” he asked, his voice rough but steady.

You kept your focus on the stitches, your hands moving with practiced precision. “Why do you ask?”

“You’ve got a light hand,” he said, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

You glanced up briefly, the corners of your lips quirking. “You don’t strike me as someone who hands out compliments easily.”

The faint flicker of the oil lamp threw warm shadows across the stone walls of the infirmary. The low hum of muffled groans and whispered prayers filled the air, mixing with the faint metallic tang of blood and herbs. His dark eyes, hazy from the drug, remained fixed on you as you worked.

“I don’t,” he murmured, his voice soft and slow. “But I’ve had enough wounds stitched up to know the difference between butchery and care.”

The corners of your lips quirked upward, and a soft chuckle escaped you. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It is,” he said, his tone unusually earnest.

Your laugh echoed softly in the quiet room, and his lips curved in response. Hanno was inebriated now—high on the devil’s breath and opium. He looked at you, his gaze almost childlike in its wonder, as if the haze had stripped away some of the weight he carried.

“What we do in life echoes in eternity,” you said suddenly, your voice a mix of reverence and melancholy.

The words hung in the air, timeless and heavy. You paused, your fingers stilling over the bandage.

Hanno blinked, as if chasing a memory. “I feel I know those words…”

You smiled faintly, your eyes meeting his. “I can’t take credit for them. They’re written on a tomb here, over the bones of a gladiator.”

He let the words sink in, his gaze distant but thoughtful. You returned to your work, your hands moving with practiced precision as you tied off the final stitch and smoothed the bandage over his wound.

“There,” you said, leaning back to admire your handiwork. “I think that should hold.”

Hanno’s eyes drifted to his arm. He reached out, almost absently, and ran his fingers across the crude stitches. His touch was featherlight, as if testing the reality of it.

You stood, gathering your tools and reaching for the pipe still clutched in his hand. But before you could take it, he brought it to his lips again, inhaling deeply. The motion was slow and deliberate, his dark eyes fixed on you through the curling smoke.

You paused, watching him, but said nothing. After a moment, you gave a small nod and turned back to pack away the rest of your supplies.

“Why did you let me take another hit?” he asked suddenly, his voice softer now, as if the opium was tugging him toward vulnerability.

You glanced over your shoulder, your expression unreadable. “Because sometimes, we need the pain to go quiet for a while.”

Hanno held your gaze for a long moment, his lips curving into a faint, lopsided smile. “You understand more than most,” he said quietly.

You didn’t respond, but the weight of his words lingered. As you turned back to your work, his voice broke the silence again, softer this time.

He said your name a tender echo in the quiet room. “Do you believe it?”

“Believe what?” you asked, not turning around.

“That what we do in life echoes in eternity.”

You stilled, your hands tightening slightly around your tools. Finally, you turned to face him, your expression thoughtful. “I think… the choices we make, the lives we touch—they ripple outward. Whether it’s eternity or just a fleeting moment, I think it matters.”

Hanno’s gaze didn’t waver, even through the haze of the drug. “You matter,” he said, his voice low but steady.

The words hit you harder than you expected, and for a moment, you could only stare at him. He wasn’t smiling, wasn’t teasing. He meant it.

Your throat tightened, but you forced a small smile. “Rest now, Hanno. You’ll need your strength.”

He didn’t protest, but his eyes lingered on you as you turned away, your heart inexplicably heavier and lighter all at once.

LUCILLA’S VILLA – EVENING

The villa shimmered under the moonlight, its alabaster walls soaking in the silver glow. Marble columns cast long shadows across the flagstones, and the air hummed with the gentle chorus of cicadas. Somewhere in the gardens, the delicate aroma of night-blooming jasmine mingled with the faint tang of the sea breeze.

You stood at the edge of the terrace, a delicate glass of spiced wine cradled between your fingers. The cool air kissed your skin, but it couldn’t chase away the heat simmering beneath—an ache born of exhaustion, frustration, and something you dared not name. The day had unraveled like a tragedy, the gods watching with cruel amusement as you struggled to hold it together.

Behind you, the sound of soft footfalls broke the stillness.

“You stand there as though the weight of Rome rests on your shoulders,” a voice drawled, smooth and familiar.

You turned, finding Lucilla leaning against the stone archway, her golden hair catching the light of the lanterns flickering nearby. She regarded you with a mixture of curiosity and knowing—Lucilla had a way of reading people like scrolls, unrolling their secrets with unnerving ease.

“Does it not?” you replied, attempting a wry smile, though it faltered before it could fully form.

Lucilla stepped closer, her movements fluid, regal. “Rome’s weight has crushed stronger people than us,” she said softly, joining you at the balustrade. “The key is learning when to carry it—and when to set it down.”

You scoffed, swirling the wine in your glass. “And how often do you set it down?”

Her lips curved into a faint smile. “Far less than I should.” She glanced at you from the corner of her eye. “But I’m not the one standing out here, staring at the stars as though they hold the answers.”

The faint humor in her tone was a lifeline, grounding you. “If the stars do have answers, they’re not sharing them with me,” you muttered, shaking your head.

Lucilla’s expression softened, and she reached out, placing a hand lightly on your arm. “The answers aren’t in the stars,” she said. “They’re in here.” She tapped lightly against your chest, her gaze unwavering. “You’ve already carried so much. Don’t forget you’re allowed to put it down—just for a while.”

Her words settled over you like a balm, and for a moment, the tension in your chest eased. You opened your mouth to respond, but the sound of distant laughter interrupted, drawing both your gazes toward the villa’s golden glow.

Lucilla sighed, stepping back. “The night calls,” she said, her tone laced with resignation. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Lucilla,” you replied, watching as she disappeared into the shadows of the villa, her presence leaving an unspoken promise of strength in its wake.

The door clicked shut behind you, sealing off the night’s hum. You exhaled, leaning against the wood, letting the day’s exhaustion seep into your bones. But the solace was short-lived.

“Finally,” a low, gravelly voice murmured from the shadows.

You startled, your hand flying to your chest. “Marcus!” you hissed, your heart pounding. “What are you doing here?”

He stepped forward, his broad frame illuminated by the flickering lantern light. His tunic was slightly disheveled, and his dark curls fell across his brow, softening the hard planes of his face. Yet his eyes—those piercing eyes—held a fire that made it impossible to look away.

“I couldn’t stay away,” he admitted, his voice low and rough. “Not tonight.”

You crossed your arms, more to steady yourself than to rebuff him. “And you thought sneaking into my quarters was the solution?”

Marcus’s lips quirked into a faint smirk, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “You’ve been on my mind all evening,” he said simply, the weight of his confession hanging between you. “Do you know how maddening it is? Seeing you, hearing you, but never being close enough?”

Your breath caught, and you shook your head, trying to keep your composure. “Marcus, this—whatever this is—it's dangerous. You know that.”

“Danger is nothing new to me,” he said, stepping closer. His presence was magnetic, and you found yourself rooted in place as he closed the distance between you.

“Marcus…” you began, but your voice faltered as his fingers brushed against yours, tentative and fleeting.

“Tell me to leave,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I will. But if you don’t—”

The unspoken promise in his words sent a shiver racing down your spine. You opened your mouth to protest, but instead, you found yourself tilting your face toward his touch as his hand cupped your cheek.

“I’ve seen you fight for others, care for them,” he said softly, his thumb tracing a gentle line along your jaw. “Let me fight for you. Let me care for you.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, unbidden and unwelcome. “You don’t understand what you’re asking,” you said, your voice trembling.

“I do,” he countered, his forehead nearly touching yours. “And I’m asking anyway.”

His breath was warm against your lips, and before you could stop yourself, you closed the distance, your mouth meeting his in a kiss that was equal parts desperation and surrender.

The world fell away in that moment, the chaos and the danger replaced by the warmth of his embrace. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer as the kiss deepened, his lips moving against yours with a fervor that left you breathless.

You pulled back, your chest heaving, your hands clutching the fabric of his tunic. “This doesn’t make the world any less dangerous,” you said, your voice barely audible.

“No,” he agreed, his gaze locked on yours. “But I’d burn the world to ash just to feel the heat of you.”

His words sent a shiver through you, a dangerous mix of devotion and desire. And as he kissed you again, softer this time, you realized that perhaps the fire he promised wasn’t something to fear—but something you’d already been consumed by.

272 notes · View notes

sodavizz · 6 months ago

Text

— Christmas Won't Be The Same Without You.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

Pairing: Daisuke x GN! Reader

Warnings: None, just fluff again :3

Wc: 1.3k+

Author's Note: Tadaa!! It's almost Christmas time baby! I'm super duper excited as it is already half of November!! Are you all ready to celebrate it, cause I sure am!

The snow was falling softly outside, coating the world in a blanket of white. The small town where Daisuke had grown up was quiet, the streets lined with festive lights and decorations. Inside his parents' house, however, there was nothing quiet about it. The living room was alive with the hum of Christmas music playing softly in the background, the scent of pine and cinnamon filling the air, and the soft crackle of a fire burning in the hearth. It was the perfect Christmas setting, and you were sharing it with Daisuke.

“Can you believe it?” Daisuke said, his voice full of excitement as he stood beside you in the entryway. His eyes sparkled with that familiar joy you adored. “Christmas at my parents’ house. I'm sure they're just as excited you are to meeting each other!”

You smiled at him, feeling a warmth spread through you as he took your hand, pulling you into the house. “I’m really happy to be here with you, Daisuke. This place feels so… cozy.”

His grin widened. “It’s definitely cozy. And my mom’s cooking is legendary, so get ready for some serious holiday feasting. You might not even have room for dessert by the end of the night.”

You laughed, feeling your stomach growl at the thought of what awaited. You’d heard a lot about Daisuke’s mom’s cooking, but this would be your first time tasting it. You could already smell the roast turkey and baked goods wafting from the kitchen.

The house was warm, full of life, and adorned with decorations that felt like they had been carefully placed with love. Christmas stockings hung from the mantle above the fireplace, each one bearing a name stitched in gold thread, and a grand tree stood in the corner, its branches weighed down with ornaments, tinsel, and fairy lights. The atmosphere was peaceful but bustling, with Daisuke’s parents—his mother in a festive red apron and his father pulling drinks from the fridge—filling the space with energy and laughter.

Daisuke led you to the living room where his family was already gathered. His parents, always warm and welcoming, greeted you with open arms.

“Ah, there you are, so you're the one my son keeps going on and on about!” His mother beamed as he mumbled something to her, seeming embarrassed she would expose him about that. She then stepped forward to give you a hug. “We’ve been waiting for you both. Everything’s ready for dinner, but we can always add more if you’re hungry before the big meal!”

“You must be starving after the drive!” his father added with a grin, holding out a glass of eggnog. “Don’t be shy, help yourself.”

You chuckled and accepted the drink, glancing over at Daisuke, who was practically glowing in his own way, standing close by with a proud smile.

“You must be excited to have us here,” you teased.

He nodded eagerly. “Are you kidding? I’ve been counting down the days to Christmas here with you and my family. I think I’ve spent almost every Christmas here since I was a kid, and this time it’s even better because you’re with me.”

The sincerity in his voice made your heart skip a beat. There was something about being here, in the warmth of his family’s home, surrounded by love, that made everything feel like it was falling into place.

“I’m really happy to be here, too,” you said softly, meeting his gaze. “It feels so... right.”

Daisuke grinned and reached for your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze before turning to his parents. “I think it’s time for us to get the party started! We still need to do the Secret Santa exchange, and I’m pretty sure everyone’s excited for that.”

His mom laughed. “Oh yes, we can’t forget about that! We all got something special this year, so I hope everyone’s ready for a little holiday fun.”

Dinner was a true feast. The table was piled high with everything you could imagine—roast turkey, mashed potatoes, gravy, stuffing, roasted vegetables, and an assortment of freshly baked rolls. In the center, a large cranberry sauce dish sat alongside platters of sweet potatoes and baked brussels sprouts. Daisuke’s mom had clearly outdone herself, and as you dug into your meal, you could tell that everyone was savoring each bite.

Between mouthfuls, you shared stories with Daisuke’s family, laughing and chatting about everything from your childhood traditions to more recent adventures. Daisuke’s dad was particularly fond of telling embarrassing stories about Daisuke when he was little, which had everyone in stitches. Daisuke, for his part, seemed unbothered by it all, even joining in with some of his own stories about his mischievous younger days.

But it wasn’t just the food or the laughter that made this night feel special—it was the way Daisuke kept glancing at you with that soft, affectionate look in his eyes, the way his hand would subtly brush against yours under the table, or how he’d pull you close during moments when no one was looking, as if to remind you that this was your time together.

After dinner, Daisuke insisted on taking you outside to see the backyard, which, as it turned out, had a stunning view of the town covered in snow. The Christmas lights from nearby houses reflected off the snow, creating a soft, magical glow that made the night feel like something out of a holiday movie.

“Come here,” Daisuke said, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and guiding you to the porch. “This is one of my favorite parts of Christmas—just looking out over the snow. My family used to come out here every Christmas Eve when I was younger and just… enjoy the peace.”

You stood with him, watching the snow fall gently, the cool air brushing against your skin. His presence beside you, his warmth, was enough to make everything feel even more magical.

“I never imagined I’d get to spend Christmas like this,” you murmured, leaning into him. “It’s been perfect.”

Daisuke smiled down at you, his fingers threading through yours as he pulled you a little closer. “I’ve been looking forward to this for so long, just to share it all with you. Christmas is better when you’re with the people you love, and that’s all I want for us.”

You leaned up to kiss him, the moment soft, gentle, and full of meaning. When you pulled away, Daisuke’s face was alight with happiness, his eyes sparkling.

“Merry Christmas, the most beautiful person I've ever seen,” he said softly.

You chuckled at his compliment as you stared deeply into his eyes in an, oh such affectionate way.

“Merry Christmas, Handsome,” you whispered back.

Later, as the evening drew on, everyone gathered around the tree for the Secret Santa exchange. You’d gotten Daisuke’s mom, and after some playful teasing, she opened the gift you’d picked out—a beautiful hand-knitted scarf, which she immediately wrapped around her neck with a delighted laugh. Then, Daisuke gave you your gift, a small box wrapped with care. When you opened it, you found a delicate silver bracelet with a charm that read together, a reminder of how far you’d come and how much you meant to each other.

You blinked back tears as you hugged him, your heart swelling with gratitude. “I love it, Daisuke. Thank you.”

“I’m glad you like it,” he said, his voice full of affection as he kissed your forehead. “This is just the beginning of our holiday together. I want to make this Christmas the best one yet.”

As the evening wound down, the two of you snuck off to a quiet corner of the living room, away from the laughter and chatter, to enjoy each other’s company in peace. With the soft glow of the Christmas tree lights surrounding you, Daisuke wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close.

“This is all I ever wanted,” he whispered, his voice full of love. “To be with you, here, now.”

And in that moment, surrounded by the warmth of his family, the love between you, and the gentle snowfall outside, you knew he was right. It didn’t matter where you were, as long as you were together.

“Merry Christmas, Daisuke,” you whispered, kissing him again.

“Merry Christmas,” he replied, smiling softly, his heart as full as yours.

#[★—sodavizz]#mouthwashing #daisuke x reader #daisuke mouthwashing x reader #mouthwashing daisuke #daisuke mouthwashing #can you guys tell whos my favortie hehe #i love this cutie stop

208 notes · View notes

acotarxreader · 1 year ago

Text

Pancake

Azriel x Reader

Synopsis: Celebrating Feyre's 21st with a large party at the House of Wind proves to be quite triggering for you as you battle with the demons that followed you out of Under the Mountain.

Warnings: Panic attack (claustrophobia) followed by super fluff

A/N: This is really a cute fic, maybe one of my favourites. Reader has a panic attack so proceed with caution or don't at all if you think this may upset you! Let me know what you think!

P.S laughing that after Jilted I said I'd give you a more silly goofy fic and then produce this 👀 next one I promise!👀

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

Fifty years. Fifty years you and Rhysand were separated from your family. Days dripping into weeks, into months, into years. Birthdays, Starfalls, and Solstices lost to the mountain. You had both been reunited with your family for a year now, your first Winter Solstice as a family again. You stood on the balcony watching your friends dance and drink and be free, Rhysand having thrown a large party for Feyre's 21st birthday. A genuine smile grew at the sight of such joy, all on their way to becoming whole again. Your eyes found Feyre and Rhysand drifting up the stairs towards a secluded balcony, your smile doubling in size at the mischievous grin plastering your cousin's face.

“Don’t you look radiate YN” You turned to look down at Azriel at the bottom of the grand staircase.

“Don’t I always Az” he nodded in agreement, closing in the distance between you, you had missed him deeply, never thinking you’d have the pleasure of dancing with your best friend again. Azriel had spent your time away from him in utter torment, echoed in his friend's mutual feelings of uselessness at the loss of the two of you.

“Azriel, there you are! Come watch the surprise with me, fireworks I believe” Elains little voice came from behind Azriel, he turned happily towards her, a pang of jealousy beating through you. Before the Mountain took you from your family you and Azriel were quickly developing into more but something cracked in you, you couldn’t find your way back to him when you were freed. He gave you the space you needed to recover and in that time found a new obsession in Elain and you accepted that you may never be fixed but Elain could be.

“Would you like to come too YN?” you sensed the undertone of pity from Elain that Azriel would never see as anything other than her caring. You tried to keep the smile on your face, faltering for a moment before returning to full strength.

“I’m actually going to get a drink from inside, but go ahead” You looked up at the night sky, such beauty you missed so much, Azriel looked at you with the same sentiment before following Elain back down the steps.

You entered the House Of Wind through the gigantic doors, caterers frantically ran from place to place holding various trays and jugs. You ducked and dove avoiding the chaos, no one noticed you as you moved through the mayhem, your speciality. You took a flute of champagne from a passing tray before catching a glimpse of your face in a large silver serving dish. You looked tired, still not yourself a year later.

You headed into the closest bathroom in a service hallway, gently pining up fallen strands of hair. You sighed into the mirror of the small room, feeling the mask slip for a moment before you righted it again, forcing the fake smile so as not to make others uncomfortable.

Your hand moved to the door handle, shaking it gently when you found it did not give under your touch. You pushed the door, it solidly pushing back. You tried to squash the rising panic in your throat, this is fine this is fine this is fine you repeated over and over like a mantra in your mind.

You lowered yourself to look out the keyhole to find solid wood staring back at you. They had blocked you in with a large, solid, service trolley, wider than the door you tried to push through. You banged on the door with your palms, calling out for anyone, the shouts getting lost in the bedlam of the service hallway before it emptied entirely, the staff going to watch the show.

You backed away from the oak, trying to catch your fleeting breath. Trapped. Trapped. Trapped. The word roaring in your head, dizzying dread coming to a boiling point in you. Trapped. Trapped. Trapped.

Suddenly a loud bang was set off, and another and another. You found yourself collapsing to the freezing floor of the forgotten bathroom, screaming to match the pitch of the fireworks outside. You clung your knees into your chest before beginning to frantically paw your ears trying to stop the drumming. Your fingers matting into your hair, making it a knot in the chaos of trying to block the sound. You were hyperventilating as the fireworks came on with more fierceness. You were drowning. You were back Under The Mountain. You were back to being out of control. Back to being being kept deep within the earth, the sound of Fae being tortured mimicked in the booming fireworks.

“YN!” through the thick choking energy of your fear, a familiar voice came like a lifeboat in a storm but you were gone to the sea. Gone to the panic. Drowning. Drowning. Drowning. Steady, scared hands reached for your tangled hands pulling them from clawing your ears, out of blurry vision you saw the opened door, the towering service trolley smashed to the ground as Azriel clung to your hands. You tried to dive for the gap, off balance from the panic, unable to lift yourself from your seat, you fell onto your side on the tile, the thud of your chin echoing in Azriels ears.

“YN! You’re okay you’re okay!” he pulled you upright and rubbed the back of your hands as your tormented eyes found him through the floods of tears. He counted quietly in rhythm, helping you to steady your breathing but the flashbacks of that horrid place and great loss ran through your mind like a runaway train. This was Azriel. Azriel. Azriel. This was home. Home. You were home. Another booming firework was set off, plunging you back to being drowned. Azriel stood, plucking you from the ground like a discarded rag doll before he dissolved you both in shadows.

The two of you landed with control on the bridge that crossed the Sidra. The sound of the fireworks merely bursts in the distance. Your hands lay flat on the cold stone of the bridge and then you were violently ill, vomiting into the rushing river below as Azriel rubbed your back with one hand and held your hair gently in the other. You then sailed to the ground, your back resting against the freezing stone, waves of panic replaced with equal volumes of exhaustion. Silence swaddled you like comfort, shadows softly sweeping away stray tears as they fell. You found a small smile tug at the corners of your mouth at them, Azriel’s muscles relaxing at the sight.

“Thank you Az” you managed to breathe out.

“Please don’t thank me, it's my job to-to protect you” You rolled your head along the stone to look towards the shadowsingers soft gaze. You leaned into his side, gazing up to your beloved Velarian sky, your heart rate returning to softening levels.

“YN ho-how often does that happen you?”

“More than I want to admit Az, I feel like I haven’t slept in 50 years” you admitted, his hand wrapping into yours.

“Go back to the party Az, Elain will be wondering where you ran to”

“You’re crazy if you think I’m leaving you, c’mon let's walk home” he smiled, standing and pulling you up to meet him, his hand slotting in around your waist to support your weakened legs. You both began to stroll in the direction of Azriel’s disused apartment, more often than not he opted to stay in The House of Wind or the Town House rather than sleep alone in his house. But tonight, those places were in the thick of the loud celebration, his secluded apartment on the other side of the Sidra a haven from the revelry. You didn’t object to this knowing you hadn’t it in you to go back into the bustling city.

You followed Azriel into his small studio apartment, and he immediately set about cleaning the space you hadn’t been in in 51 years.

“Sorry for the mess” He threw stray clothes into a basket as you looked around the place you didn’t think you’d ever see again, the mess of forgotten projects and clothes a new feature for the normally regimented Illyrian.

“I umm didn’t come here much when you were-when you were gone” he admitted before flicking his wrist and the sheets of the bed changed.

“Why not? You used to love to brood up here” you grinned, sitting on the edge of the soft cotton sheets. Azriel threw his suit jacket over a chair and began rolling his shirt sleeves up, without taking his eyes from you, his own smile matching yours. You suddenly felt conscious of the mess of now matted hair and make-up down your face, your hand wiping the smudges of kohl away from under your eye.

“To be honest YNN, it felt wrong here without you, the whole of Velaris did” he crossed the room to the dresser, reaching into the top drawer to pull out one of your night sets.

“I can’t believe you still have some of my things here”

“I kept them for when you would come back…I never let myself think that you weren’t coming back to me” You took the set from him, smiling softly before moving to change in the bathroom, leaving the door open as Azriel threw a pillow for himself on the couch, snapping his fingers and changing into his own night attire. He tried not to let his eyes linger on you as you moved towards his bed for the first time in forever before you layed down in the buttery sheets.

“Az-Can you-Can you sleep here next to me, I know it might be weir-” You didn’t get to finish as Azriel needed no further invitation, sinking into the bed alongside you. He merely snapped his fingers and the lights dropped only to have one in the corner of the room stayed lit for your comfort.

“Are you feeling okay YNN?”

“Mmm, thanks for leaving the light on” you hummed in response.

"It's for me as much as you, I share you're sentiment about being kept in the dark" you nuzzled gently into his side at his heartbreaking words and for the first time in so long you knew you’d sleep with nothing but ease.

“I missed you so much my love” He whispered into your hair, sleep taking full hold of you as he kissed your forehead and found yourselves sleeping the best he had in 51 years.

For the rest of the night you both stayed in cuddled bliss, the world going on around you but the only place that mattered was the world you had both made in his apartment.

The light came through the slots of the blinds hitting his eyes as he woke and rested his chin on the top of your head as you were deeply cuddled into him, the clock showing 8:30am. He gently pulled from you as you groaned but still unable to open you’re world-weary eyes.

You shot up in the bed to the sound of a crash, for a moment forgetting where you were only to laugh at the recoiling Illyrian holding a frying pan while wincing in the kitchen across from you, his wings coated in a thin layer of flour.

“What the fuck Az?” you found yourself laughing before rubbing your hands down your face and glancing at the clock as it showed 10am.

“Don’t laugh at me, I’m trying to be be cute!” You raised an eyebrow, throwing your legs over the side of the bed and standing. Your mouth fell open at the full sight of the destroyed kitchen. Every single surface covered in various baking ingredients. You walked cautiously towards the floury disarray before looking into a bowl of what you presumed started as pancakes. You attempted to move the whisk in the batter, it stuck to the bowl like a stick in cement.

“Az, what possessed you to try to poison me?” you laughed so heartily it made Azriels heart leap.

“I was trying to comfort you” he genuinely seemed embarrassed, your hand going to his cheek, wiping away flour freckles.

“I love that you’re such an adorable dork” You shook your head gently grinning.

“I love you” Your hand slowly dropped from his face in almost shock at his words.

“I love you so fucking much YN, I hated myself every day you were gone for not saying it and for the past year I wanted to but I didn’t want to add to any stress you might be holding on to-”

“-You could never make me stress Az…unless you make me eat this” you laughed and his eyes beamed at the sound he wished to only hear for the rest of his life. You wrapped your arms around his neck and he happily leaned into the kiss. Home. This was home and this was Azriel.

“I love you too” you breathed against his lips, his hands meeting your hips before dropping to the backs of your legs and lifting you from the ground. Your legs wrapped around him as you caught hold of his t-shirt, deepening the kiss further, for the first time in a year you felt the deep crack in your soul begin to stitch together again. The kiss grew hungrier as Azriel angled you to hover you above the counter before gently putting you down.

“ARGH!” you shrieked as the freezing cold pancake batter he put you down on soaked immediately through your shorts. You leapt from the counter with lightning speed, trying to pull the fabric from your skin as Azriel roared with laughter.

“Something funny flour face?” you said through rising laughter as Azriel tried to collect himself.

“If you get a chance do you think you could take some of the batter off your shorts and make breakfast” you lightly scoffed at his words before taking a fist of batter and clapping it right into his chest.

“Oh you’re so dead YN!” he howled at the cold through tears of laughter, grabbing the bowl and proceeding to chase you around his house, your home.

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

Hehe, whatcha think!

694 notes · View notes

cinnamoonblue · 11 days ago

Text

Chapter X | Daddy* Issues

Summary: You moved to one of the biggest cities in the world - Grand Line to pursue filmmaking career. Soon enough your path will cross with the vocalist of upcoming band called “The Neighbourhood”. At first you decided to be just friends - because it would be easier, but sadly as everything in life sometimes by taking the easy path we regret a lot of things.

Main characters: Portgas D Ace x Reader (female)

Supporting characters: Nami, Usopp, Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Law, Deuce, Shanks, Buggy, Sabo, Eustass Kid, Koala, Robin, Dave (OC)

Description: Modern AU | Musician Ace

WARNINGS: explicit language, mentions of alcohol, mentions of cigarettes/nicotine, mentions of drug/substance use, mentions of overdosing, mentions of loneliness, angst, mentions of of depression, mentions of death, losing a loved one, anxiety, mentions of panic attack, mention of relapse, family trauma

Word Count: 14,3K

<- previous chapter | story masterlist | main masterlist | next chapter ->

NOTE: Please, pay attention to the warnings! This chapter was suppose to be double the length, but I decided that it is for the best to post it like this. I expect that a lot of you might drop the story after this chapter, because Reader is about to do/say something that will definitely come out as very offensive to many, especially if you haven't been or had bad relationship with a parent of yours. It's okay to judge her, but I also hope you understand where those words/actions come from. I hope you will forgive me and not hate me much. Thank you for your patience and support ♡ Ily ♡ Enjoy ♡

Sitting in the front of Usopp’s car I sighed exhausted. The week of shooting rolled fast, and it was so nice to be back in the city. Nami, Usopp and I were on our way to university to return all the equipment we had used for the movie. We were all tired from the long week we had, but at the end it was worth it as the filming went super smoothly and the scenes turned out beautiful.

“You, guys don’t understand how much this is bugging me.” Nami whined as she had for a thousandth of time this week brought up the fact that someone has anonymously donated one thousand dollars to us and helped reach our goal for the donations. “It must be some of Sanji’s rich friends at the party, I’m telling you.” She pointed with her finger at Usopp and me from the backseat of Usopp’s car.

“Does it really matter?” I looked at her with a tired smile. “At the end we reached the goal.”

“We actually went over it.” Usopp pointed out and I hummed agreeing with him.

“Come on.” Nami exclaimed annoyed with us. “You can’t be serious and not be curious who might have sent us the money.”

“We are, juts not as much as you are.” I turned a bit to the side to face her better as I stuck my tongue out to annoy her.

“God forbit a girl gets curious.” She rolled her eyes at me, laughing as she pushed my head away with one hand. “Anyway, wanna grab something to eat after we leave the equipment?” Propping her elbows on the back of the front seats she leaned closer to Usopp and I.

“Hell yeah.” Usopp and I said at the same time.

I have missed this. In the past two, almost three months now, I was avoiding Nami and Usopp as much as I could and after this week spent with them, when we were constantly together during filming and the free time in between shoots, as we used to be before, the realization of how much I had missed them hit me like a truck.

I have known them for less than a year, but they both have become so close and special to me to a point where I didn’t realize it until now.

“We must treat ourselves with a very nice dinner, don’t you think guys?” I looked at both of them with a big smile spread across my face.

“Finally, we speak the same language.” Nami squeaked excitedly.

It took us around an hour to return all the equipment, and in the middle of it, all of our energy went out of the window, so instead of going to a restaurant we went to Nami’s place and order take away food.

Usopp was first to leave her place, as he couldn’t wait any longer to see Kaya. He offered to drive me home, but I turned down the offer as I decided to stay a bit longer with Nami.

We said goodbye to Usopp and Nami went to lock the door after him. Coming back, she clapped her hands as she sat down on the sofa next to me and cleared her throat. “So, it’s finally just the two of us.” Straightening her posture, she gave me a small smile like she expected something from me.

“Why you say it like we didn’t share a room for a whole week?” I looked at her with one brow slightly raised. During the whole production we shared a bedroom in the summer house of one of our classmates, where we all stayed, so I was slightly confused by her comment.

“Yes, but there I couldn’t speak with you.” She pointed out while taking a sip of her soft drink.

“Nami, what do you mean you couldn’t talk to me?” I was getting really confused. She and I spoke every night, day, and every free second we had on set, what was she on about? “We spoke nonstop.”

“Yes, but not about what I really want to speak with you about.” She gave me a knowing look and slowly I started to connect the dots. “Sanji’s party? You being distant since Christmas break? Should I continue or mention names… name?” She emphasized on ‘name’ like I didn’t catch what she meant by it.

Placing the plate on the coffee table from my lap, I took a deep breath before speaking. I knew this conversation was coming, but I was hoping that she would give me a bit more time. She would also not let me get away from it, so I didn’t have much of a choice, but to get it over with.

Taking her hands in mine I looked at her eyes before I spoke up. “I am so sorry Nami. I know that I had been a bad friend in the past few months, but I was going through something…” Taking another deep breath in I needed a moment before I could continue. “Maybe I’m still going through it and I… I just pushed everyone away. For which I’m sorry.”

“I appreciate the apology, but why? What happened?”

It was very hard to keep eye contact with her right now, so I looked away. What was I supposed to say; - “Yes, Nami. You were right about Ace.”

“You know I won’t tell anyone.” She moved closer to me. “Something happened with Ace, didn’t it?” Her voice is gentle, comforting even and as much as I wanted to tell her what had been going on for the past few months, I didn’t know where to start; all I could do was just nod with my head. “From the scale of one to ten how bad are things between you two right now?”

A small sarcastic laughter escaped my lips. “Eleven. Maybe even twelve.” As much as I tried to hide the pain that still lingered in my heart, my eyes betrayed me. It was like my own body betrayed me every time his name was mentioned.

Nami’s eyes widened a bit, not expecting to hear that things were this bad. “I don’t want to push you into talking if you don’t want to, but I’m here to listen without judging.” She pulled me for a hug. When Nami wrapped her arms around me I laid my head on her shoulder and thanked her.

“It’s kind of a long story you know…” I whispered as I pulled away from her.

With a shrug and wink Nami replied to me, “I have time.”

I told her everything with every single detail - from the ‘not official date’, till the last time I saw him at Sanji’s party. The whole time Nami was listening, gasping from time to time, making small comments like ‘No way.’ , ‘You’re kidding.’ , ‘This asshole.’ ect.

“And lastly, at the party he wanted me to give him a chance to start things all over again or whatever.” I rolled my eyes remembering the moment when Ace locked me in a room with him. “By the way this whole thing with Kid there was to get a reaction out of Ace or whatever.” This was something I wanted to clarify before she asked about it. “And it was his idea.”

“It did work.” Nami chuckled. Raising one of my brows I tilted my head to the side, questioning her what she meant by this. “You did get a reaction from him. I saw how Ace was looking at you the whole time while you were ignoring him. I think he got jealous.” I haven’t put much thought into this, mostly because one day after the party we went away to film and my mind was occupied with other things which led me not to allow myself to think much of what Ace had said to me.

“But what did he mean by start all over again?” Nami’s voice changed from understanding one to aggravated by all she had heard so far. “Like what? Friends? Lovers? What exactly?” I couldn’t respond to this question as well as I hadn’t allowed myself to dig much into it or at all.

“I don’t know Nami.” Looking down at my hands and playing nervously with my fingers I took a deep breath. “I haven’t put many thoughts into it, nor did I ask him.”

“Good.” She was quick to say. “I can’t believe it. I’ve always known that he is not serious when it comes to girls, but after all you’ve told me…” Looking at me with big disappointment in her eyes, Nami shook her head. “I don’t think I’ll want to see Ace ever again.”

“You know what hurt me the most?” I quietly said. “He never said sorry.” Biting on my lower lip, I could feel my eyes watering. “He just came and asked for a fresh start without even apologize for the damage he has done.”

“Please, don’t cry.” Nami grabbed me by the shoulders and pulled me closer to her in a hug. “This asshole doesn’t deserve more tears from you.”

“It just… it still hurts…” Saying this out loud made it even more painful. I have never been stuck on someone for so long, why was it so hard to move on from him? What was it that made him so special?

“Do you still have feelings for him?” Nami’s voice was quiet, it came out almost as a whisper.

I stayed in her arms without moving. This was another question I have avoided asking myself. Did I still have feelings for Ace? Probably. Did I want to dig deeper into myself to find the proper answer? No.

“I don’t know.” I answered, pulling away from her. Looking behind Nami to avoid her gaze, I noticed the time on the clock hanging on the wall. “Gosh, look at the time. I must go home.” Getting up from the sofa in a hurry, Nami got the hint and followed after me.

“You can stay over if you want.” Her suggestion sounded very nice, but I needed some alone time, especially right now.

“Thank you, Nami but I’m missing my own bed a bit too much.” I raised my head and smiled at her while I was putting my shoes on. Getting up on my feet and unlocking the door I looked back at her. “Are you going to edit with me and Usopp this week?”

“Probably.” She said, as she opened the door. “Please, text me when you get home.”

“I will.” Taking a step closer to her, I hugged her once again. “Thank you, Nami. I haven’t realized how much I needed a girl talk until tonight.”

“Oh, please, you know I love gossip.” She joked as she patted me on the back. “Now go. You don’t want to miss the metro.”

Going back to the neighborhood where he grew up was never easy for Ace. He left this part of town eight years ago when he was eighteen and since then if his aunt didn’t really need help with something he would not come back. Not because he felt ashamed of where he grew up, but because he wasn’t very wanted there. This area of town he couldn’t escape his birth name and the blood running through his veins. Here no matter what he was known as Gol D Ace, no matter how many times he corrected people no one bothered to listen to him, all they saw in his face was a famous criminal’s bastard.

Taking his helmet off, he deeply inhaled and exhaled before getting off his motorbike. He hasn’t seen or talked with his aunt in months. Their relationship was very rocky since Ace went and almost beat the life out of Teach. Not like the relationship between them before this event was good, but after that night things went completely downhill, and that was why Ace was here today. He needed answers to a lot of questions, which only his aunt could give him.

Stepping into the familiar old porch Ace knocked on the front door. He waited for a moment before the door opened and his aunt stood in front of him confused.

“Ace? What are you doing here?” Dadan couldn’t hide the surprise in her voice. It has been at least eight months since the last time she had seen her nephew.

“Came to visit.” Ace replied, pointing with his eyes towards the hallway, asking for permission to enter the house.

“Come on in, boy.” Dadan moved to the side and let Ace in. “No, need to take your shoes of, I’m in the middle of deep cleaning anyway.”

Both made their way to the kitchen, the place still the same, nothing has changed since… forever. The old wooden kitchen cabinets were in desperate need of change, the sunlight streamed through a small window above the sink, casting a soft glow on the well-worn surfaces. The fridge being at least thirty years old, now with surprisingly a lot of pictures and magnets hung on it, something Ace didn’t remember being a thing in this household as he grew up here. The only thing that was new was the stove.

The kitchen, though old and in need of repair, remained the heart of the house Ace once used to call home, not sure if it did feel like one, but it was a place where memories were made and shared.

In the middle of the kitchen was the dining table. Pulling one of the chairs, Ace sat down and waited for his aunt to join him. “I see you finally bought a new stove.” He was the first one to break the silence.

“Yea, it was time to say goodbye to the old one.” Lifting the coffee pot in one hand she asked with a gesture if he wanted some, to which he nodded. Pouring two cups with coffee, the mid-fifties years old woman brought them to the table and sat down opposite her nephew. “I must thank you for it.”

Since the band had taken off so fast and things were going financially great for the guys, Ace started sending Dadan money every month. He was aware that she was still struggling with bills so sending her a few hundred per month didn’t hurt his pockets at all.

“Don’t need to.” He told her, taking a sip of the coffee. The taste of it was very bitter, too bitter even for his preferences, but he didn’t say anything, he just put the cup down and cleared his throat.

Taking a good look at his aunt, he could see that she was starting to age more visibly now. After all she was pushing to be sixty in a few years, and she was never the type of woman to take much care of her appearance. Her hair was curly and untamed as aways, now with some silver lining locks on it. Her face has a bit more wrinkles than before, but other than this she was the same. Oversized shirt and her favorite dark olive pants. These pants were such a trademark on her, till this day Ace wondered how she managed to find the exact same color and how did people still produce them or she just both a hundred pairs one day twenty years ago and since then she stuck with them.

“So, how’s life?” Small talks were always uncomfortable for him. He knew why he was here, but he wasn’t sure how to ask, how to start or formed his questions aloud.

“My life?” Dadan responded with a sarcastic laugh. “Same old, brat. Same old.” She shook her head. Her life has been the same since she could remember, which made her sad. Life wasn’t the fairest towards her, but this was something she never complained about, nor that she could if she wanted to. “I should be asking you this. You’re a big star now.” She reached over the table and patted Ace’s shoulder.

Awkward laughter escaped past Ace’s lips. Was he a star? Maybe…? Was he a big star? Definitely not.

“I wouldn’t call myself big.” Ace said, propping one elbow on the table and massaging his temple with his fingers.

Clicking with her tongue, Dadan hummed. “Don’t get modest now. You’re a big thing. I hear you on the radio at least once a day. Yesterday in the supermarket they played one of your songs while I was at the check-out.” Dadan smirked as she took another sip of her coffee. “You should have seen the face of the cashier girl when I told her my nephew and kid are you and Sabo.”

Ace couldn’t contain to withhold the bitter laughter that left his lips. He had always been the nephew, Sabo and Luffy were her kids. Dadan never referred to him as her kid or son, even though she raised him since day one and he did in fact share the same blood with her.

Dadan gave him a strange look, wondering what Ace was laughing about. “What’s funny, brat?”

Poking the inside of his cheek with his tongue, Ace snorted as he needed a second. Looking down at the floor he slowly shook his head as he ran one hand over his face. He came here with a lot of questions, and he planned to have answers for them, whenever he liked what he would hear or not.

“Don’t you wonder why I came here unannounced?” Straightening his posture, he finally looked his aunt in the eyes.

Dadan observed his face carefully. She would be lying if she said that her heart didn’t break from time to time for her nephew. This kid grew up with so much sorrow and anger in his heart. There was always this mixture of lust for life and sadness deep coded in his eyes. Part of her had wondered if he had ever felt happiness, real happiness in his life? She also knew that a big part of this sorrow came from her and the way she raised him, but what could she have done better?

“I do, Ace. You barely call or come to visit.” She didn’t dare to move her eyes as she was focused on guessing what was going on in his mind. Why did he look so tired, so miserable. “You do send me money, but… that’s all.” And this hurt her.

No matter how much trouble Ace had caused her in the past she did miss him. She wouldn’t say it aloud, but she did. And right now, she could see that something was clearly bothering him.

“Are there any problems with the band?” Ace just shook his head and mouthed ‘no’. “Is everything okay with Sabo and Luffy?” She only got a nod for a response. “Then what is it, brat? I’m not going to play guess with you.” Her tone became a bit harsh. Dadan was never a woman with a patience. With the way Ace was acting right now, her patience was running tin.

Hitting the table with his hand Ace couldn’t take it anymore. “Has it ever crossed your mind that I might not be okay?” The woman in front of him got a bit taken aback from his outburst. “Why is it away – how are Sabo and Luffy, but never how is Ace?”

For the first time ever, Dadan could not only see the sadness in her nephew’s eyes but hear the pain in his voice. What has happened to cause this?

Ace on the other hand was breaking from the inside. He was feeling at the edge of his being. After the last time he had seen (Y/N) at Sanij’s party, and how much he had hurt her, he wanted nothing else but to end it all. The pain in her eyes made him feel literal physical pain and he couldn’t believe that he had caused it. The only person who had brought a bit of peace of mind and happiness into his life, he had hurt so cruelly that he knew it was beyond repair. She would never forgive nor want to have anything with him ever again – and he deserved it.

That was why Ace was here today. He wanted to know – was he bad because of who he was a person or because of the blood that ran through his veins? Maybe Ace was a bad person after all, but he needed to know if it was all on him, or he could have a little peace with himself that and blame his father for the way he was. Did blood have anything to do with how we turn out as people or was it all based on another factors? Could we blame someone on how we turned as adults – good or bad, or the only person we could blame was no other but ourselves?

“You know, no need to answer this.” Ace waved his hand in front of his face to brush off the question he just asked. The answer was always obvious he didn’t need an answer to know it. “I didn’t come here for this question in particular, I came because…” Shutting his eyes and biting on his lower lip, he took a deep breath before he could say the name of his so-called father aloud. “I want to know about Roger.”

Dadan couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Ace had never asked about his father; about his mother – yes, but father – never.

“What do you want to know about him?” She asked, carefully observing Ace.

Pushing the chair a bit, Ace propped his elbows on his knees and buried his head in the palms of his hands as he slowly started to rub his head. He was having so many headaches recently and they were killing him. “Everything you know, with details.”

Dadan needed a minute or even more. What did she know about Roger? To be honest she didn’t know much. All she knew was mostly what people were talking about him – a criminal, a bad person. That was all she knew or at least wanted to believe.

With a heavy heart Dadan got up from the chair without saying anything, leaving Ace in the kitchen alone. She made her way to her bedroom. Going to her old chest of drawers, she opened the last one. There in an old box she kept something away from Ace since he was born, and now she started to realize that maybe she should have given it to him way earlier in his life. She wasn’t even sure why she hadn’t given it to him already, but she thought that he never cared to begin with about his parents or how they lived their lives.

Opening the old box there was a pink covered diary with black laced flowers around it and a little quote – ‘Do everything in love’. It used to belong to her sister Rouge. There she had written so much about her life and mostly her relationship with Roger. There might be all the answers Ace was looking for.

Going back into the kitchen, her nephew was still there. He sat on the chair with his back hunched over the table, lost in his own thoughts. Placing the diary in front of him on the table, he gave her a questioning look. Walking to her chair, she sat back down and pointed at it.

“This is your mother’s. All the questions or answers you’re looking for about your father must be there.”

“Have you read it?” Ace reached to take the dairy. It wasn’t very big, clearly very old, but it was quite used. His mom must have written a lot in it.

Avoiding looking at him, partly ashamed, Dadan nodded. “Yes… yes, I have.”

Opening the diary Ace slowly started to read through it. Most pages were with dates. His mother had a lot of hobbies, some quite strange from what he was reading. Most of the pages had stickers or pictures attached to them. His mother was a very interesting person. Page after page he finally reached the one where his father’s name was mentioned for the first time ever.

01.01.1997

The New Year’s Eve party I went to last night was amazing. I danced and sang all night. It was one of the best parties I’ve ever been to. It was with a lot of new people I’ve never met before, but it was so much fun.

I also met a very interesting man there. At first, he was loud and annoying, and I couldn’t stand him. He didn’t stop bothering me the whole night and demanding a dance with me. Finally, I gave up and I agreed to have one dance with him if he would leave me alone after and he agreed.

At first, I liked nothing about this man. He was obviously a bit older than me, but it wasn’t this that bothered me. But it all changed with one stupid joke and his jokes were awful (note to myself if I ever have a son – make sure to tell him to pick good jokes).

But this joke made me laugh like I’ve never had before, and it was like a light switch. Something changed like in a movie. It was like I got under a spell or something, because now I can’t stop thinking about this man. I can’t stop thinking about Roger.

06.01.1997

I thought that I would never see him again, but I was wrong. Today when I was at work someone walked into the flower shop and asked for me, saying that he was being told I work there. I was in the back when I heard my name being called. It was him. It was Roger.

He asked one of my friends where I work, and they told him, and he came to see me. He also invited me on a date. We are going out this Wednesday. Where? I don’t know, he said that it was a surprise.

I feel a bit weird about how excited I feel about this date. I’ve never felt like this before. Should I be afraid?

23.03.1997

Things with Roger are going great. I’ve never been more in love with someone as much as with him. I’m not just in love with him… I feel like I love him, but I’m a bit afraid to tell him. We have been together for two months. What if I scare him away?

But there is something else… he is hiding something from me. I don’t know what it is, but I don’t like it. Sometimes he acts weird, and he is quite rich for a man who claims to own just a pizzeria. I think he is doing something illegal, but I’m not a hundred percent sure. I must ask him.

14.04.1997

I was right and I don’t know how to feel about it. Roger confessed to me what he was up to. But he also confessed that he loved me.

I need time. I do love him as well. I do… a lot… but, I’m not sure if I can look past the fact that he is a up to a lot of illegal activities. This steps over my boundaries for what is moral and what not.

That is why I asked him for a bit of a time apart. I love him, but I hate the way he makes money for living. How can such a carrying and loving person do such a thing?

Carrying and loving? Ace had never heard someone referring to Roger as such. This must have been some other man, because it couldn’t be his biological father.

06.06.1997

It has been two months since I last saw Roger. I don’t think I can do this anymore. I miss him. I miss him so much - my heart, my soul, my being are crying for him. I want to be with him, despite everyone and everything. I love this man. I hope that he still loves me too.

17.11.1997

Life lately has been crazy. I even though I lost this diary.

God, I’m so in love. Life has never been better. I’ve never been more loved or carried about by someone as much as Roger does for me.

It is funny in a way. A man with such power in the criminal world to be capable of so much love. Sometimes it hurts me how some people portrait him as this bad, uncaring, sadistic person, yet he is not. Or at least not like this with the people he loves.

I’ve met most of his closest men. It’s funny how men who can break someone’s bones so easily are actually such sweethearts. There are two guys my age that work for him – Shanks and Buggy, they are like brothers. Both of them hilarious in their own way. Shanks is very cocky and low-key Roger’s favorite, while Buggy is a whole comedy show on his own.

Ace had to stop reading for a second. He knew that Shanks used to work for his father, but Buggy? Is that the same Buggy the Clow? (Y/N)’s dad. Thinking about it now and how you and Shanks are not actually blood related at all this made so much sense.

He didn’t know how to feel about this. The fact that your parents were connected somehow and years later you two met unexpectedly… the world was in fact very small.

Taking a deep breath in Ace shook his head and he continued to read his mother’s diary. There was so much to process even from only what he had read now.

Shanks tried to hit on me the first time he saw me, very sleek and cocky, but after he got a good slap on the head by Roger, he never dared to do it again.

Life is going on pretty fast now. If someone a year ago had told me that I would meet the love of my life I would have never believed them, but life has a funny way of showing us things that are meant for us. And Roger and I are meant for each other.

02.02.1998

We are getting married. I can’t believe it. Roger proposed to me. I’m over the moon. The man who I have been so in love with and love with all my heart and soul proposed to me.

I can’t wait for the day I will call him my husband, and he will call me his life. Gol D Rouge – it sounds so much nicer than Portgas D Rouge.

If it’s up to me, we’ll get married tomorrow. All I need is him and someone to marry us, but Roger wants to give me my dream wedding. How do I tell him that all my dreams start and end with him?

There was a polaroid picture attached to this page. Ace unattached it from the staple that was holding it and carefully observed it. Both Roger and his mother were on it, with Roger’s arms around Rouge, while she had hers around his neck and they both looked so happy… so in love. Their smiles were big; it was so clear that it was a real happiness that could be read in their eyes. Roger was dressed in a black suit while Rouge was wearing a white dress, almost as if they had gotten married, but they never got the chance to.

Putting the picture to the side, he turned the next page of the diary, and his brows raised with a bit of surprise. There was an ultrasound picture dated – 04.05.1998. His mom was in fact a big collector of memories.

10.05.1998

A week ago, I found out that I’m pregnant. I’m carrying mine and Roger’s child. Our first child.

I told Roger today. He cried. This big, scary man broke down crying when I told and showed him a picture of the ultrasound. Seeing him down on his knees, wrapping one arm around me and the other placed on my still flat belly made me realize something – I choose the best man and soon to be father for me and my child.

To our future dear baby – I don’t care about the gender, and does neither you dad, I want you to know one thing – you are wanted and very, very loved even before you are born to this world. - Love mommy and daddy xx

Ace reread the last paragraph again, and again, and again. He never knew that he was a wanted child, let alone a loved one by both of them, or at least his mom, after all this was her diary. He had heard from his aunt that Rouge was excited to become a mother, but now reading her own words… she really did want to be one. She did want him.

14.08.1998

My first trimester finished. My belly is still not showing much, actually not at all. I wonder if the baby has enough space in it.

I’m so happy. My precious baby is growing steady and healthy. I can’t wait to hold it in my arms already and so is Roger. Every night and morning he have a special routine with my belly – in the morning he sings to it and at nighttime he tells it bedtime stories or one of his many stupid jokes. The baby of course… wait why do I keep writing the baby? I’m sorry my love… You, of course, my precious child, still doesn’t response to us at all, but I’m looking forward to the day when you’ll start kicking me with your little sweet feet and let us know who sings better – me or your dad (I really pray you get my voice… your dad’s a lost cause).

A little laughter, almost like a giggle, left Ace’s voice. Her wish did come true. This was something that even Dadan had told him million times, that he got his mother’s talent when it came to singing.

Also, your dad is stuffing me with food. I’m not eating for two, I’m eating for at least four people. My biggest pregnancy craving so far is spicy food. I’m craving so much spicy food, and I think it comes from you little rascal of mine, you seem to like it a lot, but I’ll see if I’m right once you come into this world.

We still don’t know if you will be a boy or a girl, but both your dad and I think that you’ll be a boy. It’s a weird gut feeling, but we are like eighty percent sure that we’ll be right. But you can always prank us and turn out to be a girl. Nevertheless – it doesn’t matter. We love you to the moon and back already. - Mommy and daddy xx

Ace could feel his heart getting heavier and heavier. How could they have loved him already so much? And how was this the same man he had heard so many bad things described as such loving and carrying person? His dad… loved him? Roger… Roger so far didn’t sound bad or sadistic… he sounded very fun and nice, almost likable.

02.10.1998

You kicked for the first time ever today. It was in the morning, while your dad was singing to you. God, I wish I had a camera with me in that moment. Your kick was so precise and right in your dad’s face. I think you (and I) had enough of his awful singing.

Your dad and I will be finding your gender tomorrow. I’m so excited. We have already picked the names, or should I say your dad did: If you are a boy – Ace, after the band ‘Ace of Base’. Your dad and I had our first dance to their song ‘Lucky Love’ when we met for the first time ever. If you are a girl – Ann, after your dad’s mother, which I never got the chance to meet, but from what I know from you dad, she used to be a very lovely woman.

Ace pulled his phone immediately and searched for the song. He knew the band, but he had no idea he was named after them. He had no idea it was his father who picked his name.

While Ace was deep diving into his mother’s diary, Dadan pulled and lit a cigarette. Guilt was eating her alive. She should have given him this diary a long time ago. Maybe this would have been better for him, maybe then he would have less anger and sadness graved into his heart. But right now, all of this would be one big ‘What if…’

I can’t wait to know what I’ll be calling you from tomorrow. Your dad has been calling you Ace for some time now already; it’ll be funny if it turns out that he should have been calling you Ann this whole time.

Lots of love, - Mommy and daddy xx

03.10.1998

My Ace, my precious little Ace, my baby boy Ace.

We found out that you’ll be a boy today. We were right. I can’t wait to meet you baby. I can’t wait to hold you, and kiss you, and shower you with all the love I have in me. There won’t be another baby as loved as you will be my dear.

Now that I know that you’re a boy the strong kicks in my belly make even more sense. Part of me already sense that you’ll be as stubborn as me, but I do hope that you will take after many of your dad’s qualities as well – to be brave like him, strong, smart, carrying and so so many more.

We’ve already prepared ourselves to be the best mom and dad out there. Oh, Ace… I can’t wait to experience life with you. I can’t wait to see your first smile, hear your first giggle, see you taking your first steps… I can’t wait to meet you, my love.

Tears built up in the corner of his eyes and slowly started falling, something Ace hadn’t experienced for years. He didn’t remember the last time he cried, not even when he was watching (Y/N) leaving his apartment’s building that awful night three months ago; now they were falling one after another from his eyes and he couldn’t stop them.

He brought his fist to his lips and bit his knuckles as hard as he could to suppress the sobs threatening to escape his lips.

‘I can’t wait to experience life with you.’ These words stuck to him the most. This was beyond love. This was beyond everything. How much should you love someone to want to experience life with them?

Your dad and I spoke one night about how the perfect mixture of us would look like and I think we came to agreement – it doesn’t matter. Because you are already the perfect mixture of us and our love. - Love mommy and daddy xx

11.11.1998

To my Roger,

Today I had to see you getting buried six feet under the ground. Today a part of me got buried down there with you.

Life isn’t fair. Life isn’t fair to you, to me, and to our Ace.

Life wasn’t fair to you as it took you away so young. Life wasn’t fair because it took you five weeks before our Ace gets to be born. Life wasn’t fair to you because you would have to watch and protect Ace from above while you were meant to do it next to me.

Life isn’t fair to me. It took the man I’ve loved the most. The man that I’ll love forever. Life isn’t fair to me, because I can’t afford to grieve you the way I should, because I must make sure nothing will affect the health of our Ace.

Life isn’t fair to our son as well. He’ll never get the chance to meet you or know you, but Roger, I promise on my life, this child will know how amazing his father was and how much he loved and waited for him. I’ll make sure Ace knows how special he was for you, and he must be proud to be called your son.

I promise you that I will do anything and everything to protect him from this world. I promise you, Roger – Ace will grow to be a strong successful man. He is our child after all; he will make it.

The pain he was feeling in his chest spread through his whole body. His mother wasn’t able to keep any of the promises, but to bring him to this world, with the price of her life. And for what? For her son to turn into a failure? Good for nothing?

Life wasn’t fair to his parents; this was something Ace could really agree with. Mostly to his mom.

26.12.1998

Our son is a week late. I was supposed to give birth to him a week ago, but so far, he is quite stubborn and doesn’t want to get out. I think he is planning to wait until thirty first exactly, so you two can share a birthday. Not that I mind. I’m going to give him all the time he needs. When he feels like it’s his time to come into this world he’ll come.

Recently he has been kicking me like crazy in the morning. I think he misses your awful singing as much as I do… I miss it so much I started to pray that he can actually takes over your singing talent.

I can’t wait to hold him. Our Ace is the only thing left now which will remind me that I’ll have a part of you with me forever.

I love you, Roger. Always and forever.

This was the last page Rouge had written only five days before she would give birth to Ace and pass away.

His mind was a complete mess. They wanted him. They loved him. His parents were excited to have him. All he knew was this mom wanted him, he never knew how much she actually did and that she loved him so much. Not only this but his father… his father wasn’t so cruel as other people have portraited him to be. All his life Ace had heard how Roger took advantage of his mother, that he never loved her, he even heard that he had just used her once got her knocked up and never looked after her again, but the truth, the reality of it all was completely different.

Roger and Rouge were in love. Ace was made with love. He was wanted.

His heartbeat increased and he felt like his skin was burning hot, yet he was wearing only a T-shirt. With the increased pulse of his heart he felt like there wasn’t enough air to fill up his lungs. Cold sweat started to run down his forehead, grabbing his shirt with his fist he tried to take deep breaths as he could feel everything around him closing. The vision in front of him was blurry. He felt like everything around him was collapsing.

Dadan put her cigarette down and rose from her chair. What did he read to cause this reaction out from him? She had never seen Ace in such a state before. Scared, confused, fighting to breathe, all shaken up. What made him so emotional?

Walking next to him she grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him. Ace’s head snaped towards her and in that moment, there in front of her wasn’t standing the big grown-up man he has become, no – in front of her was standing the little boy Ace. His eyes, red and still filled with tears, looked at her with so many questions in them. He looked so lost right now. Lost and scared.

“Try to breath kid.” Dadan told him as gently as she possibly could. Letting go of his shoulders she went to the sink and grabbed a glass, filling it with water. “Here drink.” She walked back to Ace, whose chest was still raising up and down like he had run a five kilometers marathon.

He couldn’t focus on what his aunt was telling him, but he still took the glass of water. With a shaking hand he lifted the glass to his lips and tried to calm his breathing a bit before he could take a sip.

Ace wasn’t sure how to feel right now. Finding out that you have always been wanted and loved by your own parents, even if they weren’t among the living people anymore, after twenty-six years would be a huge shock for anyone. Finding out that the man, who’s happened to be your father, was not the monster everyone portrayed him to be, was even bigger. Because now… now Ace couldn’t blame his father anymore for his heartless behavior.

Trying to calm his breath and collect his mind, Ace placed the glass on the table and got up on his feet. His aunt took a step back, giving him some space. Running his hands through his hair Ace closed his eyes before he spoke up. “Why?” The question came out as a whisper. Raw and painful whisper.

“What why, Ace?” Dadan took another step back.

“Why you never gave me this?” Taking his mother’s diary from the table Ace angrily waved it at his aunt’s face, shouting at her. “Why Dadan? Why?” His voice was cracking from anger, disappointment.

If a second ago he was consumed by fear and sadness, now Ace was seeing red. He felt like something that has always belonged to him has been kept away as a punishment. But punishment for what - for whom was his father or that he was born?

“Don’t dare to yell at me, brat.” Dadan screamed back at him. She would never let her be disrespected in her own house. “I never thought you care about your parents to begin with, let alone your father.” She answered more calmly. “Plus, I was afraid you might take after his bad criminal side.” Moving to the table she took her pack of cigarettes and pulled another one out, lighting it up. She took a long drag of the cigarette before she continued speaking. “You almost did, thought.”

“But I didn’t.” Ace’s voice roared so loudly it could have been heard even outside. Walking closer to Dadan he locked his eyes with her. He and her shared the same eye color, but now he was a bit darker than usual and full of rage and pain.

“All my life Dadan.” Slowly and quietly, he started speaking. “All my life, I felt guilty to be alive and I’ve always seen it in your eyes.” He pointed a finger at her. “You’ve always blamed me for my mother’s death. Always. After all these years I’ve always felt that you have some kind of resentment towards me, and don’t you?” She didn’t respond. Her face was like a stone. “If you’ve hated me this much why you didn’t give me to child services or something?”

“Because I’ve promised your mother.” And deep down she knew she had failed her promise. She always knew this, she just didn’t want to admit it.

“You promised her what exactly? And what exactly she made you promise?” Ace took a few steps back and waited for a response.

“That I’ll take care of you, brat.” Dadan said more harshly this time. She wasn’t the type of person who openly talked about things that would cause her pain. That was why she wanted this conversation between her and her nephew to be over. “Didn’t you get the answers you were looking for from that stupid diary?” She pointed with her hand at the pink diary in Ace’s hand.

“I did and now don’t know who or what to believe anymore.” Ace did get a few answers out of it, but now he had even more questions. “You’ve always said that Roger was a bad person and partner to my mother, but here-” He raised his hand holding the diary. “Here, with my mother’s words, he is a completely different person and far away from a bad partner.”

“Oh, Ace.” Dadan sighed. “I won’t believe everything your mother had written about this man. She was so blindly in love with this man, of course, she only saw the good in him.”

“So, there was good in him after all?” Ace walked to the table and rested the palms of his hands on it.

“Your mother was a young beautiful woman that Roger took advantage of it.” Dadan raised her voice a bit. “Like it or not Ace your father was a bad person.”

“You’ve said it yourself that you two never officially met. How do you know how good or bad of a person he was?”

“Are you defending him now?” His aunt raised one brow surprisingly.

Was Ace defending his father now? Maybe. As much as he didn’t like it, maybe after what he just read about him from his mother’s perspective had messed up with his opinion about his father and now, mostly because of Rouge, Ace felt like he had to defend his father in some way.

“Maybe, I am.” It was hard to say it out loud, but he did. “This doesn’t change the fact that you try to answer my questions with a question.” Sitting down opposite her, Ace tapped with his fingers on the table as he gestured to his aunt to start speaking. “Come on, Dadan. You’ve already messed me up years ago, believe me, nothing you say today, would make my live any more different than it already is.” A small sad smile was placed on his face.

The house got quiet. The only thing that could be heard was the warm spring wind coming from the opened window in the kitchen and the clicking of the clock on the wall. The curly ginger haired woman didn’t know what to say. She felt ashamed. She had felt like this many, many times before. Mostly because she knew she failed her promise. But today she realized how much she did actually fail.

Clearing her throat she finally spoke up. “You’re right Ace. I don’t know how much your father was a bad or a good person, but I never liked him. My sister, your mother, she was a woman with so much potential. She could have actually gotten out of this bad area of town, she could have gotten a very good job and had a very stable family, but sadly she met your father. And yes… she did love him. She did love him very much.” Saying this out loud, Dadan remembered one of the few times her little sister shared with her some of the things Roger had done for her. Her eyes were glowing every time she would mention his name. She would keep every flower he gave her even after it was dead. She would always say how Roger was the love of her life. Her soulmate. “From what she would tell me about him from time to time… yes, it did sound like he loved her as well.”

Ace was listening carefully. Dadan had never opened up to him or anyone to begin with. She was like an emotionally disabled person, there was barely any emotion she would show, and if they were any it was usually anger or disappointment, at least towards him. Sabo and Luffy received some love from her in one way or another.

“Before she died in the hospital bed…” Dadan needed a moment before she could continue to speak. Till this day, the thought of her sister’s last minutes before she passed away hunted her like a never-ending nightmare. “She called for me and I went inside her room. You were wrapped in her arms, and she was gently creasing your face while you slept. She called me in her room because she wasn’t feeling good. Then… then…” Tears started to build up as she remembered more and more the words her sister told her. “Then she looked at me and I could see tears in her eyes, but they weren’t tears of sadness, Ace… she was crying from happiness, even though she was in pain and not feeling good… she… she held you up a-and s-said…” Dadan’s voice cracked as tears were falling down like waterfalls from her eyes. “She said – ‘Look at him, Dadan. Isn’t he perfect?’” She buried her face in the palms of her hands as sobs started to escape her lips.

Ace didn’t say anything, nor did he try to calm his aunt down. He was just listening carefully and trying to assimilate what he had heard. And what he had heard broke his heart but also brought him a bit of peace. His mother had held him. He always thought that she had died immediately after his birth, but this wasn’t true. She got to spend some time with him. He got to spend some time with her, even if he couldn’t remember it, he had been held and loved by his mother even if it was for just a moment. He got the chance to be loved by her.

Wiping her tears away and trying to collect herself, Dadan cleared her throat and continued. “And you were Ace. You were perfect. You were innocent… a-and still are, when it comes to your mom’s death. I’m sorry if I ever said or made you feel like you were at fault for this. It wasn’t your fault. It was the doctors.”

Ace couldn’t believe what he was hearing. All these years he thought and was told that it was his fault. But it never was.

“She died from internal bleeding. But before she did, and they took her for emergency operation she made me promise that I’ll take care of you… and love you as my own child, like you were my own son… b-but I… I-I c-could never do this…” Her heart was breaking. She never took the role of his mother fully, because she never could. “I couldn’t do it, because you were their child. You were… you are her child, and the thought that I should take her place as your rightful mother never sat right with me, because… because no one could have been better mother to you than Rouge.” Ace didn’t say anything, he just let his aunt continue to speak. “I always saw myself as your aunt and never as your parent and now I realize how wrong I was for not at least try to be the mother you needed.”

Neither of them dared to say something. Tears were streaming down their faces. Both hurt by the same fate, but in different ways.

Ace wasn’t moving at all. He just let the tears fall. His mind was a mess, his heart was hurting, and his body was paralyzed. Seeing him in such a state broke Dadan’s heart. The realization of how much she had hurt this child, her child, her own and only living blood made her stand up and for the first time ever, in years, she went and hugged him. She hugged him in a strong hold and kissed the top of his head.

“I’m sorry, Ace. I’m so sorry for all the damage I’ve done to you.” She whispered to him. “You’re a great child and a young man. Your parents would have been proud of you.” She could feel the way his body was shaking and hear how he was trying to hold his sobs. “I’m proud of you son.”

Hearing this, Ace finally wrapped his arms around his aunt and let himself cry, without suppressing his voice. He let himself being vulnerable, something he never had done before.

It had been four days since me and Usopp have been editing. We had seven hours of material, of which so much could be used, but we decided to not make the movie longer than twenty minutes.

Looking at the time my eyes widen. “Oh my, we’ve been editing for eight hours.”

“What time is it?” Usopp turned to look at me as surprised as I was.

“It’s already six thirty.” And we were nowhere close to being done, we would need at least five more days or more. Taking a glance at Usopp, I clapped with my hands to catch his attention, as he had turned back to the computer’s screen to fix something in the editing program again. “I think we can call it the day.”

“Yea, we should probably do this.” Saving the progress we had made so far with the movie, Usopp closed the editing program and then turned off the computer. “Do you want me to give you a ride?” As much as his offer sounded very nice, I decided that it was best to turn it down. “You sure? I don’t mind.”

“Uh, Usopp, you’re a sweetheart. Kaya is a lucky girl.” I said to him with a smile as we made our way out. “But yes, I’m sure.”

Before we part ways and say goodbye, I asked him what time we should meet tomorrow only for him to remind me that tomorrow we must speak with the second-year students for our internship with them and which groups we would like to join. Something that totally had left my mind.

“Have you chosen a group already?” I was hoping he would say ‘no’, because working with a certain someone from the second year would be quite awkward for me.

“No, I’m still debating which movie to choose. Dave’s one is supper cool, is more of a modern sci-fi vibe, so maybe I’ll chose his group.”

“Oh, is he directing?” I was surprised to hear this. Knowing Dave and what he wanted to do with filmmaking, directing wasn’t his main goal.

“Apparently. He’s very excited about it.” Usopp turned to pull me in a hug as we reached the exit, and we were to go on our separate ways. “I doubt you would choose his, but it’ll be a very nice movie, think about your CV.”

Looking away awkwardly I just nodded. “Yes, sure. Well, we’ll text then. Bye, Usopp.”

Making my way to the metro satiation, I pulled out my headphones to listen to some music, but I have run out of battery for them. I took this as an opportunity to observe the outside world and also to see if someone was following me.

This weird feeling that I was being followed hasn’t left me for weeks. The only time I didn’t feel followed was when I went away for a week, but since I came back the feeling did as well.

Two stops before mine, two girls entered the metro, no older than sixteen. They were holding hands and singing while one of them had her phone up in the air. I couldn’t recognize the song at first nor heard it as they were wearing airpods, but the lyrics sounded familiar. Like I have heard this song before somewhere.

“Uhh, this is my favorite part.” One of the girls said as she continued to sing.

I tried to write your name in the rain, But the rain never came

As they sat in front of me and continued to sing, it immediately clicked to me where I recognized this song from… it was his song, to which I mentally rolled my eyes.

And if you were my little girl I'd do whatever I could do I'd run away and hide with you I know that you got daddy issues

This song was everywhere and as much as I wanted to, I couldn’t escape it. It was played so played and streamed, to a point where I personally think it was overplayed.

“Ace please, I can be your little girl.” One of them said while the other giggled. I couldn’t help but side-eyed the girl by the comment she made. Was she aware that she was a minor?

“Shut up, he is mine. I can cure his daddy issues.” Her friend replied and they started to mess with each other.

“Well, him and Law can cure mine for sure.” The first girl playfully licked her lips and they erupted laughing.

I couldn’t suppress the annoyed chuckle that left my lips. The two teenaged girls noticed it and gave me a weird look, which I chose to ignore.

Luckily, my stop finally came, and I left the metro. If I had to listen to one more dirty comment about Ace or any other of the guys, I was going to shoot myself on the spot. I doubted that they would still think the same if they knew how Ace treated the girls he was interested in. It was all fun and games until he decided that it was boring to play.

God, how I hated thinking of this man. I hated how much effect he still had on me despite all the things that had happened between us. Since I told Nami about what happened, my thoughts have gone back occasionally to him and the night of Sanji’s party.

Did he really get jealous when he saw me with Kid, and why would he? He was the one who didn’t want to have anything to do with me in the first place, and now he saw me with another man and immediately decided that he wants me back or something? And this whole ‘Let’s start all over again’ bullshit pissed me off so much. ‘Don’t forgive me just give me a chance.’ – did he think I was this brainless and so easily manipulated? I would neither forgive nor forget, because he didn’t deserve either of these.

Being caught up in my thoughts I finally approached my street and the building I lived in. My whole mood had changed. I was so pissed, and it was again because I allowed myself to think about him.

Not paying attention to my surroundings, I bumped into someone as I was searching for my keys at the bottom of my bag, I said sorry without even looking at them, but then they called me by my name, and this made me freeze on the spot. This voice. This painfully familiar voice which I hated from the bottom of my heart. What was she doing here? Swallowing hard I took a deep breath and continued to search for my keys in my bag. My name got called again. I felt the keys at the bottom of my bag and pulled them out.

“Please, (Y/N), wait.” Her voice has always been soft and a bit raw, I guess it was from all the crack she had smoked over the years. She came closer to me as I was opening the door, still ignoring her. “I just want to speak with you.”

Reaching with her hand to stop me from entering the building I snapped and finally turned around when I felt her hand touching my shoulder. “Don’t you ever dare touching me.” I felt the unpleasant feeling of disgust and anger taking over me. “What are you doing here?” So far in my life only two people have mastered how to make my blood boil, one less than the other but still -Ace and my mother.

I haven’t seen her in years. Last time she tried to reach out for me was almost two years ago and it was on the phone, so I cut her fast by blocking her number. Then I didn’t speak with my father for a month because he had given it to her, and he knew how much I despised this woman.

But seeing her in person was a surreal feeling, something that hasn’t happened since I was five years old, yet I could still recognize her face. Despite all the drugs she has taken over the years I would be lying if I say that she was ugly. The substance abuse had made her age a bit faster and added an unhealthy look to her, but still the same face I had seen in the pictures my dad had kept over the years.

I have always hated how much I looked like her but seeing her after all these years twisted my stomach in a very unpleasant way.

“I’ve wanted to see you and speak with you.” She took a small step back. The look of fear and guilt written all over her eyes, same color as mine. “Your dad gave me your address and…” She cleared her throat. “And I’ve been here for some time now, trying to approach you as-”

Cutting her off and not letting her finish her sentence I raised my voice at her as I let go of the front door and closed it angrily. “Were you following me around?” Looking down at the ground she slowly nodded. “I knew I wasn’t crazy.” I murmured under my breath.

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t want to scare you.” The way her voice trembled with fear made me give her a questioning look. “I-I just want to speak with you, please just one conversation, I beg you.”

What was with people and wanting to talk with me recently? Since when have I become such an important person to people who have hurt me and now want to become part of my life again?

Without saying anything I looked away. The street wasn’t busy, there were barely any people passing by. The wind was blowing softly as the sun was slowly starting to go down. It was just me and her at the top of the staircase leading to the entrance of the building.

Looking back at her, with zero emotions on my face, in an even, unbothered tone I spoke to her. “What you want or beg for, you won’t get from me, because I don’t care. Now go away as I don’t want to see you ever again.” Turning to open the entrance door once again, I stopped because she called me by my childhood nickname, the one given to me and used only by her. This made me snap. “Don’t you ever call me this ever again.”

I never knew that my voice could be this loud. I also never knew how much exactly the pain and the anger I carried towards her were, until a quite vivid memory of the last days I got to spend with her played in my mind the second she called me by it.

It was a day like today. Sunny and warm but still windy. We went on a walk while my dad was at work. She asked me if I wanted an ice cream and to go to the park. I was almost five, of course I wanted ice cream and to go to the park, so we quickly made our way there. I remembered the way she gently held my hand and slightly swung it back and forth while I was happily skipping right next to her. When we finally reached the park and the ice cream shop she let go of my hand and let me run to the ice cream truck.

“Mommy, come.” I called out for her. With my tongue sticking out, I got on my tiptoes to look at the ice creams at display. “Mommy, mommy, fast.” Clapping with my hands excitedly I start jumping on one spot.

She finally came and picked me up in her arms. “Have you chosen already?” Her voice was so soft and caring as she caressed my little face. Nodding eagerly, I pointed at the ice cream I wanted. “But, honey, you won’t like this flavor.”

“Please, mama.” I grabbed her face with both hands and gave her puppy eyes.

Sighing she shook her head with a smile, before giving me a kiss on the forehead and buying the flavor I wanted and one more ice cream for her. Putting me on the ground so she could take them I bounced excitedly on my feet, reaching with my hands for the ice cream.

“Let’s go to the bench over there and I’ll give you the ice cream.” Pointing at the bench next to the playground I didn’t waste any time and ran off to it.

I sat on the bench and patiently, as much as one four, almost five years old child could be. Sitting next to me she handed me the ice cream with one little spoon. “Thank you, mommy.” I gave her one big toothy grin before digging the small spoon into it.

The moment I tasted the ice cream I turned to face her with a grimace. She started laughing at me and the faces I was making. Calling me by the nickname she always used for me, she took the ice cream from my hands. “What did I tell you?” There was nothing that sounded like scolding in her voice or looking like she was pissed. She was just gentle and caring. “Here, take mine.”

I took the ice cream she handed me, and my eyes shifted between her and the cold sweet treat. “But mama… this is yours.” I handed it back to her, but she shook her head.

“It’s yours.”

“Thank you, mommy.” I made a kissy face which made her lean closer to me so I could kiss her cheek. “You’re the best mama in the world.”

I never saw her after that day, nor did she try to contact me until I was twenty. Now she stood in front of me, having the audacity to call me by the nickname that I hate from the bottom of my heart, and wanted to have a conversation with me.

“Do you really think that I want to see you or speak with you after you didn’t bother to acknowledge my existence in the past seventeen years?” Taking a step closer to her made her move a step back from me.

“I was going through something.” She quietly said. Did I hear her correctly? She was going through something?

Raising my brows as I couldn’t believe what she had just said to me, and I chuckled. “You’re joking, right? You can’t be seriously telling me this?”

Shaking her head, she pulled a strand of her hair behind her ear, and I noticed the way her hands were shaking as she started to play with it. “I-I was in a v-very dark place.” Swallowing hard she looked at me with fear. “B-but you n-never left my mind. I was t-thinking about you all the time.”

A makeshift of mocking laughter left my lips. “Was this during smoking crack or sniffing something?” She turned her head to the side and her whole face scrunched as I continued. “Or was it during some psychotic episode?”

Wrapping one of her arms around herself she slouched her posture a bit. “I-I’m clean now.”

“Sorry, what was that?” Bringing my hand to my ear I pretended like I didn’t hear her. “Did you say you’re clean?” I faked excitement in my voice. “Oh my Gosh, congratulation. For how long two, three days? And what now, you wanna play mother and daughter?” Clapping my hands mockingly I waited for her response. I bet she fooled my father that she was clean, but she couldn’t fool me.

“Please, stop acting like this.” A soft painful cry left her lips.

Placing my hand on my chest I gave her a pitiful look. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I just happened to grow up without mother, so I lack a lot of manners.”

I was blinded by my anger. I didn’t know how much of it I had been holding for her until I saw her standing in front of me. All these years when I desperately needed a mother she wasn’t there and now it was too late. The person who brought me to this world was the first person ever to abandon me and for which I would never forgive her.

“For which I’ll never forgive myself, but p-please g-give me a chance for just o-one conversation.” She pleaded once again.

Slowly I shook my head. “No.” This time there was no mocking or laughing. “That night you left you made the conscious choice of abandoning me. I grew up without you. When I needed a mother, you weren’t there.” Tears started to fall from her eyes. “Instead, you were out there, who knows doing what.” I couldn’t hide the disgust in my voice. “You chose drugs over your family. Over your daughter.” She tried to say something, but I didn’t let her. “No, you wanted to speak with me, right? Here I am. Speaking to you.”

There were so many things I wanted to tell her. So many things I wanted to ask her as – ‘Why did you leave?’ Was I such a bad child that she had to just… leave? She didn’t even bother taking her stuff, we just woke up one day and she was gone. The first time she tried to contact us again was eleven years after. For whatever reason my father did keep in contact with her after that. I never understood why till this day he was so keen on her, but I didn’t really want to know the answer to this as I was sure I would not like it.

None of this matter now. As much as I had a lot to say to her, I also didn’t want to say anything. But I was hurt, and I needed to let her know, let her feel my internal pain from all these years, because this was the first and last conversation she was to have with me.

“I don’t care if you’re going to forgive yourself or not, because I never will.” Hearing this she pressed her hand to her lips to suppress the sobs coming from her. “I don’t care if you are clean or not, because I doubt that you’ll last long without your precious crack.” I couldn’t help but give her a disgusting look. “All these years I kept asking myself why – why did my mother left me? Was I such a bad child?”

Looking at her directly in her redden eyes I wanted to make sure that she would listen and understand what I was about to say next. “But there was no answer to these questions, until one day it hit me. I was never the problem; you were just one disgusting excuse of a mother and the worst thing that I got to carry within myself is the fact that I share the same blood with a piece of shit like you.”

My words were cutting deep into all the wounds she had but I wasn’t planning to stop nor to apologies about it. “Why you want to speak with me or see me doesn’t matter. You can go back to your biggest love in this world also know as crack and make sure to have fun and live without worry in this world as you have done so far. Be-”

“Stop, just stop talking.” Her scream interrupted me. “None of this is true, I had to go away because otherwise I was gonna end my life, would you have preferred this?” She then moved a few steps closer to me until she was standing just millimeters away from my face. “Would you have preferred to have a dead mother more than one that was not present in your life?”

“Yes, yes I would!” I screamed back at her. “Did you really think that abandoning me was the better solution? Do you even hear yourself? Actually, don’t answer this, all the shit you have smoked and taken has obviously fried your brain.” I couldn’t control myself as I pushed her away from me with one hand as she got way to close to me.

“Don’t you dare pushing me, I’m your mother.” She yelled at me and slapped my hand away.

“You’re not my mother.” I yelled back. She was pushing all my buttons at the same time. How could she call herself a mother? Giving birth and being a mother were two different things, apparently, she wasn’t aware of it. “For God sake, you left. You left and never came back and now is too late, and I don’t want to see you.”

“But here I am standing in front of you and asking for a chance to be your mom.” Her yell got mixed with desperate cry.

“I don’t need a mother. When I did you wasn’t here and now is too late, so go away before I call the police.” I turned around and inserted the keys to unlock the entrance door.

“So, you want to tell me that if I go and die tonight you won’t care?” She said behind me with a trembling voice.

Without looking at her, I clenched my fists and jaw hard as I tried to remain as calm as I could possibly be. “You’ve been dead to me for quite some time now… so it won’t make any difference.” Without waiting for a response, I shut the door after me and made my way to my apartment.

I was shaking by the time I reached it and entered it. Closing the door behind me I leaned my back on it and slowly fell down to the ground. All the anger and hatred and pain shifted into uncontrollable sobs. In between them I was gasping for air as everything around me seemed to suffocate me.

With shaky hands I reached out and pulled my phone, dialing my father’s number. It didn’t take long before he answered. “How could you?” I cried on the phone.

“Baby girl? What’s wrong? Why are you crying?” The tone of his voice changed immediately. “Are you hurt? What happened?”

“D-don’t act like y-you don’t know.” Gasping for air once again before I responded I tried my best to calm myself, but I couldn’t. “H-how c-could you give h-her my a-address.” I wasn’t asking, I was shaming him. I wanted him to feel bad, to feel guilty. “You… you know I d-don’t want to have o-or do a-anything with her. I don’t want to be associated with this person, how could you let her know where I live?”

I have never felt more betrayed in my life than I was right now. The thing that hurt the most was the fact that it was my dad of all the people who did it. He knew how much it took me to accept the fact that she left us, he knew how much I closed myself for the outside world when she abandoned us and how hard it was for me to slowly start opening again. Seeing her today, after all these years, made me feel like all this progress over the years flew out the window.

My dad stayed quiet for some time, listening to my gaps for air, not knowing what to say first. Finally, I heard him exhaling heavily before speaking up. “I’m sorry, baby girl… but she is your mom, and I couldn’t keep her away from you.”

“You couldn’t keep her away from me even after you know how much this would affect me?” My heart was breaking. Of all people, I never expected this from my father. He was always my safety place, but now all I could feel for him was like he was my worst enemy.

“She is clean, and she wants a chance to show you she loves you.” He tried to defend her, which only added to my pain. Did he forget what we had been though because of her absence? “Please, give her a chance. I know that you don’t really know her, but baby girl… you mother is not a bad person.”

“My mother abandoned me, dad!” I screamed onto the phone. “She left me. Do you hear me? She left! She made the choice to leave while I needed her the most! How could you defend her after all the damage she had done to me? To us?”

My throat hurt from all the screaming. I could feel my voice slowly dropping an octave every time I screamed and tried to make my father understand me. “How could you defend the woman who abandoned you and your child?” I whispered as tears continued to fall on my face.

“I’m sorry, baby girl.” He quietly said. “Please, take some deep breaths and calm down.” His pointless attempts to calm me down were only adding to the fuel.

“I don’t want to calm down.” I yelled with whatever voice I had left. “I want to know why you betrayed me like this. You of all people. I thought you love me and never would allow anything to harm me, yet you sent the person who had hurt me the most straight to my home. How could you, how?”

The anger was somehow gone and replaced by the pain in my chest. This hurt way more than when Ace pushed me away three months ago, and I thought back then that nothing would ever hurt more but was I wrong.

“I didn’t mean for this to happen baby girl.” I could hear the guilt in his voice. “But… I thought that maybe if you meet her, you’ll find it within your heart to forgive her. I-I thought that even if it might be late, you two could try and fix your relationship.”

“Dad, do you hear yourself? What relationship?” It wasn’t like me and her fought two weeks ago and now we should make it up and forgive each other, no. I never fought with her until today, because I never got the chance to grow up with her. She abandoned me before I was even five years old; there was no relationship between me and her at all. It never existed and it would never.

“Baby girl, I know, but you must understand me and the position I’m in as well.” He whined from the other side of the line.

“What position, dad? What must I understand? The fact that you get so easily manipulated by a woman who left you seventeen years ago, is this what am I supposed to understand?” I really couldn’t understand him, neither did I want to.

“Don’t be so harsh (Y/N)!” He scolded me with a harsh tone which left me surprised. He had never really done this, why was he so defensive over her.

“Why are you so defensive for her but not me?”

“Because you’re acting like a child right now, and I wasn’t expecting this from you.” His tone continued to be a bit harsh. “Your mother is clean, and she is very scared and lost, but she is also trying to do the right thing by fixing things with you, but you as always have to make things complicated as you are sometimes so stubborn.”

I didn’t respond to this, I just cut him off by ending the conversation. He chose her over me. He chose her wants and needs over my own. He broke all the trust I had for him, and I would never be able to forgive him for this.

My phone started to vibrate. My dad was calling, but I ignored it. I just stared at the empty space, not really focused on anything, just staring. My mind was a mess, thought after thought running through it. I felt so alone, so lonely. I had no one to call who would understand me, or at least I couldn’t call him. I found it both scary and hilarious that even in a moment like this one, the only person who I could think of giving me some kind of comfort happened to be the one who had also broken my heart a few months ago.

I recently read somewhere – ‘The irony of pain is that you want to be comforted by who hurt you.’ I got the meaning when I read it, but I didn’t really understand it. Not until now. But it didn’t matter. I guess I was meant to be a loner. Maybe I was one of those people who deal with sadness and pain all by themselves. Maybe at the end of the day I was a bad person, because good people have a shoulder to cry on, didn’t they?

What my father said before I ended the phone call might be right. I was quite stubborn and harsh sometimes, maybe I was in fact the problem. Maybe my mother and I could have been able to fix things between us, but now we would never know.

Now I would never know, because the next morning I woke up my phone was spammed with messages and calls from my dad. Swallowing the pain and the betrayal I called him back, and part of me wished that I didn’t. My mother was dead.

I had killed my own mother. Not literally, but I did feel like her death was on me. It was my words who made her relapse. It was my actions towards her yesterday that made her overdose later that night. It was me who told her that it didn’t matter if she was alive or not as she was already death to me. It was her blood on my hands. It was her death that it would be on top of my shoulders, carrying it on my back as a cross and reminder that I am in fact a bad person. And bad people don’t make it far in life.

END NOTE: This chapter was supposed to be way, waaayyyy longer, but I decided mid-way editing that it was better to leave it like this as I realized that I wrote such a beautiful parallel between Ace and Reader and this should be the main focus for this chapter. I want to say that this moment between Reader and her mother was meant to happened and it was in my mind probably since chapter three of the story. I understand if you all hate me for the last part of the story and if you find it a bit too harsh, believe me I did try to actually made it as "soft" as I possibly can so I don't trigger someone with some trauma or something. BUT this is how I see the story going and this is how I plan to deliver it. I don't like flat character and I don't plan to write about such. Both Reader and Ace are complicated and this is what makes them perfect for each other, but there is still time for their relationship to develop more. While Ace somehow "improved" the relationship with his family and read how wanted and loved he always had been, our girl Reader went in complete spiral with her parents and how they hurt her growing up and also feeling betrayed by her father mostly. One of them got their heart a bit fix while the other got another heartbreak to add to their record. As always I will appreciate any feedback and reflections by you guys by either commenting or messaging me. I love hearing your thoughts on how the story goes and what you liked or didn't. ♡ Thank you for reading it ♡♡♡

✰ taglist ✰ @orange-milky @neospade @bluetokie @glaciuswduo @izoswifey @l-l-light @kanekisheart @gojossixtheyes @lilink @kitsunechan707 @kattywhomper

♡ comment or message me if you want to be included in the taglist ♡

writing, format & dividers © cinnamoonblue fanart @a_phu14 on IG ©cinnamoonblue, do not copy or plagiarise my work.

108 notes · View notes

kathlare · 3 months ago

Text

so american

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: Amelie and Lando experience an unforgettable night at the Super Bowl in New Orleans.

Wordcount: 2.1 k

Warnings: none

full masterlist // request over here!

February 9th, 2025 - New Orleans, LA

liked by ln4nation, lanelieshippers, and others

ameliedaymandaily: Amelie was seen at the Super Bowl in New Orleans tonight, and according to people there, she’s with Lando, some of her friends, and her family! 👀🏈

View all 839 comments

jazzyn07: Lando and Amelie at the SUPER BOWL?! 😍💘 The vibes are unmatched

instaqueen22: Lando’s so obsessed with her, he literally can’t stop staring at her. 🔥🔥 → fanoflife25: @instaqueen22 She’s literally glowing. I get it, Lan. 😏 → instaqueen22: @instaqueen22 Their energy is literally unreal, I’m obsessed with them! 😩💘

musicfan4ever: Is it just me or are they lowkey always touching each other? Like every pic, every event. 🤔 → itsabreezey: @musicfan4ever It's not lowkey, babe, it's HIGHKEY. 😂🔥 They're inseparable.

theo_lover: Honestly, Amelie and Lando have been giving "it" for YEARS. They just needed the right time. 🥹🔥 → blondeboi: @theo_lover Literally. They’re out here making all of us believe in true love again. 😩

georgefan_34: Amelie lowkey makes Lando look like he’s on cloud 9 all the time. ☁️

lando4life: It’s the way they STILL flirt like they’re in the beginning stages of their relationship. 🥺💘 → livelaughlove33: @lando4life They’re so cute, it makes me believe in love again!! 😩💖

writergirl98: Lando’s literally glowing when he’s around Amelie. Like, he’s SO into her. 🔥 → driverfan94: @driverfan94 He’s been into her since DAY ONE, sis. We all knew it. 😌

sundayswithgeorge: Lando and Amelie really made us wait for this relationship, huh? But damn, was it worth it. 💯 → f1fanatic101: @sundayswithgeorge We waited YEARS for this. And now they're living their best life. 😭✨

sportsbabe_22: He’s literally obsessed with her. It’s adorable. 💖

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

The Super Bowl.

The pinnacle of American sports culture, the grand spectacle that blended athleticism with pure, unfiltered entertainment. And for the first time, Lando Norris was right in the middle of it.

He had always understood the hype, of course. Even back home, the Super Bowl was an event. People threw parties, pubs filled up, and he’d even watched a few games over the years—especially when Max dragged him into betting pools. But this? Actually being there, in the heart of New Orleans, inside a massive stadium packed with screaming fans? This was something else entirely.

Lando was sitting comfortably in the plush seats of a private suite, his arm lazily draped around Amelie’s shoulders as she snuggled into him, her legs tucked up underneath her. It was everything Lando had imagined, and yet, it felt surreal. New Orleans was buzzing with energy. The sound of the crowd outside reverberated through the walls, but the suite was an oasis of luxury and exclusivity.

Amelie’s fingers tapped rhythmically on the armrest of her chair as she watched the pre-game show on the large screen, her eyes flicking to Lando every now and then. He was looking around the suite, clearly soaking it all in, but with his usual touch of British reserve. He tried to look casual, but there was something in the way he kept shifting, like he couldn’t quite believe he was here.

—Don’t tell me you’re nervous,— Amelie teased, leaning her head back against his shoulder.

Lando shot her a sideways glance, smirking. —Nervous? Who’s nervous?— he scoffed. —I just don’t understand how you Americans can make a sport so dramatic.—

Amelie let out a laugh, her voice a soft melody. —It’s not just a sport, Lan, it’s the sport.— She nudged him with her shoulder playfully. —You’ll get into it. You just need the right energy.—

Lando grinned, leaning down to kiss the top of her head. —I’m just here for the halftime show and to watch you enjoy yourself. I’ll leave the play-by-play to you.—

—Oh, baby, you are so American,— Lando hummed, lips brushing against the side of her head as he quoted the song that had been playing in the car on their way to the stadium.

Amelie scoffed, tilting her head up to look at him, her dark eyes glinting with mischief. —Excuse me? You do realize I’m Mexican, right? And last time I checked, I still have my Mexican passport.—

—Sure, sure,— Lando drawled, his fingers playing with the delicate bracelet on her wrist. —But look at you, sitting here all hyped for the Super Bowl, explaining plays to me like an ESPN commentator, drinking some... what even is that?— He gestured at the drink in her other hand.

—It’s a margarita, Lan. Jesus.—

—Right, of course it is,— Lando chuckled, shaking his head. —So American of you.—

Amelie rolled her eyes, but the grin on her lips betrayed her amusement. —You’re the worst.—

—And yet, you love me,— he shot back smoothly, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek.

Amelie exhaled dramatically, as if he was exhausting, but her fingers absentmindedly traced circles on his thigh, a silent admission of just how much she did, in fact, love him.

—Unfortunately,— she sighed with exaggerated defeat, —I do.—

Lando laughed, the sound vibrating through his chest, and he squeezed her closer. Their relationship had always been this—playful, effortless, like the years of tension and miscommunication had never existed. They were friends first, and even now, with the weight of love between them, that foundation remained solid.

The suite was lively, filled with Amelie’s family and a handful of close friends. Her dad, Elias, had arranged everything, as he always did, ensuring that each of his children had enough seats to bring whoever they wanted. It was an unspoken rule that no matter where they were in the world, if the Eagles made it to the Super Bowl, the Dayman family showed up.

—Okay, let’s be clear on one thing,— Amelie said, turning in her seat to fully face Lando. —I’m not a die-hard football fan or anything, but the Eagles are my team. Our team. Family tradition. So you, as my very loving boyfriend, are also supporting the Eagles tonight.—

Lando raised an amused brow. —That so? And what happens if I don’t?—

She narrowed her eyes. —Then you can find your own way back to Monaco.—

—Oh, harsh.— He grinned, but he still pulled her in closer, dropping a kiss to her lips, slow and teasing. —Fine, fine. Go Eagles, or whatever.—

—Good boy,— she murmured against his lips before pulling away with a smirk.

They didn’t notice Elysia staring at them from across the suite, arms crossed, a knowing look on her face.

—You two are disgustingly in love,— she commented, wrinkling her nose. —It’s painful to witness.—

Jack, seated beside her, nodded in agreement. —Seriously, can you go like… ten minutes without making out? Just an idea.—

Amelie only smirked, stealing another kiss from Lando in defiance. —Absolutely not.—

Lando, ever the instigator, grinned and pulled Amelie onto his lap, making her laugh as she straddled him slightly. —Sorry, Jack, but your sister’s a menace, what can I do?—

Jack groaned. —I fucking hate this guy.—

Elysia only sighed. —Unfortunately, he’s growing on me.—

—Thank you, Elysia. That’s the best compliment I’ve ever received from you,— Lando said, dramatically placing a hand over his heart.

Before they could continue their bickering, the game finally kicked off. The stadium roared with life, the energy electric. Amelie immediately perked up, her eyes flickering between the field and the massive screen above. Lando, though not nearly as invested, found himself watching her more than the game.

She was enthralled, her lips parted slightly as she muttered things under her breath, her hand gripping his thigh whenever a play got too intense. It was adorable.

—You’re really into this, huh?— he teased, brushing his lips against the shell of her ear.

—Shut up, it’s the adrenaline,— she whispered back, not taking her eyes off the field.

Lando chuckled, but his hand found its way under the hem of her sweater, resting warm against her skin.

As the game went on, Amelie’s reactions got bigger—groans when the Eagles messed up, loud cheers when they scored. At one point, when the Eagles pulled off a particularly incredible play, she turned to Lando with wide eyes, grabbing his face with both hands and kissing him, excitement overriding any sense of self-restraint.

Lando hummed against her lips, his hand instinctively gripping her waist as he kissed her back. —Are we celebrating, or is this just an excuse to snog me?— he murmured.

—Both.— She grinned, stealing another peck before turning back to the game.

—Fuck, I love American football.—

Jack groaned again. —Jesus Christ, get a room.—

The game continued, the night unfolding in a perfect mixture of sport, teasing, and stolen kisses. By the time the halftime show began, Amelie was curled up into Lando’s side again, his fingers lazily tracing patterns on her arm.

—Alright, I’ll admit it,— Lando said, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. —This is kinda fun.—

Amelie smiled, looking up at him. —Told you.—

And as the music boomed through the stadium, lights flashing, the crowd alive with energy, Lando realized something—he didn’t care much for the game, but he’d go to a hundred Super Bowls if it meant spending nights like this with Amelie.

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

The energy in the Superdome was electric as the final whistle blew. The Eagles had done it. 40-22. A dominant win. Amelie’s family erupted into cheers, her dad clapping so hard it echoed through the suite, her brothers shouting, and Stella jumping up and down with Elysia.

Amelie?

Well, Amelie was in Lando’s arms, screaming at the top of her lungs.

—WE FUCKING WON!— she yelled, her voice hoarse from hours of screaming, but the victory had only fueled her enthusiasm. She grabbed Lando’s face, pressing a hard, sloppy kiss against his lips before pulling away and shaking his shoulders. —Did you see that?! Did you see how we fucking destroyed them?!—

Lando, who had seen every second of the game but had spent a good portion of it distracted by his girlfriend being all over him, chuckled. —Yeah, baby, I saw.—

—My family team, Lan. Since I was a baby. A baby!— Amelie gushed, throwing her arms around his neck again. The alcohol was hitting her hard now, and Lando could feel her weight pressing against him. She smelled like margaritas and expensive perfume, her warm body molding against his like she had no bones.

—Alright, drunkie, let’s get you out of here before you embarrass yourself,— Lando murmured into her ear, but she ignored him completely, turning to Callum instead.

—CALLUM! LET'S GO TO PHILLY! WE HAVE TO GO CELEBRATE IN THE STREETS!— she practically screamed.

Callum, who was also drunk but far more composed, smirked. —You’d be dead in five minutes.—

—Oh please, they’d love me,— Amelie dismissed with a wave of her hand, her other still gripping Lando’s shirt like she needed him to stay upright.

Lando sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. She was so cute like this, all wild energy and bright smiles, but fuck, she was going to be a menace.

He let her celebrate with her family for a few more minutes before gently tugging her towards the exit. —Come on, princesa, time to go.—

—But, Lan—

—No buts.— He slung an arm around her waist, guiding her toward the suite exit, nodding at her family as they laughed knowingly. They’d seen Amelie like this before. Lando, however, was about to experience the full force of drunk Amelie in public for the first time.

The hallway was crowded with VIP guests, security, and event staff, and Amelie was talking. A lot.

—Oh my God, babe, do you know what we should do?— she suddenly gasped, gripping his bicep dramatically.

Lando braced himself. —What, baby?—

—Have sex in the car.—

Lando nearly choked on air.

—Jesus Christ, Amelie,— he hissed, looking around to make sure no one had heard.

Unfortunately, Hayes Grier had just stepped out of another suite nearby and was now grinning like an absolute menace.

—Oh, please continue,— Hayes said, amused.

—Shut the fuck up, Hayes,— Lando groaned, shifting Amelie closer to him in an attempt to shut her up.

—No, but listen, Lan,— Amelie insisted, completely oblivious to Hayes presence as she leaned up, whispering (way too loudly) in his ear. —It would be so hot. Like, imagine, I’m wearing this little dress, and you’re all over me—

Lando slapped a hand over her mouth. —Okay! We’re done here.—

Amelie wiggled in his grasp, mumbling something against his palm.

—You’re going to regret this when you’re sober,— he muttered into her ear as he all but dragged her toward the elevators.

—Lan, let me go, I need to tell you something—

—Nope.—

—Lando, I swear to God—

—You’re drunk, Ames, let’s get you out of here before you end up on the internet saying something insane.—

As if on cue, a few guests and staff members were sneaking glances at them. Some had their phones out.

Lando pulled his cap lower over his face and tightened his grip on her waist. Amelie, however, was still on a mission.

—Oh my God, look at that guy... he’s totally checking me out,— she suddenly whispered, giggling.

Lando stiffened immediately. —Who?—

—There, in the blue jacket,— she whispered, pressing closer against him. —Should I wink at him?—

—Amelie, I swear to fuck...— Lando turned, ready to burn holes into this mystery man, but there was no one there.

—Oh my God, I got you so good!— Amelie cackled, leaning against him for support.

Lando groaned. —You are insufferable.—

—And yet, you love me,— she grinned, echoing his words from earlier.

He sighed, unable to stop himself from smiling as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. —Yeah, yeah. Let’s get you in the car before you start stripping or something.—

Amelie gasped. —You think I’d strip in public?! I have class, Lando.—

Lando opened the door to the private exit, leading them outside where their cars were waiting. He looked down at her with an unimpressed expression. —Amelie, last week, you tried to take your shirt off in a restaurant because you got hot from eating spicy wings.—

She blinked up at him. —That was different.—

Lando shook his head, chuckling as he guided her into the car. As soon as they were inside, Amelie curled up against him, her lips pressing lazy kisses against his jaw.

—Mmm, you smell nice.—

—Thank you, baby.—

—We should still have sex in the car.—

Lando groaned, laughing despite himself. He tucked her closer against him, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

—Go to sleep, mi amor. You’re gonna hate yourself in the morning.—

Amelie just hummed in response, already halfway there.

116 notes · View notes

mywritersmind · 8 months ago

Text

FOR THE PLOT - KA12

summary : A vacation, perfect timing, and their friends, bring Y/n and Kimi together on a tipsy adrenaline filled night.

listen up : KIMI ANTONELLI X READER! kissing and drinking! my first kimi fic which is super fun to write bc he’s the closest to my age. prob will make more parts!

word count : 1523

⋆｡‧˚⋆

Tan and in a mini dress is all I needed to feel myself again. When my friends said they were spontaneously going to the Maldives, I told them they were crazy and my parents would never go for it. Then they reminded me that I’m an adult and my parents had no choice but to say yes.

I sip on my pina colada, a hand in the air and dancing with my two best friends. Delilah giggles, her braided hair in two thick braids, she looks past me and giggles, “There’s a boy watching you!” A cool breeze blows past us, chilling my skin a bit under the humidity.

I laugh, “Couldn’t have made that less creepy?” Still, I turn around to see a boy indeed watching me. When my eyes meet his, he looks away, talking to his friend before glancing back and smiling softly.

He's cute and I’m surprised I haven’t seen him around the resort until now. He’s got a shorter brunette boy next to him, a tall dark haired boy, and a tall blonde boy dancing up to them with drinks.

I turn back to my friends and laugh, “Dibs on the blonde!” Cara says, pushing her light brown hair over her shoulder while checking the guy out as I laugh and frown down at my drink, empty.

I hop back over to the bar, seeing two of my guy friends, Micha and Jamie both flirting with much older guests. I give them a look to which they both smirk at before ordering another drink.

I hear laughter and what sounds like arguing, turning to see what is happening, I see the two boys pushing the cute curly haired one towards me.

He pushes against them, shaking his head. When he looks up at me and realizes I'm watching, his already burnt cheeks go pinker. “This is Kimi!” The blonde one says, slapping his friend on the shoulder before running off.

“I-” Kimi tugs on the collar of his dark blue button down, “Hi.”

I laugh, finding his awkwardness amusing, “Hi.”

“Sorry about my friends- they act like that a lot… more than you’d think.”

I raise a brow, “Pushing you to go talk to girls?”

He laughs, “Yeah. This is the first time I've actually wanted to, though.” I smile, the bartender handing me another pina colada.

I nod, watching the boy, “I’m Y/n.” He looks relieved when I talk, “I like your accent. Italian?”

“It’s very nice to meet you, Y/n. And thanks, I am italian!” He leans against the bar, messing up his order but laughing with the bartender. “How long are you here for?”

“Got in like two days ago… I’m here for another two weeks!” He seems to perk up at this.

“I got in today! I’m here for two weeks as well.” He takes his drink and the bartender shoos us away. As Kimi walks next to me, I realize that he’s a good bit taller than me.

As we walk away from the party, I see my friends meeting Kimis, they all see us but I can tell they’re pretending to not watch. I laugh a bit as we walk down the beach.

I find out Kimi is eighteen and I sigh in relief because so am I. “This is my first real trip without my family.” He laughs shyly, “So far it’s looking up.” He glances at me.

“I think this counts as mine too. I mean- I went to Monza for like two days while my friend went to a race but…” I notice him staring at me and stop talking. “You okay?”

“Monza as in the Italian grand prix?”

I nod, “Yeah! Were you there or something? I’m not really into F1 but my best friend is totally obsessed, she’s the brunette back there eyeing your blonde friend.”

He laughs out loud, shaking his head, “Paul? Yeah well I think she will love him when she finds out he’s an F2 driver.”

“No way!” I drink more, “Funny how things like that happen.”

He nods, running a hand through his curls as we step onto the trail of villas that are perched over the water. He invites me to his deck, I can tell that guys are staying here because there’s board shorts, sunscreen, and cups left.

We sit on the sunken couch, I put my legs under me and turn towards him, his arm around the back. “I really like your necklace.” His hand goes to the chain around my neck, a tiny shell and pearl in the middle.

I bite my lip at his closeness, his hand brushing my chest, “Thanks. I make them.” He looks up quickly as I say it.

“Really? That’s insane!” His hand drops and I smile, my cheeks heating and suddenly I'm very thankful for the lack of light.

“I made this one here actually! I do rings and bracelets as well!” I accidentally start rattling on about what I make and he just sits and listens like I've known him for years. I realize what I'm doing and stop suddenly, “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize for being passionate.” His eyes are beautiful and makes me think this is dangerous. Not being out here with a random guy, but already wanting to kiss him.

His head tilts against his arm, looking up at me with his brown eyes. I have a realization then. It's my last bit of summer, I'm eighteen, I'm alone with my friends, a cute boy is in my grasp.

We sit there for what feels like hours but I'm pretty sure there is only one. He’s so easy to talk to that I don’t know what time it is. I hear the footsteps of people going back to their rooms but after a while, everything is pretty quiet, except for the far away club music at the bar.

I sit up and grin, “Do you wanna go swimming?”

He raises a brow, “Now?”

I glance at the dark water that surrounds us, “Yes!”

That’s how I end up in the private pool that each villa has. It’s lit dimly from above and I'm even more grateful because I'm in my bra and underwear.

For the plot, I remind myself.

Kimi shirtless makes me doing things out of my comfort zone 100% worth it. He’s fucking ripped and I feel my face heating as I eye his abs and arms while he stands outside the water in just boxers. He didn’t change into swimming things because he didn’t want me to feel alone.

He turns around and does a backflip into the water, “Wow!” I laugh, feeling my drinks in me now, “Talented!”

“Ah, love, you have no clue!” He swims towards me, dunking his head and shaking his curls out like a dog. I ignore the nickname and laugh.

“Hey!” I yell, splashing him. He grins at me, his smile is ridiculously attractive.

“You’re cute.” He says quickly, swimming backwards. I laugh and watch him dive under the water.

I feel a hand grasp my ankle and suddenly I'm getting pulled under the water. I kick him and get back to air, laughing so hard that I start to cough.

“Shit are you-” I push him under the water, my hands on his head. We play around, he laughs and splashes me one last time as the back of my head hits the side of the pool.

He floats closer, his hand going to my face scares me at first, but then he softly rubs his thumbs under my eyes, wiping my clearly smudged mascara.

I smile, one hand still on my cheek and the other next to my head, holding himself up. Water is dripping from his curls onto his face but he only seems to notice me.

I bite my lip softly, his eyes going to them. When his eyes meet mine again he starts to speak, “Can I-” I know what he’s going to say.

I kiss him first, my hands on his neck as one of his goes to my waist, holding me up.

He kisses me back immediately, my head hitting the wood behind me and his hand tightening on my waist, slipping down a bit.

The creek of the floors makes us both look up to investigate, the tall brunette from before is like a deer in headlights, “Give a guy some warning!” He says in a British accent.

Kimi just drops his head to my shoulder, shaking it with his eyes squeezed shut, “Ollie!” At the yell, the boy hurries away and Kimi takes a second before looking up at me regretfully, “I’m so sorry.”

I laugh, “Honestly don’t worry.” I pull my hands away from him, “I should go though, need to find my friends.”

His eyes dim a bit but he nods and backs up, “Hey uh- think I can see you tomorrow?”

I step out of the water, stealing a towel and smiling wide with my back facing him. I breathe and turn back to him casually, “If you can find me.”

#fanfic #formula 1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f2 fanfic #kimi antonelli #kimi antonelli fic

281 notes · View notes

nebrasska-alasska · 17 days ago

Note

I know you’ve mentioned a few future fics you’d like to write eventually. so I’m really curious, how many fics do you currently planned out? Also, which project has been your favorite to work on or that you’re most excited about?

Oh gosh, it's a lot! Here is a list of the projects I have planned in order of when I'm going to probably start posting them:

Sonic POV Dentist AU (whenever I sign my job contract)

Shadow POV 'Silly Hats and Party Favors' Spiritual Successor (releasing when I finish 'Tethered at the Wrist)

Mystery POV submission for Sonadow Exchange 2025 (releasing mid-june, I don't think I'm allowed to talk about this one at all other than the fact that I'm signed up lolololol)

Shadow POV (about a special interest of mine that is super loosely related to hiking, but actually isn't about hiking and you'll see what I mean when the story is released)

Shadow POV Secret Identity fic

Yeah so this list is kinda all over the place... but I don't want to reveal too much about any of these stories ;))) And I have many more stories planned in the grand scheme of things, but this is what you're going to be seeing from me in the foreseeable future. I'm super excited for all of them, but the spiritual successor for 'Silly Hats and Party Favors' is the one I'm currently most excited to work on because the original is the fic I had the most fun writing so far, though the secret identity one should slap too haha. But yeah, hope that was informative, thank you for asking!! :D

70 notes · View notes

happypopcornprincess · 1 month ago

Text

Chapter 6 || The Night We Met

Pairings - Joaquin Torres X fem!Reader

Premise - will you and Joaquin survive the aftermath?

Word Count - 2.6K

Warnings: TW child neglect, abuse, strong language, mentions of blood and gore, mentions of death, ANGST, emotional abuse

a/n - Extremely sorry about the delay in the updates, with my injury and my end semester papers rolling up to me it was one hell of a week. This chapter is loosely inspired from the songs The Night We Met and Jhol, which is trending in south asia rn please do give it a listen if you can it’s hauntingly beautiful. Let me know how this chapter was! Stay safe y’all <3

<< Chapter 5 || Series Masterlist || Epilogue

Stark’s Annual Charity Gala

Looking around the environment around him, Joaquin would have whistles if he could, the gala was that good. The gold themes around him reminded him of the renaissance paintings he studied in high schools, pompous, huge, and grand in all their glory.

Well it is Tony Stark’s party after all. He thought to himself.

He could have stood under the chandelier and admired it all he could have, but Sam was making a beeline, hustling past the crowds towards… well… a certain super soldier he could not shut up about.

He smirked at his mentor’s disappearing form and followed him, watching as he stopped in front of a woman, and then shifted all his attention towards his crush; the one Bucky Barnes.

A blur of pastel pink caught his eye, and when Joaquin shifted his attention towards the source, he truly felt the weight of the phrase - getting the air knocked out of your lungs.

Her unapologetic laughter, and her smile looking at Sam and Bucky was enough to make him forget his own damn name. He recalled Sam telling him about a new recruit, and he clicked the dots. The MIT genius, it was her.

She was beautiful. No, Ethereal.

He didn't wait for Sam to introduce him, he couldn’t, actually. He stepped up to her, unashamed and unapologetic, and the words left his lips before he could process what he was saying.

She turned to him, looking him right in the eyes. Oh, her eyes! Like a whirlpool, they had pulled all his attention towards them. It scared him, how absolutely insane he was going over a woman he didn’t even know. But it also excited him, when he saw a glint of mischief in them.

“Hey, I’m y/n” she extended her hand for him to shake.

But Joaquin was already on autopilot, he had lost all control over how to respond, and he shook her hand, bringing it to his lips to kiss.

She was startled, taken aback, but she liked it.

Sam’s voice was anything but a blur in his mind as he introduced them to each other, and she had swayed her hand around saying, “welcome to the circus.” and he had fet his heart do a summersault just by the way her voice sounded, a hint of a drawl at the back of her words that he caught on.

But goddamn if it didn’t make him want to slap himself about how much he wanted to ask her for a dance at that moment.

He had breathed out, keeping his composure as she had asked him to the bar to get a drink.

—/—/—

She had passed out, drunk, exhausted, her head resting on his shoulders, midway through ranting about her favorite fruit cake.

Joaquin had been sitting still, his eyes trained on her sleeping form next to him. Her eyes closed, her perfume invading his senses, he could stay like this forever, if it meant y/n was comfortable.

When she had kissed him earlier, he knew it was going to turn into a one night stand, but she was drunk, couldn’t even talk properly. And as much as he would have wanted her lips on his again, it could wait.

He carefully lifted her and put her on the mattress, tucking a stray strand behind her ear. He saw goosebumps littered on her skin, and bought his jacket to cover her, taking a seat next to her.

And no matter how much he tried, he couldn’t stop looking at her.

The filtered moonlight from outside made her skin glow, her lips slightly parted, and her cheeks flushed from the alcohol.

Lying on his bed, he could not stop thinking about her, the ghost of her lips on his had made his sleep go away, afraid that he would forget her. She felt like a dream, too good to be true.

Ay dios mio, I’m so gone.

—/—/—

Present Day

Connor’s footsteps stopped at the doorstep, looking at his sister’s form on the bed, awake, shaking. She had taken off her oxygen mask, her hair was a mess, her eyes blown as she breathed hard, looking around in confusion. Her eyes landed on him, and she gasped, her eyes instantly brimming with tears, letting out a sob, “Connor?”

It was all it took for him to break out of his trance, and he ran to hold her hand.

“What…” she gasped, sobbing hard, clutching Connor with all her might, “what… how did i…” she was looking at him in confusion, clearly overwhelmed with all the machines and wires hooked to her.

“Y/n, you need to breathe.”

Taking deep breaths, she looked right at him, her eyes still wet with tears, her chest heaving, while Connor explained to her in the same tone that he spoke when she had panic attacks, “you were injured on the field. And you have been in a coma for two weeks now.” he breathed out, trying not to startle her further.

She gasped, “Oh my god, Joaquin!” she held Connor, “Joaquin! He was… he was there!”

“Y/n he’s…”

She closed her eyes, her breaths shaking “In the basement… his neck…”

Connor had to hold her tight to keep her from shaking too much, he was terrified from within watching her react like this, “he’s alright. He’s perfectly fine, he dodged just in time.” he tried to sooth her, caressing her head and holding her hands firmly.

She opened her eyes, her gaze fixed on the ceiling as if praying, he kept caressing her hand gently to soothe her, when she finally took a look at him.

“Conner!” she sobbed, heaving for breaths, "I'm sorry I left!”

Connor let out a breath, a sad smile on his face as he looked at his sister, awake and out of danger, “Oh, bug,” his heart ached watching his sister blame herself for their fallout, “It’s okay.”

“I left… you ran after me… I didn’t call…” she wailed, her fragile body shaking. Connor wanted to hug her tight to let her know it wasn't her fault, but all he could do was hold her uninjured hand, caressing it gently, whispering, “It’s alright, y/n,” while keeping himself from crying.

“I’m sorry!” she cried into his shoulder.

He knew she was too weak for this conversation, he should back away, she could possibly end up opening up her stitches with how much she was shaking, but he couldn’t.

She needed to hear this, he needed to hold her, to know she was not going away, “Silly girl, I’m not mad at you,” he let out a staggered breath, “it’s neither our fault. Just stop crying bug, you’ll hurt yourself.” he lightly patted her back, making her hold him tighter.

—/—/—

Joaquin and Y/n

Unbearable pain had emerged from every pore of your body as soon as the adrenaline of your panic wore off, and you slipped in and out of sleep for days.

Honestly, having stabbed twelve times across your torso was no small deal, and the doctors tried their best to help you recover.

Connor was with you every waking moment, catching up with all the time you had lost. He told you he had started at georgetown again, and was doing his classes remotely while he stayed with you. Anytime you were up, you two never stopped talking, telling each other everything that happened in the past few years, reminiscing old times.

Well, he wasn’t the only one who was next to you.

Tony came to visit you unannounced one evening with hamburgers and pizzas that made Connor stare at him speechless for five minutes, while Pepper came often to get you new books to read and had your things shifted to a room here on the compound, threatening you to go against her.

When you had asked Sam and Bucky to let you know when you could go back to work, they had stared at you like you stole Bucky's cat, Alpine.

Even with all their duties piled up, Peter, Kate and Shang Chi made it their mission to visit you everyday at least once, and being busted by Bucky for feeding you chocolates.

Kamala knew ain’t nobody was feeding you anything but fast food so she would get you a tasty home cooked meal made by her and her brother for dinner, also make you proofread her fanfics when you were fed.

The way your team welcomed your brother with open arms didn’t go unnoticed by you. Connor had a secret handshake with Bucky, and knew Shang Chi’s secret for making high protein mac and cheese which she didn’t tell anyone.

And still, there was one person you had yet to see after you woke up., the one you had yearned to get a glimpse of.

You saw him somedays standing by the door talking to your brother, lingering by the window of your room but never entering. Close enough to know you were alright, but far enough to know he won’t come see you.

—/—/—

Common Room, Avengers Compound

It was a bit early for you to be up and about after you were told to take it easy after you got your stitches removed. You knew Connor meant well, but he never left you alone, nor did he let you to ‘be reckless’, which translated to ‘do not try to walk without supervision’. So when he had dozed off on the spare bed halfway through studying, and you had sneaked out to get some fresh air.

Your torso felt like someone was pinching needles into your skin, but you moved forward, reaching your spot in the common room. The lights were off, the world outside bleeding in through the windows – the hushed expanse of the yard, the still surface of the lake, the distant glow of Tony’s house, all bathed in a spectral moonlight.

Staring ahead at the scene, you stood transfixed looking at the view, you would find yourself here at ungodly hours of night when the work was too much, only one other person knew about this other than you.

Closing your eyes, you could see it clear as day when he would join you on the same spot, talking about how his day went while you sipped your coffee, his voice calming you down instantly. Before you knew it, You would slowly look forward to meeting him here.

“What are you doing here?”

You gasped, startled, as you looked behind you to see Joaquin standing, water bottle in his hand.

“Fuck, you startled me,” you breathed out, clutching your chest.

“I asked you something?” he repeats, his voice steady.

“Nice to see you too, Joaquin.” you respond,

He huffed in frustration, “where’s Connor? He was supposed to be with you tonight?”

Your eyes search for his gaze to lock into yours like they always did, but this time, he avoids it.

“He’s sleeping, haven't slept in days, he needs the rest."

Joaquin scoffs, still not meeting your eyes, "And you don't? You were the one almost…" He cuts himself off, the unspoken words hanging heavy in the night air.

Shaking your head, the memory of Dexter, the cold steel, flashes in your mind, "Don't. Just… don't." you mutter. You hug yourself closer, your injured hand pinching in pain, but you still rubbed your arms.

Joaquin takes a step closer, "Then why are you here? Alone? You're supposed to be resting." His voice is rough, laced with a concern he tries to mask with irritation.

"Just needed some fresh air." you glance at him, waiting for his gaze to meet hers, but he refuses. Your heart tugged at your mind, to say something, anything, afraid that he would leave. An angry red line ran from the base of his neck to his shoulder, and you shudder realising what it was.

“Are you alright?” the words leave your mouth.

"What did you expect? After everything… after you…" His jaw clenched, the words catching in his throat.

He ran a hand roughly through his hair, a frustrated exhale escaping his lips. He looked utterly exhausted, the weight of everything etched onto his face. "I don't want to lash out… I… I'm not in the right mind to have this conversation with you. You're not well, and I can't do this right now." He turned, his steps heavy, a retreat that felt like a final severing.

“I’m sorry.”

He stops in his tracks hearing your voice.

Joaquin had haunted you since you woke up.

His smile dropping the minute you would leave, how his hold on your hand would be tighter than yours, his eyes looking into yours expecting you to stay the night - only for you to get ready to leave.

How you had lied to yourself for so long, hurt him in the process.

The confession tumbled out, a long-suppressed guilt and dawning realization. "I know I messed up, Joaquin. With… with us. I was selfish. I was scared." Your voice cracked, raw with unshed tears. "I never meant to hurt you."

Joaquin stood still in the middle of the room, saying nothing.

Then, a bitter, hollow laugh echoed in the silence as he finally turned, his eyes blazing with a cold fury that made you flinch. His face was a mask of twisted anger. "Hurt me? You have no idea, Y/N. You have absolutely no idea." He stalked closer, the air between you thick with tension. "You treated me like… like a convenient distraction. Someone to fill the gaping holes inside you, and discard when you were done."

Your heart plummeted to your throat, "That's not true!" The accusation stinged, "You were never..."

"Then what was I, Y/N? What was I?" His voice rose, sharp with pain. "Just the guy you called for a late-night fix? The one who was always there, waiting for your crumbs of affection?"

Tears welled in your eyes, watching how you had destroyed him. He looked like he was physically ill just being near you, "I was confused. I was… I didn't think I deserved someone like you."

Joaquin steps closer, his voice dropping to a low, intense whisper, "And what about what I deserved, Y/N? Did you ever stop to think about that? About how it felt to be the one you ran to, but never chose?" He clenches his fists. "Do you know how many times I stood in this damn room, watching you… knowing I couldn't have you!"

"Joaquin…" You reached out with a trembling hand, but he recoiled as if burned, staggering back, his own eyes glistening with unshed tears. His voice was thick with a raw, agonizing emotion. "From the moment I saw you that night at the gala… there was something about you. That fire, that strength… I was drawn to it. I fell for you, Y/N. I fell hard. And then you… you kept me close, but not close enough."

A choked laugh escaped his throat, a single tear tracing a path down his cheek, his gaze piercing you with a lifetime of unspoken longing. "I have loved you, Y/N. Since the very beginning. So much so… that it tore me apart. You pushed me away like some toy after you were done playing with me." his voice shook, “and like an Idiot, I went back every single time. Wishing that you’d finally let me in… I ”

A laugh leaves his throat, a tear rolling down his face, his gaze piercing. "I have loved you, Y/N. Since the very beginning. So much so that it tore me apart."

Your vision becomes blurry with the tears streaming down your face, hearing his confession, the same one he almost did that night in mexico.

I love you, I'm sorry, I love you, Joaquin. I love you, I’m sorry for what you’ve been through because of me, I love you!

The words got stuck in your throat as your head feels heavy, his form dimming down to black.

Joaquin catches you before you could hit the floor.

His touch is light on your skin, afraid of letting you go, scared to hold tighter. He held your face, his gaze scanning your face as your eyes closed with exhaustion. He exhaled, realising you were alright. Just tired.

Without any further comments, Joaquin hooked his arms under your back and knees, picked you up and started walking.

You moaned in pain, your body feeling like it was on fire as you felt the room spinning, he stopped, angrily looking at you, “do you want me to drop you?”

Holding onto his collar as he adjusted you in his arms, you managed to whisper, “...no.”

“Stop wiggling then.” he starts walking, taking the path towards your room, where connor was sleeping.

Even in a delirious state, panic hits you, “Connor…”

“...is sleeping. I know.” he quietly opens the door, and both of your eyes look at Connor's sleeping form on the spare bed near the door.

The next thing you know is your body on your bed, Joaquin laying you down gently, bringing the covers up. Sleep threatens to take over your consciousness while you try to fight it, holding onto Joaquin with all your might.

I love you, I'm sorry, I love you, Joaquin. I love you, I’m sorry for what you’ve been through because of me, I love you!

The unspoken words trembled on your lips, but you couldn’t say them.

His fingers gently peeled your hand away.

Your eyelids drifted shut, a final, whispered exhale of his name escaping your lips.

That night, your last conscious memory was the ghost of his touch leaving your skin, the warmth of his breath ghosting across your forehead in a fleeting kiss, the fleeting sound of his footsteps fading into the silence.

—/—/—

Joaquin sat by her side, caressing her hair as she fell asleep.

His conscience was screaming at him to get away from her - Leave. Go. End this torment. Sever the ties that bind you to this pain.

His heart, on the other hand, ignored the voice inside your head, wanting him to stay.

With a heavy sigh, Joaquin rose. He took a single step back, his eyes, filled with despair, fixed on your sleeping face.

Then, he turned, his feet leading him to his room, but not towards his bed.

He opened his closet, the hinges groaning, and pulled out his worn duffel bag.

---/---/---

A/N - Thank you everyone for sticking with me till the end of this fic! if you liked it please let me know through the asks and the comments. Next Chapter will be up soon... Love y'all, Take Care!

Taglist

@tuiccim @parkjammys @akinrawsx @asteph22 @iamthebeth @onlyhereforthefics @yikesdameron @savedfanfics1992 @amigaytho @samwilson-mylove @jenniweaslee-faves @anna-phora @giona45-5 @lieutenantchaos

@sorchathered @ilovetaquitosmmmm @angelaristotle @allisonsalvatore392 @lovaticwarrior92 @maddywulfston @valianttyrantexpert @vanydelaire @eccentric-nos @elissalam @krismdavis @fenwin @nylastofus @peanutweanut @mistress-of-myself @lookitsgrim @darkmagazineblaze @nolita-fairytale @mrkrychek @withahintofpestoaioli @breezyez777 @badbishsblog @spider-steve

@summersblogsthings @supportourgoddesses @iamthebeth @bvckys-doll @obxfan2854 @sugar-crisps @yikesdameron @rawecreek @fluffyprettykitty @dance-is-life27 @breezyez777 @davinashifts333

75 notes · View notes

simplygojo · 6 months ago

Text

The Devil He Made Me - Ch. 12

author's note ⸺ Alright guys I got a bit carried away with this chapter, that's why i'm posting it so late IMSORRY! But this is my version of the beach episode-except its a pool, lol. I hope you've all been well, I'm super excited for these upcoming chapters...I hope you are too! luv u all <3 Also my bad bc I did not edit this at all

pairing ⸺ Satoru Gojo x reader

chapter summary ⸺ After a very angsty night due to all the events of the day prior, Gojo takes you to a hotel before heading to the Gojo estate for a while to sort things out and go someplace safe. Little do you know—its a nice ass hotel, and he's brought along a surprise.

word count ⸺ 6.3k

warnings ⸺ good times, fluff, pool party! mild angst, reader uses female pronouns

taglist ⸺ @mawhoreagaa; @peqch-pie; @blue-serendipity; @simplyyyuji; @starrnai; @sorcerersseestars; @n1vi; @angryglitterperfection; @krak-jj; @coweringbear; @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni; @cococola-cocaine; @sdv98o; @theendx888; @dvmb4ssbiatch; @sugxryratz; @kinny-away; @crankyarchives; @enfppuff; @nanamisrighthand; If you’d like to be added to the series tag list, leave a comment below:)

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Series Masterlist

The hum of the car blends with the city’s distant sounds as the sleek black vehicle zips through Tokyo’s streets.

You glance at Gojo in the driver’s seat, one hand casually resting on the steering wheel while he taps a rhythm with the other. He's unusually quiet, a sly smile tugging at his lips like he's savouring some inside joke.

You can’t help but give him a curious look. “You’re being suspiciously quiet, Gojo.”

He grins, his eyes hidden behind his trademark sunglasses.

“Suspicious? Me? No, no. I’m just soaking up the atmosphere. You’ll see why soon enough.”

“Atmosphere?” You echo, eyeing the cityscape flashing by the window. “We’re just going to a hotel. Right?”

“Oh, we’re going to the hotel, thank you very much,” he says, giving you a conspiratorial look. “Only the best. You’ll get it when we get there.”

You shake your head, wondering what he’s got planned. With Gojo, there’s always a fifty-fifty chance of something extravagant or completely chaotic.

"Oh, come on. I know you’re excited. You deserve a little luxury, and besides—" he pauses for dramatic effect, "—we’re going all out."

He makes a finger-gun gesture at you like this whole thing is part of some elaborate game he’s running, and you roll your eyes.

Before you can press him for more details, the car takes a sharp turn, and your jaw drops as you take in the hotel in front of you.

It’s towering, sleek, and wrapped in glistening glass panels that reflect the city lights back out in shimmering fragments.

The whole place screams opulence.

As Gojo pulls up to the grand entrance, a flock of impeccably dressed bellhops practically materializes to greet the car. One of them opens your door with a polite bow, while two more appear on Gojo’s side, ready to relieve you both of your bags.

You step out, blinking at the scene. “I thought we were just staying here for the night, not moving in.”

Gojo slides out of the driver’s seat, tossing his sunglasses into the car before he gives you an exaggerated shrug.

“Why would we settle for ‘just a room’?” He grins, then gestures toward the lobby’s gilded doors. “Come on, you’re gonna love this.”

He leads you inside, where a glistening chandelier illuminates the lobby, bathing the space in golden light.

You’re still in awe when he presses the button for the top floor, and you side-eye him with a mix of intrigue and suspicion. “Just what exactly are we walking into?”

“You’ll see,” he says, winking. “Trust me.”

You smile but roll your eyes. His playfulness is a great distraction from the nerves that had been simmering just below the surface all day.

The moment Gojo had suggested a night out before heading to his place, you'd felt a mix of anticipation and unease.

Spending time alone with him, away from the academy, made you wonder what he had planned. Gojo always had that unpredictable edge—one moment, he'd be serious, focused, even a bit mysterious, and the next, he'd be grinning with that mischievous sparkle in his eye, as if he’d just thought of the world’s greatest prank.

The elevator ride up feels endless, the anticipation building as the numbers climb higher and higher.

You glance at Gojo, who’s sporting a smug grin, hands casually in his pockets, looking all too pleased with himself.

Just as you open your mouth to ask what exactly he’s dragged you into, the elevator chimes, and the doors slide open.

A loud “SURPRISE!” nearly makes you jump out of your skin.

Standing in the hallway, dressed in fuzzy robes, are Yuji, Nobara, and Megumi. Yuji’s grinning from ear to ear, holding up a peace sign; Nobara looks smug, clearly revelling in the shock on your face, and Megumi’s leaning against the wall, attempting to act as if he’s above all this, though even he’s stifling a small smile.

Gojo raises his hands as if presenting a grand prize.

“I couldn’t leave them out of the fun! What kind of teacher would I be if I didn’t bring the whole team?” He winks at you before throwing an arm around Yuji.

“Besides, I rented out the entire top floor! Each of you gets your own room, fully stocked, premium everything. And don’t worry,” he adds, turning to you with a grin, “I made sure we have a connected suite so I can keep an eye on you.”

Nobara smirked, folding her arms as she gave you and Gojo a knowing look.

“Ohhh, a connected suite, huh? Gotta keep an eye on her, orrrr…?” She raises an eyebrow, feigning innocence but clearly enjoying your flustered reaction.

Yuji snickers, nudging Megumi. “Yeah, totally for ‘safety,’ right? Good thing we’re all here to keep you two in line,” he says, barely stifling his laughter.

Gojo just rolls his eyes, though he’s clearly amused by their suggestion.

“Exactly. I wouldn’t trust any of you to keep from causing chaos without proper supervision,” he says, ruffling Yuji’s hair. “Besides, who says I’m not keeping an eye on all of you?”

You try to brush off the teasing, but Nobara’s grin only widens. “Sure, sure, Gojo-sensei. Whatever you say,” she sings, clearly not buying his excuse.

You feel the heat rising to your face, and Gojo’s only response is a wink in your direction, as if to say, Let them think what they want.

Nobara claps her hands together in delight. “I knew this wasn’t just gonna be a ‘simple night out.’ You’re really spoiling us, sensei!”

Yuji bounces over, nudging you with a conspiratorial grin. “Gojo-sensei said there’s room service and a rooftop pool!”

“Oh, and karaoke,” Nobara adds, her eyes gleaming as she nudges Megumi. “We’ll find out if our ‘Mr. Cool’ here has any hidden talents.”

Megumi sighs, folding his arms and glaring half-heartedly at Gojo. “I knew this was a bad idea.”

You can’t help but laugh, shaking your head as the whole scene unfolds. Gojo gives you a smug grin, clearly revelling in his grand reveal.

Gojo gives a dramatic sigh, as if their surprise is the greatest validation he’s ever received.

“You all deserve a night to unwind—just make sure not to destroy anything. I promised management we’d behave,” he says, looking pointedly at Nobara, who immediately rolls her eyes.

Gojo claps his hands together, grinning as if he’s just announced the party of the century.

“Alright, troops! Meet me at the rooftop pool in twenty minutes. Swimsuits are in your rooms—yes, I thought of everything.” He flashes a look that’s somehow both playful and utterly smug.

Yuji pumps a fist in the air, already halfway down the hall. “Race you there!”

Megumi groans, but there’s a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “As long as you don’t start cannonballing the second you get there.”

Nobara tosses her hair, giving Gojo a cheeky salute.

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to keep everyone in line,” she says with a smirk aimed your way.

Gojo chuckles, then turns to you, offering his arm.

“Shall we, partner?” He tilts his head toward the suite, a glint in his eye that suggests this might be just the beginning of his elaborate surprises for the night.

Looping your arm through his, you walk together down the plush, carpeted hallway. When you reach the end, Gojo swipes the keycard and opens the door to a sprawling suite that practically glows with opulence.

He gestures dramatically, like he’s unveiling a masterpiece. “Behold—your palace for the night.”

Stepping inside, you take in the stunning view of Tokyo’s skyline from the floor-to-ceiling windows. The room itself is a blend of sleek modern design and luxurious comfort, with plush seating, a massive bed, and a mini-bar that’s practically overflowing. You’re still processing it all when Gojo nudges you toward the far wall.

“Best part’s over here,” he says, sliding open a frosted glass door halfway to reveal a small passage that connects to his suite next door.

Gojo slides the frosted glass door open with a flourish, revealing a narrow passage leading into his suite.

He taps the glass, grinning like he’s showing off a masterpiece. “See? Practically paper-thin. If anything happens, I’ll be right there in an instant.”

You smirk, crossing your arms. “And by ‘anything,’ you mean…?”

He feigns innocence, his eyes wide but gleaming with mischief.

“Oh, you know, emergencies.” He taps his chin as if thinking it over. “Like, if you forget how to work the TV or you need someone to fetch you snacks…or I get bored.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “So, the real reason you set this up is to play hero over a snack shortage?”

He leans in just a bit closer, his voice dropping playfully. “Maybe I just didn’t want you to feel alone. It’s a big, fancy hotel, after all.”

You let out a small laugh, amused. “You really think you’re that charming, huh?”

“Hey, just looking out for you,” he quips back with a wink.

Just then, you hear a loud crash from the hall, followed by Yuji shouting, “Megumi! Nobara! Help! The snack cart’s tipping!”

Gojo sighs dramatically, rolling his eyes. “And there they go, ten seconds in.”He jokes, already heading toward the door.

“But really—twenty minutes at the pool. Don’t let me be the only one in a ridiculous inflatable.”

With one last smirk, he disappears, leaving you alone in the lavish space.

—

You sit there in the stillness of the room, letting the quiet settle around you. After everything that’s happened today, the silence feels jarring—almost unnatural.

Your mind races back to that morning, the instant shock of recognizing the man in your nightmares: Suguru Geto.

Even now, the thought sends a shiver down your spine. And to think he’d actually been in your room…watching, lingering right there. Just hours ago, you’d been consumed by fear and dread.

And now?

Gojo’s acting as if none of it matters, whisking you and the others off to a luxury hotel like this is just another day.

Maybe he’s just trying to help you escape it all, you reason. Maybe he wants you to relax, to have one night where you don’t have to look over your shoulder. It’d be… surprisingly thoughtful of him.

But as much as his carefree, reassuring presence feels good now, that doesn’t ease the confusion swirling in your mind.

You and Gojo shared a heated moment that felt so vivid, so intensely real, it left you breathless. For a second, it seemed as though something unspoken had finally surfaced.

And then, just like that, he pulled away. He put up that huge wall between you, cold and unreadable—as if he regretted every second.

Yet somehow, over the last two days, that distance seems to be fading again. And then there was that conversation with Nanami–There’s a warmth in his eyes, a kind of ease in his smile that makes it feel like you’re finally seeing the real Gojo.

You can’t help but wonder if he’s going through his own uncertainties. Or maybe he’s as good at hiding his fears as he is at conjuring his charm.

With a sigh, you glance at the sliding door connecting your room to his, the thin glass a reminder of how close he really was.

—

You step onto the rooftop, the night sky sprawling endlessly above, lights from the Tokyo skyline flickering like distant stars.

The pool area is beautiful and sleek, lined with lounge chairs and the faint glow of soft, underwater lights casting a tranquil ambiance over the water.

A cool breeze brushes over your skin, and you clutch the towel draped over your shoulders, pulling it a little tighter as you take in the scene.

Yuji, Megumi, and Nobara are already in the pool, laughing and splashing around.

Yuji hollered something to Megumi, who responded with his usual half-hearted irritation, and Nobara just rolled her eyes, enjoying herself despite her feigned annoyance.

Standing by the edge of the pool, Gojo is stretching in his swim trunks, clearly ready to dive in.

When his gaze lands on you, his grin widens, his expression teasing.

"Thought you'd never make it," he calls over.

"Gonna get in, or are you just here to supervise?" He gestures to the inflatable swans bobbing cheerfully in the water, a little ridiculous against the upscale backdrop of the rooftop pool, yet perfectly fitting his playful style.

As you walk toward him, you can’t help but notice that without his usual layers and long coat, he looks somehow...different—broader, the play of muscles over his arms and chest clearly defined.

You’d always known he was strong, but seeing him like this gives you a fresh appreciation for just how powerful he really is.

His confidence radiates off him, casual and effortless, and when he catches you looking, he smirks in a way that makes your cheeks warm.

Rolling your eyes to cover up your reaction, you nod toward the pool. "Just waiting for the right moment to make an entrance," you say, giving him a smirk of your own.

He chuckles, tossing you a wink before raising his arms to dive. With a graceful, fluid motion, he springs into the pool, slicing through the water smoothly before resurfacing.

His hair, now wet and falling into his face, gleams under the soft pool lights, and there’s a hint of smug satisfaction on his face as he shakes the water out, blinking at you with mischief in his eyes.

Taking a deep breath, you slip off your towel and drape it over one of the lounge chairs, walking confidently to the edge of the pool before sliding in, the cool water washing over your skin as you wade toward the others.

The water is refreshing, soothing away the last remnants of tension from the day.

Your swimsuit, black and simple, hugs your body perfectly. The fabric conforms to your curves, and as the water slicks your skin, it only highlights the way the suit fits you.

Despite your attempts to focus on the others, you can feel Gojo’s eyes on you, as if nothing else in the world exists except for you at that moment.

The way his gaze moves over your body is undeniable, like he’s studying the way your swimsuit fits, the way your body moves with the water.

His attention lingers, tracing the curve of your waist, the way your hips shift as you move, and the way the wet fabric clings to your chest. His eyes travel the length of your legs as they move beneath the surface, the water shimmering as it follows the lines of your form.

Yuji immediately waves at you and grins once he notices you got in the water.

"Hey! Come over here! I’ve gotta show you something." He hands you a bright blue pool noodle, his eyes sparkling with childlike enthusiasm.

“This is the best way to mess with people.” Demonstrating, he dunks one end of the noodle into the water, then blows into the other end, sending a stream of water splashing directly at Megumi.

You laugh, following his lead and getting a quick splash aimed right at Yuji’s shoulder.

The two of you quickly descend into a playful back-and-forth, aiming noodle streams at each other and dodging around with exaggerated, dramatic dives as if you’re in some kind of slow-motion water fight.

Yuji, laughing so hard he’s nearly choking, gives you a high-five as you successfully splash him.

Meanwhile, on the edge of the pool, Gojo has been watching you, an amused smile tugging at his lips as he takes in the way you laugh, splashing water at Yuji with unexpected ease.

He watches how your hair, damp now from your battles with Yuji, falls in wet strands down your back, the water pooling around your shoulders as it drips down your neck.

The delicate shine of your skin catches the light, droplets of water trickling down your arms and over your collarbone.

There’s something almost soft in his gaze, as if he's seeing a side of you that surprises him—or maybe just one he’s glad to witness.

His eyes linger on you, trailing over the graceful curve of your shoulders, the way the water smooths over your skin.

But Nobara, noticing his attention as she floats past on her hot pink floatie, is quick to break him out of his reverie.

She splashes a handful of water his way, hitting him right in the face. "Stop gawking!" she scolds, a playful edge to her tone.

Gojo blinks, taken by surprise. His mouth opens to protest, but he only laughs, flicking some water back in Nobara’s direction.

"Hey, can’t a guy admire his...team?"

She rolls her eyes, unimpressed. "Yeah right," she teases, her gaze flicking from you to Gojo with a knowing grin.

Unaware of the exchange, you continue splashing with Yuji until you’re both out of breath, leaning against the side of the pool to catch your breath.

The cool water, the laughter, the lightheartedness—it’s all a welcome distraction, an unexpected reprieve from the day’s earlier revelations.

Only moments after you had stopped your pool noodle battle, Yuji gets out of the pool and walks over to the deep end, stretching his arms out in front of him before taking a big jump into the deep end.

He swims back over to you and Megumi, Gojo approaching also as he sat goofily on a pool noodle. "Alright, your turn y/n! Think you can dive like me?"

You pause, looking at the water with a hesitant smile. "Well... I don’t know...I don’t really remember if I’ve ever swam before…" you reply, your voice trailing off, unsure of your own abilities.

Yuji smirks, his energy contagious. “Come on, I bet you could! Just try it, you’ve got this!”

With his encouragement ringing in your ears, you take a deep breath and walk up the pool steps towards the deep end.

Once at the end, you crouch slightly, preparing for the dive, but as soon as you push off the edge and your head hits the water, everything changes.

The moment your body submerges, the water feels different—like it's not just water, but a veil lifting.

A flood of memories crashes over you, sharp and overwhelming. You see yourself as a child, your hair slicked back just like it is now, diving into a pool.

Your little sister is beside you, laughing, urging you on as you practice your dives together. You can almost feel the warm sun on your back, hear the splashing of the water, the excitement in her voice.

The sound of your family in the background, their voices calling you to take your time, to perfect your dive.

For a second, it’s like everything else falls away.

It’s just you, in the water, in the past, with your family, laughing, swimming. It’s such a real and intimate memory, you can almost smell the chlorine, taste the fresh air as it mixes with the feeling of the pool beneath your feet.

You break the surface of the water with a gasp, the moment leaving you breathless. Your heart pounds in your chest, and as you come up, you can't help but grin widely, your eyes sparkling with excitement.

“I used to swim! I remember I used to swim!” The words spill out before you even realize you’ve said them, and there’s a moment of shock in your voice as you come to terms with what just happened.

The flood of memories, so vivid, so real, feels like a key turning in your mind. For the first time, pieces of your past—pieces you never thought you'd get back—are falling into place.

As you break through the surface of the water, your heart races, and you let out a breathless laugh, the exhilaration of the moment overwhelming you. Your eyes are wide, sparkling with newfound joy, and your chest swells with the excitement of what you've just discovered.

“I used to swim! I remember I used to swim!” you exclaim again, your voice still carrying the shock and wonder of the realization.

Yuji, treading water nearby, blinks in surprise. "Huh? What? You used to swim?"

Megumi lifts his head from the water, his brow furrowed in confusion, trying to process what you’ve just said. “Wait, you… you remember swimming?”

Your grin is bright, the flood of memories still fresh in your mind. “Yeah! I do! I remember my sister... we used to go to the pool together. We practiced diving, and... I remember the sound of her laughing, and... the smell of the chlorine... I had a sister. I—” You pause, the weight of your own words sinking in, as if the mere mention of her name makes her presence feel real again.

The group is quiet for a second, taking in the significance of what you’ve just shared. You’ve gotten a piece of yourself back—something so personal and meaningful. Yuji’s face lights up with enthusiasm, his voice warm and full of excitement.

“That's amazing, y/n!” He calls out, grinning like it’s his own personal victory. “You’re remembering things! That’s huge!”

Nobara, floating past on her hot pink floatie, claps her hands together. “Yeah, that’s a big deal! You’ve got some real memories back. That’s progress, y/n!”

Megumi, though usually a bit more reserved, offers a small but genuine smile, clearly happy for you. “Good to hear. That's a step in the right direction.”

Gojo, standing in the middle of the shallow end with his arms folded, lets out a deep breath, his usual playful demeanour giving way to something more sincere.

“See? I told you you were making progress. You’ve got more memories waiting for you. I knew you had it in you.”

Your heart swells at their reactions, the collective happiness of your friends filling you with warmth.

For the first time in a while, you feel like you’re not entirely lost, like there are pieces of your past coming back to you, one fragment at a time.

“I remember my sister,” you repeat, as if saying it again makes it more real. "I can't believe it... I have a sister."

The group looks at each other, nodding and sharing quiet smiles. You can feel their support, their belief in you. It’s not just a small step—it’s a breakthrough.

And as you stand there in the pool, surrounded by people who care, you realize that even though you don’t have all the answers yet, you’re moving forward.

You’ve gained something tonight, something that was yours all along.

Gojo, his playful smile returning, gives a nod of approval. “Alright, y/n, looks like we’ve got a swimmer in the group now. You’re on your way to being a full-fledged diver.”

The others laugh, and the mood shifts back to its usual lightheartedness. But for you, there’s something deeper now—something that’s been restored. Your past, your memories, are slowly coming back, and with them, you’re beginning to understand more about who you are.

And for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel so alone in the dark.

—

The soft click of the suite door closing behind you echoed in the quiet space, and you exhaled, letting the weight of the day settle on your shoulders. The room was as extravagant as before, but its opulence felt distant, secondary to the whirl of thoughts in your mind.

You couldn’t help it but your mind drifted back to that conversation you had overheard between Gojo and Nanami just a few days ago.

Their words replayed in your head, his voice low but insistent in that rare serious tone he used only when he meant something deeply.

“She doesn’t know how much I need her to be okay,’ Gojo had said, the tone of desperation evident in his voice.

‘Then let her see it,” Nanami had replied.

Shaking your head, you made your way to the bathroom, hoping a hot shower might help clear your mind.

The bathroom was a masterpiece of modern luxury, with sleek marble counters, gleaming fixtures, and a rainfall shower that looked more like a spa experience than a simple rinse.

You turned the water on, letting the heat build until steam clouded the glass walls.

Peeling off your swimsuit, you stepped under the cascade of water, the warmth instantly soothing your tense muscles.

For a few moments, the only sound was the steady rhythm of water hitting the tiles, a gentle white noise that filled the space.

You tilted your head back, letting the stream run over your face, down your back, carrying away the salt and chlorine and the weight of the day.

But no matter how soothing the shower was, your thoughts kept circling back.

‘She’s in my head—everywhere I look.’

Why had he said it with such conviction? Such quiet protectiveness? Gojo, for all his teasing and playful arrogance, had always seemed untouchable, always wearing that mask of flippancy. Yet in that moment, he’d sounded so... different.

Did he really feel that way? As someone worth fighting for? Or was it just Gojo being Gojo—throwing himself into situations out of principle, out of defiance against authority?

You sighed, resting your forehead against the cool tiles. The heat of the water contrasted sharply with the strange warmth blooming in your chest, and you didn’t know what to make of it.

And then there was the other side of it—the nagging confusion that came with Gojo himself. He was impossible to figure out, swinging between moments of genuine care and infuriating smugness.

One minute, he was flirting shamelessly, his words laced with a confidence that made your head spin. The next, he was cool and distant, as if pulling back the moment things got too real.

But that moment with Nanami... It had felt real. Too real to ignore.

“Get a grip,” you muttered to yourself, running a hand through your wet hair.

You let the water run a little longer, hoping to wash away the lingering mix of confusion and... whatever else it was.

Yet as you finally turned off the shower and stepped onto the heated tiles, wrapping a plush towel around yourself, you couldn’t shake the memory of his voice, or the strange, unspoken something it stirred in you.

Whatever it was, it wasn’t simple. And with Gojo, you doubted it ever would be.

As you walked back into your room, you noticed the folded pair of black silk pyjamas on the bed.

He really did think of everything…

—

After a while of reading one of the books you had brought, you were interrupted by a soft knock at the frosted glass door between your room and Gojos.

The knock at the frosted glass door was soft, but in the quiet of your room, it sounded louder than it should.

You glanced up from the book in your lap, a little startled. Sliding off the bed, you made your way over and slid the door open.

There he was, Gojo, leaning lazily against the doorframe, his damp hair falling in soft tufts around his face. He looked more relaxed than usual, dressed in a plain white t-shirt and loose gray sweatpants, but his trademark grin was still firmly in place.

“Can’t sleep,” he said with a casual shrug, stepping inside as if it were his room.

“You never seem to,” you replied, stepping aside to let him in.

“Should I be worried this is becoming a habit?”

He chuckled, making himself comfortable by sitting at the edge of your bed. “Nah, just thought I’d check in on you. See how you’re holding up after earlier.”

You folded your arms, leaning against the wall. “I’m fine. It’s nothing I can’t handle. But you—” You gestured toward him. “You look like you haven’t even tried to sleep. What gives?”

He waved a hand dismissively. “I just don’t sleep much. Don’t really need to.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, unconvinced. “Yeah, but why not? You’ve got to get tired like everyone else, right?”

For a moment, he just looked at you, as if debating whether to answer. Finally, he let out a sigh, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. “It’s not that I don’t get tired. I just can’t sleep the way normal people do.”

You frowned, moving to sit beside him on the bed. “What do you mean?”

He glanced at you briefly before turning his gaze to the wide windows, the glittering city lights reflected in his eyes.

“You know my Infinity technique,” he began. “It’s always on. Even when I’m not actively thinking about it, it’s working in the background, keeping me untouchable.”

You nodded, vaguely familiar with the concept from what you’d learned about cursed techniques.

“To keep it running all the time, I can’t let my mind completely shut off,” he continued. “Even when I sleep, part of me is still monitoring it, making sure it stays active. I’ve trained myself to sort of… half-sleep. But it’s not the same as real rest. Three, maybe four hours a night is all I can manage. Anything more, and I risk losing control of the technique.”

The weight of his words settled over you, heavier than you’d expected. “That sounds… awful,” you said quietly.

He gave a small, lopsided smile, but there was no humour in it. “It’s not ideal, but it works. And it keeps people safe, so… it’s worth it.”

You stared at him, your chest tightening at the uncharacteristic vulnerability in his voice. For all his teasing and bravado, there was a depth to him you were only just beginning to see.

“Still,” you said softly, “it must be exhausting.”

“Sometimes,” he admitted. “But I’ve been doing it for so long, it’s just… part of who I am now.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, so you didn’t say anything. Instead, you shifted your gaze to the windows, the city lights stretching endlessly into the distance.

“Do you ever miss it?” you asked after a moment.

“Miss what?”

“Being able to just… rest. No Infinity, no responsibilities, just being… you.”

He was quiet for a long time, his expression unreadable. “Maybe,” he said finally. “But it’s not like I have much of a choice. If I didn’t keep it on, people would get hurt. I can’t let that happen.”

You nodded, the quiet conviction in his voice striking a chord in you. “It’s a lot to carry,” you said softly.

He glanced at you, his usual smirk returning. “Are you trying to psychoanalyze me now? Because I’ve got to warn you, I’m a tough nut to crack.”

You rolled your eyes, relieved to see a hint of his usual self shining through. “No, I just think… maybe you should let someone else help you carry the weight every once in a while.”

He tilted his head, his grin widening. “Are you volunteering?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you shot back, though the warmth in his gaze made it hard to hold onto your feigned annoyance.

He chuckled, leaning back on his hands. “You’re pretty cute when you’re all serious, you know that?”

“Satoru,” you warned, though your tone lacked any real bite.

The playful edge in his chuckle faded as silence settled between you again.

He leaned back, his hands propping him up on the bed as his gaze shifted back to the cityscape outside. You followed his line of sight, watching the lights twinkle like stars on the horizon.

But your mind wasn’t on the view. It was on him.

You thought back to all the moments you’d spent with Gojo since you met him—the way he carried himself, always carefree and teasing, as if the weight of the world didn’t touch him.

Now, sitting here with him, you realized it wasn’t that the weight didn’t touch him. It was that he refused to let anyone see how much it did.

Your chest tightened again, a mix of sympathy and something else you couldn’t quite name.

He wasn’t just Satoru Gojo, the strongest jujutsu sorcerer, the one who could take on anything and walk away unscathed. He was also just… a man. A man who carried more than anyone should ever have to, who never let himself rest because too much was at stake.

It made sense now, why he acted the way he did. The jokes, the cockiness, the endless energy—it was all a shield.

A way to keep people from looking too closely, from seeing how much he gave up to be who he was.

And now, you had seen it.

Finally, you shifted slightly on the bed, pulling your legs up to sit cross-legged beside him. “I get it now,” you said softly.

He turned his head slightly, one eyebrow quirking up. “Get what?”

“Why you are the way you are,” you said, your voice low.

“You’re not just… Satoru Gojo. You’re the Satoru Gojo. The strongest. The one everyone relies on. It’s like…” You hesitated, unsure if your words would sound foolish.

“Like what?” He prompted, his tone laced with sarcasm.

“It’s like you’re the sun,” you said finally. “Bright, untouchable. But no one ever thinks about how lonely it must be, burning that brightly all the time.”

His expression softened, and for a moment, he looked at you as if seeing you in a new light. “That’s poetic,” he said, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“I’m being serious,” you said, nudging his arm lightly with your knee. “You carry so much, and you make it look effortless. But it’s not, is it? Effortless.”

He looked away, his gaze fixed on the glowing cityscape. “No,” he admitted. “It’s not.”

The quiet honesty in his voice made your chest tighten.

You wanted to reach out, to tell him he didn’t have to bear it all alone, but you didn’t know how. Instead, you tucked your arms around your knees, leaning against the bedpost as you studied his profile.

“You don’t let people see this side of you often, do you?” you asked.

“Only on special occasions,” he replied with a smirk, though his voice lacked its usual teasing edge.

You raised an eyebrow. “Wow, lucky me. Should I feel honoured or concerned that I’m your VIP audience tonight?”

The faintest chuckle escaped him, and his smirk softened into something gentler. “A little bit of both, probably.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, but it felt heavy, like the room was holding its breath.

“Do you ever get tired of it?” you asked softly, breaking the quiet.

He didn’t look at you this time. “Tired of what?”

“Being you,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “The strongest. The one everyone depends on.”

For a moment, he didn’t answer. Then he let out a quiet laugh, but it wasn’t like his usual one. It was softer, more subdued. “I think if I let myself get tired of it, I wouldn’t be able to take it anymore.”

You frowned, the ache in your chest growing. “That’s not fair.”

“Life’s not fair,” he replied lightly, but his tone lacked its usual playfulness.

You shifted closer to him, your legs brushing against his.

“You shouldn’t have to do it alone, though. Don’t you want something more out of life?”

His smile lingered, but he didn’t reply.

Instead, he turned his attention back to the window, his eyes distant waiting for a few moments before speaking again.

“It’s not about what I want,” he said finally. “It’s about what I can do. And what I can do… no one else can. It may not be fair, y/n, but its the way it is.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the words caught in your throat. Because he was right—for all the unfairness of it—he was right.

The quiet between you lingered, neither uncomfortable nor easy.

The city lights reflected off the glass, painting faint patterns of gold and silver across the room.

You wanted to say something, to push back against the resignation in his voice, but no words seemed fitting. What could you say to someone who carried the world and made it look effortless, even when it wasn’t?

Gojo leaned back slightly, resting his weight on his hands, his gaze distant but thoughtful. Finally, he exhaled, the faintest ghost of a smile tugging at his lips.

“You should get some sleep,” he said lightly, standing up and walking backwards towards the frosted glass door.”

“Big day tomorrow. The Gojo estate, bright and early. You’ll get to see the big mansion with no one living in it–well except us for a short while ‘till we get things figured out.”

“Sounds thrilling,” you said, your attempt at levity falling a little flat.

You sat there for a moment, staring at the space he’d just left.

The weight of the conversation lingered in the air, a quiet reminder of just how much more there was to him than his usual carefree demeanour.

Finally, you let out a breath, sliding under the covers and curling up against the mattress.

The faint patterns of light from the city still danced across the walls, but your eyes felt heavy now, your body sinking into the comfort of the bed.

As you drifted off, your thoughts lingered on his words—on the way he carried so much without complaint, on the rare vulnerability he’d let slip.

Tomorrow would come, bright and early, but tonight, you let yourself hope that maybe, just maybe, you could ease even a fraction of the burden he carried.

Sleep found you, though not without the quiet echo of his voice following you into your dreams.

111 notes · View notes

multifandomgirl08 · 1 month ago

Text

The One That I Adore [Bittersweet Mini Series]

Charles Leclerc x Fem!Reader

Summary: She promised him that he would see her again. She just never said when that would be.

A/N: Sorry for the super long wait of this chapter. My inspiration for this work has been at a bit of a stand still. But I already have the next two chapters started so they will hopefully be done sooner.

Words: 3.5k

Previous Part → Next Part Bittersweet Masterlist

This whole night was too much for him. Charles could appreciate being in Santorini for the awards ceremony but had no desire to stay for the actual gala after the awards were handed out.

Charles had been with Lando, Pierre, Max, and Max’s wife at the awards ceremony. Giving out the awards had ended half an hour ago. The married couple had disappeared about 10 minutes ago and they hadn’t been seen since.

“Has anyone seen the Verstappen’s?” Lando asked.

“I think they went back to their hotel,” Pierre replied. That was what everyone assumed happened when Max unexpectedly disappeared from a party. Either they went home if they were in Monaco, or Belgium, or back to their hotel room for the night. It wasn’t like it mattered, Max had already done all of his media duties for the night.

“Really?” Lando asked, Charles could tell from the tone of his voice that his question was littered with a sarcastic tone. “Because I’m pretty sure I just saw them snogging in the corner by the coat closet.”

Lando pointed in the direction of the way out of the room. Charles couldn’t help but lightly chuckle.

“It’s like their wedding all over again,” Lando said with a slight groan. “Only this time, Daniel isn’t taking pictures of the whole thing.”

“At least it’s not Barcelona 2023 when she decided to surprise Max.” Pierre couldn’t help but bring up with a laugh.

“I told both of them and you that it was an accident.” Lando just shook his head, but Charles could spot the light blush that was now painting Lando’s cheeks.

Charles knew that Lando was tired of hearing about that time when he had walked up to Max’s hotel room after the Grand Prix was over to ask if he wanted to get drinks and ended up finding the hotel room door not all the way closed, and Max and his then-girlfriend, now wife in a compromised position. There was never enough brain bleach to remove what Lando saw from his memory when he walked into that hotel room that day.

“What’s going on with you?” Pierre asked as they stood together. “You have been acting strange since the moment I saw you.”

Sometimes Charles forgot how well Pierre knew him. Charles hadn’t really been talking to any of the other guys. His eyes were too busy running over the crowds of people looking for her, he hadn’t seen her since he showed up. The one bright spot of his whole evening was nowhere to be seen.

“Nothing.” He quickly replied. Pierre gave him a look that would have given his less-than-stellar English a run for its money.

“You are lying through your teeth.” Pierre’s switch to French made Lando look at them both.

“I’m not lying, I’m just looking at the people.” He raised his shoulders in defense.

“Right,” Pierre said before looking away.

Charles looked through the crowd of people again not seeing her anywhere. Maybe she wasn’t here tonight, maybe something had come up with her schooling or something. Hadn’t she said that her uncle normally came to these events instead of her?

“Carlos,” Charles heard Lando say. “Can you please help me out with Charles? It’s like he’s on another planet or something.”

Charles pulled up the sleeve of his dress shirt to look at his watch. It read 9:45 pm. He was allowed to leave by 11:30 after all of his press duties were done. That’s what he gets for showing up late.

“I’m sorry Lando, but I can not help you,” Carlos said with a shrug of his shoulders.

“Why not?”

“Because he has been like this since Monaco.”

“That was six months ago.” Charles wanted to correct Lando, it wasn’t six months it had been seven months since the Monaco Grand Prix.

Charles hadn't bothered telling anyone else on the grid about her. Max knew and so did his wife. Charles didn't want to be teased by any of the other drivers when it came to her. He was too scared that she would run from him and he wouldn't see her again, and he wasn’t willing to bet on that.

The rest of the Gala passed by painstakingly slow, Charles didn’t see her anywhere and at this point was pretty sure that she either wasn’t here or negated her promise to him.

At one point Charles got stuck in a conversation with a few of the Ferrari sponsors and one of them had mentioned that his niece was supposed to come with him tonight but couldn’t because of a scheduling issue with her school. His interests peaked for a moment. But it couldn’t be her, there was no way they were the same person.

By the time 11:15 rolled around, Charles said his goodbyes to Fred after managing to slip away from the crowds of people, and made his way out to his car to go back to his hotel. Once he got to the hotel, he changed out of his suit and then quickly sat at his little portable piano. His fingers glided over the black and white keys. A somber melody played as he tried to think of her, dancing in her red dress, in the reverie of his mind.

The Ferrari Fashion show was something that Charles had grown used to. It was a part of driving for the team. He would get to sit in a crowd, hopefully be unrecognizable, and watch clothes go down a runway.

There were so many faces that he didn’t recognize, not a single sponsor in the room, but plenty of influencers, and fashion people that he didn’t normally rub elbows with.

It was easy to find his seat from there, it was on a white card on the backrest in the first row towards the front of the white runway. Some people were already sitting, others were standing by their seats.

He took his time walking over, seeing people in Ferrari branded clothes, or some off shade color of the famous Rosso corsa. He took a seat, and could see Lewis on the other side of the runway in a red Louis Vuitton set with black shoes.

More seats started to fill up, and for a moment he swore he saw her pass by in one of the back rows. But as soon as she was there, the lights had started to dim signifying the show starting.

Charles did his best to keep his eyes on the models and the clothes that were coming down the runway, but sometimes the light would hit just past the first row and he would go looking for her in the crowd.

The show felt like it lasted forever, models going around an endless carousel. The sound of cameras constantly clicking felt like hands on a clock going around and around, click, click, click.

The show eventually ended, people started walking out in little packs. Charles stayed behind for a few moments before someone knocked shoulders with him pushing him towards the front of the room. There was supposed to be some dinner happening after the show that he wasn’t sure if he would be going to.

“I think it would be good for you to go.” He heard from an older gentleman standing next to someone. “You’re working for us now, you’re going to have to get used to being around these types of people.”

“I know uncle,” He heard in a voice he had memorized by now.

“You’ll do great. I believe that you can impress any person in this room if you try.”

She gave the man a nod and heard her say, ”I’ll try.”

He was quick to reply afterwards saying that he would see her after the dinner and to text if she needed anything. He saw the older man get into a black town car and drive away.

She was still standing there and Charles took small steps towards her. He was pretty sure that she wasn’t paying him any attention, just looking from her phone to the back alley of the venue. When she finally did look up, their eyes instantly met. He felt like he could see a glimpse of worry fill her eyes for a moment before it disappeared.

It took her a moment to say anything, and he could tell how awkward she felt for a bit. Eventually they talked about the show, which was a little boring but he hadn’t seen her in almost a year and didn’t want to push her.

“Are you heading to the dinner now?”

“Yeah, just waiting for my car.”

“We can take mine since we are going to the same place.” He felt like he was pushing his luck a little, asking if she would want to sit in an enclosed space with him for the half-an hour it would take to get to their dinner location.

“Umm,” She said, sounding a little unsure. “Okay. I guess.”

She was quick to tuck her phone into the small handbag that was hanging off her wrist. They walked over to the valet and waited until the red Ferrari pulled up. They both got in with the sound of Ambient Downtempo music that filled the silence of the car ride, it wasn’t Charles’ normal preference but she didn’t seem to mind, even having the courage to reach over and turn the stereo up at a song she seemed to like.

For Charles it was definitely a challenge to drive through the city and be able to concentrate on the road while she was sitting so close to him. Just as Charles felt like he was gaining the courage to talk to her they had pulled up to where the dinner was being hosted. He was happy to see that there weren’t any cameras around the car waiting to catch pictures of him.

Charles had gotten out of the car. He intended to walk over to the other side to open her door, but the valet had beat him to it. However, he still waited for her, giving her his arm so it would be a little easier to walk in. “Thank you.” She muttered before tucking her head a little low. He gave her a smile, trying to do his best to reassure her. He didn’t know why he felt like he needed to. They made their way through before finding out that they would be sitting at different tables. They were sectioned off by number, she had tucked the place card into her bag before he got the chance to look. Charles took his but still let her hold onto his arm before they walked into the room finally separating.

He let her slip away from him, doing nothing more than exchanging a smile and parting ways. He was sure that he would see her again tonight.

Dinner had been a slow affair. He had been sitting with Lewis, and although his fellow teammate was nice to talk to about team things, he would have preferred to sit and talk with her instead. The second course had come and Lewis had left to the other side of the room. He saw her move from her chair at a far table, moving closer to the side of the room that he was on. He had been eating through his burrata and tomatoes when he could see her again. “I am so sorry.” He heard close to him. “You were sitting over there right?” He didn’t hear a response. “I hate to ask, but would you mind switching tables with me?”

“Sure.” He heard before he saw a woman with blonde hair move out of her seat that was at the same table as Charles and saw her move into that seat instead.

He had watched the blonde woman move to the far side of the room, retaking the further seat and started talking to someone at that table. This was Charles’ opportunity to talk to her again, she was only sitting on the other side of his table.

He lifted his hand up slightly trying to catch her attention. She barely lifted her hand back to wave at him before he moved his napkin off his lap and onto the chair next to him. He was hoping that she would have the courage to come and sit next to him since he seemed to be the only person that she knew here.

She didn’t, at least not at first. She seemed to pick at the food on her plate taking a few bites before placing her fork back down. He always felt like a bit of a voyeur looking at her, watching as her eyes moved around the room until they stopped at him.

Her eyes looked at him as if she was asking as if it was okay to come up to him, her eyes going slightly to his left to the open chair where his napkin was. He gave her a small nod, telling her it was okay to sit with him despite the fact that it was someone else's seat.

She had moved from her seat and over to him, he picked up his napkin and placed it back in his lap pushing his chair out just a tad so he could turn away from Lewis’ chair to talk to her.

It takes her a few moments to move from one chair to another. He notices that she sets her bag down first before pulling the chair out.

"Hey," she greets him.

"Hi." He can't help but say back. For all the flirting that he has done with her the last few times he saw her he can't seem to do that anymore. He knows a family member of hers is a team sponsor, he would love to pretend that he is unaware of this.

"You weren't at the last Gala," He blurts out.

Her eyes filled with recognition, "Yeah, something with school came up. I was in my last semester and had finals but I'm now out of college and working for my uncle."

So, she hadn't negated on her promise. "It was not the same without you," He says before he can stop himself. "Too stuffy, sitting around waiting for things to happen." Charles knows he's rambling a bit but he did miss her. He needs to finally get the courage to ask for her number, that would be much easier.

"Is this like that as well?" She asked.

"No," He moved to pick up his fork. "I get to leave after dinner and get to go back to my hotel."

"You don't go party after?"

"No, no. I am not Lando." Placing his fork down and waving his hands in protest.

"So what do you do then?"

"Normally I go and play my piano in my room, or watch something." He enjoyed his solitude. It was part of his whole tortured artist thing that Arthur liked to make jokes about. Which was funny since his younger brother was very much the same.

She doesn't say anything for a moment. Did she think that was an invitation to come back to his hotel with him?

"I'm sorry," she says. "I'm bad at this... We keep meeting at these events and-"

"It never goes further?" He asks. She nods back at him.

“Maybe we can exchange numbers or-” He started to say and then cut himself off. No, bad idea. Her family worked for his team.

“Or?” She askes.

“Next time, you can come with me?” He lets himself ask. He knows he’s taking a risk.

“Come with you?” She asks back.

“Yes, I pick you up from your hotel or where you are staying. We can cordinate with whoever sets you up to come to these events.” This feels like a longshot. She won’t agree to this.

“Do you really want to see me that badly again?” She asks. He can feel like she wants to say that she’s not special enough for that.

All he can do is nod at her. There is nothing else that he can say. Or nothing that he can say that he knows won’t scare her off. He would like to say that he feels like he’s falling for her, that he wants to get to know her more, to feel like he has a tangable part of her for him to grab onto instead of just the moments they seem to catch each other in.

He doesn’t want to keep thinking of her as the girl who sneaks off during the party, he wants to always have the image of her dancing in his mind to the melody that comes from his fingers. He’s sick of looking at the incomplete page of sheet music, it’s been tauning him since he last saw her.

“I-” She starts to say and then cuts herself off. “I can-” She’s cut off by someone coming to their table.

“Uncle,” She quickly says to the older man he saw at the Prize Giving Gala at the end of last year. Her eyes are wide, she is obviously surprised to see him.“I thought I was going to see you after.”

“You were supposed to, but something came up.” The older man says. “I just wanted to let you know that I’m taking a flight back home. My assistant will call you in the morning with your flight details. I don’t want you to feel stranded here without knowing what’s going on.”

She gives him a nod back.

The older man looks at him and then back to her.

“Take care of her son.” He said to Charles. “I’ll call you when your at home on Monday.”

The older man leaves them. Charles can’t help but let out a heavy breath.

She immediately starts to apologize after, “He’s like that with everyone.”

“And you work for him?” He asks.

“He offered me a job after I was finished with school, a good stepping stone.”

“And you also live with him?” He can’t help but ask even though he knows that he’s assuming.

“No, I don’t. My uncle lives in New York. When I was going to school I lived in Los Angeles, but I work at my uncles office in Monaco… It’s been a big adjustment these last 6 months.”

Ah that explains a lot of things, it really seemed like she just disappeared from the world for a while. She probably has been under a lot of stress.

“Well, I would still like to go to the next event with you. If you can clear it with your uncle.”

“I would love to but I’m not sure if-” She starts to say.

And he can read the rejection, he knows what it is.

He instead reaches for his phone before she can say anything else.

“Just take my number. If he says no, then I at least know that you tried.” He takes the place card with his name on it and shovels around in the pockets of his jacket. He knows he has a pen somewhere even though he hates that it’s become a habit that he now carries one with him.

He starts to write it before slowly handing it over.

He watches as she tentatively takes it from him and slips it into her small bag that doesn’t even look big enough to fit a phone in.

He can only sit and keep talking to her from there. Her shoulders seem to loosen again after a bit. They bring out the next course of food and sit and talk as they both pick at what ends up on their plates.

There is a low brrng of a phone going off close to them before she looks down and sees her pull out a phone from under her dress. It doesn’t look like it would fit into the bag she has with her.

‘I’m sorry.’ she mouthes and then moves to walk to the other side of the room.

He can feel that she is being forced away from him, and all he wants to do is sink his fingers around her wrist and pull her back.

He doesn’t though. He watches her be pulled away from him to the other side of the room to talk to whoever is on the phone, and then into a conversation with someone else to rub shoulders with other people he doesn’t care to acknowledge. She seems to disappear into the night at some point, after being paraded around the room and all he can do it wait for the dinner to end and go back to his hotel room. He doesn’t bother changing, opens the piano cover and sinks his fingers into the keys on the far right end, the haunting notes spilling from his fingers.

It seems like she will continue to live in his daydreams a little longer.

He finds the sheet music with her melody on it and at the top of the page writes;

He places the pen on the sheet music stand and leaves it sitting there. We will meet again, he promises himself after he’s moved off the piano stool to finally change out of his suit.

Bittersweet taglist: @omgsuperstarg, @bite-me-en-la-boca, @itsjustkhaos, @cixrosie, @konsti081

#bittersweet mini series #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fanfiction #formula 1 x reader #f1 imagines #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #cl16 x reader #cl16 imagine

67 notes · View notes

nosyp · 5 months ago

Text

Servant to Obsession

Warning = smut, religious guilt(?), sex before marriage ig

Pairing = Sunday x reader

Summary = As one of Sunday’s many devoted servants, you’re used to assisting him with his every task. But when his quiet obsession with you slowly turns into something far darker, your life begins to unravel. Everything changes when you come to him seeking forgiveness, and Sunday seizes the opportunity to make his desires known.

Word count = 3.8k

A/N = Sunday fic on sunday. MDNI, read at ur own will.

Story down below 👇

“Ugh!”

“Excuse me!”

“Sorry!”

You had been running around all day, pushing through the crowds of people in the event. You could swear the heels of your feet were on fire from the amount of walking you had to do today. This wasn’t a rare occasion at all ever since you were hired by Sunday, you’d often be tasked with serving the guests at the party alongside many of your other co-workers.

“Y/N! Bring out some more lost twilight, rouge era and mung bean soda!” a co-worker called out to you.

“O-oh on it!” you stammered while trying to balance the tray on your hand. Then, you quickly rushed over to the kitchen to grab some more drinks before having to go back out there.

The kitchen inside was a mess, everyone was yelling, food was being spilled everywhere and it was super crowded. On the outside, the masquerade might seem grand or luxurious but behind the scenes, it was chaotic. After grabbing the drinks, you went back out to the party to continue serving the guests.

“Good evening ladies, would you like some lost twilight?” you ask the group of ladies in the corner, tilting your tray enough to show them the array of drinks on your

“Errr…. No thanks…” one of the ladies say, sending you away.

‘That’s weird…’ you think to yourself as you were about to go on to pass more drinks. But before you even could, you saw your master, Sunday, walk over to you and your body froze as you waited to see where he was going.

Your heart skipped a beat as Sunday approached. The sight of him made you stiffen involuntarily. As always, he wore his usual calm, collected demeanor on him. But it wasn't like he ever paid attention to the servants, especially not ones like you. He had other things to worry about, other people to attend to.

“Could you handle the final preparations for closing?” Sunday asked you, his gaze passing over you briefly. His voice was calm, detached.

Then, you snapped yourself out of your trance. “Yes, Master Sunday, right away,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady, despite the growing nervous feeling inside you.

Sunday gave you a quick, dismissive glance, before he nodded and turned away to speak to someone else. That fleeting moment sent a jolt through your body, one you quickly dismissed. There was no reason to read into it. He was just a man doing his job, and you were just a servant doing yours.

You quickly made your way to the back to gather the final orders and clear things out, pushing through the chaotic kitchen.

Later, as the evening wound down, you made your way back to the front of the hall, observing the guests as they slowly began to leave. Most of the guests had already filtered out, but there were still a few lingering in groups, chatting or enjoying the last drinks of the night. Then, you suddenly spotted your boyfriend among them, talking to one of the other servants, a look of frustration plastered on his face as he talked to them.

He caught your eye and gave you a quick wave, a small smile forming on his lips. You felt a rush of relief at seeing him. Despite the madness of the event, you knew you’d get to spend a moment of peace with him after everything was over.

Then, when the other servant started to walk away, you slowly made your way to him. “Hey, how you doin’?” you ask him with a playful tone.

He chuckles at your tone and returns it back to you, “I’m doing good, how are you?”

You grin at his response, leaning against the counter as you both take a moment to catch your breath. "Surviving," you reply, rolling your eyes in exaggerated exhaustion. "Just another night in the chaos."

He laughs softly, shaking his head. "You sure you don't need a break? You look like you’re about to pass out hon."

You smirk, the light teasing making the exhaustion a little more bearable. "I'll survive. But hey, when this is all over, you and I are getting out of here, right? A little peace and quiet... maybe some real food instead of whatever this event's calling 'dinner’.”

He grins, his expression softening. "Sounds perfect to me."

The conversation is light, comforting amidst the madness of the night. You both know the routine. Which is once everyone’s gone, you two can finally relax with no interruptions, just the two of you. A small promise to hold onto as the night winds down.

Ding!

You stepped inside the restaurant with your boyfriend, the bell above the door chiming lightly as you entered. The restaurant was quiet now, the loud chatter and clinking glasses replaced by the soft hum of a few patrons finishing up their late-night meals. The atmosphere was warm and inviting, a stark contrast to the chaotic energy of the party you’d just come from.

The bell above the restaurant’s entrance chimed softly as you and your boyfriend stepped inside, the noise of the party fading into the background. The atmosphere here was calm and warm, a sharp contrast to the chaos you’d just left behind.

As you both walked further in, you spotted an empty table near the window. Your boyfriend gave you a small grin, pointing toward it. “How about we grab that one?”

You nodded, relieved to finally settle into some peace. “Perfect, that’s exactly what I thought too” you replied.

You both made your way over, and he pulled out the chair for you with a smile before sitting across from you. The hustle of the night seemed far away now, and as you both sat down, it felt like the calmness you’d been craving.

He glanced at the menu, then back at you. “So, what are you thinking? You’re going for the usual?”

You tapped your chin thoughtfully. “I’m feeling adventurous today. I might just try something new. How about you?”

He raised an eyebrow, leaning closer. “I’m sticking with the safe option. Can’t go wrong with the classics.”

You laughed. “You’re such a creature of habit.”

He shrugged, grinning. “Hey, some of us know what we like.”

You leaned back in your chair, teasing him with a grin. “Guess I’ll be the one to break the mold then. You’ll just have to live vicariously through my bold choices.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m not sure if I’m ready to watch you dive into the unknown. What if it’s too much?”

“Then I’ll just have to suffer through it,” you said dramatically, putting on an exaggerated pout. “But I’ll survive. I’m tough.”

He laughed again, his eyes twinkling. “Sure you are... Just don’t come crying to me when your ‘adventurous’ pick turns out to be a disaster.”

You grinned. “No promises.”

The meal was quiet and relaxing, just the two of you enjoying each other's company without the chaos of the party or the stress of the night hanging over you. After finishing, you both paid the bill and left the restaurant, stepping back into the cool night air.

Your boyfriend walked beside you, his hand brushing against yours before he casually laced his fingers with yours. "You ready to call it a night?" he asked, his voice soft and comforting.

"Yeah," you replied with a tired smile. "It's been a long day."

The walk back to your apartment was peaceful, the streets quiet and empty. You talked about everything and nothing, the usual light banter filling the space between you. When you reached your door, your boyfriend leaned against the frame, looking at you with a smile that made your heart flutter.

"Well, it’s about to end," he said, his voice low.

You stepped closer, feeling the comfort of being near him after the whirlwind of the evening. "Stay for a bit?" you asked, almost shyly.

He grinned, pushing himself off the door. "I thought you'd never ask."

You both stepped inside, the door closing softly behind you as you kicked off your shoes and relaxed into the comfort of your own space.

“Hey?” your boyfriend suddenly said.

“Hmm?” you hummed in response.

“Do you still have energy… for a little something?”

“Something?”

“You’ll see…”

And the rest of the night was a blur…

—

The next morning, sunlight filtered softly through the blinds, casting a warm glow across the room. You stirred, stretching lazily, the light coaxing you out of the haze of sleep. Beside you, your boyfriend was still asleep, his tousled hair and half-closed eyes showing that he was still lost in his dreams.

But you... you didn’t feel at peace. Something was wrong.

As you shifted, you felt the dampness between your legs. With a sinking feeling, you lifted the blanket and saw it. The sticky fluid trailing down your thighs.

Oh, shit.

Panic shot through you. You bolted out of bed, rushing to the bathroom, the cold tiles sending a jolt of reality through your body. Your hands shook as you cleaned up, each motion feeling like a reminder of the promise you had made. The promise you had broken.

‘I was going to wait until marriage,’ you thought, a sick knot forming in your stomach. ‘Why did this happen? Why couldn’t I control myself?’

You hurriedly dressed and left, the walk to the church feeling unbearable. Every step echoed in your mind, reminding you of your mistake. You pulled your coat tighter, trying to shake off the uneasy feeling that had settled over you.

The streets were still quiet, the world slowly waking up around you. But you felt like an outsider in it. The calm rhythm of the morning seemed to mock you as you walked through the stillness. It felt like the universe knew what you’d done, knew you didn’t deserve this peace.

When the church came into view, its tall spires reaching toward the sky, you felt a small sense of relief. The building always brought you comfort, a place of sanctuary. You climbed the steps and entered, the cool, sacred air washing over you as you took a deep breath.

Inside, it was as you remembered—quiet, serene, filled with the scent of incense and aged wood. You made your way down the aisle, the familiar path a small comfort. Sitting in your usual seat, you closed your eyes, letting the stillness settle around you. The weight of the week began to lift, if only slightly.

But when you opened your eyes, you saw him.

Sunday.

He stood at the altar, but this time, it wasn’t the usual scene. The light streaming through the stained-glass windows cast a soft glow around him, making him look almost otherworldly. But something about it felt... off. His presence was different today.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away from him. His gaze met yours, and for a moment, everything else seemed to disappear. He smiled, a knowing, subtle curve of his lips that made your heart flutter in a way you didn’t expect.

“You’ve come,” he said, his voice low, inviting. “To confess, perhaps?”

Your chest tightened. The words caught in your throat. This wasn’t what you had planned. You weren’t here for this, not for him. You just wanted peace, a quiet place to think. But now, something pulled you toward him, something you couldn’t name.

He motioned toward the confessional, his hand elegant, yet commanding. “Go ahead,” he urged softly. “Tell me your sins. Lay them out. Let them go.”

There was an undeniable power in his words. The man you knew outside these walls, the one at the parties, the one who commanded with a smile. But, he wasn’t the same man standing before you now. He was different. This was a side of him you hadn’t seen, and it was impossible to ignore.

Your hands began to sweat as you moved toward the confessional. The wooden door creaked as you entered, the room small and suffocating. The reality of what you were about to do hit you in waves, and suddenly, the weight of everything seemed too much.

Sunday’s voice came through the small opening in front of you, smooth, controlled, but with an edge you hadn’t expected. “Tell me,” he began. “What have you done that burdens your soul?”

His voice wrapped around you like a gentle command, coaxing, inviting. He wasn’t just asking for the sake of absolution. No. There was something deeper in his question. Something that made your chest tighten and your palms clammy.

You sat in the confessional, the silence between you stretching painfully. You weren’t sure what to say. You weren’t sure if you were ready to say it. But in that moment, all you wanted was to feel... lighter. To let go of the weight pressing on you.

And yet, as his words lingered in the air, you realized that this wasn’t just about forgiveness. It wasn’t about confessing your sins. It was something more. Something much more dangerous.

“I-I’ve… surrendered to the sin of lust… and…” you paused, your heart pounding in your chest as your mind raced. You could feel the heat rise in your cheeks, your body reacting to the vulnerability of the confession, even though you were hidden from view.

There was a long, heavy silence on the other side of the confessional. You could almost feel Sunday’s gaze on you, even though you couldn’t see him. The quiet stretched out, thick with expectation, his presence wrapping around you like a tangible thing.

“I-I... I promised myself I would wait… until marriage,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, trembling with guilt. The words felt like a weight on your tongue, each one dragging you deeper into shame. “But I didn’t… I didn’t keep that promise.”

The confession spilled out, too much for you to bear, but you couldn’t stop it. You felt exposed, like your most intimate thoughts had been laid bare in front of someone who could judge you, someone who would see the sin in you.

“I—" your voice cracked, and you swallowed hard, trying to steady yourself. "I let it happen. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I— I should’ve waited, but… but it felt so right at the moment. It was a mistake. A huge mistake.”

The words hung in the air like smoke, curling around you. It wasn’t just about the physical act, it was about the breaking of a vow, the promise you made to yourself, to God. You could feel the shame bubbling up, overwhelming you, and yet you couldn’t bring yourself to stop.

“I can’t take it back,” you whispered. “And now... I feel like I’ve done something unforgivable.”

Sunday’s silence continued, stretching on and on, as if he were letting your words settle into the heavy air between you. Then, when you thought he might not answer, his voice finally broke the stillness, low and deliberate.

“Do you think you’ve sinned?” His voice wasn’t harsh. It wasn’t condemning. It was soft, almost thoughtful, and yet there was a strange intensity to it. Like he was studying you, gauging every word, every reaction.

You wanted to say something, to explain that you knew it was wrong, that you didn’t want to feel this way. But all you could do was nod, your throat tight with emotion.

Sunday’s next words were like a breath against your skin, unsettling and unnerving.

“Then, let me show you the way,” he said, his voice a smooth caress, full of unspoken promises. “Let me help you cleanse yourself of this burden.”

A shiver ran down your spine at the implication. You weren’t sure if you were ready for what came next. But in this moment, with the weight of your guilt pressing so heavily on you, you weren’t sure you wanted to resist, either.

The line between forgiveness and temptation was becoming blurred, and you could feel yourself losing the battle within. How could you have let this happen? How could you?

“I can sense your turmoil, your desire to be absolved,” Sunday’s voice drifted through the screen. “But redemption isn’t so simple, is it? You’ve surrendered to the temptation, and now, you feel the weight of it, the desire lingering on your skin.”

…

Hearing those words hurt. You felt like you’d just betrayed yourself. And you did. You can’t deny that.

Sunday’s voice was like velvet, smooth but with an undeniable edge. Even with the confessional door between you, it felt like he was there, his presence pressing down on you from every direction.

"I can sense your turmoil, your desire to be absolved,” Sunday’s voice drifted through the screen. “But redemption isn’t so simple, is it? You’ve surrendered to the temptation, and now, you feel the weight of it, the desire lingering on your skin."

His words slithered into your thoughts, each syllable wrapping around your mind, tightening like a chain. You closed your eyes, desperate to push away the heat his voice stirred within you, but it was no use. The memory of last night, of the shame and the fleeting pleasure, was burned into your mind. You could feel it—there, just under the surface of your skin. That awful mix of guilt and longing.

You swallowed hard, struggling to keep your voice steady as you spoke. “I… I didn’t mean to—”

Sunday cut you off with a soft, almost mocking chuckle. “You didn’t mean to? Or perhaps you just didn’t want to be caught. Tell me, do you feel sorry for what you’ve done? Or do you only regret being caught in the act?”

The sting of his words hit harder than you expected. You had come here seeking absolution, but now, you were being forced to confront the deeper truth. The truth that you weren’t just guilty for what you’d done. You were guilty of wanting it. And that… that was what gnawed at you.

"I... I don't know," you whispered, feeling small, exposed in this tiny confessional. The weight of your sin seemed to press against your chest, suffocating. Your breath caught in your throat, the words heavy with shame and unspoken need. "I don't know how to feel."

His tone softened, but there was no kindness in it. "You know, deep down, that you wanted it. You wanted the touch, the feeling of surrender. That's why you can’t shake the desire. You’re still aching for it, aren’t you? The guilt just makes it sweeter, doesn’t it?"

You bit your lip, fighting the urge to speak. The confessional felt like a cage now, the walls closing in. You were trapped in the space between guilt and desire, and it was a place you couldn’t escape from. Not here, not now. Not with him so close, even though he wasn’t physically near at all.

“If you truly want to be forgiven,” he stopped, building up your anticipation. “You need to show me.”

Your eyes widened as soon as you heard it. You could still be forgiven?

“What is it?” you asked eagerly, practically begging. “Please tell me… I’ll do anything.”

Sunday's voice dropped to a whisper, low and commanding, "You want forgiveness, don’t you? You crave it. But there’s no redemption without sacrifice, no absolution without proving your worth."

He let the silence hang in the air, letting the weight of his words sink in before continuing, his tone smooth but piercing, like a blade.

"Do this, and show me your commitment," Sunday instructed, his voice almost a purr of dominance. "Confess your desires to me, in detail. Only then will I know you're truly sorry, that you understand the depth of what you’ve done."

His words felt like a command, a challenge, one that pushed the boundaries of what you had anticipated. You were caught between desperation and dread, the fear of what you’d have to do to find absolution warring with the longing you couldn’t shake.

“Confess... to you?” you whispered, heart racing at the thought of speaking those words aloud. Would that really give you the redemption you sought? Could you even bring yourself to say it, to admit how much you wanted this, how much you needed the release he offered?

Sunday’s voice was quiet but unyielding. "Yes. Confess every detail of your sin, and I will decide if you are worthy of forgiveness. And if you are… that’ll be a different story."

And you didn’t hesitate to spill every detail of your story, your voice trembling with a mixture of guilt and desperation, as if each word you spoke was both a confession and a release.

“Hmmm, I see,” he says. Then the silence begins again. It was agonizing. Painful. That was until, “I want you to pleasure yourself. Pleasure yourself just like he did to you.”

“R-right now?” you stammered.

“Yes.”

You grit your teeth as you stared down onto your lap. Hesitating whether you should. You could hear his heavy breathing from the other side. And reluctantly, you did.

You slid your hands down your pants and used your middle finger first. Your wetness was evident as soon as you started. Slowly, you pushed your finger in and out while your other hand was gripping the barrier tightly. Your grip was so tight it felt like you were about to pull it off.

“Mmhh…” you whimpered, the sound soft but enough to reverberate through the confessional. The wooden screen separating you seemed to hum faintly with the vibration, as if it, too, felt the tension building between you.

“Keep going… you’re doing great,” he murmured, his voice smooth and low, seeping through the screen like a whispered temptation.

Slick was coating your finger as you kept on going. You were desperate to earn the confessor’s approval, the need to please him outweighing any lingering shame. The faster you moved, the closer you felt to your peak. Your panting turned ragged, soft whimpers escaping your lips in a desperate rhythm, echoing in the confined space.

Your whole body was trembling from top to bottom, the feeling evoking something inside you… something that you didn’t even know was there. You felt yourself immersed in the lustful feeling. Guilt coursed through your veins but it didn’t matter. The only thing that did was satisfying the confessor in front of you, Sunday.

“A-ahh…” you panted, your voice trembling as the tension within you coiled tighter, drawing you closer to the edge. Each movement sent waves of sensation through you, leaving you breathless and yearning for release.

At last, you surrendered yourself to the lustful feeling, allowing everything to spill onto the chair, watching as it slowly dripped down.

"Hmm... that was good... you're forgiven," came the voice from the other side, followed by the sound of the door clicking open.

#sunday x reader #sunday x you #hsr x reader #hsr sunday #honkai star rail fanfiction #honkai star rail #hsr fanfic

88 notes · View notes