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mostly-imagines · 8 months ago

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The Venus Drug

jason todd x afab!reader

aka the side effects of a run-in with poison ivy

warnings: explicit sexual content (18+), sex pollen so its inherently not strictly speaking consensual, oral (f & m receiving), free use, overstimulation

A clattering in your living room has you blearily shifting awake. The dark of your bedroom takes your eyes longer to adjust to than usual, it feels like. You peer at the time, finding it only just past midnight. Even on the good nights, midnight is pretty early for him to be coming back.

Though, there’s really little concern of the noise-maker being anyone but your boyfriend, he’s set up too many security measures and failsafes around your apartment for anyone to get lucky waltzing in. It does worry you though that he is making such a clamor when he’s usually so careful about entering silently as to not wake you.

You’re about to climb out of bed to investigate when the door creaks open, though light doesn’t flood through the crack like you’d expected.

Jason stumbles into the doorway, falling into a lean against the wall for support.

You sit up quickly, instantly on alert. “What’s wrong?”

He takes one glance at you and immediately averts his gaze to the floor like he saw something he wasn’t supposed to.

You look down, thrown by his behavior, only to see your usual nighttime attire: one of his shirts over underwear.

You blink back up at him, furrowing your brow. “Jay?”

You can vaguely make out a sigh from him, “Fuck…” he squeezes his eyes shut. “Ivy..”

Ah. This has happened before to the others, but this is the first time you’ve seen him affected by it. You’re prepared for it, though you hadn’t anticipated that it would be so seemingly debilitating.

“What can I do?” You try not to look as concerned as you feel but you can’t say with confidence that it’s working.

He slowly pushes himself off the doorframe, heading wearily towards the bathroom. He tugs his shirt off with difficulty, tossing it to the side. “Nothing, nothing..I jus’ need to…” he takes a deep breath, “Get it out of my system..” He’s trying to be comforting but the pain in his voice rids it of all believability.

You frown, watching him linger. “That seems like the exact kind of thing I could help with.”

His eyes close helplessly as his head falls back, “You can’t, baby.”

“Why not?”

He sighs, “I’m not…as in control as I’d like to be right now.”

Your pout deepens. This is something you’re working on with him—trusting both you and himself with vulnerability. Especially when it comes to situations where he feels like he’s putting you in a vulnerable place too. But you trust him with your whole being and you want him to know it. “That’s okay.”

“No,” he shakes his head vehemently. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t,” you say resolutely. “I trust you.”

He wavers, “No, I…No. I can’t.”

He says that, but he’s still not retreating to the bathroom. Instead, he loiters awkwardly, like he’s caught between decisions.

You feel a twinge of heartache in your chest, “Does it hurt?”

He’s quick to answer, “I’m alright.” Though he doesn’t try his hardest to sell you on the idea.

Your face pans, “That’s not what I asked.”

“I—” he huffs, conceding. “Yeah. Yes.”

You extend your arms out, beckoning him towards you. It clearly goes against his better judgment but he can’t help himself from moving closer to you. An evident testament to the strength of Ivy’s work.

You take his hands in yours, looking up at him with begging eyes, “Let me help you? Please?”

Up close like this you can really see how labored his breathing is and how pained he looks. You sit up onto your knees, pulling his hands closer. “I wanna take care of you. Let me help my boy out. He deserves it.”

He steels his jaw, trying to replenish his rapidly weakening resolve. He exhales heavily before grabbing your chin, eyes serious. “Look at me,” he says sternly. “You stop me if I’m too rough.”

You nod adamantly, “I will.”

You fidget with the loop of his belt, waiting for permission.

He squeezes your hands slowly, head bowing. “Help me, sweetheart.”

You’re instantly up on your feet, maneuvering him to switch places with you and sit down on the bed. You kneel down in front of him, undoing the clasp on his belt.

You tug his belt off, letting it clatter on the floor before freeing him the rest of the way. To your surprise, his eyes remain on you rather than your actions. He brushes your hair out of your face haphazardly, murmuring, “Pretty fucking girl..”

You keen at his words, fighting the urge to pause and rub up against him. Instead, you busy yourself and lick a line up his cock, immediately feeling his body stutter. You lick another stripe, this time adding a kiss afterwards.

His hands squeeze at the comforter under him, “Baby, please.”

You give a short nod before taking him in your mouth completely. He groans like it’s automatic, body practically vibrating in place. You rest your hands over his and he’s quick to turn his own over to hold onto yours.

It only works as a momentary distraction, as one of his hands leaves your grasp to move your hair from blocking his view again, petting your head nicely as you suck him off. “Oh, good girl. My good girl.”

He babbles when he gets overwhelmed during sex, though it doesn’t happen often. And especially not like this.

“Fucking—” he stammers, “God, you’re so—”

Frankly, the image of you on your knees in front of him, so willing and eager to help him out…it’s killing him. He’s putting absolutely all of his remaining restraint into not taking over and fucking your mouth the way he wants to—and it shows—so you’re doing your best to take as much of him in your mouth as you can and using your hand to compensate for the rest.

His head bobs back as his hand falls to a rest atop your head. His breathing is deep and heavy and you can see the way his abs flex through his restraint. His hand briefly fists up before stuttering back to lay open-palmed on your head.

“Oh, baby—” he lets out a gravelly moan and his arms nearly give out from holding him up as he comes.

You happily collect it on your tongue and he audibly groans when you swallow.

He’s quick to pull you up off the floor and place you on the bed so he can clamor over you. You fall back to have your arms hold you up as he finds your lips.

“Take your shirt off,” he tells you breathlessly. “Please.”

You oblige without hesitation as he kisses and gropes along your torso. You don’t realize what he’s doing until he’s at face level with your underwear, fingers dipping under the band.

You sit up onto your hands, “Jay, you don’t have to—”

He shakes his head, “‘M not gonna hurt you,” he mumbles, very adamant. “Not doin’ it.”

It’s been a long running personal requirement for Jason to thoroughly prep you in some way before fucking you, and he’s right for it—you would definitely get hurt if he didn’t.

You feel conflicted about it now though, like it’s not fair of you to let him pay such mind to you when he’s quite literally in unprecedented pain.

But he slips your underwear down without hesitation, not wasting any time in getting to work. He doesn’t start with his usual teasing and build-up, instead he goes straight into licking at your core, eyes closed and strands of white hair stuck to his forehead.

He hooks one hand around your knee and the other wraps around your thigh, pulling you closer. He used the newfound proximity to lap at you with more concentration and purpose, quite literally devouring you. You struggle to keep your breathing in tune with the rest of your body, not having been prepared for so much so quickly.

He’s eating you out like it’s the only thing keeping him alive, not giving himself any time to breathe or even think about anything else. You’re about to push him away so that he’ll take a breath or two when he moans into your cunt, instantly veering your brain straight off course.

He breaks from licking your pussy only to change course in favor of sucking on your clit, leaving open-mouthed kisses every few seconds. You thread your fingers through his hair, trying to soothe him as best you can.

This is a new experience for both of you in terms of intensity and desperation and it has you feeling like you were injected with the same toxin he was. It throws you so completely out of your senses that you don’t even notice that he’s rutting into the bed as he kisses you. Though, odds are he doesn’t realize he’s doing it either.

His grip on you tightens as he gets more fervent, the dig from the indents of his fingers promising to bruise. His eyes flutter as he makes out with your pussy, little mewls making their way through periodically.

“Jay—” you cry, tugging harder than you’d meant to on his hair. He hums in response, letting you know that he’s here, he’s with you, he’ll take care of you.

Even high out of his mind he can still read you like a book, and can tell that you’re nearing your peak. He gets meditated and precise with his actions, leading you right up to the edge. You whimper again and he begins to rut harder.

It takes only a few moments of this repetition for you to briefly tense up before you start to tremble, heat flooding through your body. The saccharine new taste of your cum motivates him to reach his own end, moaning into you and sending a second wave of rapture over you.

You exhale heavily as his forehead drops against your stomach, catching his breath. It doesn’t take him very long.

You can just start to realize the persistent trembling in your thighs when he licks another stripe down your pussy. You whine, sitting up on your elbows and squirming higher up on the bed.

He pulls back murmuring, “Sorry.” He kisses the inside of your thigh, “Sorry.”

You watch as he pushes up on his forearms to look at you proper, seeming almost dizzy. “I need..I need…” his shoulders drop. “Please.”

You just nod, giving him permission to do whatever he needs.

He pulls you up by the waist and tugs you into him as close as he can, kissing you hard. You move to hold his jaw in your hands, stroking your thumb across lightly. He leans you backwards to lay you down flat, head just below the pillows. He folds over you easily, kisses becoming less and less intentional in placement as his hands stroke and squeeze up your sides.

He pulls away only to glance down as he lines himself up with you, pushing in slowly. He peers back up at your face as he does, watching carefully to make sure it doesn’t hurt.

You hold onto his shoulders as you take him, the stretch feeling significant but familiar.

He kisses your cheek once he’s fully inside and begins to rock in and out of you slowly. The pace picks up quickly as he continues to makeout with you.

A particularly intense thrust has you wrapping your arms fully around the frame of his shoulders, hugging him close to you. He immerses himself in the crook of your neck, fucking you with deeper and more punctuated strokes than you can remember.

“Jay,” you gasp as he places firm kisses across your jaw like he’s trying to hammer it into your head that he fucking loves you.

His thrusts gradually get faster and while it’s perfectly overwhelming for you, it doesn’t seem to be enough for him.

He huffs before pulling out of you without warning. He untangles your arms from around him so he can flip you over to lay on your stomach. He pulls you back up just as quickly, arm wrapped around your torso, leaving you to hold yourself up by your hands and knees as he kisses on your neck messily.

This time when he reenters you he continues on with his previous pace, taking you by surprise once again. Your mouth is practically hanging open as he ruts into you, successfully sending your thoughts straight out of your head.

He lays kisses down your spine murmuring, “I love you.” He moves in and out of you without falter, “Thank you, thank you..”

His hands hold your waist in place, keeping you steady for both of your sakes. Multiple times his grip tightens only to loosen the second he realizes how hard he’s squeezing you. You don’t mind though, you’ve never had any trouble revering marks left behind by him before.

“It’s—” you pant, “It’s okay—” you reach back to put your hand over his, pressing down.

His brash hold returns upon the permission, more assured. “Good girl, good—” he praises, “So fucking good for me, baby.”

He reaches around and dips his free hand below your hips, beginning to rub circles on your clit.

Your arms shake and you worry that they’re nearing buckling, but, attuned with you as ever, his arm wraps tighter around your middle, pulling you up a bit higher so that you barely have to mind any of the work of holding yourself up.

He makes sure to support your weight nicely, holding you in a way that he knows won’t be uncomfortable for you. His circles never cease, never falter from that just right pace he’s come to know like the back of his hand.

You’re brought to your high by the arrival of his, struggling to keep your head upright as you come.

He thumps down over to the side to lay on his back, chest heaving. You pick up your head to look over at him, finding that he doesn’t look nearly as exhausted as you’re sure you do. Still, he breathes heavy, pupils blown out and sweaty.

You notice how his fists clinch up and loosen a couple times over, trying to convince himself that he’s done, he doesn’t need any more from you, he’s all better now.

But you also notice that he’s still hard. His eyes are fixed on the ceiling, dead set on not looking at you and having to confront that he really, really does still need you.

So you force yourself to sit up, placing a hand on his chest for balance. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to relax for your sake but that’s the last thing you want him to do.

You push yourself up and over his waist, perching over his abs and brushing his hair back from his forehead. You press a kiss to his head before sitting up on your knees and reaching down to line his cock up with your entrance.

You plant a hand on his chest as you sink down onto him with a deep breath.

“You’re okay,” he rasps, watching in mesmerization as you start to lift your weight up slowly off of your thighs and sink back down.

“I’m okay,” you confirm, guiding his hands to your hips. The presence of his hands on you feels like reassurance and works wonders to help you pick back up some of your energy.

The pace you latch onto feels good, for both of you, but you realize fairly quickly that you’re not going to be able to go as fast as he needs you to.

His hands slip down from your hips to your upper thighs, helping you bob up and down. It doesn’t take long for this to give way to him grabbing your hips and moving you entirely himself.

You watch his arm muscles flex as he shifts you around, leaving you awed with the way he shows virtually no struggle while shifting the majority of your body weight up and down over and over again. Just being completely manhandled by him has you letting out an involuntary moan, letting your head fall back.

“There you go, there you go,” he coos, motions without cessation.

He has you riding him faster than you ever have before and it becomes overwhelming quickly. But Jason, ever the caretaker, coaches you through it, encouraging your every movement.

“That’s my girl,” he groans, watching the way your breasts bounce. “Perfect fucking thing.”

The acclaim in his voice makes your eyes shut and your diaphragm shake, all while he continues to fuck you senseless.

Your body stutters above him, hands flying onto his for support. He comes only moments later, seemingly the only thing that could break his concentration for ragdolling you. The following release of your hips has you slumping over onto his chest, face laying in the bend of his neck.

He turns his head wearily to you, rubbing a hand up your back. “‘R you okay?” he slurs out.

You hum feebly, eyes unable to stay open.

“Can I…?” It takes hearing the words for you to realize that somehow he’s still hard.

You try to nod hard enough that it can be distinguished against the heaviness of your breathing, though you can’t be sure you were successful.

He sighs, “Baby…”

His hangup is immediately clear to you, even through the haze of being post-three orgasms in less than thirty minutes. It takes real, measurable effort to get this singular word through, but you manage.

“Yes,” you breathe out. A ‘yes’ is going to have to work for him because you don’t have a shot at stringing together anymore syllables.

He places a gentle hand on the back of your head, his other landing on your lower back. He slowly starts to fuck you again, this time much softer than before. It’s calm enough that you can settle into the fatigue in your bones and start to feel the exhaustion sweep over your consciousness.

In between kisses laid sweetly upon your neck, He murmurs affections to you the whole time, though you lose almost all of them to sleep. He moves you around a bit more as he goes, though careful to be gentle enough that he doesn’t disturb your peace anymore than he has to.

By the time he’s done he’s bordering on completely out of it and can’t do anything but collapse atop you, nuzzling into your neck.

There’s a pretty consistent pattern that can be found when helping him deal with post-patrol aftermath. Scarecrow’s never any good, his pop-ups tend to end in winding Jason down from panic. There’s always injuries after Bane and invariably there’ll be a mess from Clayface. Half the time he has to get an entirely new suit after a run-in with Killer Croc. So as far as Gotham’s problems go, Poison Ivy isn’t the worst.

the morning after epilogue

✨ oh you don’t reblog? that’s…no, that’s totally fine for you! im so happy for you…i mean its just been out of fashion for like three seasons but yeah, that shows a lot of…confidence! ✨

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kuroosamuu · 4 months ago

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megumi x reader | warnings: making out | wc: 687

—

you and megumi decided to keep your relationship a secret. for reasons quite obvious to the two of you, for the current predicament you find yourselves in being one of the main ones.

with the two to of you both being students at jujutsu high, you're with each other more often than not. because of this, you two try to keep your feelings for each other at a minimum and keep anything away to the nosy people around you who would love to tease you about your relationship.

and megumi feels strongly about preventing that from ever happening.

well, that didn't last that long.

It was currently 1am, everyone was sleeping, and you were on your way to megumi's room.

you two did this often, finding the only moment of privacy with one another being in the middle of the night, where no one could interrupt the time you spend together. this was your time to be able to talk to him freely, without worrying about someone else interrupting your conversation or saying something about you two being a bit too close.

so, when you arrive and softly knocked on the door, you felt the relief you always feel when he opens the door, and allow yourself to throw your arms around him.

"missed you."

"you saw me today."

you pull away, pouting at him, "you know what I mean."

"I know, missed you too," he leans down and gives you a quick peck, before you two make your way to his bed to cuddle.

a daily routine at this point.

you lay with your head on his chest, his arm secured around you as you two talk mindlessly about anything and everything.

you end up perching your chin on his chest to look up at him, and before you know it, you lips are on his.

It starts off slow, gentle even, like every other kiss you two share. soon, you place your palm on his chest for leverage as you lift yourself up more in order to deepen the kiss.

megumi sits up slightly, bringing his back to rest on the headboard behind him as your lips move in sync, slowly deepening with each kiss.

you allow your hand that was previously situated on his chest to wander up and over his shoulder, as he takes one hand and place it on your waist.

he brings his other hand to the other side of your waist and moves you to straddle his lap properly now.

the kiss deepens in his new position, allowing yourself to hook your arms around his neck, while his one hand stays on your waist, the other slowly moving up and down your back.

all that is consuming your mind and body is megumi and you don't think of anything else, mind completely taken over by the feeling of his lips against yours.

and he is in the exact same way, hence the reason neither of you heard the door to megumi's room creak open.

and you didn't stop until you hear the crash of something hitting the floor.

you gasp as you part from megumi, throwing yourself off of him as fast as humanly possible and creating as much distance between you two as you could on his small bed.

you turn to look at the source of the sound to see yuji standing at megumi's doorway, whatever in his hand now on the floor, along with his jaw wide open.

the awkward silence between you three lasts for what feels like forever, before megumi finally speaks up.

"don't you know how to knock? what are you doing here."

"I did knock! you didn't reply so I just let myself in..." yuji replies looking between you and megumi, "maybe I shouldn't have..."

"It's not what it looks like," you try to explain weakly.

"I'll just leave you two alone."

yuji runs out of the room, and you look at megumi, the two of you knowing you're going to hear an earful tomorrow from both nobara and gojo, who yuji is definitely telling right now.

so much for keeping your relationship a secret.

—

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #megumi fushiguro #megumi x reader #megumi fluff #megumi imagine #jjk imagines

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expansion-stories · 9 days ago

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“Pssssst. Hey, can you help me?” It was a high, urgent whisper, unlike the collected woman she normally was.

“Oh my god Sara! What happened to your chest-“

Sara cut off her co-worker, trying to keep attention away from herself…and her breasts.

“I can’t cover them.” She whispers. “Every time I try they start to…grow.”

She bit her lip, looking down as at her new figure. They were the perfect size, plump and firm, filling her shirt perfectly. Maybe overfilling it a little, she realized, as she felt a tug on the fabric around the sides of her bust. Slowly, by fractions of a cup size, her breasts were still expanding.

Her co-worker is staring, open mouthed, still thinking she might be pulling an elaborate prank.

“Do you know how crazy that sounds?”

Sara had begun to realize she loved it when people stared. Her nipples slowly hardened, pushing against the thin top. The idea of just awing someone with her figure…completely holding their attention…

There was a pregnant pause.

“My bra,” she started, talking slowly, delicately, “literally burst off me this morning.”

She was serious. No one talks about a prank like that.

“It was like…every time I breathed in, my chest pushed out, and then didn’t go back down when I let it out. I felt the straps…tighten…across my back…”

She was breathing faster, hands tightly at her sides, as she realized just describing it was turning her on. The memory replayed in her head, the twinge of pain from the tight straps, even her frightened moan as the clasps finally popped…

“Sara, are you ok?” She’d been staring into space.

“I’m fine!” She snapped, a little too quickly. “Just…what am I going to do?! I tried taping my nipples, as the next best thing…but they started to grow again.” She didn’t add that peeling the tape off in a panic had brought her almost to orgasm.

Only being completely topless would stop her from swelling. Even a thin, semi-transparent shirt would keep adding curves, just slower.

“That’s not even all of it.” She was speaking quietly again, as her shirt creaked audibly. She was noticeably bustier than she was a few minutes ago.

“They’re not just big…It’s like they’re…tight…or filling with something…” Why does it have to feel so goooood?! She was flushed, like a fever, even in a temperate room. And the way she extended the ‘o’ sound worried her…

“Just…do something! I can’t let anyone see me like this!” She grabbed her co-worker’s shoulders, pulling back as she realized her nipples almost brushed him, even at arm’s length.

Sara’s cleavage was deepening as her shirt shrank, each breath feeling the tightness of the constricting fabric. In desperation, she touched the hem, torn between going topless in the office and dealing with the continuing transformation she was experiencing.

The scary part was that both options turned her on.

Whatever she chose, Sara was rapidly running out of time to decide.

#expansion caption #breast expansion #tell me what you’d choose!#public expansion

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cj-theyoungling · 4 months ago

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Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

cw : injuries ig. Idk man

synopsis : You decide to surprise Jason by coming home early to visit but he surprises you instead.

author's note : I've never written for the Batfam so if this is OOC I'm so sorry. I've been obsessed with them recently though.

"Jason!" You call across the foyer as you enter the Wayne mansion. You hang your jacket on the coat rack and smile at Alfred who enters the room.

"Good evening ma'am." He says, moving to grab your bag from you and hang it up.

"Good evening to you too Alfred." You greet him, "Is Jason here?"

"Master Todd is in his room." He informs you

"Thank you Alfred." You start up the stairs before turning to face Alfred again, "Oh I almost forgot. Here's the cookie recipe I promised you last time I was here."

"Much appreciated ma'am. Glad to see you back." He takes the card from your hands and then walks out to the kitchen.

You make your way to Jason's room and knock on the door. When the door creaks open and Damian peeks his head out.

"Where's Jason?" You ask in confusion, trying to open the door. Damian shoves his body weight against the door, preventing you from opening it further so you can't see inside.

"He's on patrol." Damian replies quickly, still trying to push the door shut.

"Alfred said he was here." You say to the younger boy and press your back against the door so you can shove your weight against it too.

"Well he's not." Damian struggles against the force of you pushing against the door.

"If he's not here then why are you in his room?" You question, shoving the door a bit more open, you chuckle at the intensity of Damian who is using all of his body weight to try and keep the door from opening. You're honestly surprised he hasn't started pulling out gadgets to aid him.

"No reason." You hear the tell-tale lift of his voice that tells you he's lying to you. With one more shove against the door you finally stumble into the room , barely keeping on your feet. You stand up straight and catch sight of Jason in the bathroom, picking glass shards out of his side with tweezers.

"Nothing to see here. Get moving." Damian says pushing you towards the door.

"It's fine Dams. You can go." Jason finally speaks up.

Damian huffs and walks out of the room. You close the door behind him and walk to the bathroom in front of Jason. You carefully take the tweezers out of his hands and take over picking the glass out of his side and chest.

"What happened?" You ask quietly.

"I fell out of a window." He explains, his hand comes to hold your wrist and pin it against his chest. You eyes trail up from where you were working to his eyes.

"Weren't you wearing body armor or something?" You ask, worry laced in your voice.

"I was caught off guard. i was just stopping a mugging on my way home."

"Why didn't you call a doctor? Or at least ask someone for help." He ignores your question and presses his lips to your forehead, "Jason," You begin again, he cuts you off with another kiss, this time to your lips.

His free hand cradles the side of your face so he can deepen the kiss. He pulls away with a smile, "I missed you sweetheart." he murmurs.

"I missed you too Jason. Let me finish cleaning you up." You insist. he let's go of your wrist and let's you finish cleaning and wrapping up his cuts.

The second you finish up your work his hands reach under your thighs to lift you up against him.

"How's college been sweetheart?" he asks between kisses.

"It's a lot better than Gotham State." You giggle.

"Mhm." He mumbles into your neck, setting you on the bed and pressing kisses to the crook of you neck while holding you tightly.

"The city hasn't gotten much better I see." You giggle. The two of you cuddle up on his bed, your head resting on his chest as he plays with your hair.

"Why didn't you tell me you were coming home?" He asks

"I wanted to surprise you." You smile and press a kiss to his lips.

"I love you." he says against your skin.

"I love you too."

#batfam #jason todd x reader #jason todd #damian wayne #red hood #red hood x reader #red hood x you #red hood x y/n #jason todd x you

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wolvietxt · 2 months ago

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can you do overprotective with dean winchester?

from this prompt list 🩷: https://www.tumblr.com/wolvietxt/764960124626403328/overprotective-sunshine-is-about-to-do-something?source=share

DEAN’S voice cut through the air, sharp and unyielding, stopping you mid-step on the wooden ledge.

“what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

you froze, looking over your shoulder to see him stalking toward you, his expression hard enough to rival stone. his green eyes burned with something between frustration and fear, and it pinned you in place like a physical force.

“we don’t have time to waste,” you said, trying to keep your voice calm. “i’ll go first and make sure it’s stable.”

dean’s jaw clenched, and his boots ground into the gravel as he closed the distance between you. “no. you’re not stepping foot on that thing.”

“dean - ”

“don’t dean me,” he snapped, cutting you off. “you’re not doing it.”

“someone has to,” you argued, gesturing toward the rickety bridge swaying precariously over the canyon. “we can’t just stand here debating.”

“then i’ll do it,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “no way in hell am i letting you go out there first.”

“why does it always have to be you?” you shot back, your irritation bubbling to the surface. “i’m not some damsel you have to protect, dean. i can handle myself.”

“it’s not about that,” he said, his voice dropping low, rough with an emotion he rarely let slip. “it’s about me not being able to handle it if something happened to you. so stop being stubborn and let me do this.”

his words hit you harder than you expected, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him. he didn’t look away, didn’t try to soften the intensity of his gaze. it was like he needed you to understand, to take him seriously.

you sighed, stepping back slightly. “fine. but if you fall, i’m not carrying your ass back up.”

the corner of his mouth twitched, almost like he wanted to smile but couldn’t quite manage it. “yeah, yeah,” he muttered, turning toward the bridge.

he tested the first plank with his boot, his movements deliberate and cautious. the wood groaned under his weight, but it held, and he took another step. you watched, your hands clenched into fists at your sides as he made his way across.

“dean,” you called, unable to keep the worry out of your voice.

he glanced back over his shoulder, his expression softening for just a second. “i’m fine. just hang tight.”

it felt like an eternity before he reached the other side and turned to face you.

“all right,” he called. “your turn. take it slow.”

you stepped onto the bridge, your heart hammering in your chest as the wood creaked beneath your feet. you kept your eyes on dean, his steady gaze a lifeline as you moved forward.

when you finally reached him, his hand shot out, grabbing yours to help you over the last step.

“see? no big deal,” you said, though your legs felt like jelly.

“reckless,” he muttered, but his voice lacked its usual bite.

“overprotective,” you shot back, your lips twitching into a smile.

“damn right,” he said, his eyes scanning your face like he was memorizing every detail.

you opened your mouth to respond, but before you could, dean leaned in, his lips brushing against yours. it was soft at first, tentative, like he wasn’t sure if you’d pull away. but when you didn’t, he deepened the kiss, his hand cupping your cheek as his thumb brushed against your skin.

when he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, and he let out a shaky breath. “you drive me crazy, you know that?”

you grinned, your fingers curling into the front of his jacket. “yeah, but you love it.”

he shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “don’t push your luck, sunshine.”

you giggled, the sound light and unburdened as the tension between you melted away. for once, you let yourself lean into the safety of his presence, knowing he’d always be there to catch you.

ᰔ dean winchester : @person-005, @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing, @jackles010378

taglist form linked in pinned post :3

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theballadofharkness · 29 days ago

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Agatha Harkness VS Salem: The Kittening

Pairing: Agatha Harkness X fem!reader

Summary: When you brings home a stray kitten Agatha can’t say no to those big pleading eyes and putting lips. What she doesn’t know is that she has met her new mortal enemy, transforming her house in a battleground in which she is fighting for your attention.

Word Count: 3.4K

A/N: I may have already almost finished a part 2 to this already… this may be my favourite thing I’ve ever wrote

The candlelight flickered, casting long shadows along the walls as Agatha sat at the head of the table, fingers drumming against the polished surface. Your fellow witches exchanged glances, some amused, others bracing for the inevitable storm.

“She’s taking too long,” Agatha muttered, narrowing her eyes at the door as if sheer will alone would bring you home.

Billy smirked but wisely kept his mouth shut. Lilia, however, leaned forward, arching a brow. “She just went to get food, Agatha. You do remember she’s an adult, yes?”

Agatha’s sharp glare snapped to her, but Lilia didn’t flinch. She was used to Agatha’s theatrics by now.

“I do remember,” Agatha said, tone clipped, “but she should be back by now. Anything could’ve happened.”

Jen chuckled under her breath. “Oh yes, because the biggest, scariest threat to her is probably tripping over a squirrel.”

Alice grinned. “Or getting distracted by a particularly interesting tree.”

Agatha’s scowl deepened, but her fingers stilled. It was true- you were soft, gentle, prone to stopping to feed birds or magically fixing a bumblebees wing. It was why she loved you. It was why she worried.

Lilia sighed, resting her chin on her palm. “If you panic every time she goes out alone, she’ll think you don’t trust her to be independent.”

Agatha’s jaw clenched. “I trust her. I just don’t trust other people.”

Billy snorted. “Sure Agatha.”

Before Agatha could snap at him, the front door creaked open. The tension in her shoulders snapped like a thread, and in an instant, she was on her feet, sweeping toward you.

There you were, glowing with warmth, eyes bright as you kicked off your shoes. But she saw it- the hesitation, the way you bit your lip. Her stomach dropped.

“You worried mommy,” she purred, brushing a hand along your cheek, thumb tracing your lower lip. “You took too long. What’s wrong, darling?”

You swallowed, shifting your weight, cradling something in your arms.

“Aggie… please don’t be mad.”

Agatha’s eyes darkened. “Why would I be mad?”

You hesitated, then slowly, gently, lifted a tiny, black-furred bundle into view. A kitten. Small, fragile, with wide, gleaming eyes. It mewed softly.

Agatha’s nostrils flared. “Oh, absolutely not.”

The room went silent. The coven, who had seen Agatha deal with all manner of supernatural threats, were now witnessing something far more dangerous: a battle of wills between the all-powerful Agatha Harkness and her painfully sweet, unfairly adorable wife.

Agatha crossed her arms, leveling you with a firm stare. “No.”

You blinked up at her, cradling the tiny kitten against your chest. “No?”

She lifted her chin. “No.”

Billy, sitting on the couch, leaned toward Jen and whispered, *“She’s already lost.”*

Agatha shot him a look, but her attention snapped back to you when you let out a soft, sad sigh. You rubbed a gentle finger over the kitten’s tiny ear, your lower lip jutting out just slightly. Not enough to be dramatic, just enough to devastate her.

“Aggie, please,” you murmured, looking up at her with wide, pleading eyes. “I love him. He needs us.”

Agatha steeled herself. “Baby, come on, we have a rabbit already.”

You perked up. “But they can be best friends!”

“They will not be best friends-”

“We can raise him,” you continued, stepping closer, voice soft, persuasive, sweet as honey. “Please, Aggie. I love you. And I love him. Please?”

A muscle in Agatha’s jaw twitched. Her fingers flexed like she was physically holding herself back.

Alice, watching from across the room, snorted. “Oh my god, just let her keep the damn cat.”

“She’s gonna say yes,” Jen stage-whispered.

Billy propped his chin on his hand. “She’s just stretching it out for dramatic effect now.”

“I am not,” Agatha snapped, then turned back to you, who was still looking at her like she hung the moon and stars in the sky. Damn you and your sweetness.

She let out a long, suffering sigh, dragging a hand down her face. Then, after a moment, she dropped her hand, pinched the bridge of her nose, and muttered, “fine.”

You gasped, eyes lighting up as you clutched the kitten closer. “Really?”

Agatha groaned. “Yes, really. But I swear to the gods, if he scratches up my books, or if he pisses on the rug, he’s your problem.”

You grinned, bouncing up and down in glee. “Okay! Thank you, thank you, thank you! I promise you’ll love him!”

Agatha grumbled something under her breath but didn’t resist when you threw your arms around her. Her hands settled on your waist, grip firm but familiar, and she sighed against your hair.

Billy snickered. “Well, that was pathetic.”

Agatha shot him a glare over your shoulder. “I will turn you into a toad.”

But even as she threatened Billy, her arms curled tighter around you, and she let you tuck the kitten between you both. He let out a tiny, content purr.

“I told you mommy would let you stay didn’t I S…” you cooed, stopping and blushing as you almost revealed your new sons name.

Agatha groaned. “Oh, for the love of- you’ve already named him, haven’t you?”

You smiled guiltily and nodded “his name is Salem”

Lilia cackled. “Oh, now that’s just poetic.”

Agatha woke with a slow, satisfied stretch, a lazy smirk curling on her lips as she reached across the bed, expecting to find you- warm, soft, pliant against her.

But the sheets were cold.

Her smirk faded. She frowned, eyes cracking open, hand still patting the empty space beside her. “Baby?”

Silence.

Her frown deepened.

She sat up, fingers raking through her hair, listening carefully. Then…

A giggle.

Agatha’s head snapped toward the bedroom door. You were giggling? Without her? Another soft peal of laughter, followed by a quiet meow. Agatha’s nostrils flared.

Swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, she grabbed her robe, slipping it on as she stalked toward the door. Her morning had already been ruined by the lack of you curled against her, but now she was hearing giggles- the kind that were usually reserved for her alone- and she wasn’t involved?

Completely unacceptable.

Barefoot and silent, she padded down the hall, pushing open the living room doors to find…

You. Laying on your stomach on the rug, elbow propped under your chin, face alight with pure, radiant joy as you dragged a ribbon back and forth. Salem, the tiny black-furred usurper, pounced and tumbled after it, little tail flicking in excitement.

Agatha scowled.

She was being ignored.

By you.

For a cat.

Her presence went unnoticed as she leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, glaring down at the scene with unmasked displeasure.

“Oh, you’re such a clever boy,” you cooed, wiggling the ribbon. Salem pounced again, missing completely and landing in an adorable, flailing heap. You laughed, reaching out to scratch behind his ears. “Such a little hunter, aren’t you? Yes, you are! So fierce!”

Agatha rolled her eyes so hard she nearly saw another dimension.

Fierce? That tiny thing was not fierce. She was fierce.

And yet, here you were, lavishing all your attention- attention that should have been spent in bed, between her thighs or seated on her face- on this ridiculous furball.

Enough.

She cleared her throat. Loudly.

You gasped, looking up with wide, startled eyes. “Oh! Aggie, good morning!”

Agatha arched a brow, gaze flicking between you and the kitten still sprawled on the rug. “Is it?”

You pushed yourself up onto your elbows, blinking at her. “What’s wrong?”

Her lips pressed into a thin line. “You tell me, darling. I woke up alone. And when I came looking for you, I find you here, on the floor, giggling and fawning over-” she gestured vaguely at Salem, “that.”

Salem, utterly unbothered by her disdain, flopped onto his back and stretched out his tiny paws.

Your expression softened immediately. “Oh, baby, I’m sorry! He woke up early and was being all cute, so I thought I’d play with him for a little bit.”

Agatha’s eye twitched. “You left our bed for a cat.”

You bit your lip, suppressing a smile. “Are you jealous?”

Her jaw clenched. “Of a kitten? No.”

You giggled again, pushing up onto your knees and crawling toward her. “Mmm, I think you are.”

Agatha huffed, tilting her chin up. “Absolutely not.”

But then you reached for her, standing up with hands slipping under her robe, fingers grazing over the bare skin of her waist as you pressed a soft kiss to her collarbone. “Poor mommy,” you murmured, lips trailing up her neck. “You just want my attention, don’t you?”

Agatha shivered, but held her ground. “I deserve your attention.”

You hummed, pressing a final kiss just under her jaw. “Well, then maybe you should play nice with Salem, so you don’t have to share it.”

Agatha’s glare snapped back to the kitten, who was currently grooming his tiny paw, wholly unbothered. Smug little thing.

She exhaled sharply. “Fine. But if he touches my spellbooks, he’s gone.”

You grinned, wrapping your arms around her waist. “Deal.”

Salem meowed.

Agatha scowled.

This was war.

Agatha took a slow breath, rolling back her shoulders as she watched Billy attempt the spell she had just demonstrated.

“Focus,” she instructed, arms crossed. “Channel your energy through the rune, don’t just throw power at it.”

Billy muttered something under his breath but obeyed, adjusting his stance and trying again. The rune shimmered in the air before them, pulsing faintly with his magic. It was… adequate.

Agatha nodded once. “Better.”

She turned slightly, expecting to see you sitting up, watching like you always did when she mentored Billy. You were always so attentive- so soft and doting, looking at her like she had hung the stars just by showing a simple spell. But when she glanced toward the sofa her blood ran cold.

There you were, but not watching her. Not waiting to drape yourself over her the second she was done. No, you were napping, curled up on the couch, and draped across your chest, smug as anything, was Salem.

Agatha’s nostrils flared. Unbelievable.

She clenched her fists, fighting the petty urge to hex the little thing right off you. It was enough that you fawned over him every waking moment, but now? Now, even in sleep, Salem had claimed his place as the ruler of this household.

Billy, following her gaze, immediately perked up. “Oh my god, look at him.”

Agatha’s stomach dropped as Billy abandoned the lesson entirely and rushed to your side.

“Look at this little guy,” he cooed, crouching beside the couch, reaching out to scratch under Salem’s tiny chin.

You stirred at the movement, blinking sleepily, eyes soft and warm as you woke to Billy petting the cat.

“Oh,” you yawned, smiling as you stretched. “Morning, Billy.”

“Morning, Salem,” Billy smiled down at the kitten on your chest, still cooing over the kitten.

You giggled, rubbing your cheek against Salem’s tiny head. “He’s the sleepiest boy today, huh?”

“Right?” Billy agreed, reaching to stroke along Salem’s tiny back. “Look at him. He’s just a baby.”

Agatha, still standing stiffly across the room, gawking at the scene in front of her. You never looked at her with that same soft, sleepy adoration after a nap.

And now the two of you were sitting there, utterly obsessed with that ridiculous creature, treating him like he was the most precious thing in the world, while Agatha stood there, forgotten.

The realisation was horrifying. She had been dethroned. Salem, tiny and innocent-looking, had become the true ruler of this household. He had you. He had the coven. And now he had Billy.

She was losing.

Agatha narrowed her eyes. No. She refused to be bested by a kitten.

Billy glanced up at her and grinned. “Agatha, come look at him! Isn’t he just-”

“No.”

Billy blinked. “What?”

Agatha lifted her chin, crossing her arms tighter over her chest. “I don’t fawn over creatures that contribute nothing to the household.”

You pouted, looking up at her through sleepy eyes. “But, Aggie, look at his little toes—”

Agatha looked away. She wouldn’t be tricked.

Billy rolled his eyes. “You’re just mad because Salem has completely stolen your wife.”

Agatha scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Billy smirked. “Then come pet him.”

Agatha froze.

Billy’s smirk widened. “Go on.”

You looked up at her, hopeful, and patted the space next to you. “Come on, baby.”

Agatha hesitated.

Her instincts told her it was a trap.

But then you pouted, soft and irresistible, looking at her with those big, pleading eyes… And just like that, she was moving. Slowly. Cautiously.Like Salem was some ancient being waiting to strike.

She perched stiffly on the edge of the couch, glancing down at the tiny ball of fluff stretched across your chest. He blinked up at her, slow and lazy, like he was daring her to do something.

Agatha exhaled sharply through her nose. Then, after a long moment she reached out, one single finger extended…The second her fingertip brushed against Salem’s fur, the kitten let out a mighty stretch and promptly rolled deeper into your embrace, turning his back on her.

Agatha gasped.

Billy lost it.

“Oh my god, you’ve been rejected.” He wheezed.

Agatha’s eye twitched. “I have not.”

Billy cackled, clutching his stomach. “No, no, this is humiliating. He knows. He knows you don’t like him, and he’s snubbing you.”

You giggled, pressing a kiss to Salem’s tiny head. “Oh, baby, don’t be mad. He just doesn’t trust you yet.”

Agatha bristled. “I don’t need a cat’s trust.”

Billy wheezed. “Oh, you so do.”

Agatha glared at Salem, and to her horror, the kitten simply let out a tiny yawn and promptly fell back asleep. Utterly unbothered. Agatha had never hated anything more in her life.

This was war.

And Agatha Harkness never lost.

The room was dimly lit, the air thick with warmth and want. Agatha had you exactly where she wanted- beneath her, lips kiss-swollen, breath coming in soft little pants as she trailed possessive hands down your body.

She smirked, brushing her lips against your ear. “Mine.”

You whimpered, arching into her touch. “Yours.”

A pleased hum rumbled in her throat. “Say it again, baby.”

You shivered, fingers tangling in hair as she kissed down your neck. “All yours, Mommy.”

Agatha’s grip tightened. Finally, after an entire day of being ignored in favor of that creature, she had you back- where you belonged- focused entirely on her.

She dragged her lips back up to yours, capturing them in a deep, claiming kiss.

And then—

A thump.

A chirping meow.

And before Agatha could even process what was happening… A tiny black ball of menace leapt onto the bed.

Your eyes flew open. “Oh my gods!”

Agatha froze.

You gasped, delighted, and immediately sat up, reaching for the little intruder. “My smart boy!”

Agatha’s mouth fell open.

You pushed her away.

For the cat.

Salem, looking entirely too smug, hopped into your lap and headbutted your chin, purring loudly.

You melted. “Oh, you clever little thing,” you cooed, scratching behind his ears. “You figured out the door! Mommy shut you out, didn’t she? But you got in anyway, huh?”

Agatha, still reeling, barely managed to rasp out, “I shut the door.”

You beamed at her. “He’s a genius!”

Agatha scowled. “He’s a problem.”

You weren’t even listening. You were too busy giggling as Salem flopped dramatically onto his back, rolling in your lap, fully aware that he owned you.

Agatha clenched her jaw.

No.

No, she would not allow this to happen.

She reached for you again, slipping a hand under your chin, tilting your face back toward hers. “Come on, baby,” she murmured, voice low and sultry, lips barely brushing yours. “Focus on mommy”.

But just as your lids fluttered, just as you exhaled that soft little sigh that always made her crazy-

Salem chirped and nudged your hand.

And, horrifyingly, your attention snapped back to him, “Ohhh, I know, I know,” you cooed, cradling his tiny face. “You need some loving too, huh?”

Agatha flung herself onto her back, staring at the ceiling like she was being personally victimized by the universe.

“What about my loving?” she demanded, throwing a hand over her forehead like some tragic heroine.

You giggled. “Aggie-”

Salem, with perfect timing, rolled onto his side, stretching just enough to rest a tiny paw against your cheek.

Your heart melted. “Aw, Agatha, look-”

“No.” Agatha sat up, glaring at the kitten. “I refuse to be a secondary character in my own bed.”

You laughed, utterly charmed. “He just loves me, baby.”

Agatha crossed her arms. “I love you.”

You gave her an affectionate smile. “I know you do.”

“Then act like it.”

You giggled again, pressing a kiss to Salem’s little head.

Agatha bristled. “I swear,” she muttered, throwing herself back against the pillows again. “This is witchcraft. He’s bewitched you all.”

You rolled your eyes. “Agatha, he’s just a cat.”

Agatha sat up so fast you startled.

“No,” she said darkly, eyes narrowing at the tiny ball of fluff curled in your lap. “He’s a threat.”

The setting sun shone through your windows, casting golden light over the coven as they sat in a circle, discussing plans for the upcoming Summer Solstice ritual.

Agatha, seated in her usual high-backed chair, had you curled in her lap, arms wrapped possessively around your waist. For the first time in days, she finally had you all to herself, without a certain feline dictator demanding your attention.

Because this time, she had planned ahead. The door to the room was magically sealed with the strongest wards she could weave into it. No amount of scratching, meowing, or pathetic manipulation would let that tiny tyrant inside.

She smirked to herself, pleased. Finally.

“So,” Lilia said, gesturing at the books in front of them, “I was thinking we could incorporate more moonstone this year. It should help amplify the energy-”

Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.

Agatha ignored it. You, however, perked up instantly, shifting in her lap. “Aw, Salem-”

Agatha’s grip tightened. “No.”

Lilia continued, unfazed. “- and I read somewhere that incorporating fresh lavender in the-”

A tiny, pitiful whimper sounded from the other side of the door. Alice gasped, clutching her chest. “Oh no, the baby!”

You pouted, starting to push yourself up. “Agatha, let me-”

“No,” Agatha repeated, wrapping her arms more securely around you. “Let him cry.”

Billy’s eyes widened in horror. “Agatha, what the hell?!”

You turned, brows furrowing. “Baby, he’s sad.”

“He needs to learn,” Agatha insisted. “We are not interrupting an official coven meeting just because he doesn’t like being excluded.”

Scratch. Scratch.

A heart-wrenching mewl followed.

Billy was already half-standing. “That’s it, I’m getting the little prince-”

Agatha glared, flicking her fingers in Billy’s direction. Billy was immediately shoved back into his seat with an annoyed huff.

“Sit down,” Agatha ordered. “He is not royalty.”

Billy crossed her arms. “He is to me.”

“Yeah,” Jen agreed, flipping a page in her book. “Kinda sounds like you’re being a bad mom.”

Agatha’s eye twitched. “I am not his mother.”

The scratching continued.

You squirmed again. “Aggie, please-”

Agatha huffed in exasperation. “No! You are wrapped around his tiny little paw, and if we keep giving in, he’ll just keep winning.”

Jen raised a brow. “Winning what? He’s a kitten.”

Agatha gestured at you dramatically. “He stole her from me!”

The room went silent.

Then Lilia sighed, rubbing her temples. “Oh my gods”.

Billy cackled. “You *are* losing to a kitten.”

Agatha shot him a look. “I am not losing-”

At that exact moment, Salem let out the most pitiful, heartbroken little cry any of them had ever heard.

Your eyes widened in distress. “Aggie-”

“Oh, for the love of- fine.” With a dramatic wave of her hand, Agatha finally released the spell.

The door flew open.

And in strutted Salem, tail high, eyes smug, like he knew he had just won.

Agatha gawked. “You manipulative little-”

Before she could even finish, you had already scooped Salem up into your arms, cradling him against your chest like a precious treasure.

“Ohhh, baby, I’m so sorry,” you murmured, pressing kisses to his tiny head. “Mommy was so mean to you, huh?”

Agatha’s mouth fell open.

Alice glared at her. “I can’t believe you locked him out.”

Jen snorted. “I can.”

Billy shook his head in disappointment. “Shameful behavior from our fearless leader.”

Agatha scowled as Salem gave her a very deliberate slow blink, curling up in your arms like he owned the place.

Which, apparently, he did.

She exhaled sharply, rubbing her temples. “This is witchcraft.”

Jen snorted. “He’s just a cat, Agatha.”

Agatha shot her a dark look. “He’s a threat.”

Billy immediately fell off his chair laughing.

#agatha all along #agatha harkness #agatha harkness x fem!reader #agatha harkness x reader #agatha x reader #kathryn hahn #agatha coven of chaos

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parfaitblogs · 6 months ago

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never grow up ❀ s. reid x reader

in which you are at the age you never thought you'd live to.

genre: hurt/comfort + fluff! tags: established relationship. (very brief) mentions of r not eating. depression. non sexual nudity. mention of a past suicide attempt. reader is codependent on spencer #anxiousattachment!! mini argument not really because he loves you a lot!!! please know your triggers ♡ word count: 2.2k a/n: this was a vent write. LOL! i think i switch tenses a lot in this? i tried to fix it. this is why we don't write fanfiction while we're crying!!! i love u i love u i love u and i am so so glad you are the age that you are!! continue to grow please!! life will become beautiful!!!

Depression is a funny thing.

Sometimes you are forgetting there has ever been a version of you out there that fantasised about death and longed for an escape from this world you deemed so cruel, so invasive. Other times, you are sat naked on the cold floor of your bathroom rocking back and forth, clawing at your skin and ripping hair out of your scalp because you are sobbing so ferociously. The world spinning around you and your cries, so violent, are making you lightheaded and you wonder if you pass out here if anyone will ever find you.

Clearly, tonight, you are the latter.

It started as a small pit in your stomach that morning, that you braved through and ignored to the best of your ability, even as you said gentle 'no thank you's' to food offered by your co-workers and forced your brain to focus on work and not the never-ending abyss of dread in your abdomen. Then, it became a tear or two on your way home, that you vehemently wiped away and pretended was never there because it couldn't be.

Then you were showering to get your mind off things — a stupid decision, really. For your brain was latching on to every awful emotion it had felt thus far today, and you were stepping out of the shower with an even heavier heart, and your hands were wrapping around your now goosebump riddled body, as you were sinking to the floor in a ball.

And maybe hours passed by you. Maybe days — it certainly felt that way. Maybe it was only a mere five minutes. But your loud sobs felt like they took an achingly long time to slow and quiet down, until they were falling into ugly sniffles of the snot on your face, and a raging headache behind your eyes.

Loud sobs — scream sobs, really — had a lot of disadvantages. The aftermath feeling of embarrassment of screaming at your brain that refused to simply shut up, the scratch at your throat from every sound you ripped from it. The audio block it gave you from the rest of the world. For you truly were in your own universe when you were howling alone in the comfort of your bathroom walls.

So much so, that the familiar sound of a door opening and closing, and a bag being placed down by the side of it, went entirely unnoticed to you. Footsteps against your apartment's wooden flooring weren't picked up, nor were the first two knocks on your bathroom door. By the third, you were blubbering through saliva and snot, and you had heard it. Followed by a very gentle calling of your name, that had your heart clenching within your chest for a new reason.

He had said he was coming home tomorrow. Which almost always meant he wouldn't be home for another three days, and so, in your mind, you thought bawling that night could be a secret kept between you and your tiles.

Apparently not.

He called your name again when you didn't reply, an added hint of desperation in his voice. Trembling, you stood, your limbs feeling as though they were creaking while you straightened them out. And you didn't bother about the towel sitting in a crumpled heap on the floor, nor the pile of your clean clothes sitting on the countertop. In fact, you didn't bother about anything as a shaking hand twisted the doorknob and pulled it open.

In an instant, his worried frown deepened, and eyes that might usually drink in the sight of your naked body beautifully, now didn't wander further than the scarlet scratch marks along your neck — blood vessels risen to the surface from how fragile that part of you was. He exhaled, and took a hesitating step towards you. One you welcomed by remaining planted in your spot — you didn't know if you could move, though.

"Can I ask what's wrong, or do you simply want a hug?"

Both, you wanted to say. Both, but also neither.

You didn’t say that. Instead, you said, "Hug."

He hardly took a second to register what you'd said before his arms were wrapping around you. If he found the slightly damp state of your skin annoying, he didn't comment on it. He didn't say much at all, as he enveloped you into his body, a hand securing itself on the back of your head, and his chin resting atop your head.

Water dripped uncomfortably to the floor, splattering on the tiles and his shoes, being the only sound aside from your irregular hiccups and sniffles. His button-up was wet from your tears and your body, and you could almost hear his complaints about it, if this were any other day.

Minutes passed, and even though you didn't want to, you pulled back, feeling his hands slip around to your waist and hold you benevolently. Your own hands reached up to your face to wipe away tears, an embarrassed laugh escaping your lips.

"This is pathetic," you said, fingers digging into the corners of your stinging eyes.

"How?" he asked you.

"I didn't think you'd be home to see me having a mental breakdown."

A smile that didn't quite reach his eyes appeared on his lips. "Well, I am." Fingers squeezed your waist reassuringly. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

You shrugged, wordlessly, your eyes dropping from his face to the damp spot on his chest from where your face had once been, heart stuttering.

"We don't have to, honey," he said. "But it might help."

"I know it might," you muttered.

He was silent, as were you. A few more beats passed between you two, before you were turning around to pick up clothes you had left for yourself on the counter. You didn't really feel any different under his watchful gaze as you dressed yourself. Accustomed to the act, or simply too overwhelmed with another emotion, you didn't know.

He followed you into the living room when you walked out there, and he sat down next to you on the couch you curled up on. You opened and closed your mouth a few times, and he lifted his head on each intake of breath you had, as if about to say something. But you never did.

So, he took over.

"Did something happen today?" You shook your head, and he nodded his own. "Okay. This past week?" You shook your head again, because other than missing him while he had been stuck in Texas for a case, nothing had actually happened.

You wished it had. Truly, you wished you had experienced a murder on your way to work, or a distant family member had passed away so you could blame this feeling on something other than memories simply resurfacing.

You sniffled again. "You know," you began, voice thick and wobbly from the lump lodged in your throat. "When I was fourteen, I didn't think I'd ever be this old."

Your gaze lifted from your lap to look at him, and you let a helpless tear fall from one of your eyes when you locked eyes with him. He was confused, unsurprisingly so.

So, you continued. "I tried to kill myself. When I was fourteen."

He readjusted his posture, eyebrows falling into a more concerned state, and he was silent for so long you wondered if this was when he decided you were too much and too complicated for him to deal with.

He didn't. "I didn't know," he said, instead.

"I don't exactly advertise it," you replied, and even if it was an attempt at being light hearted, it fell flat. "I just realised I never thought I'd be this age," you continued when he hardly reacted, "and I've been really anxious and down all week, so I think that realisation kind of sent me over the edge."

"Are you happy you're at this age?"

Hesitantly, but surely, you nodded your head. "I got to meet you."

His lips twitched, but a smile never crossed his face. "You should be happy for reasons more than just me."

"You are my reason for being happy," you argued.

"And I'm glad to hear I make you happy, but I cannot be your only reason."

"Why not?"

"Because that's dependency."

You short-circuited, and he sighed upon realising the way you were taking his words — maybe not the smartest thing he could've said to his still tear-stricken-faced girlfriend.

"What I mean is you should have other areas in your life that make you happy. Not just me."

"I like my job," you mumbled, gaze relocating to your lap. "And my friends."

"Great," he said, and you could feel his weight shifting on the couch as he nudged closer to you. "As long as I'm not your reason for living."

Your eyebrows furrowed. "You've been my reason for living since we started dating. Why is it different now?"

"I didn't know I was your reason for living until now."

"So if you are, then what? You leave me?"

"No," his response was so immediate you were sure you could feel the whiplash, and he ran a hand down his face with an exasperated sigh. "I don't want to fight with you when you're like this."

"I don't want to fight with you either," you agreed, fidgeting with your fingers in your lap. "I'm sorry I'm co-dependent."

He didn't respond for a while, mulling everything you two had shared and now, your apology, over in his head. You sat, anxiously, as minutes ticked by until he was puffing his cheeks to let out air, and standing up from the couch.

He turned to you. "I love you, you know that," he began, and even before he had a chance to finish, you were already drowning him out, world crumbling around you as tears welled back up in your eyes. Maybe if you weren't as emotional as you were that night, your vision wouldn't have already gone blurry, and your heart wouldn't be shattering in your chest already.

"But?" you countered, a sob escaping you at the end of the word.

He froze at the sound of it, his eyebrows turning in to each other, "Sorry?"

"You love me, but?"

"I don't understand."

"I'm sitting here, sobbing really violently and I look hideous, and you've just discovered I'm co-dependent, and you don't like that about me, so now you're telling me that you love me, but this isn't going to work out, and I need to work on myself before I get into another relationship, and you hope I can find happiness, and—"

"—What are you talking about?" he cut your ranting off, blinking a few times, confused.

"Is that not what's happening?"

"No?"

"Oh."

You stared at him, and he stared at you, and you felt your heart slowly pick itself back up from the pits of your stomach, each piece mending itself back together. He wasn't breaking up with you.

"I wasn't going to say that at all. Please don't put words in my mouth."

"Sorry," you said, though it wasn't very sincere. He crouched down in front of you, hands finding your fidgeting ones to hold them.

"Can I finish what I'm going to say before you cut me off this time?" Wordlessly, you nodded your head, and so he continued. "I love you, and you know that, and I don't want you to think I'm upset or mad at you for being codependent. You're allowed to not know how to navigate a relationship. But—"

"—There it is—" he glared with no real heat at you, and your lips twitched "—Sorry."

"But I need you to communicate with me. I'm going to inevitably do things that upset you, because you're co-dependent. We need to figure those things out, because a lot of the time you will respond unhealthily, and knowing what I know now, I don't want to be a trigger in any way."

"You won't be a trigger," you mumbled, and he shot you a pointed look, and your shoulders deflated. "I just feel stupid communicating things like that. Like, oh, I'm sad because my boyfriend is out of state for work and he's super busy and not responding to my messages so I think he might hate me."

"That isn't stupid."

"Yes it is!"

He said your name, eyebrows risen, and he shook his head. "You're upset about something. That isn't a stupid thing at all."

"It feels stupid."

"Okay, well, how about the next time I'm away on a case and not replying and you miss me, which is what that crazy, sad, completely reasonable phenomenon is called, by the way, you communicate that with me, and you see how I respond?"

"What if you tell me to go fuck myself?"

He didn't even need to verbally deny your words for you to know that that response was completely out of character for him. All it took was one simple look, and you were diffidently smiling and averting your gaze, mumbling a quiet, "Okay."

And yes, the next time he was out of the state and you missed him, as he so kindly put it, you told him. And he spent three hours on the phone that night with you, reassuringly expressing how much he loved you, and how little he hated you.

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated ♡

#lia’s fics ♡#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer x reader #spencer x self insert #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid angst #spencer reid hurt/comfort #spencer reid fluff

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fangdokja · 2 months ago

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In a world where only the strongest survive, he’s the monster you can't escape.

❤︎ Synopsis. In a world overrun by the dead, he’s the last thing you need to survive—but the only thing you can’t escape. His love is twisted, possessive, and all-consuming, and you’ll never be free, not even in death.

♡ Book. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Zombie Apocalypse! Survivor x Fem. Reader

♡ Headcanon. Flesh and Fetish - Part 1

♡ Word Count. 2,143

♡ TW. dom + top + older + sadistic + yandere, general non-con + manipulation, rape, BDSM, slight descriptions of gore and death

♡ His Story. In the world of the dead, he was the only thing keeping you alive—and tearing you apart.

♡ Yandere! Zombie Apocalypse! Survivor who first saw you huddled in the corner of an abandoned grocery store, clutching a jagged shard of broken glass like it was your last lifeline. The air was thick with decay, the walls coated in grime and old blood. You sat there, trembling and pathetic, your wide eyes darting to every creak and shadow as if the darkness itself might lunge at you.

He tilted his head, his lips curving into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Put that down before you hurt yourself,” he said, voice low and rough, cutting through the oppressive silence. You flinched but didn’t lower the glass, your knuckles white from gripping it so tightly. That’s when he knew: you weren’t brave or strong. You were prey.

♡ Yandere! Zombie Apocalypse! Survivor who could’ve left you there, just another frail soul doomed to be devoured by the nightmare outside. But something about the way you shook, the way your hollow eyes glistened with unshed tears, stirred something primal in him.

You were weak, fragile, easy to mold and claim. He stepped closer, boots crunching on shattered debris, his shadow swallowing you whole. “Don’t worry, little one,” he murmured, voice dripping with false comfort. “I’ll take care of you.”

♡ Yandere! Zombie Apocalypse! Survivor who dragged you back to his den, a fortress cobbled together from scrap metal and rubble. You screamed, your hoarse voice echoing into the cold, empty night, but he didn’t flinch. Your nails clawed at his arms, leaving streaks of blood that only made his grin widen.

“Keep fighting,” he growled, his breath hot against your ear as he pinned you to the ground to secure your hands. “I like it when you struggle.”

♡ Yandere! Zombie Apocalypse! Survivor who didn’t bother pretending to be kind. He rationed your food, giving you just enough to keep you alive but never enough to make you comfortable.

Every bite, every sip of water came with a price: a whispered thank-you, a tearful acknowledgment of your dependence on him. He thrived on your desperation, watching as you slowly stopped resisting.

“Go ahead,” he said one night, his voice a low purr as he leaned against the barricaded door. “Run. See how far you get before the infected rip you apart.”

You froze, your trembling hands gripping the thin blanket he’d given you. His smirk deepened as he saw the fear flicker in your eyes. “That’s what I thought.”

♡ Yandere! Zombie Apocalypse! Survivor who caught you kneeling beside a wounded stranger one day, your hands pressing a scrap of cloth against the man’s oozing wound.

The man’s skin was pale, his breaths shallow, but he whispered broken thanks that made your heart ache. You thought you were safe, thought he wouldn’t notice—but he was always watching.

“What do you think you’re doing?” His voice was a serrated blade, cutting through the fragile moment. You froze, the bloodied cloth slipping from your hands as his shadow loomed over you.

Turning slowly, you met his gaze, and your stomach dropped. His eyes weren’t angry—it was worse. Cold and sharp, gleaming with a possessiveness that made your skin crawl.

“He was hurt,” you stammered, your voice barely audible. “I was just trying to—”

“Trying to what?” he hissed, his hand darting out to grab your wrist. The pressure was bruising, unyielding, as he yanked you to your feet. The injured man whimpered, his voice a weak plea, and that sound ignited something feral in your captor.

“He doesn’t get to thank you,” he spat, dragging you closer until his face was inches from yours. His breath was hot, his lips twisted in a snarl. “He doesn’t get anything from you. Not your kindness. Not your pity. Not your touch.”

“Please,” you whispered, tears spilling down your cheeks. “He’ll die if we don’t—”

“Good,” he snapped, cutting you off. His free hand shot out, grabbing the injured man by the collar. He hauled the stranger up like a ragdoll and dragged him toward the crumbling wall of a nearby building. The man’s feeble protests were swallowed by your captor’s dark laughter.

“Since you care so much,” he said, turning back to you with a grin that made your blood run cold, “why don’t you watch?”

“No,” you gasped, stepping forward only to have his arm shoot out, shoving you back with bruising force. You hit the ground hard, the air knocked from your lungs as you scrambled to sit up. He loomed over the man, his knife glinting in the dim light.

“Yes.”

♡ Yandere! Zombie Apocalypse! Survivor who made a spectacle of the slaughter. His movements were methodical, deliberate, as he drove the blade into the man’s abdomen. Blood sprayed in dark arcs, splattering the cracked pavement and pooling around the man’s twitching body. You turned away, bile rising in your throat, but his voice snapped your head back.

“Don’t look away,” he barked, his tone sharp enough to cut. “This is what your empathy gets you. A pile of guts and a dead fool who didn’t deserve your pity.”

Your sobs broke free, raw and uncontrollable, but he didn’t stop. He laughed, a jagged sound that echoed in the hollow ruins around you. When the man’s body finally stilled, your captor turned to you, his hands slick with blood. He crouched beside you, his expression softening in a way that made your skin crawl.

“You’re too soft,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your tear-streaked face. “But don’t worry. I’ll fix that. I’ll strip it away until there’s nothing left but what belongs to me.”

♡ Yandere! Zombie Apocalypse! Survivor who burned the man’s body that night, the acrid stench of charred flesh lingering in the air. You sat by the fire, silent and trembling, as he settled beside you. His arm draped around your shoulders, pulling you against his side as if to shield you from the world he’d just reminded you was cruel.

“You’ll thank me one day,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your temple. “When there’s nothing left out there but death, you’ll see I’m the only one who can keep you safe. The only one who loves you enough to do this.”

You didn’t respond, your hollow gaze fixed on the flickering flames. But deep down, you knew he wasn’t saving you from the world. He was devouring you, piece by piece, until there was nothing left but him.

♡ Yandere! Zombie Apocalypse! Survivor who had long since abandoned the notion of morality in favor of survival. Yet, in you, he found a different kind of obsession—one that simmered with possession rather than camaraderie.

His gifts were always strange, eerie tokens scavenged from the ruins of a world reduced to ash and bone: a tarnished locket encrusted with dirt, a porcelain doll’s head with its eyes eerily intact, a cracked mirror that still reflected fragments of a long-lost innocence.

“Pretty things for my pretty girl,” he sneered, though the mockery in his tone was belied by the way his hands trembled as he clasped the locket around your neck.

His fingers lingered at the nape of your neck, brushing against your skin in a way that made you shiver—whether from fear or something darker, you didn’t know. “There. Now you’ll always carry a piece of me. You won’t forget, will you?”

♡ Yandere! Zombie Apocalypse! Survivor who insisted on protecting you, but only on his terms.

“You don’t need a weapon,” he said, his voice sharp with finality when you dared to ask for one. “That’s my job.” His gaze pinned you in place, a predator’s stare dissecting every inch of you.

“You’ll just get yourself killed,” he spat when you pressed the issue. His fingers curled around your arm, tight enough to bruise. He kept you close at all times, his shadow looming over you like a storm cloud.

Every step you took was measured, every movement scrutinized. One day, you ventured a step too far, and his response was instant and brutal.

“Stay where I can see you,” he growled, his voice laced with venom as he yanked you back. “You’re mine to keep safe. You run again, and I’ll drag you back in chains. Do you understand?”

♡ Yandere! Zombie Apocalypse! Survivor who thrived on the power he held over you, the way your defiance flickered but never fully burned. He saw the way you recoiled from his touch but clung to him when the distant howls of the infected pierced the night.

“You need me,” he whispered one evening, his breath warm against your ear as you lay frozen beneath the weight of his arm. “Deep down, you know it. Without me, you’re nothing but a corpse waiting to happen.” His lips brushed against your temple, a cruel smile curling against your skin as he pressed closer.

♡ Yandere! Zombie Apocalypse! Survivor who didn’t ask for permission, didn’t wait for consent. The world outside was a wasteland, and he’d carved out a kingdom of decay with you as his unwilling queen.

When he had you beneath him, trembling and trapped, the outside world ceased to exist. There was only the frantic, feral pulse of his need and the muffled sounds of your resistance.

“You like running, don’t you?” he growled, his voice a low rasp as his teeth scraped along your neck. His hands pinned your wrists above your head, his grip unyielding. “Go ahead. Try it again. See how far you get before I find you.”

But he never gave you the chance. His body pressed against yours, all raw muscle and unrelenting dominance. His movements were calculated, deliberate, every action designed to remind you that escape was a fantasy. The fabric between you tore easily, his strength reducing any barriers to shreds.

♡ Yandere! Zombie Apocalypse! Survivor who fucked you with the same ruthless efficiency he used to dispatch the infected. His hips moved with bruising force, each thrust a claim, each motion a declaration of ownership. The scarred expanse of his chest pressed against your trembling form, his sweat mingling with yours as he drove you to the edge of your endurance.

“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice a guttural snarl that left no room for disobedience. Tears blurred your vision, but his gaze burned through them, piercing and unrelenting. “I want to see your face when I ruin you.”

And ruin you he did. His teeth sank into your shoulder, his name leaving his lips like a prayer as his hands left trails of fire and bruises in their wake. He was relentless, animalistic, every motion infused with a hunger that could never be sated.

♡ Yandere! Zombie Apocalypse! Survivor who reveled in your tears, the way they streaked down your cheeks as you whimpered beneath him. His tongue flicked out to taste the salt, a dark chuckle rumbling in his chest.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, his voice dripping with a twisted reverence that made your stomach churn. “You look so beautiful like this—broken and mine.”

♡ Yandere! Zombie Apocalypse! Survivor who found almost as much pleasure in the aftermath as in the act itself. The marks he left on your skin—the bruises, the bites, the scratches—were trophies, proof of his claim. His calloused fingers traced them with a perverse tenderness, his gaze admiring as if he’d painted a masterpiece.

“Don’t ever forget,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear as his arms caged you in. “No one else gets this. No one else touches you. You’re mine—every fucking inch of you.”

And as he pulled you into his suffocating embrace, his body radiating heat and dominance, you realized the full weight of your captivity. There was no escape from him, no reprieve from the darkness that consumed him every time he looked at you.

You were his obsession, his salvation, his destruction. And he would never let you forget it.

────────────

If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows. Thank you.

General TAG LIST of “Whispers In The Dark”: @keisocool , @elvabeth

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elryuse · 2 months ago

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ISLAND Pt. 3 Yuna ft Ryujin & Chaeryeong

ITZY X MALE READER

Tags : Foursome?, Lots of Kissing, Seduction, Creampie,Multiple Orgasm, Edging, Creampie

The hotel suite was bathed in soft, golden light from the setting sun, casting long shadows across the plush carpet. The air was thick with the scent of sweat, sex, and the faint sweetness of body wash from earlier. Y/n lay sprawled on the massive bed, his chest rising and falling as he tried to catch his breath. To his left, Ryujin nestled into his side, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on his skin. Chaeryeong curled up on his right, her head resting on his shoulder, her breathing slow and steady. The trio had spent the better part of the day exploring each other’s bodies, their passion leaving them drained but satisfied.

But rest was short-lived.

The sound of the door creaking open broke the silence. Yuna stepped inside, her eyes widening as she took in the scene before her. “Oh my god!” she squeaked, her cheeks flushing a deep crimson. She clutched her towel tighter around her body, clearly having just come from the shower. Her hair dripped water onto the floor, and she froze like a deer caught in headlights. “I-I didn’t mean to—”

Ryujin smirked, propping herself up on one elbow. “Relax, Yuna. You’re not interrupting anything… yet.” Her voice was teasing, laced with mischief that made Yuna’s face burn even hotter. Chaeryeong giggled softly, her fingers twirling Y/n’s hair absentmindedly as she glanced at Yuna with an amused expression.

Y/n sighed, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “Yuna, it’s fine. We’re just… relaxing,” he said, though the way his hand lingered on Chaeryeong’s thigh suggested otherwise. His tone was calm, reassuring, but there was a flicker of something darker in his eyes—something that made Yuna’s stomach twist in a way she couldn’t quite understand.

Yuna bit her lip, shifting uncomfortably under the weight of their gazes. “I-I should go…” she stammered, turning toward the door.

“Wait,” Ryujin called out, her voice firm but playful. She stood up, letting the sheet fall away from her body as she padded over to Yuna. The younger girl’s eyes dropped instinctively, taking in Ryujin’s naked form before quickly looking away. Ryujin chuckled, reaching out to gently grip Yuna’s wrist. “You don’t have to be shy, you know. It’s just us.”

Yuna swallowed hard, her heart pounding in her chest. “I-I don’t think I can—”

“Trust me,” Ryujin interrupted, her voice soft but insistent. She leaned in closer, her breath warm against Yuna’s ear. “It feels amazing. And Y/n… well, he knows how to make it feel even better.”

Yuna’s legs felt like jelly as Ryujin guided her toward the bed. She glanced at Y/n, who gave her a small, encouraging smile. Something about the way he looked at her—gentle yet predatory—made her pulse quicken. Chaeryeong shifted to make room, patting the space beside her. “Come on, Yuna. Don’t be scared,” she said, her voice sweet and coaxing.

Yuna hesitated for a moment longer before finally climbing onto the bed, her movements stiff and uncertain. Ryujin followed suit, positioning herself behind Yuna and placing her hands on the younger girl’s shoulders. “Just relax,” she murmured, her lips brushing against Yuna’s neck. “Let us take care of you.”

Y/n watched with growing anticipation as Ryujin began to undress Yuna, peeling away the towel to reveal her smooth, delicate skin. He reached out, his fingers grazing Yuna’s cheek before tilting her chin up to meet his gaze. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered, his voice low and husky. He leaned in, capturing her lips in a tender kiss that quickly deepened as Yuna responded hesitantly at first, then with increasing urgency.

Chaeryeong watched with a sly smile, crawling over to Yuna’s side. She ran her fingers through the younger girl’s damp hair, her touch soothing yet electrifying. “Don’t worry, Yuna,” she cooed, her lips brushing against Yuna’s ear. “We’ll make sure you enjoy every second.”

Ryujin’s hands slid down Yuna’s sides, her touch feather-light as she explored every curve. She pressed kisses along Yuna’s shoulder, her teeth grazing the sensitive skin just enough to elicit a shiver. “Tell us if it feels good,” Ryujin murmured, her voice dripping with honeyed promise.

Yuna gasped as Y/n’s hands joined the fray, his fingers dancing across her thighs before dipping between her legs. She was already wet, her body betraying her nervousness with a slick heat that made her moan softly. “Ah… W-what are you doing?” she whimpered, her voice trembling.

“Making you feel good,” Y/n replied simply, his voice rough with desire. He kissed her again, swallowing her moans as his fingers worked her with practiced precision. Chaeryeong’s hands wandered lower, cupping Yuna’s breasts and rolling her nipples between her fingers. The sensation was overwhelming, and Yuna’s head fell back against Ryujin’s shoulder as pleasure surged through her.

Ryujin grinned, her hands slipping down to grip Yuna’s hips. “Ready?” she asked, her tone playful but expectant. When Yuna nodded weakly, Ryujin positioned herself behind her, guiding Yuna’s hips to align with Y/n’s waiting cock. “Just breathe,” Ryujin instructed, her voice softening. “It’ll feel amazing, I promise.”

Yuna tensed as Y/n pushed into her, the stretch sending a wave of both pain and pleasure coursing through her. She clung to him, her nails digging into his shoulders as she adjusted to the unfamiliar sensation. “O-oh…” she moaned, her voice shaky but filled with wonder. “It’s… so big…”

Y/n groaned, his grip tightening on her hips as he began to move. Each thrust sent sparks through Yuna’s body, and soon she was writhing beneath him, her moans growing louder and more desperate. Ryujin watched with hungry eyes, her own need growing unbearable. She pressed against Y/n’s back, her lips trailing hot kisses across his shoulders as her hands roamed his chest.

Chaeryeong, not wanting to be left out, moved to kneel beside Yuna, her fingers finding the younger girl’s clit. She rubbed in tight circles, adding another layer of stimulation that made Yuna cry out. “F-fuck… oh god…” Yuna gasped, her hips bucking wildly as pleasure overwhelmed her senses.

Ryujin smirked, her hands sliding down to grip Y/n’s ass, urging him to go faster, deeper. “Make her scream,” she growled in his ear, her breath hot and demanding. Y/n obeyed, his thrusts becoming sharper, more forceful. Yuna’s moans turned into screams as she teetered on the edge of orgasm, her body trembling with the effort to hold on.

And then she shattered.

Her walls clenched around Y/n, pulling him over the edge with her. He groaned, his hips stuttering as he spilled himself inside her, filling her with his warmth. Yuna collapsed against him, her body going limp as waves of pleasure washed over her. Ryujin and Chaeryeong exchanged satisfied smiles, their own desires still burning bright.

As Yuna struggled to catch her breath, Ryujin leaned in, her lips brushing against the younger girl’s ear. “Told you it would feel amazing,” she purred, her voice dripping with satisfaction.

Yuna could only nod weakly, her mind still hazy with pleasure. But as she glanced up at Y/n, a spark of curiosity ignited in her eyes. “Can we… do it again?”

The room was quiet for a moment, save for the soft sound of Yuna’s breathing as she clung to Y/n, her cheeks flushed and her eyes still glazed over with pleasure. Ryujin and Chaeryeong exchanged knowing glances, their lips curling into playful smirks. They could see the hunger in Yuna’s eyes, the way she trembled against Y/n’s body, desperate for more.

Ryujin leaned back against the bed, running a hand through her tousled hair. ”You really liked it, huh?” she teased, her voice low and sultry. Yuna didn’t answer right away, her fingers lightly tracing patterns on Y/n’s chest as if trying to memorize the feel of him. Her heart was pounding, her mind racing with thoughts of what had just happened—and what she wanted to happen next.

Finally, she looked up at Ryujin, her voice barely above a whisper. “Can you… leave us alone for a bit? I want to try it… just the two of us.”

Ryujin raised an eyebrow, her smirk widening. She glanced at Chaeryeong, who was already standing up, stretching her arms lazily. “Fine by me,” Chaeryeong said, her tone light but her eyes gleaming with mischief. “I could use a shower anyway.”

Ryujin stood up as well, brushing herself off before giving Yuna a playful wink. “Don’t wear him out too much, okay? Save some for us later.” She turned to Y/n, her gaze lingering just long enough to make his pulse quicken. Then, with a flick of her hair, she followed Chaeryeong out of the room, leaving Y/n and Yuna alone.

The door clicked shut, and suddenly the air felt heavier, more charged. Yuna shifted nervously, her small hands still resting on Y/n’s chest. She couldn’t quite bring herself to meet his eyes, her shyness getting the better of her now that they were alone.

“Y/n…” she began softly, her voice trembling slightly. “I… I want to do it again. But this time… just us.”

Y/n reached up, gently cupping her cheek and tilting her face so she would look at him. His touch was warm, reassuring, and it made something inside her flutter. “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice husky but gentle. “We don’t have to rush anything. You can take your time.”

But Yuna shook her head, her determination outweighing her hesitation. “No… I want this. I want you.” Her words were bold, and they sent a jolt of heat straight through him. He could feel the way her body pressed against his, how her breath hitched when his thumb brushed over her lower lip.

He didn’t need any more convincing. With a slow, deliberate motion, he leaned in, capturing her lips in a deep, searing kiss. Yuna gasped softly into his mouth, her hands sliding up to tangle in his hair as she kissed him back eagerly. Her inexperience was evident in the way she moved, but there was a raw intensity to her actions that drove him wild.

His hands roamed over her body, exploring every curve, every inch of her soft skin. She shivered under his touch, her breath coming in short, uneven gasps as he trailed kisses down her neck, nipping lightly at her sensitive flesh. When his fingers grazed the waistband of her shorts, she tensed slightly, but then she nodded, her eyes locked on his with a mixture of trust and desire.

Y/n took his time undressing her, savoring the way her body trembled with anticipation. He worshipped her with his hands and his mouth, making her squirm and whimper as he discovered just how responsive she was. By the time he finally slipped her panties down her legs, she was already wet, her arousal unmistakable.

“Y/n…” she moaned, her hips lifting instinctively toward him. “Please… I need you.”

He groaned softly, his own desire threatening to overwhelm him. He positioned himself between her legs, his cock throbbing as he pressed against her entrance. “Tell me if it’s too much, okay?” he murmured, his voice rough with restraint.

Yuna nodded, her nails digging into his shoulders as he pushed inside her slowly, giving her time to adjust. The sensation was overwhelming—the tight heat of her around him, the way her walls fluttered as she tried to accommodate his size. He paused when he was fully sheathed inside her, giving her a moment to catch her breath.

“How does it feel?” he asked, his voice strained with the effort of holding back.

Yuna blinked up at him, her lips parted as she panted. “It’s… it’s amazing,” she whispered, her voice filled with awe. “You’re so big… I can feel all of you…”

Her words sent a surge of heat through him, and he couldn’t wait any longer. He began to move, rocking his hips in slow, deliberate thrusts that had her gasping and arching beneath him. Her hands clutched at his back, pulling him closer as she lost herself in the rhythm of their bodies moving together.

Y/n wasn’t sure how long they lasted, but every second felt like heaven. The way Yuna tightened around him, the way her soft moans filled the room—it was intoxicating. He found himself kissing her again, deeper this time, their tongues tangling as their movements grew more frenzied.

“Y/n… I-I think I’m going to…” Yuna managed to gasp out, her voice breaking mid-sentence as a wave of pleasure crashed over her. Her body clenched around him, drawing a groan from his lips as he felt her climax ripple through her.

He followed soon after, his hips stuttering as he spilled himself inside her, filling her with his warmth. Yuna whimpered, her body trembling as the aftershocks of her orgasm left her boneless and breathless.

They stayed like that for a while, tangled together in the afterglow. Yuna’s fingers traced lazy patterns on his back, her head resting against his chest as she listened to the steady beat of his heart. “That was…” she began, but then she trailed off, unable to find the words to describe how she felt.

Y/n chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Yeah. It was.”

But even as they lay there, Yuna’s curiosity began to stir again. She tilted her head back, her eyes meeting his with a pleading look. “Can we… do it again?”

Yuna’s question hung in the air, her voice soft but laced with a newfound confidence. Y/n couldn’t help but smile at her eagerness, his fingers brushing a strand of hair away from her flushed face. “Again?” he teased, his voice low and playful. “You sure you can handle it?”

She pouted, her lips forming into a small, adorable frown that only made her more irresistible. “I’m not a kid anymore,” she protested, her hands pressing against his chest as she shifted to sit up slightly. The movement caused her thighs to brush against his still-sensitive skin, sending a shiver through both of them. “I want to try something… different this time.”

Y/n raised an eyebrow, intrigued by her boldness. “Different how?” he asked, his voice dropping lower as his hands slid down to rest on her hips, his touch firm but gentle.

Yuna bit her lip, her cheeks flushing even deeper as she hesitated for a moment. Then, with a breathless laugh, she pushed herself up fully, straddling him in one fluid motion. Her hands pressed against his chest for balance as she looked down at him, her eyes sparkling with a mix of nervousness and determination. “I want to be on top this time.”

The words sent a jolt of heat straight to Y/n’s core. He hadn’t expected her to take charge so soon, but the way she looked right now—her hair slightly disheveled, her lips swollen from their kisses, and her body glowing with a thin sheen of sweat—was enough to make him forget any hesitation. “Okay,” he said simply, his voice rough with desire. “Show me what you’ve got.”

Yuna giggled nervously, her fingers tracing patterns on his chest as she adjusted her position. She bit her lip again, glancing down between them where his hardness pressed against her thigh. “I might need… some help,” she admitted shyly.

Y/n smirked, his hands moving to grip her hips firmly. “Like this?” he asked, guiding her gently until she was positioned just right. His tip brushed against her entrance, and they both let out shaky breaths at the contact. “Now,” he murmured, his voice thick with anticipation, “just take your time.”

Yuna nodded, her hands gripping his shoulders tightly as she slowly lowered herself onto him. The sensation was overwhelming—both for her and for Y/n. She gasped softly, her nails digging into his skin, while he groaned, his hands tightening on her hips to steady her. “Fuck, Yuna…” he breathed, his head falling back against the pillow as she sank down inch by agonizing inch.

When she finally took him all the way, they both paused, letting the intensity of the moment wash over them. Yuna’s eyes were wide, her lips parted as she tried to catch her breath. “Oh my god,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “It feels so… deep like this.”

Y/n chuckled darkly, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles on her hips. “You’re doing amazing,” he assured her, his voice strained. “Now move, baby. Go at your own pace.”

Yuna nodded again, her hands sliding down to rest on his chest as she tentatively began to rock her hips. The slow, deliberate movements made her whimper, her eyelids fluttering as pleasure built within her. “It’s… it’s better than I thought,” she admitted breathlessly, her rhythm gradually becoming more confident.

Y/n watched her with rapt attention, his hands roaming over her body as she moved above him. “You look so beautiful like this,” he murmured, his fingers tracing the curve of her waist before sliding up to cup her breasts. She gasped, arching into his touch as her movements became more erratic.

Soon, Yuna found herself losing control, her hips grinding down harder and faster as the tension coiled tighter inside her. “Y/n, I—I think I’m going to—” she started, but her words dissolved into a moan as her orgasm hit her suddenly and intensely. Her body trembled, her walls clenching around him as waves of pleasure washed over her.

Y/n groaned, his hands gripping her hips tightly as he thrust up into her, unable to hold back any longer. “Fuck, Yuna, I’m close too,” he rasped, his movements becoming frantic as he chased his own release.

She whimpered, her hands clutching at his chest as she felt him pulse inside her, filling her once again with his warmth. The sensation sent another shockwave through her body, prolonging her climax until she collapsed forward, her forehead resting against his chest as they both struggled to catch their breath.

For a few moments, the only sounds in the room were their ragged breathing and the faint creak of the bed beneath them. Then, Yuna lifted her head, her lips curling into a satisfied smile. “That was…” she began, but trailed off, shaking her head slightly. “Amazing. Just… amazing.”

Y/n chuckled, his hands stroking her back gently. “You’re a natural,” he teased, pressing a kiss to her forehead. But before he could say anything else, Yuna sat up again, her expression growing mischievous.

“Let’s do it again,” she said, her voice dripping with excitement. “But… slower this time. I want to feel everything.”

Y/n grinned, his hands trailing down to grip her thighs. “Your wish is my command,” he replied, pulling her down for a searing kiss as they prepared to lose themselves in each other once more.

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matsdoll · 13 days ago

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我 ⸼ ࣪ dreaming ... ︶ིྀᩧ (aka. harry having a rather.. sexual dream about you)

harry is warm. too warm. he shifts in his sleep, forehead damp, body sluggish. his fingers flex against the mattress, and in his mind, they’re digging into the very plush of your thighs.

your eyes are wide, almost doe like, just the same eyes that innocently enough helped him through a few questions during arithmancy. bottom lip caught between your teeth, a soft little hum vibrating in your throat when you finally get his trousers open. he’s so hard it aches.

“fuck,” he groans, hips jerking when your fingers brush over him, thick blanket rising. the lightest of touches, barely anything, but his cock twitches like he’s already inside you, like you’re already wrapped around him.

his brows furrow, eyes remaining closed, breathing riggid a bit uneven. a little string of curses leaves his mouth, and then whispered hushed, like even his brain knew it was wrong, your name.

you exhale slow, watching him shift from the side of the bedroom, his hips rolling into nothing, brows knitted like he’s aching — like it hurts. truly, you just heard louder breathing and got a tad bit worried, or perhaps you just wanted to check wheather harry was actually the type to snore — the least of what you were expecting, was this.

your eyes lower to watch the way his own hand disappears under the fabric, somewhere half between sleep and conscious. his breath hitches, hips jerking up into his own fist, the outline of the blanket not doing him any favors, the thick outline clearly visable.

your mouth goes dry. it’s obscene really — the way his hand moves, slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring it. like he’s savoring you, he'd definetly like to. your name slips from his lips again, softer this time, breathless. like a prayer. like a fucking plea.

heat licks up your spine, coils tight in your stomach, in close contrast to a whole different kind of heat within you. you shouldn’t be watching this. you should leave, pretend you never saw, give him the dignity of privacy. but you don’t.

not when his brows pinch like that, not when he lets out the filthiest little moan, not when he grips himself tighter, hips rutting into his own palm like it’s just not enough.

and suddenly he's awake.

maybe you had moved a step to loudly, did the corridor floor creak? did you breathe to loudly? did you make a noise yourself, to deep within your own rush?

his lashes flutter, heavy-lidded, hazy with sleep and lust. there’s a sluggish confusion in his gaze, like his brain is still catching up to reality, to the fact that he’s not alone. then, his cheeks flush deep red, even brightly visable in the dim lightning. his fingers flex where they’re still wrapped around his cock, coming to a quick hold.

a good solid twenty seconds pass by, just staring at each other. his eyes are just a bit wider though, and your own lips are parted. you don't know what exactly moves you, but you step closer, truly the floor was incredibly squeaky.

you sit down by his bed, bedding plush and comfortable, his eyes flutter again, like he can't fucking believe it — you, the girl he had been crushing on for years. in his bed. right by his side. watched him jerk off.

lean forward, slow and unsure, before pressing a soft kiss onto his lips. your lips are soft, warm, tentative against his own. it’s barely anything — just a whisper of a kiss. his head spins. maybe he’s still dreaming. maybe he’s lost in some feverish delusion where you’re right here, right within reach, where you want him just as badly as he wants you.

but then you shift closer, tilting your head, deepening the kiss just slightly. and fuck, he feels it, the way you exhale through your nose, the way your fingertips brush against the bare skin of his arm. real. you’re real. he moans into your mouth, dazed and desperate, lifting a shaky hand to cup your cheek. you let him, tilting into his palm, lashes fluttering when his thumb brushes over the soft curve of your cheekbone.

you whisper against his lips, head spinning quite yourself, "was it about me?"

his throat bobs. "yes."

#gryffindor #harry potter fanfiction #hp fandom #harry potter #golden trio era #harry james potter #harry potter series #harry potter smut #harry potter stuff #harry potter x reader #harry potter x you #harry potter x y/n #harry potter x fem!reader #harry potter fic #harry potter fluff #slytherin boys

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crunchystarz · 3 months ago

Text

"Nightmare"

Leona Kingscholar x GN!Reader

Summary: In which Leona has a terrible nightmare regarding you but no worries you're there to comfort him

Cw- mentions of death in nightmare, angst, fluff, established relationship, One shot

Word count: 887

A.N: Wowza first non creepypasta work on this acc spare me (I'm still figuring this whole Tumblr thing out lol), also this is imported from my Google docs so the spacing might be a little weird

His heart pounded in his chest, like the crash of waves. The sound of blood rushing through his veins loud in his ears, drowning out all else. His body refused to move, as if something rooted him to the ground.

He stared at your lifeless body, his breath hitching in uneven gasps. Helplessness consumed him. He wanted to scream until he couldn't anymore , but the cry caught in his throat. He was frozen ,completely immobilized like a statue.

He had failed you. The thought tore through him sharp. Why hadn’t he been faster? Stronger? Smarter? His mind replayed every moment, every decision, desperately searching for the one that would have ended differently.

If only he’d been better, you’d still be here. You’d still be breathing, your chest rising and falling with life, those eyes he loved so dearly looking back at him.

His hands trembled as he reached for you, cradling your cold, unresponsive body. He hadn’t even realized he’d moved. Tears blurred his vision,throat tightened. It didn’t matter anymore not the pain in his knees, not the ache in his arms from holding you so tightly. Nothing mattered.

Why hadn’t it been him instead? He’d trade everything, it didn't matter what as long as he could hear your laugh one more time, to feel your warmth, to see you smile.

Leona jolted awake with a sharp gasp, his blankets tangled. Green eyes wide and darting around the room. His heart was racing. A hand dragged over his face, trying to ground himself as reality slowly bled back in.

It was a dream. Only a dream.

Just a dream Leona…

Yet the vividness of it lingered. He turned his gaze to the empty space beside him on the bed, and his breath hitched again.

“[Name]?” His voice, rough and strained, cracked as he called out. His ears twitched, and relief washed over him as he heard the soft sound of approaching footsteps.

Your footsteps

The door creaked open, and there you were, bathed in the faint morning light spilling through the window. "You're finally awake, morning sleepyhead," you said with a smile. Your voice was warm and laced with affection as you walked over to him.

Sevens did he love your voice.

Leona exhaled shakily, the weight on his chest easing slightly. But his body remained tense, his hands gripping the sheets.

You noticed how off he was immediately. “Leona?” Concern filled your voice as you sat down on the edge of the bed, your hands resting gently on his shoulders grounding him.

Before you could even say anything else, Leona moved. His arms shot out, wrapping around you and pulling you down onto the mattress with a forceful yet desperate urgency. You let out a yelp in surprise.

His grip was firm, almost crushing, as though he feared you’d disappear if he let go. You could feel the faint tremble in his frame, it made your heart ache.

“Leona?” you repeated softly, tilting your head to look at him. He didn’t answer, only burying his face in the crook of your neck. The steady rhythm of your heartbeat against his ear was the only thing he could focus on.

You were alive.

"What's going on?" you asked gently, your fingers threading through his hair and brushing behind his ears in a soothing gesture. "This isn't like you."

“Bad dream,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible. But the unease in his tone betrayed him. You frowned, concern deepening as you pressed a soft kiss to the top of his head.

"I'm here now," you whispered. "I'm not going anywhere."

You lay back against the pillow, letting him cling to you. Slowly, you matched your breathing to his, your chest rising and falling in a rhythm until his ragged breaths began to even out. Your hand moved in slow, comforting strokes along his back, and eventually, he calmed

You felt a vibration against your chest, followed by a deep, purring. It brought a small smile to your face. "You know," you teased lightly, "purring like that? Not very nonchalant housewarden of you."

"Shuddup," he muttered, his voice muffled as he pressed himself closer to you. You giggled softly, the sound making his heart leap. This time, the pounding in his chest wasn’t fear, it was just love.

He nuzzled his face deeper into the crook of your neck, inhaling the comforting scent of you. The memory of the nightmare still lingered, but it was dulled now, by your presence. You were here, alive and breathing, and that was enough for him.

After a moment, he pulled back slightly, just enough to look at you. His green eyes, usually half-lidded, were wide and searching, drinking in every detail of your face. He couldn't get enough.

Everything you. He loved each of your features,

everything. Because it was yours.

“I love you,” he said, the words escaping him before he could even registr what he was saying.

You smiled, the kind of smile that he'd do anything for just to see.

“I love you too.”

Leona pulled you closer, his arms tightening around you as his tail snaked in between your legs. For now, that was all he needed, just you, safe in his arms, your warmth calming him.

He was at peace. Calm and tangled in one another.

MASTERLIST

#crunchystarz #leona kingscholar x reader #leona kingscholar #x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst leona #reader is gender neutral #twisted wonderland #disney twst #i actually like this

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novaursa · 5 months ago

Note

A little bit of angst here, could I get one with cregan and rhaenyras daughter where, after their first child, reader and cregan are having difficulty making a second child. Eventually reader gets pregnant a joyous day for winterfell. As the weeks pass, cregan and reader are frequently spotted by the folk of winterfell sharing tender moments between one another, maybe a kiss to readers belly, maybe cregan almost always has a hand to her stomach etc. one day (maybe cregan is at the wall or on a hunt) reader receives a raven from dragonstone saying Jacaerys is dead. Readers grief overcomes her and she loses the baby. After news reaches cregan about Jace, he rushes home to comfort his wife, knowing she’d be overcome with grief, and he is met with the aftermath. Cregan is filled with grief and anger and a lust for revenge for the person at the hands of the death of his friend, the grief of his wife and the loss of his child.

The Gullet's Price

Requests are closed!

- Summary: The day you received the news about the death of your brother, another life was lost.

- Pairing: velaryon!reader/Cregan Stark

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (just to be safe)

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @daeryna @melsunshine @21-princess

The snow fell gently outside the thick stone walls of Winterfell, casting a blanket of white over the sprawling castle. Inside, however, warmth radiated from every hearth. You sat by the window, watching the snowflakes drift lazily in the twilight, your hand absentmindedly resting on your belly. The room was quiet, save for the occasional crackle of the fire and the distant sound of footsteps from the courtyard below.

It had been months—many long, aching months—since you and Cregan had first tried for a second child. After the birth of your son, the heir to Winterfell, you had both longed for another, but it seemed the gods had been slow to answer your prayers. There had been whispers among the maesters, suggestions of herbs and tonics, but nothing had come of it. Each passing moon only deepened the ache in your heart, and though Cregan never showed it, you could see the worry in his eyes, the way his hand lingered on your shoulder a moment too long, the way he would pull you into his arms as if holding you close could somehow solve what was out of your control.

The door creaked open, and there he stood—Cregan, your husband, lord of Winterfell, with his ever-brooding presence softened by the sight of you. His dark hair fell loosely over his shoulders, and his grey eyes—so often stern in the face of duty—softened as they found yours. Without a word, he crossed the room, his boots barely making a sound against the stone floor, and knelt beside you, placing a warm hand on top of yours.

"Still watching the snow, love?" he asked, his voice low and filled with a tenderness reserved only for you.

You nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "It reminds me of the first night I spent here. You used to say the snow welcomed me to the North."

Cregan smiled at the memory, his fingers gently entwining with yours. "Aye, and it seems the North has claimed you as one of its own ever since."

For a moment, the two of you sat in comfortable silence, the snow drifting outside, and the fire crackling softly beside you. Then, without warning, Cregan shifted slightly, his free hand coming to rest on your belly—just as it had so many times before, a hopeful gesture, though for so long it had brought neither joy nor comfort.

You looked down at his hand, feeling the familiar warmth of his touch. "Perhaps it's not meant to be," you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. "Perhaps one child is all we were granted."

Cregan's grip tightened ever so slightly, his thumb brushing gently over the fabric of your dress. "You’ve always been stronger than fate, Y/N. If we are meant to have more children, we will. And if not..." He paused, looking up at you with such intensity that it made your heart skip a beat. "Then we will cherish the family we have."

The sincerity in his words brought tears to your eyes, but you blinked them away, leaning down to press a kiss to his brow. "I love you, Cregan Stark."

"And I love you," he whispered, his lips brushing against the skin of your belly as he spoke. It was such a simple act, but the tenderness of it, the love that radiated from him, made your chest swell with emotion.

The days passed slowly after that, each one blending into the next. Winter held the North in its grip, and though life within Winterfell continued as always, there was a quiet hope that lingered between you and Cregan, an unspoken understanding that perhaps, just perhaps, the gods had not forgotten you after all.

Then one morning, as the sun barely crested the horizon, you woke with a strange feeling in your stomach—not pain, but something else. Something new. You lay still for a moment, waiting, your heart pounding in your chest as realization dawned upon you.

"Cregan," you whispered, nudging him awake beside you.

He stirred, groggy from sleep, but the moment his eyes met yours, he was alert. "What is it?"

"I... I think I'm with child," you said, the words feeling foreign and yet so familiar on your tongue.

For a heartbeat, there was silence. Then, Cregan sat up, his hand already moving to your belly as if to confirm what you had just said. His grey eyes were wide with disbelief, and for the first time in what felt like years, there was unrestrained joy in his expression.

"Are you certain?" he asked, though the hope in his voice was undeniable.

You nodded, tears already welling in your eyes. "I'm certain."

The joy that erupted in the days following was like nothing you had ever experienced before. Winterfell, normally so cold and solemn, felt alive with the news of your pregnancy. The people celebrated quietly at first, but soon the halls were filled with laughter and congratulations. The maesters confirmed your suspicions, and Cregan all but swept you into his arms, grinning like a man who had won the greatest battle of his life.

From that day on, it was rare to see you without Cregan by your side. He was never far from you, his hand constantly finding its way to your stomach as if to remind himself—and everyone else—that life was growing within you. The people of Winterfell spoke of it often, how their lord was more tender with you than they had ever seen before. Some swore they saw him press soft kisses to your belly when he thought no one was watching.

You, too, felt the change in him. His protectiveness over you grew tenfold, but so did his tenderness. He would sit with you by the hearth in the evenings, his hand resting on your belly as the fire crackled beside you. "I can't wait to meet our child," he'd say softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I wonder if they'll have your eyes."

"And your stubbornness," you teased, smiling as he chuckled.

Every tender moment between you was a reminder of the love you shared. The people of Winterfell watched with quiet admiration, and as the weeks passed, it became clear that this child—your child—would be born into a house filled with love, protected by both the Starks and Targeryens.

One evening, as the snow began to fall once more, Cregan knelt before you, resting his head against your belly. "Our child will be here soon," he whispered, his voice full of wonder. "And I will love them just as much as I love you."

You smiled down at him, your hand stroking through his dark hair. "I know you will, my love. I know."

The sky was a cold, slate gray, reflecting the heaviness that weighed on your heart. You had been restless all day, your hand unconsciously drifting to your swollen belly as you paced the stone floors of Winterfell. Cregan had gone to the Wall, seeing to matters with the Night's Watch, and while he often left for such duties, his absence felt more pronounced today, leaving you feeling uneasy.

You paused at the window, watching the snow swirl in the bitter northern wind. There had been no ravens for days, no word from Dragonstone, and though you had tried to push away your fears, the growing knot in your stomach told you something was amiss.

And then, it came. The raven. Black wings against the pale sky.

When the maester handed you the scroll, your fingers trembled, sensing the weight of it before your eyes even scanned the words. It was from Dragonstone—your mother’s seal—but it was not her handwriting. The letters blurred as you read them, and the world around you seemed to vanish, leaving only the devastating truth in front of you.

Jacaerys is dead.

He had been slain at the Gullet, struck down during a battle with the greens. The words felt unreal, distant, as if they were written for someone else. But no, they were meant for you. Your Jace, your closest friend, your blood, was gone.

A choked sob escaped your lips, your body trembling as the grief hit you all at once. The scroll slipped from your hands and fell to the floor, unnoticed. All you could feel was the crushing weight of loss—the loss of your brother, of someone who had been part of your life for as long as you could remember. The one you had grown up with, laughed with, fought beside. The one who had been by your side during the most difficult moments of your life.

Jace.

You pressed your hand to your belly, your breaths coming in short, panicked gasps as the sorrow became overwhelming, twisting inside you like a blade. The baby... your baby. You could feel it—something was wrong. The sharp pain in your abdomen stole your breath, and suddenly the warmth you had cherished, the life growing within you, felt cold. Empty.

"No..." you whispered, stumbling backward as another wave of pain coursed through you. You clutched your stomach, but it was no use. The grief, the heartache—it was too much. You collapsed to the floor, clutching at your belly, the realization sinking in that the life you carried had slipped away, just as Jace had. Gone.

Servants found you there, unconscious and bleeding, their screams echoing through the halls of Winterfell as they rushed to fetch the maesters. But no maester, no amount of care, could undo what had already been done. By the time you awoke, it was too late. You had lost the baby.

When Cregan finally returned, having received word of Jacaerys's death at the Wall, his heart was already heavy with the knowledge of how devastated you would be. He had pushed his horse hard, riding through the night to return to you, knowing you would need him now more than ever.

But nothing could have prepared him for what awaited him.

The moment he stepped through the gates of Winterfell, he knew something was wrong. The air was thick with tension, the usual quiet bustle of the castle replaced with a heavy, oppressive silence. The servants barely met his eyes as they bowed, their faces pale. His chest tightened, fear creeping into his heart as he made his way through the familiar halls.

"Cregan," a voice called softly, and he turned to see the Maester Kennet approaching him with a grave expression. The look on his face confirmed Cregan's worst fears.

"She..." the maester began, his voice shaking slightly. "She lost the child, my lord. It happened shortly after the raven arrived from Dragonstone. The grief—"

Cregan didn’t wait for him to finish. He rushed past the maester, his heart pounding in his chest as he made his way to your chambers. He flung the door open, and there you were, lying in bed, pale and weak, your eyes red from crying. The sight of you like this, broken and devastated, was like a dagger to his heart.

You looked up when you heard the door, and when your eyes met Cregan’s, the dam broke again. Fresh tears spilled down your cheeks as you whispered, "He’s gone, Cregan... Jace is gone... and... our baby..."

Cregan crossed the room in an instant, gathering you into his arms, holding you as you wept into his chest. His own heart shattered as he held you, feeling the weight of your loss, your grief. He didn’t speak; words wouldn’t help, not now. All he could do was hold you, his strong arms wrapped around you as if he could somehow protect you from the pain you were feeling. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t shield you from this.

Inside, Cregan’s own grief began to twist into something darker—rage. Jacaerys had been his friend, one of the few he could trust in the turbulent world of war and politics. The news of his death was a blow to his own heart, but seeing you like this—broken and empty, having lost not only your brother but your child—it was unbearable.

He clenched his jaw, his grip on you tightening ever so slightly. Whoever was responsible for Jacaerys’s death would pay. He would see to it. The rage that simmered in his veins burned hotter with every passing moment.

"I swear to you," he murmured, his voice low and filled with a quiet fury, "whoever is responsible for Jace’s death will pay. I will see to it myself."

You lifted your tear-streaked face to look at him, and for a moment, you could see the storm brewing in his eyes. Cregan was always strong, always steady, but now—now there was something else in him. Something dangerous.

"Cregan," you whispered, your voice hoarse from crying. "Don’t... please, don’t go."

His gaze softened as he looked at you, his thumb gently brushing away the tears from your cheek. "I won’t leave you, not now. But justice will be done, Y/N. For Jace, for our child. I promise you."

You closed your eyes, leaning into him, feeling the warmth of his embrace even as the world around you felt cold and desolate. Cregan held you tightly, his mind racing with thoughts of revenge, of the blood that would be spilled in the name of those you had lost.

He would not rest until the one responsible for this pain had paid with their life.

#house of the dragon #hotd x reader #hotd #hotd x y/n #hotd x you #cregan stark x reader #cregan stark #cregan x reader #hotd cregan #cregan x you #cregan x y/n

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starkeysmoon · 3 months ago

Text

KNOTS AND KISSES

pairing: mattheo riddle x fem!reader

summary: after a long day at hogwarts, mattheo surprises you by offering to untangle your hair, revealing a softer side you didn’t expect.

content: fluff, mutual pinning, no established relationship, suggestive language, kissing.

words: 1,853

the castle had settled into a hushed stillness, the kind that only came when most students had retreated to their dorms.

you sat on your bed, freshly showered but too tired to deal with the mess of damp, tangled hair sticking to your shoulders.

the soft glow of enchanted fairy lights shimmered across your room, casting gentle shadows on the walls.

just as exhaustion began pulling at your limbs, a soft knock broke the silence, and before you could respond, the door creaked open.

“you’re going to get hexed one day for not locking your door,” mattheo muttered as he stepped inside, his smirk already firmly in place.

his dark eyes flicked over you, taking in your pajama-clad form and the damp strands clinging to your face.

“though i suppose if i’m the one sneaking in, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

you arched a brow at him, too tired to fight the grin tugging at your lips. “is this your way of saying you missed me, riddle, or are you just bored?”

he shut the door behind him with a soft click, the smirk deepening as he crossed the room. “can’t it be both?”

you rolled your eyes as a laugh escaped from your lips, flopping back against your pillows. “what are you even doing here? do you plan to charm my hairbrush to attack me?”

he pushed off the doorframe and strolled over to you, his gaze lingering on the damp strands clinging to your face. “doesn’t look like i’d need to. your hair’s already doing half the job.”

“wow. insightful as ever, mattheo,” you muttered, rolling your eyes.

he chuckled, low and warm, as he perched himself on the edge of your bed. “bad day?” he asked, his voice laced with concern, but you could already hear the teasing in it.

you turned your head toward the door, only to find him leaning against the frame, arms crossed, a grin spreading across his face.

“i’m fine,” you groaned, rubbing your eyes.

“just… too tired to deal with this,” you said, motioning vaguely at your tangled hair.

mattheo raised an eyebrow. “too tired? or too lazy?”

you gave him a playful glare. “i prefer ‘tired.’”

he walked over to the bed, his smirk still in place, but his eyes softened when they landed on you. “i think i can help with that,” he said, as if he'd already made up his mind.

“help? how?” you raised an eyebrow, suspicious of what he meant.

“well, you don’t have to untangle your hair if you’re that tired,” he said, his voice practically dripping with mischief. “i’ll do it for you.”

“you?” you blinked, unable to hide your amusement. “you’re going to untangle my hair?”

“don’t sound so surprised,” he drawled, though his smirk betrayed his amusement. “i’m full of hidden talents.”

you couldn't help but laugh at the idea.

“like what? bothering me until i lose my mind?”

“that’s one of my favorites,” he admitted, moving to sit down on the bed next to you, patting his lap, gesturing impatiently.

“now, are you going to sit down, or are we going to spend all night arguing?”

you narrowed your eyes at him, though you couldn’t stop a small smile from playing at the corner of your lips. “this better not be some trap to mess with me.”

“i’m offended,” he teased, his voice light and playful.

“just sit, and let me work my magic.” he patted his lap again, the mischievous glint in his eyes growing stronger.

sighing dramatically, you rolled your eyes, but there was no resisting him. you climbed onto his lap, positioning yourself so you were sitting comfortably with your back against his chest.

hesitating for only a moment, you shifted to sit on the bed, your back pressed against his chest as you settled into his lap. his hands immediately found your hair, the warmth of his palms startling against your cool, damp skin.

“you’ve done this before?” you asked, more out of curiosity than doubt.

“maybe,” he said, his tone deliberately cryptic as his fingers worked through the knots with surprising gentleness.

“what does maybe mean?” you pressed, craning your neck to glance at him.

“it means don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to,” he said, smirking down at you.

you huffed, but the way his fingers combed through your hair was oddly soothing, and you felt yourself relax against him.

“you’re quiet,” he noted after a moment, his tone light. “you’re not plotting my demise, are you?”

“not yet,” you murmured, closing your eyes. “this is suspiciously nice, though.”

he chuckled, low and warm, the vibration of it against your back sending a strange flutter through your chest. “what can i say? i’m full of surprises.”

the two of you fell into an easy rhythm, the sound of his voice mingling with the soft crackle of the candlelight as you chatted.

you teased him about his hair-braiding skills, or lack thereof, and he retaliated by pretending to tug too hard, only to gently smooth his fingers through the strands again.

at one point, he paused, his hands lingering in your hair. “you know,” he said quietly, almost hesitantly, “this isn’t so bad.”

“what isn’t?” you asked, turning your head slightly to glance at him.

“this,” he said, gesturing vaguely between you both. “not... being alone all the time.”

his admission caught you off guard, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond. but then you reached up, your fingers brushing against his, and you smiled.

“i trust you,” you said softly, feeling the weight of his words in the space between you.

his gaze softened, his fingers pausing in your hair before he continued gently untangling it.

“you do?” his voice was low, surprised in a way that made your chest tighten.

you nodded, feeling the quiet shift between you both. “yeah. even if you are a pain in the arse sometimes.”

he snorted softly, but there was a warmth in his smile. “you know, you’re lucky you’re cute when you’re being stubborn.”

his fingers carefully tugged at a particularly tough knot, and you winced.

“sorry,” he murmured, his voice softening. “i won’t hurt you.”

you laughed. “you’re lucky i like you. otherwise, i might just hex you for putting me in this position.”

“oh, please,” he scoffed, but there was no malice in his voice.

“as if you could live without me.” he tugged on your hair again, this time with much more care.

“hmm, true,” you admitted, letting your eyes close for a moment, enjoying the warmth of his body and the soothing rhythm of his fingers. “you’re pretty hard to get rid of.”

“you’re welcome,” he said with mock humility, and you could feel the grin on his face against the back of your head. “this is just me being a good…friend.”

“good friend, huh?” you teased, your voice light and playful. “who knew you had it in you.”

“you’re the only one who gets to see this side of me, you know,” he muttered, voice surprisingly soft as he continued working through your hair, his hands gentle now. “so enjoy it while it lasts.”

you felt a warmth settle in your chest at his words, and you couldn’t help but smile, even though you tried to play it off.

“you really are soft underneath all that sarcasm,” you teased, your voice warm with affection.

“and you’re not fooling anyone with that fake tough-girl act,” he shot back with a grin, though it was obvious he was enjoying the moment just as much as you were.

his fingers worked through another knot before he reached for a strand near the back of your head, tugging it with an exaggerated grunt.

“how did this even happen? seriously, it’s like you’ve been wrestling with a hippogriff.”

“i do have a very busy life, you know,” you quipped, reaching up to lightly smack his arm. “you’re lucky i’m letting you do this. don’t mess it up.”

“mess it up?” he echoed, his voice dripping with confidence. “i told you i’m a professional.”

you snorted. “right.”

you felt his chest rumble with laughter, the sound so close to your ear that it sent a shiver down your spine.

he was so close to you, and in this simple, sweet moment, everything felt just a little bit more perfect.

“well, i think i’m done,” he said after a moment, gently setting your hair down, and you could feel the soft caress of his hands against your skin.

you turned in his lap to face him, feeling your heart race as you met his eyes.

“you actually did a good job,” you said, a teasing smile curling at the corner of your lips. “i’m impressed.”

“thank you,” he said, grinning back at you. “i told you. i’m good at everything.”

“everything, huh?” you leaned closer, your breath mixing with his as you smiled. “prove it.”

before he could respond, you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him into a kiss that was anything but soft.

he tasted of warmth, familiarity, and affection. he didn’t pull away, his arms tightening around you in response.

and for that moment, with his fingers still tangled in your hair and his lips against yours, the world outside your little bubble of comfort didn’t matter.

it was just the two of you, tangled together in the way only you could understand.

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missadangel · 23 days ago

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The Heart of Rome (Marcus Acacius x OC)

All Chapters List

XXV. Sorrow

A Fronte Praecipitium, A Tergo Lupi.

A precipice in front, wolves behind.

As you arrived at the villa, you jumped off the horse, with Lucius helping you down with a firm hand. You dashed into the courtyard, your heart pounding with urgency. The moment Tullia and the others spotted you, their faces bore a mix of concern and relief. They then realized you were covered in blood, but their concern melted away when they noticed you were unharmed, not physically at least. Decima approached you, cradling Marcius closely, while Norell held your little girl protectively against her chest.

“We must leave at once, my lady,” Felix urged, his voice urgent. “They will be here soon.”

The carriage was already prepared.

“My lady, your clothes...” Tullia began, her eyes scanning your disheveled appearance. “Let me help you change—”

“I'm afraid there's no time,” Lucius interrupted.

“Don't worry, I'll be fine; we'll be fine,” you promised, offering them a reassuring smile despite your own burgeoning fear, noticing the unshed tears glistening in their eyes.

“I wish you could have come with me,” you confessed, a lump forming in your throat.

“We'd only slow you down,” Tullia replied, her voice steady despite the sorrow etched on her features.

“It is only important that you are safe, my lady,” Norell added, her gaze steady and resolute. “We will follow after you reach safety.”

Tullia took your hand in hers, warmth and worry swirling in her grip. “Gods help you; my prayers are with you, Domina,” she said.

You hugged her tightly, tears streamed down your face.

With a heavy heart, you took one last look at their worried faces before climbing into the carriage beside Decima, leaving the safety of your home behind for the uncertain and perilous journey that lay ahead.

During the travel to escort you and your children to a safe location, Felix and Cato were stationed directly behind the carriage, flanked on either side by two additional soldiers. Lucius positioned himself at the back with one soldier accompanying him.

The enormous gate of the yard creaked open, and you instinctively wrapped your arms around your little girl, pulling her tightly against you as the carriage surged forward down the dusty road. The air was thick with the smell of earth and the sounds of hooves thundering against the ground. Marcius, perched joyfully on Decima's lap, radiated innocence and happiness, his joy a stark contrast to the tension surrounding you. His brown eyes sparkled, mirroring the deep warmth of his father's gaze. In that moment, you knew you could face the worst fate imaginable—a fate that could even take your own life—but losing him was inconceivable. You would fight tooth and nail to ensure he and your little girl would survive.

Suddenly, the distant sound of neighing horses pierced the air, sending a shiver down your spine. You exchanged anxious glances with Decima, the worry evident in your furrowed brows.

“Felix! We’re being followed!” Cato's voice sliced through the tension, urgency lacing his words.

“Shit!” Felix’s roared.

Lucius turned swiftly in his saddle, his eyes narrowing as he spotted two imposing horsemen advancing. “You go ahead; I’ll hold them off!” he shouted.

“You go with him!” Felix snapped at the other soldier.

“Yes, sir!” the soldier replied, drawing his sword with a practiced motion, the blade glinting.

Lucius pivoted his horse, ready to confront the impending threat.

Panic surged within you as you peered out the carriage window, your heart racing at the sight of him riding away to face danger alone.

“Lucius!” you cried out, desperation filling your voice.

But your fear deepened as you realized it wasn’t just two horsemen—more were galloping toward you, a dark wave of impending doom closing in.

“Ride faster! Do not stop, no matter what!” Felix commanded the coachman, sword drawn and ready. The soldiers rallied behind him, drawing their weapons and positioning themselves defensively to shield the carriage as more horsemen closed in from all sides. Chaos erupted into a full-fledged battle.

"Cut off the carriage!" a voice pierced through the chaos. A surge of soldiers emerged, and two of them forced the coachman to stop. Overwhelmed with terror, you clutched your little girl tightly as the carriage came to a sudden and forceful halt. In the midst of the turmoil, you felt a sharp pain as your head struck the rough edge of the carriage. The sounds of battle mingled with your daughter’s frightened cries, amplifying the chaos that surrounded you.

“Aurelia! Are you alright?” Decima cried, her fingers brushing the spot where you had struck your head, noticing a trickle of blood oozing down your temple.

“Yes, I believe so. But what about you?”

"Thank Gods, we're alright." She said. You both checked Marcius to see if he's hurt.

Marcius whimpered, crying as tears glistened in his eyes. You leaned down and gently pressed a soothing kiss atop his head.

“What are we going to do now?” Decima murmured.

“I do not know,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper, weighed down by uncertainty.

Sitting anxiously in the carriage, you peeked outside through the small window. The cacophony of clashing swords and anguished shouts reached your ears. The oppressive confinement began to suffocate you, and, with a sense of deliberate resolve, you eased the carriage door open. You were feeling trapped, so you sought an opportunity to escape.

The scene outside was a whirlwind of despair. Felix, Cato, and other soldiers fought bravely against others, their swords glinting fiercely and the sound of metal echoing through the woods. Suddenly, a soldier charging to aid you was struck down, an arrow piercing his throat with deadly precision. He crumpled to the ground, the life draining from his eyes, and a cry of horror escaped your lips.

"You fools! Do not harm the princess!"

The words echoed through the chaos like a piercing bell, and their owner was unmistakably Varus. A cold shiver ran down your spine as you saw him stride towards you, determination etched into his features.

Was he here for Marcius?

If he had been scheming alongside Elagabalus all this time, his intentions were as perilous as a hungry wolf’s gaze. Your thoughts raced, and in that frantic moment, instinct kicked in. You lunged for the sword lying abandoned on the ground, the cold steel belonging to a soldier felled by an unseen arrow. It was heavier than you anticipated, a weight that felt foreign in your hands. Memories of Marcus's training flickered in your mind, the lessons with the wooden sword that now seemed a distant memory. You fought against the nervous tremor in your hands and clutched the weapon tighter, forcing yourself to focus.

“It’s dangerous out there; stay inside!” you called to Decima, urgency lacing your voice. Her wide eyes mirrored the turmoil around you, but there was no escape for you or the children. The air was thick with the tension of too many soldiers, their presence forming a formidable wall of steel and intent, sealing off any chance of escape.

Felix jumped in front of Varus, who was approaching you, and made a move to stab him with his sword but failed. Another soldier advanced toward you, and you lifted your sword. It felt heavy in your hands. You tried to lunge but, shaking, fell to your knees. Quickly picking yourself up, you found Varus grabbing you by the arm and lifting you off the ground. “You will hurt yourself with that sword, my lady,” he grinned as he easily took the weapon from you and threw it away.

You glanced at the other soldier who opened the carriage door and forcibly pulled Marcius away from Decima. “No!” you shouted with all your might. You lunged toward him, but Varus's strong arm held you back. “Get your hands off me!”

When Lucius heard your cries, he swung his sword at his opponent before charging at him and plunging his pugio into his back without the other soldier realizing. With a groan of agony, the soldier released Marcius, but Lucius caught him before he could fall to the ground.

“Marcius!” you cried out as you lunged toward him, but once again, your effort fell short. Panicking, you shouted at Varus, “Let go!” as you twisted and turned, struggling against his grip.

Lucius quickly handed Marcius back to Decima and shouted, “Get back in the carriage now!”

He was on his way to save you when a number of arrows suddenly fell onto them; they purposefully pointed them at them rather than at you, which infuriated you. Before she could get to the carriage, Decima was struck, and she and Marcius tumbled to the ground. The shaft of the arrow had become trapped in Marcius' tiny body, precisely in his chest, after piercing Decima's arm around him. In order to avoid crushing him with her own weight, Decima placed her palm on the ground and used her arm for support. You forgot to breathe as Marcius lay there with his eyes closed. "MARCIUS!" you screamed at the top of your lungs. Your entire body shook with pain, shock, and wrath.

Your screams caused Felix Cato Lucius and the others to pause for a moment as they fought their opponents, but only to continue fighting back with more fury and determination.

Varus felt a sense of satisfaction as he saw Marcius lying motionless on the ground. “Kill every last one of them!” he shouted while pulling you closer, away from your family.

You struggled with all your strength, pulling the pugio from its scabbard at Varus' waist and swinging it at his throat with a quick thrust. But he was quicker than you; he caught your hand instantly. However, you could make a cut, just enough for the blood to flow. Groaning, Varus became so furious that he struck you with such force that, before you realized it, you suddenly collapsed onto the dusty ground, and darkness surrounded you like a thick fog, swallowing every trace of light and consciousness.

About thirty-six hours later, Marcus and Octavius finally reached Rome. The streets glistened with rain, reflecting the fading light of the sun as it dipped below the horizon, ceding the sky to the watchful moon. It felt as if the heavens themselves were weeping for the tragedy that had befallen the city below. Peering out from a lofty hill, Marcus inhaled deeply, a sense of homecoming washing over him; yet, he remained blissfully unaware that he had arrived too late.

As they urged their weary horses toward the grand city, an ominous silence enveloped them. Despite their frantic ride, fatigue weighed heavily on their bodies after a relentless day and a half of travel. As they passed under the arch dedicated to Romulus and Remus, a shiver of unease ran through Marcus. The soldiers usually stationed near the gates - silent sentinels of the city - were conspicuously absent.

The streets stretched before them like empty veins, leading ominously toward the Colosseum and the Roman Forum, devoid of the usual life and laughter. It felt as though the city itself had been abandoned, its heart stilled. Dim shadows danced behind the darkened windows of homes and buildings, their inhabitants seemingly swallowed by despair.

The rain continued to fall, each drop echoing softly as the horses’ hooves clattered against the slick stone streets. As they approached a winding path leading to Palatine Hill, Marcus and Octavius exchanged concerned glances, disturbed by the hushed whispers that brushed against their ears like an unsettling breeze. Further along, a massive crowd came into view, their murmurs swelling into a crescendo of grief.

They saw the crowd gathered around Palatine Hill, torches flickering like haunted fireflies in the dusky gloom. A deep sorrow hung in the air, palpable and heavy. Women wept openly, their cries piercing the night, while men and children stood silently, their faces etched with heartache and confusion. The sense of foreboding thickened as Marcus and Octavius realized they had ridden into a storm of misery that had engulfed their beloved city.

Marcus frowned, suspecting more or less what it meant. But soldiers were everywhere, and it was dangerous for him to approach Palatine Hill before he knew for sure what had happened. No one knew he was alive yet, and it was best to keep it that way for a while. You were the only one on his mind, and he needed to make his way to the villa because he was worried about his family. As tired as they were, they had to press on; his concern for his family was overwhelming.

When they soon arrived at the villa, he jumped off his horse. The animal was so exhausted that it did not even move after he dismounted. Marcus's tired legs trembled as they approached the courtyard. There was no sign of life in the villa—no sounds, no lights, nothing. The courtyard, where Marcius had taken his first steps and where the slaves once hurried to do their work, was now eerily quiet.

He glanced at the lectus and the table in the corner and imagined you sitting there when he returned from his evening duties. You would have gotten up immediately to greet him, rushing to him and giving him a kiss on the cheek. He then sighed, and he climbed the stairs to your room. The wind blew through the window, causing the tulle to dance around your once cozy, now abandoned bed. As he looked at the bed, all his memories flashed before his eyes, and his heart ached with the feeling of abandonment.

It was too late…

He spotted a delicate piece of his little girl’s swaddling clothes lying on the bed. He picked it up and brought it to his nose, inhaling the sweet, soothing scent that lingered like a cherished memory. Suddenly, his gaze darted toward the wooden closet across the room. He leaped to his feet, urgency propelling him forward. As he neared the closet, a sinking realization washed over him—the shelves had been emptied. Only yours and children's clothes that were missing; Marcus's own clothes remained undisturbed in their place. A flicker of hope ignited within him, a glimmer of what he had suspected.

With quickened steps, he left the room and descended the stairs, where Octavius was just returning from the stables, his brow furrowed with concern.

“Acacius, all the horses and the carriage have been taken,” he said.

“So have the clothes,” Marcus replied.

“Do you think they could be where we discussed earlier?” Octavius asked.

“Let’s get moving,” Marcus urged. But at that moment, a rustling noise from the courtyard near the kitchen caught their attention, snapping them into alertness. Marcus instinctively drew his sword, the blade glinting in the dim light, and signaled for Octavius to follow him.

With caution, Octavius advanced toward the sound, his footsteps calculated, while Marcus broke away to flank from the other side, every muscle tensed and ready.

As the door connecting the kitchen to the back garden creaked shut, Octavius turned back toward the stables, his instincts sharp. Marcus surged into the courtyard, adrenaline coursing through him as he began to close in on the fleeing figure, who seemed to dart away like a shadow.

The cloaked man froze, panic flashing across his face as Marcus intercepted him with skillful precision. With a swift motion, he lifted the hood with the tip of his sword, revealing the identity hidden beneath. The mix of surprise and joy that washed over Marcus was unmistakable.

“Cato?” he exclaimed, disbelief transforming into relief in an instant.

Cato, who had been tightly squeezing his eyes shut, suddenly heard his general’s voice. He opened his eyes and gasped, his gaze widening in surprise. “General!”

Octavius stepped toward them, and as the realization hit him that it was indeed Cato, he swiftly sheathed his sword, the metal sliding with a reassuring click. Cato looked at him, equally puzzled. “Octavius, sir!” He laughed. “You're alive too! You both alive!” He then lunged towards Marcus and hugged him. Marcus smiled as he patted him on the back. “We're alive, Cato, and we're back.”

“Thank the gods!”

“Cato, what were you doing here? Where is everyone?” Octavius asked.

“I—I came here to get some herbs, then I heard horses and hid. I thought it was the soldiers.”

“Did you say herbs?”

Cato lowered his head, his expression shifting to one of deep sorrow as if the weight of his worries hung heavily upon him.

“What happened, Cato? Aurelia, my children... Are they all right?” Marcus's voice trembled with anxiety as he searched Cato’s eyes for answers.

Cato glanced towards the road. “I'll tell you everything, but... Come with me now; it's not safe here anymore, but everyone is all right, hiding in the place we agreed on before.”

“Let’s head there, Octavius,” Marcus urged, his voice steady yet tinged with urgency. He turned to Cato. "But have you come all this way on foot? What of the horse?"

“I’ve hidden it out of sight, sir,” Cato replied, a hint of anxiety in his tone. “Tied it in the bushes.”

“Then come with me,” Marcus instructed, leaping onto his horse with practiced ease before reaching out to help Cato mount. Together, they rode into the dappled shade of the forest, the air rich with the scent of damp earth and the rustle of leaves. As they approached the location Cato had mentioned, Marcus felt a growing sense of unease; this was not the place they had discussed. Instead, they had arrived at an old villa nestled among the trees, its weathered stone walls barely visible through the ivy that clung to them like a shroud. The villa, belonging to his cousin Agrippa, loomed quietly by the river—a ghost of its former grandeur, now vacant since Agrippa was away commanding the northern legions.

This villa served as a contingency plan - a refuge for the most dire of circumstances, especially if Geta were to be deposed and Marcus did not return. Marcus' real plan, however, was to go elsewhere, as it was the safest option away from Rome.

"Why have you brought us here?" Marcus asked, dismounting and surveying their surroundings. "Or?"

“Sir, the soldiers and General Varus intercepted the carriage...” Cato hesitated, his voice faltering. “We had no other choice…”

As soon as Cato stepped into the courtyard, Felix and Lucius switched into action and drew their swords. They exchanged glances and signaled to each other. The struggle for survival and the mission to protect the general's family had quickly forged a bond between them. These two men, once soldiers on opposing fronts, were now united against a common enemy.

When they saw Cato, both breathed a sigh of relief.

“Cato, what took you so long—”

Their words froze in their throats as they noticed two men following him. Felix's eyes widened and his jaw dropped when he recognized Marcus and Octavian. Lucius stared at them in astonishment.

“G-General...” Felix managed to stammer, a mix of disbelief and joy flooding his chest. “General!” he exclaimed, a wide grin spreading across his face. “Octavius!” he called out, his voice cracking with exuberance.

Two more soldiers approached, equally surprised to see Marcus.

“General!” one of them called out.

“It's really him!” another exclaimed.

One of those soldiers was Aris, who approached Felix with his mouth agape. “Is it really him?” he asked.

“Unless the god Morpheus has put us in a dream...” Felix muttered.

Cato chuckled at this. Lucius rolled his eyes, while Octavius and Marcus exchanged glances.

“Should we poke him?” Aris asked, still in disbelief. Felix poked Aris's shoulder hard.

"Ah! Not me, you fool!" Aris snapped, pointing at Marcus.

When Felix reached out to poke Marcus in the shoulder, Marcus caught his hand and playfully slapped him in the face. "What kind of bad manners is that?" he asked with mock annoyance.

"Look at these dummies, Acacius," Octavius chuckled, Marcus grinning.

Felix and Aris exchanged embarrassed laughter, filled with relief and joy. “I’d recognize that commanding voice anywhere! It’s really them!”

“They're not dead! They're alive!” the group erupted in cheers, their voices echoing together.

Suddenly, a wave of joy swept through them. Felix and Aris hugged Marcus tightly as Lucius sheathed his sword. Marcus, a little shaken by their enthusiastic embrace and moaning a little, still, couldn’t help but laugh as well. Octavius, aware of the wounds on Marcus’s chest and hand, felt a surge of concern. "Stop it, you fools; you’ll make our General regret being alive!" he chastised.

Felix wiped away his tears as he stepped back to look at his face once more. "General, sir, you are alive! You have returned."

Marcus gently touched his shoulder. "Indeed, Felix. I am alive, brother."

"Thank the gods," Aris said, also wiping away his tears.

They touched each other's shoulders and exchanged joyful glances. Lucius stood a little behind, watching the reunion unfold with a smile. After a breath, Marcus turned his gaze toward him and nodded.

"Lucius."

"Acacius," he greeted in return.

Marcus's heart raced as the sound of a baby’s cry pierced the air. He instinctively glanced over Lucius's shoulder and his breath caught at the sight of Tullia and Norell approaching, their faces painted with shock.

“Master!” Tullia exclaimed, her arms wide open and walked towards him. her hands gently resting on his shoulders. “Thank Jupiter! Thank all the gods, you're alive, you've returned!”

“I have, Tullia,” Marcus replied, a broad smile spreading across his face that lit up his weary eyes. He turned to Norell, who cradled her little girl with great tenderness. With a gentle touch, he took the baby into his arms. Norell’s joy was silent, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears as she offered him a smile that spoke volumes.

As Marcus breathed in the sweet, familiar scent of his child, he bent down to kiss the top of her head, a wave of longing washing over him. He missed her more than words could express.

Turning to Tullia, he asked, “Where are Marcius and Aurelia?”

Tullia’s brow furrowed as she bowed her head, tears beginning to cascade down her cheeks. Marcus quickly returned the baby to Norell’s arms as he saw Lucius and Cato rush into a room.

Hoping to find his answer there, Marcus followed them into a small, dimly lit room, his heart sinking at the sight before him. Marcius lay on a mattress, his small body still and wrapped in bandages. Lucius hurriedly sifted through the herbs and vials Cato had brought, sniffing them with urgency, trying to decipher their purpose, while Marcus approached the bed with a growing sense of dread.

“What happened to him?” he whispered, his voice cracking.

A heavy silence enveloped the room as everyone exchanged looks, each one reflecting their sorrow and concern, but no one found the courage to speak an answer.

In the corner, Decima and Octavius held each other tightly. But Octavius's brow furrowed deeply when he noticed the bandage wrapped around Decima’s upper arm.

“What happened to your arm?” he asked.

Decima was unable to respond; her only answer was a tight embrace, tears flowing freely as she buried her face in his shoulder.

"As we headed towards the location we had discussed, we were suddenly caught off guard by an ambush, sir," Felix said, his voice trembling. "Varus and his men pursued us, and they outnumbered us. Please forgive me." He bowed his head in shame, his shoulders slumping under the weight of his failure.

Marcus gazed at his son, the rising tide of tears shimmering in his eyes like fragile glass.

"An arrow struck him in the upper chest," Lucius said, his hands steady as he poured a healing mixture onto a cloth, the scent of herbs filling the room.

Marcus was frozen in disbelief. He sank to his knees, his lips pressing against his little boy's forehead, warm tears streaming down his cheeks as he gently stroked the boy's hair. "Did you say an arrow?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Yes, the arrow struck Decima’s arm before hitting Marcius. If her arm hadn’t slowed its deadly speed…" Lucius's voice trailed off, and a heavy silence enveloped the room, each person acutely aware of the unspoken truth hanging in the air.

Marcus turned to Decima, taking in her pale face, then back to his son. Lucius worked meticulously, applying a herbal ointment to the wound, the boy's small form trembling slightly with each touch. "Fortunately, the arrowhead didn’t penetrate deeply; he’s still alive," Lucius continued. "It's a miracle for such a small child to survive such an injury - what I'm witnessing is beyond anything I've ever seen in my life. He has beaten death, just like his father, I believe." He gave Marcus a reassuring smile.

Wiping away his tears, Marcus managed a weak smile in return. "Please, do your utmost. Save my son."

"I’m doing everything I can; don’t worry."

"I'm grateful to you, Lucius."

Then Marcus realized that something was missing. “Aurelia must be devastated. Where is she?” he asked.

Everyone lowered their heads. It was a difficult question to answer, and no one had the courage to say that to Marcus.

However, Marcus's patience had run out. He looked at Felix sharply as he approached him. “Forgive me, sir,” he said again, his voice trembling. “I could not protect her.” He bowed his head, unable to meet Marcus's gaze.

“Forgive me, sir,” he said again, his voice trembling. “I could not protect her.” He bowed his head, unable to meet his gaze.

“What do you mean by that? Did she...” Marcus whispered, feeling his heart shatter into pieces. When he looked around, everyone else averted their eyes.

“They took her, sir,” Cato explained. “They hunted us down and ambushed us. They were going to kill us all, but luckily Aris and the others arrived just in time.”

“Varus had already left with Lady Aurelia when Aris showed up. They probably think we've either died or escaped,” he continued.

“We had to come here and hide in case they came looking for us. Besides, Marcius...” Cato hesitated, realizing Marcus’s growing anger.

“Varus, you filthy dog!” Marcus growled, clenching his fists.

“We couldn’t protect Emperor Geta either,” Aris added. “I couldn’t go to help Darius; there were too many of them. Empress Nerissa, Varus, and Elagabalus must have planned this together, but we don’t know much yet.”

"We must save the Lady Aurelia," Octavius said, looking directly at Marcus. "They may also kill her."

Lucius stood up and faced Marcus. “I don’t think they intend to kill her. If that were their aim, they would have done it during the ambush. They were talking about arresting her.”

Marcus turned his back to them, trembling with rage, making a fist to pound it against the stone wall as the weight of the situation consumed him. Ignoring the blood oozing from his hand.

“I shall rip his lungs out.” He made a promise to himself, gritting his teeth in anger.

You jolted awake, a wave of anguish crashing over you, weaving through both body and soul. The familiar embrace of pain gripped you once again, yet this time felt like a tempest brewing beneath your chin, a painful reminder of yesterday's chaos and the hard knock of a masculine hand against your face. But that was nothing compared to the ache simmering deep within your heart, a gaping wound that throbbed with every beat. Memories surfaced, sharp and intense, and your throat constricted as you struggled to breathe. The image of the arrow striking Marcius' body wouldn't go away, haunting you relentlessly. Suddenly, you gasped for breath as the pain intensified. This pain felt very different from what you felt for Geta and Marcus. You were surprised that you could endure so much suffering, and you truly wondered how you were still alive. A twinge of guilt washed over you when you realized you were angry with the gods for the unbearable tragedies that had befallen you. It was all simply too much—excruciating and overwhelming. Driven by a survival instinct, you felt compelled to find a way to endure this pain, ease it. These feelings ultimately led you to an emotion as powerful as the pain itself: a desire for vengeance.

You slowly opened your eyes. The first thing you noticed was a small window with iron bars set high in a stone wall. Since you were lying against the wall, the sunlight that filtered in didn't reach you. As you began to hear the sounds around you—the clanging of metal as soldiers marched and muttered—you turned your head. You spotted two guards standing with their backs turned behind the iron bars. The cell was larger than the one Macrinus had imprisoned you in before; it contained a mattress, a table, and even food on the table. This must be one of the special cells for an imperial member. That meant you had been brought to Palatine Hill. You pushed back the disheveled hair from your face, which smelled of blood and sweat, and sat up. Your clothes were in a terrible state, shabby, worn, just like your heart. Geta's blood, still present on you, had a dark red tinge, dried on your light blue stola. Your sobs and cries returned, your heart breaking repeatedly as you thought of Marcus, Geta, and your son Marcius, leaving you feeling as though you were on the verge of losing your grip.

Suddenly, the echo of footsteps broke the silence, sending a rush of anger through your veins as you heard his voice.

“Ah, you’re awake,” Varus said, a sinister grin stretching across his face. He loomed in front of the cold iron bars, his gaze piercing through, studying you with an unsettling intensity.

You clenched the fabric of your dress tightly, the soft texture pressing against your skin, attempting to offer solace. Yet, your body vibrated with an unmistakable fury. Every muscle pulsed with a powerful combination of fear and rage, igniting an intense fire within you that demanded to be unleashed.

"You filthy bastard!" you shouted, lunging at him.

He remained completely still because iron bars stood between him and you, acting as friends to him and enemies to you.

"I'll kill you!" you yelled, gripping the bars. Your pain outweighed your anger. "What did you want from him, a little child? How could you?" Your sobs and cries grew louder.

"Behave yourself, Lady Aurelia," Varus growled threateningly.

"If I don't, what will you do? Will you also murder me? What difference would it make if you killed me as well? You've already killed my son."

"If I wanted to kill you, I would have done it the moment you attempted to kill me, my lady, but if you ever do anything stupid like that again, I'll make sure you meet your son in Elysium."

"Filthy dog!" You shouted. "I swear your death will be by my hand, I swear it!"

Varus angrily struck the iron bars with his hand. "Enough! Stop it!"

"What did you want from him? Why did you—?” You murmured, your knees gave way, and you collapsed, your sobs echoing in the stone cell. It was a plea that would make anyone with a conscience shudder, but Varus was not a man of conscience.

"If you promise to behave, I will let you out of the cell. His Majesty wants to see you," he said, looking at you coldly.

Out of the cell... Perhaps you could have the chance to kill him.

"My Lady, I don't have all day to wait for your answer." He said mockingly.

What an arsehole.

You focused your attention on the gleaming dagger, the pugio, resting at the waist of one of the guards. A surge of determination washed over you as you began to formulate your plan. With a slow nod, you met Varus’s gaze, and his grin widened. “Good. Open the cell,” he commanded.

As the guard unlocked the cell door, you rose to your feet, your heart racing. Your eyes were locked on the pugio, its hilt inviting and within reach. As you stepped out of the cell, a rush of adrenaline coursed through you. You darted past the guard, swiftly lunging for the handle of the dagger at his side, fingers brushing against the cool metal. In an exhilarating instant, you managed to unhook it. But before you could pivot towards Varus, his grip clamped down on your arm, yanking you back.

With a swift motion, he disarmed you, taking the pugio and slamming you against the stone wall. The impact jolted through your body like a thunderclap, a sharp groan escaping your lips as pain radiated from your back, merging humiliation with fury.

"Did your husband teach you to do this, my lady?" You swallowed as he ran the sharp surface of the pugio against your neck. "But he’s gone now, how sad."

Ignoring his amusement, you narrowed your eyes at him. "I may have failed now, but you can be sure that one day I will stick a knife down your stinking throat."

Laughing wickedly, he leaned in, his breath grazing your earlobe, the kind that makes you feel sick to your stomach. "If you weren't such a beautiful and distinguished woman, I would have killed you already."

He returned the pugio to the guard and grabbed your arm, pulling it roughly as he walked. "Enough of this nonsense. “Move.”

As Varus led you from the cell into the Domus Severiana, you surveyed your surroundings, feeling a deep sense of despair. Memories of Geta and Marcus flooded your mind, while the rich, intricate details of the architecture seemed to taunt you. Those cherished images were overshadowed by visions of others—individuals who had proved themselves unworthy of the titles they held. The warmth of this place, which once felt like home, now felt cold and invasive; its calm atmosphere was dimmed by the weight of your sorrow.

When the doors of the Great Hall opened, you stepped inside to face one of the most upsetting sights imaginable. In the same hall where Geta had once greeted you with a warm smile, Elagabalus now occupied Geta's imperial throne, smiling ominously at you. You couldn't decide whether this vision was painful or simply annoying, but it was evident that you were hurt once again. Elagabalus was slightly younger than Geta and a bit taller than Caracalla, but he was clearly more twisted. He pursed his lips as he scrutinized you from head to toe, yet made no effort to rise. Even Caracalla would have stood upon seeing you, but Elagabalus remained smug and unyielding.

"Oh, our beautiful Princess Aurelia!" he exclaimed, clapping his hands together, echoing through the hall. "Even in your wretched state, you radiate a certain brilliance; it’s simply extraordinary." His words felt like daggers, cutting deeper as he reveled in your predicament.

Your body moved involuntarily toward him, the urge to lunge and grab him by the throat overwhelming you. However, Varus tightened his grip, indifferent to the pain it caused you. Anyways, no matter what he did, you knew he couldn't hurt you anymore, not after what he did.

"I must say that I am truly sorry for all of this, my dear," he continued. "If only your late husband, Acacius, had responded differently to the message I sent him and followed my request, perhaps we wouldn’t be in this situation. Just look at you; that’s all—"

"Don't you dare speak his name!" you snarled, fierce anger boiling within you as your voice broke through the tension.

"Hmm, I understand that emotions are running high, and you're feeling hurt and frustrated," he replied with an air of condescension, "But I must insist that you do not interrupt me again.”

You gave him a stern look. "Or what? What are you going to do? Torture me? Kill me? Then do it."

He shook his head repeatedly. "No, no, no. You are not an ordinary woman. The citizens of Rome are already experiencing..." he thought of the right words. "...considerable unrest," pursed his lips. "I do not wish to further provoke their discontent. They hold you in high regard. Therefore, I will determine your fate after the funeral.”

"Funeral," you whispered.

“I am not so devoid of compassion as to deny my cousin a proper funeral,” he responded smugly. “That is the purpose of my summons. If you wish to pay your respects, he is located in the other hall; the guards will take you there. Tomorrow, in a grand ceremony, the people of Rome will bid him farewell, and I will officially declare myself emperor.” His tone conveyed a sense of excitement.

“You monster! Traitor! It’s all your fault!” You shouted as you lunged at him. A familiar face stopped you this time. You were so distraught that you didn’t realize Darius was there until he grasped your arm.

“Darius, let me go! I'll kill him!”

Elagabalus tilted his head to the side, his expression a blend of astonishment and amusement. “Well, what General Varus said about you was true, I see,” he remarked, his voice dripping with playful curiosity.

Varus smirked. "I can tell she's got a fighting spirit, your highness."

Elagabalus erupted into laughter, a sound that rang with a mocking cadence, inciting a flame of anger within you.

“My lady, please calm yourself,” Darius urged, his voice gentle yet firm.

You shoved his hands away defensively, the frustration boiling over. “Are you on his side too? My brother Geta cared for you!”

“I’m only doing my duty, my lady,” he replied. “Serving the emperor is my only obligation.” As he spoke, a suggestive glint flickered in his eyes, leaving you uncertain of his intentions.

"I liked you, Commander Darius. You deserve your title," Elagabalus said with a grin. Darius bowed respectfully in response.

As you observed him, you weren't completely sure, but it seemed like Darius was putting on an act. Nevertheless, you felt anger towards him for not being able to protect Geta.

Suddenly, the heavy door swung open, and the guards stormed in, dragging Nerissa by the arm. She struggled against their grip, defiance etched across her face, just as you had.

“Oh, there’s Empress Nerissa. Come closer, dear,” he gestured to her, a wicked glint in his eyes. It was difficult to discern his thoughts.

“Elagabalus! You bastard! You promised I would return to Athens, my home!” she shouted, her voice filled with indignation.

“Oh, about that... Well, circumstances have forced me to change my mind,” he replied, standing up and adjusting his ornate toga. It was hard to look at him in that attire; he reminded you of Geta. “When the Athenians decided to side with Geta and betray me, I had to revise my plans. I hope you understand. After all, it was a matter of mutual interest,” he said with a sneer.

“What about my son? Why did you take him from me?”

He rolled his eyes. “Did you really think I would let you flee with a Roman prince, the heir to the throne? Are you truly that foolish?”

Nerissa's eyes reflected obvious disappointment. He had a point. Had she truly betrayed Geta for a foolish plan? It was frustrating that she trusted Elagabalus more easily than Geta. A surge of anger coursed through you again, as if you could reach out and strangle Nerissa with your bare hands, but worry for your nephew, Publius, held you back.

“If a hair on his head has been harmed, I will ruin you!” You yelled at him.“

"I am certain of that, my lady." He smirked. "Besides, I don't intend to hurt him," he then stood up, continued. "The death of his father and another prince have already angered the people enough; I don't want to give them another reason to revolt. I need the people of Rome to love me and respect me."

“They will never love you! You murdered their emperor and imprisoned his son, his heir! They will hate you!” Nerissa shouted angrily.

“I murdered him?" He said raising his eyebrows, "I didn't do anything, remember? It was you,” he grinned cruelly. "They have always resented you for being Greek, and this incident will only amplify their desire to place blame. They’ve been waiting for a reason, and you’ve just handed it to them.”

“I'll kill you!” She shrieked, jumping forward to him. One of the guards grabbed her by the arm.

“Lock her up, she is to be executed with the other Greeks.”

“No!”

You wanted to smile cruelly at Nerissa's shouts of protest, but you couldn’t. The thought of Publius being completely orphaned overshadowed everything else. Nerissa's desire for revenge led to a huge mistake, which she likely regrets; ultimately, she destroyed her life, her son’s life, and yours.

Elagabalus approached you, you had seen the pure evil in his eyes before, in Caracalla's eyes.

"As for you..."

"Do you intend to execute me as well?"

He chuckled, a mix of hysteria and amusement. "Certainly not. Why would I take such a drastic step? I told you, the people hold you in high regard, much like their disdain for Nerissa. I see a valuable opportunity here and would prefer to have you on my side."

Though seething with anger, you couldn't help but laugh in disbelief. “That will never happen.”

He crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows in implication. “What about your nephew Publius? You wouldn’t want to lose him too, would you?”

Understanding his implication, you felt too trapped to respond, and the pain returned as tears streamed down your face. He continued.

“Actually, I was planning to get rid of him along with his mother, but when Varus made a mistake and got your son killed, I realized that I have no other choice left. It was the only thing that could persuade you to cooperate. You are a smart woman; I am certain that you understand exactly what I mean."

Your silence gave him confidence; he sensed your defeat, and a satisfied smile spread across his face as he approached you.

"What kind of monster are you to take my son's life, call it a mistake, and threaten me with my nephew?" You muttered, lacking the strength to bark or fight any longer.

“Alright, enough talk,” he said, looking at the guards. “Take her. Have her bathed and changed. Assign two men to guard her. We’ll speak again after the funeral, princess. Remember, your nephew’s life is in your hands, so I suggest you behave yourself.”

Ignoring his disturbing smile, you glanced at Darius as Varus pulled you out of the hall. He looked sad when he met your eyes, but you were too angry with him to care.

Geta's lifeless body lay on a marble slab in the center of the great hall, covered with a white cloth embroidered with gold. It was difficult to look at him; his skin was so pale, and his lips so blue, that you had to grip the edge of the marble slab for support. The lamentations of the vestal priestesses rose around you as you placed coins to pay Charon on Geta's eyelids. Your fingers trembled as you touched his golden hair. Tears streamed down your face, wetting his colorless, lifeless skin as you leaned down to kiss his forehead. You tried to ignore the members of the Senate gathered around you, along with their wives and the murmurs of the Patricians. You could not bear to hear any words of consolation; you were too tired to endure it any longer.

You felt exhausted to attend the solemn funeral ceremony, yet Elagabalus dragged you with him. Varus’ men shadowed you like ominous specters, their presence a constant reminder of your captivity. It was infuriating; you felt as though you were a ghost, wandering through a fog of despair, a living dead among the mourning throng.

Desperation clawed at your chest as your eyes scanned the sea of unfamiliar faces, hoping to catch a glimpse of someone familiar—perhaps Lucius, Cato, or Felix. You yearned for a sign, a whisper of news that Marcius was alive, but all you found were stranger faces. It felt like everyone had turned their backs on you, leaving you in this bleak nightmare of solitude.

As you stood before the blazing pyre, the flames licking greedily at Geta's lifeless form, sorrow overwhelmed you. The crackling fire echoed the sound of your heart breaking. Tears streamed down your face, hot and relentless, as Geta’s final words reverberated in your mind: “In his absence, you will be under my protection.”

You didn't know when this nightmare would end, you just wanted to beg the gods to take your life, but not without revenge. You didn't know when or how, but you would take your revenge, it was the only thing that kept you strong. Varus and Elagabalus may have seen it as surrender, but they were unaware that you were just waiting for the right moment.

Far away in the crowd, hidden from view, Marcus was present. Cloaked in black, he lurked in the shadows, but he was there. His heart surged with life once he caught sight of you in the distance. He yearned to push through the masses and reach you, ready to slaıghter anyone who dare to stand in his way. However, he knew he couldn't do that—not yet. All he could do was watch you helplessly from afar. Patience had never been so difficult for him, and of all the moments of helplessness he had endured, this was the most excruciating.

“Sir, what do we do?” Octavius asked.

“I am the only one among us whose face less recognizable to them. I will approach and retrieve him,” Lucius said.

Marcus touched his shoulder. “Be careful.”

As Lucius moved carefully through the crowd, he, like Marcus, couldn’t help but glance in your direction, worried about you. But he had to find Darius. When you briefly looked over, you recognized Lucius’s face, and your heart began to race. You kept your excitement in check, not wanting Varus to become suspicious; he had seen him before.

Lucius... If he was alive, did that mean the others were too? You were desperate to find out, but all you could do was stand there, and you hated it.

Darius quickly identified Lucius and grasped the meaning behind his signal. He discreetly turned to assess the positions of Varus and Elagabalus, taking the opportunity to position one of his most trusted men in his place. He then began to follow Lucius at a safe distance, relieved to see that Varus was momentarily preoccupied.

Anxiety coiled in your stomach as you imagined the exchange between Darius and Lucius. Would he intend to send you a message? "Marcius, please let him be alive," you prayed to the gods, your heart swelling with a glimmer of hope. It felt almost reassuring to see Lucius again, especially when you felt so alone. At least Lucius was alive; at least you hadn't lost him yet.

While you were waiting for Darius to return, Elagabalus was eager to leave and signaled to the guards, who parted to help him through. The crowd was in a dismal mood—filled with mourning, anger, and sadness—and they definitely weren't ready to accept Elagabalus as emperor. However, you could tell they had a great respect for you. You were certain that he would use that respect to manipulate you into following him from now on, threatening you with Publius if you refused. But you didn't want to leave; you just wanted to see Lucius one more time and find out what he had told Darius. Unfortunately, you now found yourself as Elagabalus' puppet; he wanted you to escort him to Palatine Hill, and you had no choice but to obey.

The next day, as you sat helplessly in your cell, anxiously awaiting news of Lucius and your children, you heard footsteps approaching. You stood up immediately, hoping it could be Darius. One of the guards ordered others to open the cell door and looked at you with a firm expression.

"My lady, come with me," he said, gently gesturing for you to follow.

You complied and walked in the direction he indicated. Together, you stepped out into the courtyard. As you walked alongside the guard toward the great hall, disappointment settled in your stomach like a stone. You did not wish to see Elagabalus—not now, not ever. Inside the hall, Darius stood with an empty expression that offered no comfort.

"Aurelia! Come, I have good news for you," Elagabalus exclaimed excitedly.

But as you locked eyes with Varus standing ominously beside him, a foreboding sense of dread washed over you. What he deemed "good news" felt like a cruel jest.

"I will be crowned today," he proclaimed, his voice echoing through the hall, "and I have decided to hold a public banquet in the Roman Forum tomorrow to celebrate."

You rolled your eyes. As if you gave a damn. I hope people of Rome stab you to death at that banquet, you thought.

“It's not wise to keep mourning so short, though nothing about you is wise,” you muttered.

“Oh, I like your frankness, it's much better than cowardly lying.” He gestured for you to come closer.

Reluctantly, you obeyed.

“I want you with me at the banquette.”

“That’s hardly surprising. Is that what you consider good news?” you replied, skepticism dripping from your tone.

"Right, the good news is that I can't keep you in a cell any longer, so I've decided that you will stay in the Domus Tiberiana. Even better, your nephew Publius will be there with you. See? I'm not that cruel."

His lighthearted remarks left you feeling unsettled, though the prospect of having Publius by your side provided some relief.

“What? Aren’t you going to express your gratitude? How rude of you,” he taunted.

Was he truly joking?

"I'm sure you placed lots of guards in there. It sounds like a bigger cell to me," you remarked, rolling your eyes.

"For your protection and little Publius, dear," he replied with a grin.

"I think you need more protection," you hinted. "Especially from me."

He chuckled and glanced at Varus. "What a woman! She never gives up, does she?"

"She certainly doesn't," Varus said, smiling at you.

You averted your gaze from both of them.

"What do you say we share our decision with her?"

"As you wish, Your Majesty," Varus replied, his voice tinged with excitement.

“Varus has done so much for me; I owe him my very presence here. Therefore, I wish to reward him with something worthy.”

"I don’t care what kind of reward he receives!" you shouted, your frustration boiling over.

He crossed his arms, a glint of foreboding hidden behind his smile. "You should, because you are the reward."

A shiver ran down your spine. "Excuse me?"

"General Varus is an honorable man who deserves respect. He merits a good marriage, and since you are a widow, you are his best potential match."

You shook your head fervently, disbelief etched on your face. "Never…’" you mumbled, the mere thought twisting your stomach into knots. "I would never marry him! Never!"

Elagabalus frowned, his expression suddenly serious. "I believe you misunderstand me, Aurelia. I'm not seeking your opinion."

Varus cleared his throat, bowing his head slightly. "This marriage would be the greatest honor I could ever receive, Your Majesty. I am truly grateful."

"Good, then let the preparations begin,’" Elagabalus declared, an air of finality tinging his words.

It was all too much. You wanted to scream, to fight against the tide of fate that threatened to engulf you, but you felt paralyzed, trembling with fear and anger. The worst torment imaginable seemed to come for you at every turn, leaving you struggling to find the strength to continue living in such a harrowing reality.

“How is his condition?” Marcus asked, anxiety tightening his voice. Marcius lay still, his eyes closed and face pale, every shallow breath causing his small chest to rise and fall.

“He’s better,” Lucius replied. “He’s fighting with everything he has, I assure you.” He hesitated for a moment, glancing down at the swelling around the injury. “Infection is starting to build up, though. I need to prepare some more ointment.”

“When will he open his eyes?” Marcus asked, his voice shaking.

He sighed, “We’ll have to wait a bit longer for that. Rest assured, I’m doing everything I can.”

“I can't thank you enough, Lucius. You’re my brother now,” Marcus said sincerely.

Lucius nodded and smiled at him before leaving the room.

After he left, Marcus sat beside his little boy, thinking of you as he stroked his head. "My son, are you waiting for your mother to open her eyes? I promise I will bring her back," he said. He bent down to kiss the top of his son's head.

As he sat there, his gaze landed on a familiar dress among the items brought from the villa. He picked it up, the fabric delicate in his fingers, and brought it to his nose. The scent—your scent—enveloped him like a cherished memory. He returned to the bed, sinking into the fabric's embrace as he buried his nose in it once more.

"Aurelia, my beloved wife, my radiant sun. How can I find rest in this dark abyss while you are imprisoned in their merciless grasp? How can I remain still, waiting patiently, when I know you are alone in anguish, tears brimming in your eyes? Every moment without you feels like an endless dungeon, suffocating and cold," he said, his voice choked as he wiped the warm tears cascading down his cheeks.

His gaze shifted to Marcius, who murmuring softly in his dreams. “My son, you were born into a world besieged by ruthless tyrants and treacherous souls. They will always covet what you possess and conspire to bring you harm simply because of who you are destined to be. But you must stand resolute; you must never yield to their demands. You will emerge as a valiant and honorable warrior, just like me, and you will place the traitors where they belong—defeated and discredited. An honorable warrior does not take what is not rightfully theirs and does not fall without a fierce struggle.”

There was a soft knock at the door and Marcus got up to open it. It was Cato. "Sir, Commander Darius is here."

"Let's go," he said, closing the door quietly behind him as he left the room. He hoped Darius had news of you.

Everyone had gathered in the courtyard, waiting for Marcus to arrive. When Darius saw Marcus, he pushed back his hood and saluted him. “General.”

“Darius, have you spoken to Lady Aurelia?” Marcus asked, his tone filled with hope.

Darius shook his head. “Unfortunately, sir, I didn’t have a chance." He exhaled nervously. "Lady Aurelia is no longer being held in the cell.”

Marcus frowned. “How so? Where is she?”

“Elagabalus had her sent to the Domus Tiberiana. He also had Publius sent with her, claiming he was not that cruel when he said that, that bastard,” Darius growled.

“At least she won't be stuck in a cell; she'll be more comfortable in the palace,” Marcus muttered, the pain evident in his voice when he says that.

“Perhaps, sir, but he has clearly lost his sanity. Elagabalus is preparing to negotiate a deal with the Carthaginians. He asserts that it is a promise made in exchange for the throne.”

“What specific terms does this deal involve?”

“He intends to relinquish the southern territories to the Carthaginians, which includes the significant cities of Alexandria and Sicily,” he explained.

“He’s truly gone mad!” Octavius bellowed, his voice echoing like thunder in the dimly lit chamber. “We can’t let this happen; we must take action immediately. Sir?”

The room fell silent, all eyes turning to Marcus, awaiting his response.

"Of course we won't let him, we'll bury him in that throne! We need to be clever about this. Fortunately, he still has Darius by his side, and we should use that to our advantage to devise a smart plan. We will involve the senators who remain loyal to Geta. But until then, we must all conceal the fact that we are alive. This is crucial. Do you all understand?”

Everyone nodded in agreement.

Octavius looked uneasy. “Sir, I can accept our situation, but it pains me that all of Rome believes you are dead. It's so unfair.”

“We must be patient, Octavius,” Marcus said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “These are just a few of the obstacles we face, but they will not stop us.”

Darius exhaled. "Acacius, your death is officially recorded, and the law is unforgiving in this matter."

Marcus frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I apologize for saying this, but, according to law, Lady Aurelia is now a widow, and—"

"And? Darius, what are you saying?" Marcus asked.

Taking another deep breath, Darius said while locking his eyes on Marcus', "Elagabalus is setting a marriage arrangement between Lady Aurelia and Varus."

A palpable silence descended upon the room as everyone looked at Marcus wide-eyed.

In a sudden burst of anger, Marcus grabbed Darius by the collar and shouted, "What did you just say? Tell me this isn't true!"

Darius lowered his head and replied, "I'm sorry, Acacius, but I heard it with my own ears. He's already ordered preparations to begin."

"What nonsense!" Aris shouted.

"We must kill him at once!" Felix added.

"We can't allow it!" Cato protested.

"Acacius, let’s move and take him down right now," Octavius said, then he turned Darius. "Darius, gather all the praetorians and together we will kill this cunt tonight!"

Darius shook his head. “I wish I could, but Varus commands too many, having dismissed and suspended several of my men. They are closely observing my every move, and the risk is too great. If we were to fail, it could endanger Lady Aurelia or Publius. And, I am well aware that the Domus Tiberiana is filled with soldiers whom he chose specifically."

Marcus stood in the dim glow of flickering torches, his heart racing as silence surrounded him like a heavy shroud. He had to act, he had to do something. "I have to see her," he burst out, desperation lacing his voice.

"They've already taken her to the Domus Tiberiana," Darius cautioned.. "You can't go in there. If they recognize you..."

"She has been through worse than any of us! It’s a miracle she’s still holding on. She needs to know I’m alive — she needs to know her son Marcius is alive. I can’t bear the thought of her all alone there." His voice grew softer, filled with a deep yearning. "I just need to see her, even if only for a moment."

Darius ran a hand through his hair, contemplating. "Well, we can’t enter through the main gate, but perhaps there’s a way through the river. You know, Emperor Geta once considered imprisoning his mother, Julia Domna, there before sending her into exile." He paused, his eyes brightening with the spark of an idea. "I ordered my men to scout potential escape routes, and there’s one Varus's men are completely unaware of. It leads from the river straight to the west courtyard and then to the baths — it’s a drainage route."

"That’s brilliant!" Marcus said. "If I can navigate to the baths, I might be able to slip past the soldiers guarding the inside."

"We’ll help you," Octavius insisted, his face set with determination.

"No, we can’t draw attention. I have to go alone," Marcus protested. "I don’t intend to spill any blood; I just need to see Aurelia."

Octavius shook his head fiercely. "I refuse to send you in there alone."

"It's a risk we can't take, Octavius."

Darius glanced at him. "It certainly is, but Acacius, I’m curious."

"About what?"

"Are you as skilled at climbing as you are at fighting?"

"You doubt my abilities?" Marcus teased.

"Consider that I never asked," Darius smirked.

"What about the soldiers in the courtyard and around garden sir?" Cato inquired.

"I can handle that," Lucius chimed in, approaching them with a smug smile.

"Without detected? How?" Marcus asked, his curiosity piqued. "

"I'll explain if you allow me to accompany you," Lucius replied with a sly smile. "Besides, I'm much better at climbing than any of you.”

The Domus Tiberiana was a long-abandoned palace located in the northwestern corner of the Palatine Hill. Unlike the Domus Severiana, its entrance was not from the main road but rather further inland. It featured a large gate with iron bars, and one had to pass through an extensive garden to reach the courtyard. By the time you arrived, the slaves and guards meant to serve you were already present. When the soldiers brought you into this modest palace, especially in comparison to others, around noon, it felt as if you were entering into a cell again—only larger. The heavy thud of the door slamming shut made you feel like you were cut off from everything outside. You couldn’t shake the feeling of being trapped like a tiger in a cage, just like one you’d seen in the dim underground passage of the Colosseum. It hit you that, much like that tiger, you were going to be used when the time was right. At least the tiger had it better, you thought; its death would be quick and decisive, and it might take a few of its enemies down with it.

But you?

You felt completely helpless against your foes, stuck with nothing but the weight of your situation. You had yet to avenge the loss of Marcus, your son, your little girl, and your brother Geta. They had all been taken from you one by one, and it felt as if you could barely breathe without them. Damn survival instinct, you thought. It wouldn't be long, though; you had to make sure Varus was dead before you could reunite them in the afterlife. Then it wouldn't be an issue to die.

That evening, as you looked out over the Tiber River from the balcony of what was supposed to be your new room, you realized how lonely you were. You could no longer trust the slaves who assisted you with changing and brought you food, nor could you rely on the guards in the courtyard and at the entrance. As you gazed at the hill ahead, thoughts of Marcus filled your mind. Just beyond that hill lay your villa and meadow, and you would have given anything to return to those days.

“If only I had stopped Marcus that day and somehow prevented him from leaving,” you sighed to yourself. Accepting the reality that he was no longer alive was unbearable; it felt as if it would swallow you whole, leaving nothing behind.

Publius' presence beside you provided a semblance of strength, much like the burning desire for vengeance within you. He was a perfect copy of his father, with the same eyes and hair, and that was all that was left of Geta. Looking at him, memories of Marcius flooded your mind. A part of you wanted to believe he was still alive, but your logic insisted he couldn't have survived the arrow.

And your little girl? You could barely bear to think of her; she was so tiny, the mere thought of anything happening to her made you shudder. Beneath all this pain, it felt as if the temple of Jupiter had collapsed, crushing you beneath its great marble pillars.

Just then, there was a knock at the door, and one of the slaves entered with your permission. "My lady, General Varus is here," he said, then left the room.

General... you thought. There was only one general for you.

But this could be an opportunity. If you could be alone with him, maybe you had a chance. You desperately wished you had the knife Marcus gave you on your ankle right now. But it wasn't, and you had to deal with it in another way. Your gaze was fixed on the knife on the tray that the slaves had brought. It had been intended for cutting bread; it was small, but it would do. You picked it up and examined it. It wasn't as sharp as your knife, but if you could aim for the right spot, or stab with it... You recalled everything Marcus had taught you, trying to memorize each lesson. It was extremely difficult to plan this attack against a soldier, especially a commander. You had only one chance, and failure was not an option since you had already attempted to attack him twice before.

You tucked the knife between the fabric of your belt and checked it before leaving the room. Taking a deep breath, you left to meet him.

"You can do this, you can do this," you murmured to yourself as you walked down the corridor to the courtyard. Varus stood in the corner, examining the bust of Emperor Nero. Your confidence grew when you saw he was unarmored, wearing his official toga in shades of purple and blue. He was actually quite vulnerable, as his back was turned. However, he quickly turned around when he heard your footsteps.

“Lady Aurelia,” he said.

You averted your gaze. “What are you doing here at this hour?”

“I realize you don't like me, but you must respect me.”

“Respect is earned. It’s not something you get from clothes or rank. And I promise you, you'll never earn my respect.”

He grinned as he approached you. “Is that so? I'm a determined man, Aurelia. I always get what I desire; you can see that from my current position.” He continued walking towards you, causing you to instinctively take a step back. “You were something I desired, too, and I’m about to have you. Perhaps I won’t earn your respect, but I will gain something else.”

You felt nauseous as he observed your body with a hungry, wolf-like stare. Instead of slapping him, you decided to provoke him; deliberately, you took another step backward. “What is it?” you asked, playing the fool.

He looked suspicious as he kept walking towards you, and it seemed like he was enjoying it. With nowhere else to go, you leaned against the wall, standing at attention with one hand on your belt as he took another step closer. “You and everything that belongs to you,” he said.

You were taken aback when he cupped your chin in his large hand firmly. His eyes were fixed on your lips, and you knew it was the perfect moment.

You drew the knife from your belt with your right hand, aimed it at his stomach and tried to stab him there. Though not as deep as you would have wished, the knife managed to pierce his abdomen and toga. Seizing the opportunity presented by his astonishment, you lunged at him again, this time aiming for his neck. You resisted with all your strength as he held you tightly by both arms, but eventually your smaller frame was no match for his strength, and you succumbed to the struggle. But not before you cut his bare arm deep enough to draw blood. Groaning in pain, he grabbed your hair and pulled viciously, then slammed you to the ground.

"You stubborn whore!" he shouted as he stared down at his bleeding wound in shock.

The look of bewilderment on his face made you laugh as you slowly pushed yourself up from the stone floor. He came up angrily, grabbing your hair. "I won't do anything to your face to make you appear ugly at the wedding, but I promise that once you become my wife, I will do things to you that will make you wish you had never been born!"

He shouted and shoved you. You fell to the ground once more, and as your cheek pressed against the cold stone floor, tears began to flow—not because you were hurt, but because you had missed your chance.

The slaves had heard the noises, and while Varus was leaving the palace, they came to you and helped lift you from the ground. You ordered them to leave you alone and not to enter the courtyard to disturb you again.

It was so close; you almost killed him, but the opportunity had slipped away. You picked up the knife from the floor and sat on the lectus. You could never marry him—no, you could never be someone else's wife, and you could never let him touch you. Instead, death was a better option. As you looked at the knife, you actually thought it might be a good thing to take your own life right there, right now. Then there would be no princess for Varus to wed, nor for Elagabalus to use her power for his benefit. Moreover, it was the only way to relieve all your pain, you knew it.

Marcus and Lucius were being overly cautious as they sneaked along the banks of the Tiber and into the underground corridors of the Domus Tiberiana. It was a short but troubling path. According to Darius' account, they first had to pass through Velabrum and climb the walls leading from the edge of the Magna Mater temple to the south garden of the palace. Lucius was just as good at climbing as he claimed to be, chuckling while Marcus panted a little.

“If I were your age, I’d climb faster than you, I promise.”

“Or, are you complaining about your age, General?”

“Never! I’m just saying the conditions aren’t equal.”

Lucius jumped into the garden, waiting for him. “Fair enough. Where to now?”

“To Domitian's ramp. That will take us directly to the inner courtyard.” Marcus gestured for Lucius to crouch. “There it is,” he said, pointing ahead.

“This looks like a ramp with a lot of turns, and I see some soldiers.”

“Praetorians,” Marcus hissed. “I count three. No one would dare sneak in here; most of them are guarding the entrance. If we can get past these two, the others will be easier to deal with. Remember, we can’t let them see us. Killing is not an option. Knocking them out is a last resort, though I’m not sure how you’re going to do that.”

“You don’t trust me, General? You’re hurting my feelings.”

Marcus rolled his eyes. “If I didn’t trust you, I would have come alone.”

Lucius looked at him earnestly. “I’m here for her. I’ll give you all the time you need, but remember, you’re the one they think is dead. Don't expose yourself to anyone. I won’t let her get hurt again because of you.”

Marcus gave him a stern look. “I’m already here because I can’t bear to see her hurt anymore. So stop getting on my nerves and follow me.”

“After you,” Lucius growled.

They both tried to be very quiet as they climbed up the ramp. When the first guard turned his back, they hurried around the corner, passing him and the second guard. But when they reached the courtyard, they saw two guards standing side by side in a corner. To get behind them, they would have to go around the fountain, but that seemed too risky. Just then, one of the guards moved into the garden, giving them the opportunity to approach the other guard from behind.

It was impossible to reach the other courtyard without passing him, so they had to neutralise him. Lucius poured a small vial of herbal medicine onto a cloth and, reaching from behind, forced the guard to sniff it. The guard struggled, but the overpowering scent made him lose consciousness. They quickly hid him in a nearby bush.

"Impressive, what is this?" Marcus asked while looking around.

"Hyoscyamus niger," Lucius replied. "It has a knockout effect, and this is a concentrated essence I made. He'll come to his senses in the morning."

"Good. Her chambers should be located in the courtyard beyond."

"Very well, I'll wait here for your return."

Marcus nodded, but before he could take a step forward, Lucius called out to him, “Be careful.”

“You too,” Marcus replied.

Once he reached the courtyard, Marcus noticed that it was quiet; no one was around. He cursed under his breath when he spotted two guards near the entrance, close to the stairs leading to your chambers. Although they couldn't hear him from that distance, it was still too dangerous—he needed to find another route.

As he turned toward the courtyard, he caught sight of a woman with her back turned to him. The color of her hair, how it fell over her shoulder, and her posture made his heart skip a beat. It was definitely you.

He glanced around before taking a cautious step closer. The courtyard was deserted; not a slave or anyone else was in sight. The guards wouldn’t be here at this hour, and he wouldn’t have cared if they were. He longed to see your face, to touch your skin, to hear your voice—and now, here was his chance.

As you looked at the knife in your hand, the weight of guilt for what you were about to do filled your mind. “It's just a cut,” you reminded yourself. “You know where to cut; just do it.” Taking a deep breath, you pressed the knife just above the carotid artery. “If you're alive, forgive me, Marcus,” you thought, hearing light footsteps approaching from behind. You didn't turn around; you couldn't let anyone stop you now. Marcus hadn't seen the knife in your hand and was unaware of your intentions. He pushed back his hood and smiled as he took in your appearance from behind.

“My lady...”

This voice... That velvety, deep voice that your ears had longed to hear once more. The voice you never thought you would hear again. You were so surprised that, for a moment, you forgot you were holding a knife. Your hand began to tremble, and the sharp edge of the blade cut your skin, leaving a thin line. But you didn’t care; you didn’t even feel it. Your whole body was numbed by the desire to see the face of the voice’s owner.

When you stood up, turned around, and finally saw his face, your entire body began to shake as if you were about to have a stroke. You even forgot how to breathe. As you stared at him with your mouth agape, he stepped closer and looked at you with that wonderful smile. When he touched your face with his hands, tears began to flood your eyes, followed by uncontrollable sobs. Suddenly he realised the cut on your neck, and the knife in your hand. He immediately picked up the knife.

“Aurelia, what were you doing—”

The concern etched on his handsome face took your breath away. How stunningly beautiful he looked…

“Marcus,” you whispered, still in disbelief at his presence. “Is this really you? Am I dead? Or have you resurrected?”

His warm brown eyes sparkled as they locked onto yours, radiating a sense of comfort and love. “No, my love. You are not dead, and I am not resurrected. I have navigated and dismantled all the enemy's traps and came back to you.”

Overwhelmed with emotion, you leaped into his arms, wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your face in his chest. As he held you close, the rhythm of his heartbeat felt like a soothing lullaby, and he tenderly stroked your hair, bringing a few strands to his nose to inhale your familiar, heavenly scent. In that moment, his heart soared, relieved to be in this blissful haven once again. It felt so divine to be enveloped by his strong arms that you shut your eyes tight, praying this wasn’t just a dream.

“You never left, anyway,” you murmured, your voice trembling. “You’ve always been with me. Everywhere I turned, there you were. If my soul hasn’t departed from my body, it’s because I hold onto the belief that you are alive, Marcus.”

He ran his lips through your hair and kissed your forehead. "How could I ever leave you and our children? I would rise again, even if I died, just to look into your beautiful eyes one more time and hear your sweet voice again."

His words sent a delicate ache through your heart at the mention of “our children.” As tears streamed down your cheeks, he took your hands—still encircling his neck—and kissed them with an air of reverence. Then, he tenderly examined the cut on your neck, his gaze filled with concern.

“My beautiful princess,” he said softly, “I see the pain you’ve endured and the wounds in your heart. I have come to cleanse you of all your suffering and heal your wounds.” He then kissed your lips with deep longing.

As you reluctantly pulled away from the kiss, your heart ached with the weight of unspoken fears. “Marcus, our son... our daughter... I couldn't protect them,” you confessed, your gaze drooping as despair clouded your vision. But to your astonishment, you watched as a warm smile spread across his lips. He leaned closer, brushing his lips against yours once more, tenderly, almost reverently. “They’re alive, my love,” he reassured you.

He pressed another kiss to your lips, savoring the moment, realizing just how deeply he had missed the look of sweet surprise on your face, every subtle gesture, every intricate detail of your being.

“Is that true?” you asked, hope creeping into your voice.

“It’s true, my love. Believe me, my darling."

Suddenly, a huge smile spread across his face, and your sobs turned into giggles as you hugged him again. It was almost as if all your wounds had healed; you felt alive once more.

“Thank the gods, Marcus. It’s so good to touch you again, to be wrapped in your arms. With you here, I feel complete,” you breathed.

He held you close, pressing you tightly against him, resting his chin atop your head as if anchoring you both in that perfect moment. “So am I, my love, you are my reason for being. Forgive me for being late; I will never let you suffer such pain again,” he promised with a fierce intensity.

“Now that you’re here, touching me, all my pain has vanished,” you whispered, overwhelmed by the warmth of his presence.

A playful grin spread across his face, and he leaned down to claim your lips once more, kissing you deeply, passionately, and with an abundance of love. As he pulled you closer, he lifted you up and spun you around, your delighted giggles ringing out like music in the courtyard.

But the enchantment was abruptly shattered as you heard footsteps approaching, dragging you back to the bittersweet reality of your surroundings.

“I can’t let them see me,” Marcus said anxiously.

“Hide over there,” you said pointing to the space behind the column. He lovingly kissed your hand before finding his hiding spot.

One of the guards stopped when he saw you. “My lady? I heard a noise. Is everything all right?”

“Yes, you can return to your post. I will retire to my room now,” you replied, a calm authority laced in your voice.

He dipped his head in respect, turning on his heel and walking away. Once he was out of sight, you turned to Marcus. “Come with me.” You took his hand, your grip firm as if afraid you might lose him if you didn't hold on tight.

Marcus smiled as he walked beside you, admiring your beautiful face. His heart felt light as he accompanied you to your chambers, a smile dancing on his lips.

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