#and it works too so thank yOU for that lol | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thelov3lybookworm · 2 days ago

Text

Ice Cream (part 3)

Part 1 Part 2

Summary: the shadow needs to be put on timeout.

•○●⛦●○•

Word Count: 1821

Warnings: literally just fluff. azzie being a shy baby again🥹ALSO SHADOWS BEING MENACES BWAHAHAHAA💀 az is like an old asian parent tired of his kids bs 😭

A/n: ooof i love the shadows omg there such a pain in az's lil ass lmaoo. the one smartass shadow in the first part comes back to steal the spotlight and to make az's life miserable by its jabs lol🥹

ALSO THIS IS THE LAST PART IN THIS SERIES IM SO HAPPY OML I LOVED WRITING THIS 🥹😭

anyways, enjoyyy🥹🤭

(ps. the idea for shadows writing yn's name on az was given by @ayme301 hehe so thank youuuu 🥹❣️)

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

Azriel had a routine. He always did.

Wake up, train, have something to eat, send reports to Rhys, analyse more reports, go onto missions if he had any, and train some more. It was always the same variation of the same few things.

But for a month now, his routine had a new addition. Having her on his mind every moment of every day.

His mind kept wandering to the colour of her eyes, the texture of her hair, the slight tilt to her lips when she found something he did funny. The way her quick wit and subtle hints of her boldness showed through her cold exterior as she slowly began to let her guard down around him, the way her eyes began to light up ever so lightly when she saw him as the two spent more and more time together.

She had become an important part of his routine, and he did not have a single problem with it, even as it put strain on him to finish up his work sooner so no one would suspect he was getting distracted from his duty.

Having her on his mind constantly, it was hard to focus on what his family was doing as they all sat in a booth at Rita’s, because he was too busy wondering what Y/n might be doing tonight. Maybe she was at her home, reading and sipping tea. Maybe she was out with her friends. Maybe she was by herself, wandering through the countless shops displaying items irresistible to anyone.

Maybe she was thinking of him.

The last thought had sudden heat travelling to Azriel’s cheeks, and he willed his shadows to cover him in case his family took notice of it as he lifted his almost empty cup of the alcoholic beverage Cassian had shoved into his hands to his lips.

Azriel looked up, glancing out of the window near the booth his family occupied, hoping that if Y/n really was out, she would walk by. It would certainly be a treat to his eyes and a soothing distraction from the overstimulation that was the inner circle.

"Az?"

He blinked, glancing over to Feyre, who stared at Az with furrowed brows. "Yes?"

She stared at him for a moment, a moment in which Azriel quickly looked over everyone present over the table. All their eyes were fixed on him, some confused, some curious. "We asked if you’re in for the game?"

Az straightened, setting his glass on the table and wrapped his arms around his chest. "Sure."

Cassian lifted a brow. "Do you even know what we’re playing?" Azriel’s cheeks flushed at the knowing look in his brother’s eyes, and he glanced down at his lap, clearing his throat and waiting for a shadow to fill him in on what was going on.

Master needs to learn to pay attention.

Azriel turned his head slightly to scowl at the particular shadow, and it bobbed away happily, as if unaware of his glare. But thankfully, another shadow floated up to his ear to whisper.

Truth or drink. They wish to probe and do your work.

The shadow that had initially hurried away from Azriel slithered back up his neck.

Be nosy, that is.

Azriel would have glared had he not had to turn back to his family. He nodded slightly, clearing his throat. "Truth or drink. I’m in."

Cassian leaned back, shooting a look that irked Azriel to Rhysand, who leaned forward on the table with a shit eating grin. "Let’s start with you then, brother. Who is keeping you so distracted and bothered all the time?"

Azriel clenched his jaw, releasing a breath through his nose, contemplating whether it was worth telling his family and bringing himself to his doom at their gossiping hands.

Before he could settle on his choice to drink, his shadows had already made the decision.

"Y…" Mor squinted, her brows furrowed, and Azriel’s blood ran cold when he heard the first few syllables of her name. "Y/n?"

Azriel stared at Mor, who smirked, her eyes fixed on Azriel’s forehead as she leaned back. Azriel looked around at all his friends, wondering what the hell was going on and how they knew Y/n’s name. And then a shadow moved closer to his ear.

Y/n.

Y/n Y/n Y/n.

Azriel reeled in his frustration at the less than helpful chanting, but then the same shadow hit his chin, prompting him to lift it, and his eyes landed on her.

She wore a simple black dress, the thing covering everything and leaving everything up to imagination with the high neck and long sleeves and skirts. Her hair was open, and she looked just as beautiful as she always did.

And she was looking right at him, her lips spread in a smile as she stood right behind Cassian, seemingly having stood up from the booth next to them.

In the back of his mind, Azriel knew his family was looking at him in concern when he said nothing, but he couldn’t care less as he stared at that smile, the one he had seen for the first time ever.

She is beautiful.

She never smiled more than the slight tilts to her lips, and maybe it was for the good, because if he had seen that smile earlier, he might already be married right now. She was so mesmerising, it was a miracle Azriel hadn’t asked her to be his on the first ever outing to the ice cream shop the two had been to. But if he had seen her offer him that smile, he would have gone too far in love, he knew.

Master needs to stop drooling, he looks like a baby.

And ugly.

Azriel almost turned to scowl, but he did not want to miss even a moment of the smile on her face. But that also led him to the question. Why was she smiling?

She giggled lightly, and he only knew because he saw her throat muscles move as she lifted a finger to her forehead, then pointed at him.

And then Azriel realised.

He quickly lifted his hand to his head, whipping away the shadow that would not stop acting like a smartass teenager. After he was sure the shadow was gone and no longer using his forehead as some sort of writing surface to announce to the world his feelings for a certain bookstore owner, he swallowed and stood, trying to excuse himself.

But Cassian turned, looking right at Y/n. "Are you Y/n?"

The eyes Azriel always found himself lost in lifted to meet his own hazel ones, her cheeks turning a deeper shade as she tried to stop smiling. Azriel could see the blush on her face, even in the dim lighting, and he thanked the mother for his eyesight.

Y/n not having her guard up at all times was not a sight everyone was blessed to witness.

She nodded lightly, glancing around at the rest of Azriel’s friends before giving him a small wave. She turned and walked out after her friends, who laughed among themselves. She did shoot him a glance before she walked out, but then she was gone.

Azriel turned, trying to see if there was any way he could escape his confines, having been pushed to sit between the window and Feyre. And when he didn’t, he climbed onto the seat and stepped behind her, then Rhysand, whispering apologies as he hopped onto the ground and broke into a sprint, hoping to catch up to Y/n.

His family tried to call after him, but Azriel was a male on a mission, and a very skilled one at that.

He stepped out into the cold night air, his eyes landing on Y/n waving at her friends as they went the opposite direction. He swallowed, hoping she would not mind his presence and walked towards her. She probably felt his proximity, as when she turned, she only smiled at him and gestured for him to walk with her.

A shadow floated close to Azriel to inform him of the way his family was watching him like hawks from the window they had sat next to, and when Azriel turned to look, sure enough, Cassian and feyre scrambled away, while Rhysand, Mor and Nesta looked like they were trying too hard to act nonchalant.

"They really are nosy." Y/n’s soft voice reached Azriel, and he turned to offer her an exasperated look.

"And I deal with it everyday."

She laughed, gently slipping her hand to hold his arm. Instantly, his pulse was galloping.

Master is no better than a schoolboy.

Azriel shot a glare to the darned shadow, wondering if there was a chance he could put it in timeout.

"So… I keep you distracted, huh?" Y/n spoke after a moment, making Azriel’s ears go warm.

"I…"

She laughed, leaning her head against his shoulder as the two walked the rest of the way in silence. Azriel only heard her laugh ring in his ears, wishing and praying that he would be blessed enough by the mother to hear the beautiful sound for the rest of his life.

Only once the two were at her apartment doors did she pull away and step forward, towards the entrance before turning to him, around an arms length of distance between the two.

Too much.

"So?"

Azriel folded his hands at his back, smiling slightly. "So?"

She leaned back against the wall, humming. "When am I meeting the family then?"

His breath hitched. "You… want to?"

She lifted a brow. "You don’t?"

Azriel shook his head, looking down at his boots. "I don’t want you to be uncomfortable, and I know they can be a lot sometimes."

He heard her move closer to him, lifting his eyes to meet her gaze once both her hands had reached out to hold one of his. "I think I am ready, Az."

Az. She called me Az.

He leaned his head closer to her. "What do I get if I take you to meet them?"

She blinked at him. "Oh, I don’t know, maybe you get to tell everyone you are courting me? And you can stop having to sneak around to meet me?"

He grinned, hearing those words spoken into the space between them as he touched his forehead to hers. "Hmm… not enough. I want more."

She snorted. "And what is that?"

"Maybe you take me out to the ice cream shop again." He reached up to touch her cheek, his eyes fixated on the way her skin seemed to contrast with his.

"And this time, we will get a huge bucket of mint chocolate, and share it. Like a real couple."

She smiled again, rolling onto her tiptoes to press her lips to his cheek.

"Mint chocolate it is."

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

Permanent Taglist: @berryzxx @sarawritestories @milswrites @throneofsmut

@daycourtofficial @sweetorangeblossom @serenescureforboredom @cassie6392 @harrystylesfan2686

@olives-main @hijabi-desi-bookworm @dnfhascorruptedme

Acotar Taglist: @bubybubsters @eos-princess @nightless @harrystylesfan2686

@cassie6392 @kennedy-brooke @tele86 @miluiel1

@hnyclover @minnieoo @sidrapotter @piceous21

@mybestfriendmademe @saltedcoffeescotch @lady-of-tearshed @starsinyourseyes

@starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @byyalady

@lilah-asteria @girlswithimagination @garden-of-runar @girlswithimagination

@sunnyspycat @artists-ally @milswrites @kingdomofstarrynights

@berryzxx @buttermilktea11 @loving-and-dreaming @yucanbmylxdy

@mellowmusings @dnfhascorruptedme @fuckingsimp4azriel

Azriel Taglist: @darthdumbasss @foreverrandomwritings @azrielsmate3 @celestialend

@stqrgirlies-blog @tele86 @bakananya @xyzmeh

@st4r-girl-official @caraaaaugh @nacho-nat @allllium

@fandomarchiveilyd @nickishadow139 @angel-graces-world-of-chaos @okaytrashpanda

@celestialgilb @donnadiddadog

191 notes · View notes

tsuutarr · 1 day ago

Note

Escaping Mason au? 👀👉👈

(this ask kind of confused me so I'm sorry if this isn't what you wanted lol but here's an AU where Mason decides to trap Reader for whatever reason!)

“Thanks so much for helping me pack,” you say, setting down a cup of tea in front of Mason. He smiles at you, sweet and soft like he always does.

“Of course, sugar. I’m always here t’help ya.” His large hand gently grabs the cup of tea as he sips it leisurely, his broad back leaning into the back of your chair. It’s one of the few pieces of furniture you have left to pack, the more heavy pieces being packed away thanks to Mason’s help.

Honestly, you’ll miss this place – being away from the hustle and bustle of the city has been nice. Plus, Mason has always been really kind to you, helping you whenever you needed him. Today is a great example of that – on top of helping you pack, he’s also baked some cookies for you to snack on.

“You know,” you say, taking a cookie and nibbling on it. “I’ll miss you, Mason.”

“You’re talkin’ like we aren’t gonna see each other again,” he says, laughing lightly. It makes your heart feel warm. “Y’know you can always keep in contact with me.”

“Yeah, thanks,” you respond, smiling, before you yawn.

“Y’should get some rest.” Mason places his tea cup down. “You worked hard today.”

You yawn again. “Mm, yeah, maybe I will,” you agree lightly, feeling your body sag from the weight of your tiredness. It’s unnatural how fast your body seems to droop, your limbs feeling foreign to you. But you don’t feel alarmed just yet – Mason’s there to make sure you’re safe, after all.

When you come to, you’re in an unfamiliar room, sort of. It’s… different, yes, but for some reason, it has most of your personal belongings inside. Blinking away your drowsiness, you look around, before alarm begins to settle into your bones. The heavy chain around your neck doubles your anxiety, the familiar sight of your belongings doing nothing to soothe you.

As the door clicks open, your head swivels in panic, before a wave of relief washed over you as Mason comes in. He’ll save you, surely!

It isn’t until you notice how relaxed he looks – how pleased – that panic begins to bubble inside you again.

“Hey, Sugar,” he hums, twirling a collar with a cowbell around his finger. “D’you like your new room?”

“Wh–what… what–”

“It’s tragic, really – you really hurt my heart, sweetheart.” The way his expression droops is quite convincing to that point that you almost feel bad. “You were just gonna leave like that? Leave me? That’s quite rude of you, don’t ya think, Sugar?”

You’re too stunned – too shocked to respond.

He smiles, his previous illusion of sadness gone. “But it’s all okay now – y’can just stay here with me.” With easy steps, he begins to approach you, collar ready in his hand.

“I’ll be so good to you, Sugar.” The cowbell on the collar jingles with every step he takes. You feel dread fill your stomach, unable to do anything against him as he gently, but firmly, grabs your chin to lift your head, giving him access to your neck. Tears wet your cheeks as you feel the collar snap against your throat like a promise of your future captivity.

“Don’t worry, darling. You know I would do anythin’ for ya.” Gingerly, he wipes away your tears, looking pleased. “All you’ve got to do is be good for me.”

#yandere oc #male yandere #tsuuper ocs #yandere x reader #yandere x you #tw yandere #male yandere oc x reader #male yandere oc #monster boyfriend #bull boy oc #yandere bull boy #Mason Cane Tsuu OC #SO for context as to why i was confused:#Mason doesn't trap the reader lol?? so I was confused as to what exactly Reader had to escape from?#So I guess I took this ask as asking for an AU where Mason DOES trap the reader???#Idk if I read it wrong #feel free to ask for smth else if I got it wrong~ but maybe with a tad bit more info haha #also reusing art bc i have no time lolol

162 notes · View notes

hannieehaee · 3 days ago

Note

hello i love your works! could i please request svt with a shy crush? like how would they interact with them or something (especially the more shyer members) bc their crush is even shyer and probably won’t be the one initiating the confession (unfortunately). thanks!

their crush being shy

content: crushes, introvertedness, crushes, pure fluff, etc.

wc: 872

a/n: i wrote way more for some than others this time it was purely accidental lol but i hope u enjoy!!

masterlist

seungcheol -

he's not usually super shy but you'd kind of be an exception to the rule. would become super giggly and flustered and shy whenever he was around you, creating a mixture of incomplete sentences and stolen glances any time you were around each other. however, he'd sometimes have moments of truth in which he'd be able to flirt with you or make his interest clear.

jeonghan -

he'd find you super cute and adorable. would even get cuteness aggression over you lol. wont put you out of your misery, though. he'll tease you and take advantage of your crush to fluster you. eventually he'll make a move, but he'll have fun with it for a while.

joshua -

similarly to jeonghan, he'll think it's super cute you like him but are too shy to do anything about it. he'll coo at you to your face, chuckling under his breath any time you got flustered at him. would plan on putting you out of your misery and confessing at some point, but would enjoy your crush far too much to do it right away lol.

jun -

i am a shy!jun truther, so i think he'd be extra shy when it comes to someone he likes. he'd be aware that you're just as shy (if not even more), though, so he'd have to work within himself to get the balls to actually try and approach you and ask you out. likely it'd get to a point where you'd just be two people avoiding eye contact to the point where someone else has to intervene.

soonyoung -

he might seem outgoing but im convinced when it comes to things like these, he'll be very shy. he'll know about your crush but he'll be too terrified that his crush is super obvious to do anything about it. it'll just be an endless cycle of the two of you blushing any time you make eye contact.

wonwoo -

contrary to popular belief i think he's got crazy game and wont be shy around someone he's interested in. he'll probably get a little extra confidence at knowing you liked him, maybe even making a few slightly flirtatious comments or attempting to be in your vicinity in order to get you to get flustered.

jihoon -

he'd kind of be at a loss. if you're shy, and he's shy .. then who's driving the bus?? would not really know how to approach you despite being pretty sure the feelings were mutual. his friends would have to gas him up, making it so that he was left alone with you quite often in order to force proximity between you so one of you would FINALLY confess.

seokmin -

would be incredibly endeared by you (even more than he was before realizing you liked him back). he wouldnt confess right away though. no, he'd wanna enjoy your flustered state any time he paid you extra attention or how you'd shyly look away when he'd smile at you.

mingyu -

similarly to seokmin, he'd mostly want to enjoy the reactions he'd get out of you any time he was nearby or any time he flirted with you. would love your shyness, thinking it creates a great contrast to his insane outgoing tendencies (he'd befriend a tree if it could talk). would try and make it obvious he likes you back but wouldnt confess straight away, enjoying the between friends and lovers stage.

minghao -

would be incredibly endeared by you!!! would even get some cuteness aggression from how flustered you'd be any time he looked your way, looking away or blushing at him. he'd wanna sort of court you?? would do a slow process of gaining your affections (even though he knew he already had), eventually asking you out. he'd be super romantic about it, taking into consideration how shy you were and not going too far with it to ensure he didn't scare you away.

seungkwan -

i don't think he'd even realize you were shy or that you liked him at first. he's so outgoing and so friendly with everyone that sometimes he doesnt notice that others may not be as outgoing as him!! he'd probably rush it and ask you out as soon as he realized his crush was mutual though lmao. he'd unknowingly intimidate you with his outgoing demeanor but it'd be endearing overall!!

vernon -

would probably not even be aware that you liked him. sometimes things can go over his head if they're not explicitly stated, so the fact that you're shy and unable to confess to him would make the whole situation difficult lmao. however! if he knew you liked him, he'd wanna be calm about it. would not play games and instead just ask you out, generally just happy his feelings were mutual.

chan -

he'd be in constant agony knowing you liked him and there was nothing he could do about it ... lol but really, i think he'd hesitate in approaching you out of fear of scaring you away or coming off to strong. he's pretty outgoing and self-assured, so he'd feel confident in you liking him back. however! he'd feel kinda guilty by how much he made you blush and stutter and look away when he tried being flirty with you lmao.

#seventeen x reader #seventeen fanfic #svt fanfic #svt x reader #seventeen imagine #seventeen oneshot #svt imagines #svt reactions #seventeen reactions

210 notes · View notes

citrusipop · 3 days ago

Text

untitled . cho hyun-ju

Hyun-Ju stared out the window at the bustling streets below. Nights like this always weighed heavily on her—nights when sleep felt like a distant luxury. Her gaze remained fixed on the city lights as the haunting memories of that dreadful game replayed in her mind. The echo of screams and gunfire was replaced by the hum of car engines and the occasional honk of a horn. It was a small comfort, a reminder that she was far from that nightmare, safe in the warmth of a soft, cozy bed.

Her thoughts drifted to you, and her heart softened. She remembered how, the moment she returned, her first instinct was to find you. Oh, how she longed to be in your arms again, to feel the familiar warmth of your embrace and the gentle kiss on her cheek that always welcomed her. It felt like only yesterday—the day she knocked on your apartment door. You had stood there, smiling through tears, as if you couldn’t believe she was truly there.

Suddenly, a pair of warm arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her back to the present. She flinched slightly at the unexpected touch but quickly relaxed.

“Hi,” you mumbled groggily, your voice muffled by sleep. You clung to her, resting your cheek against her back, seeking the comfort of her presence. The empty space beside you had roused you, and without hesitation, you wrapped her in your arms.

“I’m sorry… Did I wake you?” she asked softly, her hand instinctively covering yours. There was a hint of guilt in her voice, but as her heartbeat steadied against your touch, she felt a wave of quiet relief.

You shook your head, holding her a little tighter. The thought of her sitting alone in the dark tugged at your heart. You knew her sleepless nights all too well—the ones haunted by the shadows of her past. Though you admired her resilience, you couldn’t ignore the weight she carried.

Gently, you shifted to face her, cupping her cheek in your hand. Leaning in, you pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. “I love you,” you whispered, your voice filled with warmth and reassurance. Your thumb brushed against her cheek, a small gesture meant to soothe her.

She met your gaze with a soft smile, her eyes brimming with affection. “I love you too,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. Those words, fragile yet precious, felt like a promise—a quiet affirmation that she was here, with you, safe.

As you lay back together, she nestled against your chest, her head resting where she could hear the steady rhythm of your heartbeat. The once-deafening screams and cries were replaced by that soothing cadence. The cold, unyielding bed of her memories gave way to the warmth of your embrace, and the scent of blood was replaced by the faint, familiar trace of your perfume.

Your fingers gently combed through her hair, twirling the strands in a soothing rhythm. She looked up at you, her eyes soft and full of gratitude. “Thank you for being here with me,” she whispered, her voice delicate, like a breeze carrying her deepest emotions.

Her lips brushed against the nape of your neck in a tender kiss, and her arms tightened around you as she clung to you like a koala, unwilling to let go.

The warmth of your body lulled her to sleep, her breathing slowing as she drifted off. Looking down at her peaceful face, you made a quiet vow to yourself: you would always be there to make her smile, no matter what. Pressing one last kiss to her head, you closed your eyes and let sleep claim you both, the world outside forgotten in the safety of each other’s arms.

a.n . this one kinda random, and it’s like 2am but i just cant sleep so sorry if it isn’t my best work LOL having sleep troubles is no go frl !!

#cho hyun ju #cho hyun ju x reader #cho hyun-ju #cho hyunju #cho hyunju x reader #hyun ju #hyun ju x reader #hyun-ju x reader #hyunju #hyunju x reader #squid game hyun ju #hyun-ju #squid game 2 #squid game #squid game x reader #player 120 #squid game cho hyunju #i should be sleeping #but i cant

202 notes · View notes

phillypumpkin · 1 day ago

Note

Hi hi, if you wanna work on something may I suggest Shane with Charlie and maybe some blue chickens? :D ♥ Oh lord and some baby chicks too lmao

Heyyyy omg I may have gone a lil wild with your request but I was having so much fun LOL

Thanks for your ask, I hope you like this! ❤️🫶🏼

#sdv fanart #stardew valley #sdv #stardew valley fanart #shane stardew #stardew valley shane #shane sdv #shane stardew valley

129 notes · View notes

itwasntimethatdidit40 · 11 hours ago

Text

Eyes on the Mirror - part 1

Pairing: neighbor!Frankie Morales x f!reader Rating: +18, NSFW Words count: 2631 Summary: You're at a turning point in your relationship with Frankie, he tells you that his mother insists on meeting you. Tags/Warnings: POV second person, no use of y/n, reader wears dresses, heels and uses make-up, no other description of her is given, no mention of her skin tone and she doesn't blush, no description of her hair, Frankie can lift her but he’s a hunk of a men you know, mention of food, established relationship, enemies to lovers, smut, fluff, kissing, mention of unprotected p in v, nipples play (f receiving), oral (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), panties in mouth (don't know how it's called in English, I just know that I like it lol), Frankie is our canon PEK and also the perfect boyfriend okay, mention of being caught (well, to be more specific, to be heard lol), pet names. Let me know if I forgot something and I'll add it right away. A/N: This has been a long journey and I think it took me longer than expected. Second part is coming tomorrow. It's an emotional work, it's smut, but it's smut with feelings and I think I put a lot of myself into it. So I ask you to be especially delicate. This Frankie is the same guy from You look like a fun place to sit and Give me more Anyway, let me say a few thanks because I can't believe I had two people volunteer to be my beta, I'm very lucky. Kate @aurorawritestoescape and Ally @arcanefox207 The fact alone that you took some time to read and proofread my stuff is so important to me and you have given me so many helpful suggestions and advice, I am very grateful ❤️ Thank you Odi @joelmillerisapunk , to let me blather, to cheer me up, to always have the right words, I don't know how you do it, you're literally a gem ❤️ We’re going back to the emotional unavailable men agenda asap but for the moment I hope you’ll enjoy my lover boy neighbor!Frankie who is crazy about his girl 🥰 English is not my first language, any mistake is still on me, so if you come across one I’m very sorry. Frankie Masterlist I Masterlist

You and Frankie have been together for four months now, and you’re incredibly happy. Your neighbor, the man you spent a year hating, revealed himself as the best man you’ve ever been in a relationship with.

You haven't said “I love you” to each other yet, you're taking it slow and you're perfectly fine with that, you know you have strong feelings for him but you don't know if he's ready to say it and the last thing you want is to ruin the best relationship you've had because of words said too soon.

So you respect his timing without forcing his hand. And still you often think you don't even really need to say it, all you really want is to keep being with him, the man who can make you laugh in a second, with whom you like to do everything from the most mundane things like grocery shopping and running errands, to talking for hours and sharing everything with him, cooking, going to parties and concerts, even bickering.

And sex.

Oh, Frankie is a fucking magician.

The most shockingly fiery and at the same time sweet lover you've ever had.

You feel you can be yourself at all times with him, he knows your flaws and frailties and accepts them. And from where you were starting out it already feels like a considerable accomplishment. You never thought that the man who used to spend time judging you, once you penetrated his armor, was actually such a tolerant and nonjudgmental person.

You haven't moved in together, but you spend almost every night together, and yet, you are still trying to navigate your relationship without making the other one run off before taking the next step.

So when Frankie tells you that his mother would love to meet you, you get a little scared but you try to put on a good face.

"You really don't mind?" he prods you.

You can never hide anything from him; Frankie has an ability to read your mind, the talent that you had never found in a man.

His eyes scan you and he has a cunning little smile as he’s standing on the other side of the table, eating the eggs you prepared for him.

“Yeah, don't worry, it's okay,” you nod, your movement a little forced, and Frankie notices it.

“You're nervous, huh? Look it's normal,” he tries to reassure you, his hand slides across the table until it meets yours.

He squeezes it gently and then intertwines his fingers with yours.

“I'm sorry, she's been nagging me for at least a month now, I've managed to keep her at bay until now but she grilled me yesterday and told me that she was expecting us for dinner on Friday.”

“Yeah...I just feel a little pressure, you know, but it's okay,” you admit.

“Babe, she will like you very much, I'm sure.”

You look into his eyes, those big eyes the color of coffee and chocolate, and the comfortable glow they give off immediately takes away part of the weight you feel on your chest.

“Are you sure?” you murmur.

“Of course!” he smiles at you, ”Well, you're a little sassy but...”

You slap his hand “Frankie! You're not helping me!” you complain.

“Come on, I'm kidding. She’s going to adore you, I have no doubt about it,” he chuckles.

“Mmmm we’ll see” you still mumble with uncertainty.

"Come here," he says softly.

You get up and walk over to him before he welcomes you on his lap and you wrap your arms around his neck. He rests his forehead on yours looking into your eyes and repeats softly, “she will adore you…not as much as I do but she sure will”

The thing is this with him, he's been circling around that word for weeks, so you're pretty sure he's going to confess sooner or later.

"What if she doesn't like me?" you ask him and bite your lip, looking at him expectantly.

“Uh, I don't want to stop fucking you, you know... so, you'll have to stay in a clandestine relationship while I'm dating a woman, personally chosen by my mom.”

You kiss him, muttering “god, you're so...”

He giggles and asks "what am I like?" tightening his grip on your waist a little tighter and pulling you closer to his chest, your tits pressed against him.

“An incredibly lovely fucking bastard.”

________________________________________

You are in the kitchen preparing dinner, which in your case means putting take-out pizza on plates, as you hear Frankie come in.

“Hey, are you here?”

He gave you his keys a few weeks ago to make it easier for you to get around.

“In the kitchen!” you shout to him.

You hear his footsteps approaching from the hallway until he comes in with a bag.

“Hey, baby.”

You walk up to him to give him a kiss, he immediately puts down the bag and hugs you tightly. “mmm I missed you. What's for dinner?”

“Pizza,” you tell him smiling through your eyelashes and stealing another kiss, his beard tickling your cupid's bow pleasantly “And I was thinking about…uhm…your cock for dessert.”

He squeezes your butt, chuckling, “So eager, huh?”

“For you? Always,” you purr, looking into his eyes, veiled with desire.

His stomach grumbles slightly making you giggle, “Do you want to eat first?”

“Uh, no,” he whispers, and as he does so he slips two fingers under the straps of your dress and pulls it off, letting it slide to the floor.

You're in your panties in front of him, no bra, he looks at you spellbound with a smirk that unknowingly puckers his lips, "do you know how beautiful you are?"

His eyes move from your face down to the crease of your neck, your cleavage, your breasts, your stomach, slowly, as if he is drinking from your body, the source that keeps him alive.

He takes his time, still hasn't touched you but you'd swear you've never felt more caressed than now, nurtured, sensed, accepted in your body's every disheveled and flawed manifestation.

You could swear you could moan from that alone.

When his hands approach your hips you want them so badly that you instinctively lean into them to meet his palms, the warmth of his skin welcoming you.

You cling to his broad shoulders, bringing his body closer to yours.

He lifts you up as if you weighed nothing and lays you on the kitchen countertop, next to the sink.

Your legs hang over the edge as he commands, “open wide, baby,” and settles in between, still fully clothed.

“Frankie, please.”

“You know what I like?” he asks with a smirk, ”the way you light up as soon as I touch you. God, it drives me crazy the way you instantly become a needy little animal, you know that?"

You feel your eyes heavy and your voice shaky as you repeat his question, “You know what I like? The way you know exactly what I need.”

He smiles, leaning down to your neck to bite the soft skin over your pulse point and soothing it right after with his warm tongue.

He lowers himself onto you, leaving a trail of kisses on your beating chest, pausing on your tits and spreading his lips over your nipples, first one and then the other, caressing them with his tongue, swirling it around. You moan with each touch, tilting your head back as he sucks them harder, his beard pinching you gently, his warm lips enveloping them.

You pull his cap off and sink a hand into his dark curls.

He knows you so well, it is as if he has memorized your every little reaction and in his mind has written himself a manual on how to make you completely lose control.

He continues to work on your nipples, grazing them with his teeth, licking them up and down with his tongue, sucking them between his lips, hard and covering them with his saliva. His tongue goes around your areola, returning to your little pebble every time you pull his hair a little harder and mewl.

He suddenly leaves your tits and returns to your neck, you groan in disappointment but his tongue immediately soothes you trailing up to your jaw and licking over your lips, inviting them to open for him and dragging you in a sloppy, feral kiss that leaves you breathless.

His hips are rocking into you, brushing over your damp underwear while you wrap your legs around his waist, pushing him against your core.

His eyes are dark with lust as he moves one of his hands over your soaked underwear, brushing your folds with his knuckles, “I’m going to make you scream my name so loudly, baby”

“That’s exactly what I want,” you prod him, biting down softly on his lower lip. “Do your magic, Morales.”

You loosen the grip of your legs, gently pushing his shoulders to invite him to lower himself, and Frankie grumbles jokingly, "bossy".

He kneels in front of you holding his hands down on your back, just above your butt and pushes you toward him, you falter for a moment balancing on the edge of the counter but his grip is strong and secure.

You run a hand through his curls, tugging slightly.

He licks a strip over your panties, taking the fabric between his teeth, without stopping to look at you.

A fucking tease.

He stills for a moment and then kisses your clit.

Then he moves his flat tongue flat down, almost to your tight hole and then back up, again and again, lingering on your clit with quick flicks of his tongue.

The fabric of your panties is wet with his saliva as a new stream of pleasure floods you, soaking them even more.

“Oh fuck, yes,” you holler.

He looks at you mischievously. “Thinking about it… we should take some measures to make sure you stay quiet, honey, you know?” he nods to the half opened window right behind you.

You glance back and then blurt out, “oh, whatever, let them hear us.”

Frankie chuckles at your impatience. “Do you really want to put on a show for the whole neighborhood?”

“There are curtains, they can't see us,” you frown

“But do they need to hear us?” he says as he pulls off your panties, sliding them down your legs.

He sniffs them for a moment- “fucking sweet, darling” - while you wonder what he's going to do, then rolls them and stands back up, sneaking his hand behind your neck and looking at you authoritatively, his lips pursed in a smirk.

He runs his thumb over your mouth, stops in the center and pushes gently, silently commanding you to open it. The moment your lips part he thrusts your panties into your mouth. “That's it, good girl” he coos.

It’s so wrong, keeping your panties in your mouth like that, your tongue numbed with the taste of it and your body tense under Frankie’s gaze. But also fucking right.

He graciously holds his power over you, always considerate of your need while he plays with your mind in a delicious nasty way.

He caresses your cheek, moving down to the column of your neck, wrapping his fingers around it, “Don't try to take them out or you won't get what you want,” he gently orders. “Can you behave for me?”

You nod.

He gives you a smirk and gets back on his knees and admires your glistening pussy for a moment. “Always so fucking wet for me,” he whispers before sinking into you again, licking and sucking on your clit and down on your folds, his nose hitting your most sensitive part.

When you’re basically dripping on your inner thighs, he slides two fingers inside you, so easily moving over the spot he knows makes you see double.

His fingers are inside you up to his knuckles when he curls them, pushing and grasping.

You are thrown into a frenzy almost immediately as he gently hits you with his fingertips again and again, sucking avidly on your clit as you’re stifling your moans by clenching your teeth on your panties.

He laps at your folds so thoroughly, then goes back on your bundle of nerves, sloppy wet noises fill the air mixing with your gasps as he scissors and pushes into you.

He hums against you, whines evenly, you watch him through your eyelashes as he palms himself from above his jeans, seeking some relief.

He doesn’t stop until he feels your legs shake and your stifled mewls trying desperately to get out of your throat.

Your orgasm crushes over you like a wave, leaving you quivering and breathless.

He gets back up and removes the panties from your mouth, kissing you with his mouth still smeared with your essence.

“You’ve been so good, baby.”

You pull him by his shirt protesting, "You haven't got anything yet, though.”

“That’s not a problem, hun, we can eat something and then you’ll eat me. Dessert, remember?”

You giggle “deal.”

You steal another kiss from him before slipping your dress back on and setting the table.

As you eat you notice the bag he left in a corner by the kitchen door.

“What is that?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, I almost forgot, it's a gift for you."

You squint your eyes “For me? You didn't have to!”

Frankie smiles “I saw it in a store and thought of you. Open it.”

You get up and go for the bag, not before giving him a kiss.

When you open the bag you find a dress.

Very simple, black, not too low-cut, with a tulip skirt.

As you're looking at it, leaning it over your body to see the length, Frankie suggests that you could wear it to his mother's.

____________________________________________

“Are you ready, honey?”

Frankie's voice is muffled by the bathroom door as you're finishing putting on your lipstick.

“Almost, you just need to help me with the zipper.”

Frankie opens the door and peeps into the bathroom.

He stops behind you, admiring you in the mirror as you stand there with your lips parted, leaning slightly over the sink, your legs slender from your heels, you wear the dress he bought you, unzipped at the back.

“Jesus, you’re a vision,” he breathes. “Maybe we should skip dinner at my mom’s.”

He approaches you and settles his big hands firmly on your hips.

“Come on, Frankie, be serious,” you giggle.

“I'm serious,” he replies in a rough, deep voice.

He leans down to leave a trail of kisses down the exposed skin on your back, his soft lips send shivers down your spine and you are almost on the verge of giving in.

You set your lipstick down on the sink countertop and turn to look at him pouting

"You can't do this to me now, you know we can't skip it.”

“Well, it might help you relax though,” he continues to flirt, his lips curved into a little smile.

You’d fall for it any other day but not now that you’re trying to figure out how to impress someone you don’t even know.

Frankie told you something about his mom, how protective she is and overall pretty conservative, you’re the exact opposite.

You don’t know why he stays so positive about the dinner, you’re pretty sure she will hate you.

One look from you is enough to let him know how nervous you are.

Frankie leaves a light kiss on your shoulders and says. "Okay, I'll behave, turn around."

He pulls up his zipper looking at you in the mirror, “Anyway, I wasn’t lying, you look really beautiful.”

You smile softly, feeling your heart fluttering.

general tag list: @baronessvonglitter , @milla-frenchy , @thundermartini , @harriedandharassed , @almostempty let me know if you want to be added or removed and I’ll do it right away. Thank you so much for reading!

#pedro pascal #frankie morales smut #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales x f!reader #neighbor!au #neighbor!frankie morales x f!reader #ppcu #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal characters fanfiction

82 notes · View notes

wings-of-ink · 1 day ago

Text

Hello everyone!

I just wanted to pop in and say hey and give some updates. They're all very mild, but I feel like I've been quiet lately so I wanted to pop something out here for you so you get a feel for where I'm headed.

I have some asks that have piled up and I will be chipping away at them here and there. I had a weird week that I am recovering from, and my mind has been super unfocused lately. I'm doing better now, but had a bout with a few days of insomnia and anxiety. I am already a sleepy-sad mess in the winter, so this does me no favors. I'm popping in when I have some bursts of energy. Your asks and comments have made me smile, think, and get pumped for the days to come though, so I thank you for that. ^_^

Even though my energy is down, I am still finding enjoyment in working on some of the extras! Even if I can only work in short bursts, it's helped me find some respite. I have worked out a short-form character creation for the Cursed Birthday extra. I also have that outlined. My goal is to have that released by the end of this month!

I still plan on opening a Patreon soon, but I have kept putting it on the back burner as I focus on just making it through this time of year, lol. I am just so stupid-tired most of the evening when I have free time and am very over it. In future years, I'll be working ahead during the other seasons and then take a solid block of time between December and January off. I vote that we hibernate.

Before I open up Patreon, I want to have some work banked up and ready to go. Part of the benefits will be voting on what you want to read, but I need to have some basis to go off of for that and content to put out in between. I'll post some teasers and samples so you can see if the extras I have in store will tickle your fancy. I have a running list of both SFW and NSFW extras I'd like to write. Someone asked me earlier to spill (leak) some of my tea on these, so I will happily share a few things I have cooking in my noggin.

Regular (mild) Extras: * A series of stories about being "snowed in" with each of the ROs and how they spend the day with MC. * Each RO will get character-specific stories, featuring cute and romantic moments for things like Zahn's birthday or baking cakes with Oswin.

Spicy Extras: * A series of tales that are erotic dreams that the MC has while traveling with the group. Anything can happen here. * Each RO will have stories featuring spicy content relative to their character's desires. For example, in the first month of Patreon, Oswin will be featured in the spicy tier. The story is titled, "Honey," and is interactive. You can use your imagination. (shout out to the anon who already read my mind and called me on this, lol)

**Addendum** I remember what else I was going to include here so I'm editing. I have some corrections (typos and grammar and such) and a patch for Zahn's moment in Chapter 5 to put through but I cannot get the itch "Butler" application to work on my laptop still. I can't patch without breaking saves all over again. I am trying to find another computer I can do this on so I don't break saves just for a patch.

I think those were the main bits I wanted to touch on (hell if I actually remember, lol). I am recovering from my weird week and am happy it's the weekend. My new kitties are doing fabulous as well. They are very cute and keep me on my toes. Oh, and Arlo knows how to open doors, so there's that. Miles, who was very shy at first, has become a sweet little socialite too.

Arlo just looks grumpy, but he is an absolute ham.

Miles likes to lay with his feets dangling.

#god cursed if #twine if #gc if extras #gc if extra content #just stopping by to say hi #just Lunan things #sleepy but surviving #cats #arlo & miles

71 notes · View notes

cosmicalily · 2 days ago

Text

"heaven is a bedroom" a minho oneshot by @cosmicalily

author's note: okay so even though this wasn't on my publish schedule, i really loved it and wanted to put it out anyways! whilst the lyrics of this song don't totally fit with the theme, i thought the whole idea of the bedroom being like a safe space was really beautiful and based it off the title! my mum and i bond over drinking rosé, eating dark chocolate and doing puzzles together late at night (often with skz code in the bg lol) and i need a man who matches this niche comfort activity of mine, and i feel like lee minho would really fw puzzles. warnings: alcohol consumption, making out

The bedroom you and Minho had built for yourselves was less of a room for sleeping, and more of a nest for the two of you to comfortably exist alongside each other within. Minimal furniture, soft, freshly washed bed linen and a huge window with long navy curtains; simple, calming and easy on the eyes. A place to unwind.

After one of your first dates, Minho had invited you over to his apartment.

“I’m not expecting you to let me hit, I promise.” he assured you. “It’s too early for that. But I’d like to spend the evening with you.”

So you’d gone back to his, hands warm in each other’s. And when he’d let you in through the door, he had opened a bottle of wine, pulled out a puzzle, and lit a single lamp in the corner of his living room. It felt intimate, in a way that wasn’t lustful or desperate. It was cosy and familiar.

And as the two of you sat beside each other on the rug, placing pieces and chatting about anything and everything, one of his three cats on your lap, you’d felt something in your stomach settle. A sense of calm that hadn’t washed over your body in this kind of way for too long.

It had always been that way with Minho. The things that would have normally sent you into a spiral were settled into mere dust. Irrelevant when you had a person that simply got you, a person who loved and knew you through and through, in ways that you hadn’t thought were possible.

There was something permanent about Minho, a feeling you were thankful for.

Now, four years later, you sat on your shared bed, glass of red wine in hand, head resting against his shoulder as you worked on the large-scale Monet puzzle laid out on a tray in front of you. It had been a while since you’d had a pocket of peace like this together; you’d both been busy with work and had spent most nights falling asleep wordlessly, bodies entwined. But this evening, there was a power outage in your apartment block. There wasn’t any WiFi to answer work emails with, so you’d put your laptops to the side and moved into your bedroom.

Whilst the candlelight was a little difficult to work with, the two of you had a knack for puzzles, identifying dips and curves in the pieces, knowing exactly where the next would go.

“Missed you,” you mumbled into Minho’s shoulder, slotting a piece into your growing patch of ocean.

“Mm? I’ve been around,” he replied, but pressed a light kiss to your cheek anyway, knowing you didn’t mean it physically. He set his wine glass down and moved his hand to your waist, gently squeezing and running his fingers along the soft skin. “It’s nice like this. Slower. Less to worry about.”

“I never worry when I’m with you, my love.”

Minho’s face stretched into a soft smile at that, and he moved the puzzle tray to the end of the bed, pulling you into his arms and kissing your forehead. “Good. You’re stuck with me, you know that, right?”

“I’m happy to be.”

Oh, drunk kisses with Minho were some of your favourite. There was a different side to him when he was like this; although he was never rough or cold with you, he was gentler and at times, sappy. Wanting you all over him, wanting to breathe in nothing but you.

But before his tongue slipped between your lips, he pulled away suddenly, head turning to glance at the rustling sound beside you.

Soonie, rather proudly, rolled through the sections of completed puzzle, purring gently.

“It’s okay, don’t worry about it,” you smiled in amusement, cupping Minho’s cheek with your hand and pulling his face back towards yours.

Red wine had most likely trickled out of your tilted glass and onto the white sheets, but that was the least of your worries. Minho’s fingers were in your hair, his burgundy stained lips warm against yours. Somehow, it tasted better on his tongue; sweeter, softer, more fragrant. His kisses were desperate yet measured, taking time to trace his tongue around your mouth, savouring you, downing you slowly and intentionally.

You managed to set your glass down on the wooden table beside your bed, using your now free hand to hold his cheeks. His skin was soft and smooth, a little flushed and warm under your fingertips.

And the way the two of you slotted together, your legs wrapped around his waist and his chest against yours, you knew for sure that amongst the thousands of pieces in your world,

He’d always be the perfect fit.

taglist: @hyunjiiza @velvetmoonlght @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @btch8008s @yaniluvs @ellemir2404 @bellarellasstuff @starsinagreenskyxx @ashtxrie @pigeonseatmayo @modesttiger - comment, dm or send an ask to be added

127 notes · View notes

ay4tou · 2 days ago

Note

Ahh helloo, its my first time being here💛💛 may i ask for fluff goo x reader, in which goo is having a BAD bad day—that he could crush the world (lol)—, then later in the middle of the night both of them decided to do tender exploration of intimacy (not in sexual way), like exploring each others' bodies, finding different birthmarks, looking over each others' scars, sharing the stories behind them, etc, just appreciating the feeling of the other person🥺💛 im sorry if i described this too long😭😭😭 thank u sm in advance🥺💕💕💕

not a bad day | goo kim x reader

summary: the weight in his eyes slips past goo's smile, but you notice. something’s off, and you’re not waiting for him to admit it.

author's note: hi khal, thanks a lot for requesting! took me a bit too long to finish it ehem i was kinda cramming and (stu)dying a bit lately BUT!!!! it's finally done so :D hope you like it! | masterlist

You knew something was wrong before Goo even stepped through the door. You felt like the atmosphere changed. By the time he finally arrived, well, past midnight, he was dragging in the kind of tension that made your stomach twist.

And of course, he greeted you with a smirk.

“Miss me?” the blonde man asked, his voice teasing, leaning into the doorframe with his arms crossed, the corners of his mouth pulling up into a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Hey. You look like you’ve been through a blender.” you said plainly, crossing your arms as you watched him kick off his shoes with exaggerated flair.

"But like, a super cool blender, right?" he said, flopping onto the couch. “Like, the kind you see in commercials where they throw a whole pineapple in.”

You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “You’re not fooling me.”

“Fooling you about what?” he asked, leaning back with a lopsided grin. “That I’m perfectly fine? That my day didn’t suck? That I’m not two seconds away from picking a fight with the nearest inanimate object?” He pouted and stomped the ground like a child throwing a tantrum.

You gave him a flat look, arms crossed. “You’re not as convincing as you think you are.”

Goo tilted his head, pretending to think. “You sure? I could win an Oscar for this performance. Maybe even two.”

“Goo Kim.”

You sat down beside him, close enough to feel the tension radiating off him in waves. “What happened?”

“Nothing." he said immediately, waving you off. "No big deal.”

You leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees. “You’re not as subtle as you think.”

Goo peeked at you from under his arm, expression mixed with playful annoyance and reluctant fondness. “Subtlety is overrated.”

“Sure.” you agreed, tilting your head to meet his gaze. “But that's not going to work on me. I can see that you’re upset.”

For a moment, his smirk faltered, and you caught a glimpse of the exhaustion lurking underneath. But then he was back at it, sitting up and throwing his arms. “Upset? Me? Never! I’m a ray of sunshine, a beacon of joy-”

“Goo. Kim.”

The firmness in your voice made the childish man pause, his shoulders slumping just slightly before he plastered on another grin. “Fine. You win. I’m tired.”

“Tired?” you repeated, unconvinced.

“Tired and mildly annoyed.” he added, leaning back against the couch. “And maybe a little cranky. But that’s it! Definitely nothing catastrophic or emotionally devastating. Nope.”

You sighed, shifting closer to him. Goo stiffened slightly but didn’t pull away. “You don’t have to joke your way through everything, you know. It’s okay to express your feelings once in a while.”

“Bold of you to assume I have feelings.” he quipped, but his voice was softer now, the sharp edges of his humor dulling.

Without a word, you reached for his hand. Goo hesitated, his fingers twitching before finally giving in and letting you hold it. His palm was cold, but his grip was firm, like he was anchoring himself to you.

The two of you sat in silence for a while, the weight of the day settling between you. It wasn’t until much later, when the room was dark and the quiet had stretched long enough, that he spoke again.

“You ever think about how scars are just your body’s way of saying, 'Hey, remember that stupid thing you did?’”

"You got into a fight again?"

"I get into fights all the time, honey. It's just that I got a scar from fighting a while ago."

You blinked at the sudden shift, glancing over to see him fiddling with the hem of his shirt. He’d pulled it up just enough to reveal a scar along his side.

“What the hell did you just do today?” you asked, frowning.

He huffed, but seeing your expression in such a sour face, he couldn't help but grin. Slipping for just a second, he replied, "It was stupid. Got too cocky during a mission and didn’t see the ambush. Should’ve been more careful.”

You nodded, tracing the edge of the scar lightly with your fingertip. “And this one?” you asked, pointing to a faint mark on his forearm.

“Fell out of a tree. I was seven and absolutely convinced I could fly if I jumped high enough.”

And so, the stories came slowly after that. You listened, occasionally sharing your own scars and the tales behind them.

“Wait wait wait wait.” he interrupted at one point, eyes narrowing in mock outrage. “You mean to tell me you got that scar from a lamp?”

“It was a heavy lamp!” you shot back, laughing despite yourself. “And I tripped, okay? Don’t judge.”

“Oh, I’m judging.” he said, but the smile on his face was real this time.

Eventually, the laughter faded, replaced by a quiet stillness as you both leaned back against the couch. His head tipped against your shoulder, his breathing steady and slow.

“Thanks, sweetheart.” he murmured, so soft you almost didn’t catch it.

“For what?”

“Sticking around."

You rested your hand over his, squeezing gently. “Don't worry.”

#ay4tou #lookism #lookism x reader #lookism fic #goo kim #goo lookism #goo kim x reader #goo x reader #lookism manhwa #lookism fanfiction #lookism joongoo

69 notes · View notes

eideticboywonder · 15 hours ago

Text

─── ̩̩͙✩ sweet like honey, part ii ; steve harrington

summary ─ all it took was a smile from you to bring steve harrington to his knees. now he’s on the mission of a lifetime to find your name.

pairing ─ fem!reader x steve harrington

warning(s) ─ use of she/her pronouns, lovestruck steve, they’re so sweet i want to vomit

word count ─ 2,712

author’s note : so… it took an embarrassingly long time to get this out but here it finally is! i realized a big issue was trying to fit too much in one part so i’ve decided to break it up. there will be a part three, hopefully released way sooner than this one lol. thanks again to those who enjoyed part one, i hope you like this one, too!

─ ♡ amy

read part one here ❤️

The night you left him in the lobby of Scoops, that smitten smile stitched to his face, sleep eluded him. The kind of exhilaration only felt in adolescence coursed through him; the impatient excitement over going back to work the next morning because it’d mean seeing you, hearing that voice laced with saccharine so silky it was as if you were serenading him with every word. Steve replayed your conversation on a loop, focusing on the minute details of it— the slight dimple in your right cheek that appeared each time you smiled at him, the genuine interest that shone in your eyes when he talked, the way his skin tingled under the briefest of touches.

It was a complete enigma as to exactly why a whole body reaction was induced every time he so much as thought of you, never mind the floodgates of nerves that opened when you actually interacted. The mystery did not lie within who you were, but the fact that Steve was having these feelings in the first place.

He was always the one in control, never reduced to a puddle by a simple look or made to stumble over his words. He didn’t spend hours after talking to a girl poring over every word, nerves as every bit on fire as they were in the moment.

The thing was, though, Steve didn’t much care about the why. The one thing he did know was he wanted to hold onto this feeling as long as you allowed it.

For once, the blaring of his morning alarm was not only anticipated, but a welcome relief. Steve took extra care in getting ready that day, making sure his hair did “the thing”, picking out just the right cologne he thought you’d like best based on your own fragrance choices. If only he wasn’t condemned to that asinine navy costume.

In truth, he hadn’t thought it would be very difficult at all to obtain your identity— this was Hawkins, everyone knew everyone.

Steve’s first course of action was a simple one: take a quick walk to the theater on his break and try to catch a glimpse of your name tag, or ask one of your coworkers if you weren’t there.

How hard could it be?

His eyes are a magnet to you at this point, easily catching you kneeling before the candy display located within the velvet ropes of the designated line to the concessions counter, restocking the assortment of sweets. For a second, the purpose of his visit evades him, bewitched once again by the sight of you.

Feeling eyes on you, you turn, and upon seeing him, give a smile that infected his entire being. An almost involuntary one of his own pulls at his lips, unknowingly releasing a flurry of butterflies into your stomach; god, he is so beautiful. The butterflies in your stomach flutter frantically when he walks up to you and offers his hand to assist you in standing. Your fingers slot into his instinctively, fitting together so perfectly a warmth blooms from the touch. Even as you rise and no longer need the support, you both find it difficult to let go.

You try to ignore the disappointment when his hand slips from yours— luckily, the dizziness of being close enough to smell his amber cologne, to see the golden brown embers of his eyes, drowns everything else in an instant.

The sound of your own voice slips out before you realize what you’re saying. “One conversation and suddenly the stalker is comfortable enough to approach me at work.”

“I’m just here for the popcorn, running into you is a complete coincidence.” Steve shrugs casually, hoping he’s successful in concealing just how much he's been not so patiently anticipating this meeting.

“Right.” You cross your arms across your chest, raising a brow as you fix him with a look of sarcastic disbelief matching your tone. “So, your being here has absolutely nothing to do with you hoping you could just walk over here and get my name, just like that?”

“Of course not,” he scoffed, trying (and miserably failing) to appear nonchalant; you find it insanely cute, your gaze filling with more adoration by the second. This act is made even less convincing when he tries to lean on the velvet rope, which obviously was not strong enough to support someone of his build, and begins to fold beneath the weight. You can’t stop the quiet giggle you attempt to stifle with your hand as you watch him hurriedly fumble to straighten back up, face flushing fiercely, and go on as if nothing had happened— you choose to show mercy and let him. “‘Cause that would just be too easy… right?”

You donned an expression of fake sympathy and nodded. “Unfortunately for you, Steve, you would be correct. Everyone here is under the express orders to keep their mouths shut.”

“I think you mean ‘unfortunately for us both’, sweetness.” The pet name slips out without thought, a slight panic building within Steve as he assesses your reaction to it. Meanwhile, it’s as if someone has set off fireworks in your chest, your grin widening and the blush dusting your luminous face deepening just so. Your apparent approval noted and his confidence boosted, he continues. “See, as long as it takes me to do this, you also have to wait for me.”

You clutch your chest dramatically. “And what a tragedy that is, Harrington.”

His brows arch at that, the smile that seems to be permanent in your presence taking an air of teasing. “Oh, so you get to know my full name and I can’t even get a hint of yours?”

The rose in your cheeks intensifies with the realization of what you’d let slip, hoping he doesn't notice as you continue— he totally does, by the way, and finds it absolutely adorable. “In my defense, you do have a bit of a reputation, ‘King Steve’. There are benefits to being anonymous, I guess.”

Steve can only imagine what you meant by the “reputation” associated with that moniker, and none of it was good. The partying, the level of (for the lack of a better word) douchiness, he’d put on to maintain his relationships with people like Tommy and Carol, and the popularity that came with it. Not to mention his dating history. A seed of worry begins to plant itself in the back of his mind, watered by his insecurity— was this why you didn’t tell him your name? Did you think he was still that guy?

As much as the boy tries to conceal it by keeping the aloof grin up, you see the panic flash in the hazel of his eyes, thinking quickly to stop it from heightening any further. “Besides, I kinda like that name you gave me. I’m almost tempted to call this whole thing off just so you’ll keep calling me that.”

Your attempt works, evident by the bashful brightness creeping back into his features. “Does that mean I win this little stalker competition you’ve got going on?”

Your heart flutters pleasantly as he subtly leans closer, the sandalwood of his cologne threatening to overtake your senses. Thankfully, you manage to gather enough brain cells to string the right words together and form a cognitive response. “I’ll have to confer with the other judges and get back to you on that. At the very least, we might be able to award you some bonus points.”

”And who exactly are these other judges?”

“You know I can’t tell you that, in the interest of keeping things fair.”

Steve groans dramatically and shakes his head, that charming smile putting you on the verge of swooning. “You’re killing me, you know that?”

There it is again— your laugh, so genuine and light. He’s made women laugh plenty of times before, but most often it was obviously that thing people do where they fake laugh at all of one's jokes while flirting to appeal to their ego. Yours, on the other hand, makes Steve feel like he’s sitting in front of the fireplace with the softest blanket wrapped around him on a snow fallen day each time he hears it. He adores the way your nose scrunches slightly.

“Yo, Jamie Lee!” A voice breaks the spell, forcing your surroundings to be brought back into focus.

You look in the direction of the sound to find Oliver, one of your closest friends, leaning out the door of Theater One behind Steve, that trademark glint of mischief in his eyes as a smirk plays on his lips. Of course, he knew exactly who Steve was and the context of the challenge you’d given him regarding your identity— and you knew him, he definitely would at least be tempted to mess with you. You shoot your best death glare of warning in his direction, which Oliver pointedly ignores, unphased.

Distracted, you don’t notice Steve’s self doubt trickle back into his mind. He recognizes Oliver from your late night ice cream run to the supermarket the week before, and, similar to that night, reminds himself he has absolutely no reason to be jealous of the apparent closeness you share with him. It’s not a malicious or possessive jealousy, more so a kind of sadness over the time he’s had with you while Steve didn’t even know you existed until a few weeks ago.

“Tell your stalker he'll have to come back later. There’s been a popcorn explosion in row C and some major slushy spillage in the back, and since you lost—”

“Yeah, yeah, save the gloating, Oliver.” You flip him off playfully with one hand and make a shooing motion with the other. “I’ll be right there.”

“Don’t take too long,” Oliver winks suggestively, making you roll your eyes. “The next showing is in 20 minutes.”

Steve quirks a brow, prodding you to explain further as you squat to finish the last few bags of candy. You flush with a pleasant surprise when he drops down to help without a word. “It’s a silly story involving boredom while closing together Friday, and a bet to see who could finish their jobs first. I lost, so I have to clean the big messes for a week. So thanks to Oliver, it seems you get to live to stalk me another day.” Display restocked, Steve rises and extends a hand, and fleeting as it may be, the gentle squeeze he gives yours sends a shiver down each of your bodies. The effects of it linger as you even as you start toward the theater and let go. “Thanks. I guess, I’ll, uh, see you around, Harrington.”

“Until next time, sweetness.” The name falls out before he can stop himself for the second time, worry pricking at the hairs on the back of his neck.

But then you beam at him, the pink in your cheeks warming in the sweetest way, and the churning of anxiety is swiftly replaced with butterflies. “Looking forward to it.”

Needless to say, Robin was sufficiently creeped out by his significantly boosted mood which lasted the rest of the day.

Steve’s next brilliant idea was to look in his yearbook. He now had each divine detail of your perfect face etched into his memory, it would obviously take no time at all to find it amongst the quite small graduating class of Hawkins High. All that would be left is to read the name conveniently printed below the picture. Easy, right? Again, could not be more wrong.

To start, he had no idea where the damn thing even was. Keeping track of things was not exactly a mastered skill of Steve’s. Maybe that had something to do with this “be more responsible” kick his parents had been forcing onto him as of late.

It took him almost two whole days to find it, and for Steve, those two days felt like agonizing weeks.

As fate would have it, the Harrington boy had those two days off from work. Usually, he preferred not to be anywhere near that place on his days of freedom, and yet he still returned to Starcourt each afternoon under the guise of watching over the kids in hopes of talking to you again, but he came to the disappointing conclusion that you had a similar schedule. He even attempted salvaging these trips by trying to persuade your coworkers into revealing that small, yet seemingly impossible bit of information without you around. Much to Steve’s disappointment, you'd already accounted for this and sworn them all to secrecy in the vein of “not making it so easy”, so he came up empty.

Back on the yearbook track, Steve had torn apart every last inch of his room searching for it— multiple times, by the way— and still, nothing. Several other innocuous items were uncovered throughout this thorough hunt, such as forgotten homework and some of his dad’s old Playboys he’d stolen and hidden in his closet all the way back in middle school, but the one thing he actually needed to locate continued to evade him.

The next place to incur his desperate rummaging was his beemer, the only other logical option he could think of. No seat or corner of his trunk was left untouched, and still, no such luck. Just as the sky begins to shift into the blended watercolor of warm pinks and purples of the setting sun, Steve finally slams the trunk shut and turns to dejectedly lean back against it, racking his brain for anything he could try short of begging you for pity the next time he saw you. It felt as if there were some greater force somewhere actively willing him to fail.

Never in his life had he had to put this much effort into asking someone out, let alone getting her name. With each failed attempt so quickly followed by another, his disappointment grows, and for the briefest of moments, he allows the doubt to creep in. Maybe the universe was trying to tell him it just wasn’t meant to be— not because anything was wrong with you, but because he was the undeserving one.

He thought he’d found “the one” with Nancy last year, and it’s no secret how that ended, with her finally going to the person she was actually supposed to be with the whole time. Though admittedly, while he did love her, a lot of that stemmed from this romanticization of the high school sweethearts who live happily ever after passed onto him from a young age. He now knew it was never going to work out that way for them in the long run, neither of their hearts were fully in it. But still, theirs had been Steve’s first meaningful relationship, the only one to last more than a couple of casual weeks before he’d end it with them, and the loss of it cut deeply into his self confidence.

What would he even do if he did uncover your name in time? Surely, even if you did say yes to giving him a chance at the end of all this, he’d just end up doing something to screw it up. Maybe you’d be better off if he gave up now, before he had the chance to complicate everything.

But then, that alluring smile of yours, the goosebumps that pricked at his entire body whenever you touched him, the infectious brightness in your eyes each time you looked at him infiltrated his brain. As selfish of him as it may be, he knew he needed to try. Even if whatever you and he ended up building is temporary, you were worth it. That much he was confident about.

His morale refreshed, Steve is hit with a realization: he couldn’t find the damn yearbook because he didn’t have it.

Knowing he wasn’t that great at being organized, Dustin had taken it after graduation for “safekeeping and research purposes”. There was just one problem— Dustin was away at some nerdy science camp for three more weeks. No way was Steve waiting nearly a month for that kid to come back. Luckily, he knew of someone else who’d have a copy of the Hawkins High yearbook.

Nancy.

─── ̩̩͙✩

tags: @johnricharddeacy

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #stranger things #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington drabble

63 notes · View notes

mooonjin · 1 day ago

Note

Can I request a scenario after the event of the 2nd season of the arcana, a relationship between the reader, Viktor and Jayce, perhaps a statement after everything that happened… the reader discovers that she has magic and with that, she manages to save in the last moments Viktor and Jayce. Now Viktor has his emotions, but remains with his body as a herald of magic? of the machine? (honestly, I was a little confused about how Viktor ended up if he became the Herald of Machines or Herald of Magic) and Jayce was a little wild, unstable and very protective… What will happen next? And with the idea of alternative universes What if the other Viktors and Jayces want the reader, since the reader would be the only variation that didn't die… If possible, there could be yanderes… If you want, remove someone, feel free or add, sorry for the inconvenience.

Mine

Notes: lol jayvik obsessor combo!!!!!!!! thx for this request anon, sorry it took so long and zzzzooont say sorry!! :3

Pairing: Jayce and Viktor x f!reader

Summary: Saved from the astral plane, both Jayce and Viktor had developed their own way of... thanking you.

Warnings/Tags: tin/machine/purple viktor, obsession, kissing, a bit of arguing, brief stalk-like behaviour, possesiveness, magic mentions — tell me if I've missed anything!

The rescue was violent and imperfect. Golden tendrils of the astral plane clung to Viktor and Jayce as you wrenched them free, and in their escape, fragments of the hive mind tethered to all three of you. The fallout was instantaneous.

Viktor collapsed to his knees on the beige brick pavements in front of the science towers, his augmented body glowing faintly with runes that pulsed in time with his ragged breaths. His golden eyes met yours, wide with something like awe. "You...?" he murmured, his voice a broken whisper.

Jayce, on the other hand, was not so composed. His hands trembled as he gripped his hammer, his eyes darting between you and the swirling remnants of the astral plane fading behind you. "What did you do?" he demanded, his voice edged with fear and something darker. "What are you?"

In the days that followed, your life became a whirlwind of confusion. Magic spilled from your hands in spontaneous bursts and machines hummed to life in your presence, drawn to the strange energy that radiated from you. Viktor was first intrigued by this, having dealt with magic a few years back.

You pulled Viktor from the astral plane, his body more machine than ever. He studied your magic with fascination, his hands trembling as he sketched diagrams and theories late into the night.

Jayce was different. He hovered around you like a shadow, his gaze always on you, his words too fervent. Something burned within him, a passion and a sense of thankfulness after the incident.

His eyes, though—those betrayed him the most. They were the colour of burnt brown sugar, rich and intense, with a faint gleam when the light caught them just right. But behind the warmth was something undeniably restless.

"I owe you everything," he said one day, his hands gripping yours tightly, almost too tightly. "I won't let anything happen to you."

And he stood by that.

The days in the shared lab became a blur of concentrated effort and experimentation. You, Jayce, and Viktor worked tirelessly to unravel the mysteries of your powers. The sterile scent of chemicals and the faint hum of machinery became your constant companions.

If anything, he thrived in it. He worked tirelessly in his lab, refining his mechanical enhancements along with assisting in stabilising your powers. You caught him watching you more often than not, his gaze clouded with admiration.

He never said it aloud, but you could feel the unspoken possessiveness radiating from him.

"I could build something for you," he offered one night, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at his lips. "A device to regulate your magic. To protect you."

"We can build it together," You mumbled softly, not wanting to put unnecessary pressure on his shoulders, "I'm capable of controlling myself as of now."

"Still, you must be careful. there are many who would seek to exploit what you are. But with me..." He paused, his voice softening with a silent obsession, "With me, you would never have to worry."

Jayce, on the other hand, isolated himself sometimes during his break, going off to work on a project of his own that he never spoke of—despite being so open about his ideas. He snagged one of the stable hexcore gemstones and surprisingly, nobody had noticed.

"You could give her a bit of breathing room," Viktor would mutter under his breath, something tense lingering. Jayce never wavered.

Unlike Viktor, he didn't try to hide his feelings. His presence was an open wound, raw and visible in every glance, every word, every touch that lingered too long. He rarely left your side, always finding an excuse to stay near you. A habit Viktor seemed to catch onto.

It started off subtle, escorting you through Piltover's bustling streets, insisting on standing guard while you worked. But as the days went on, his behavior grew more... obsessive.

You tried to reassure him, to convince him that you didn't need constant protection, but your words only seemed to heighten his senses. He grew more erratic, more desperate.

It wasn't until he managed to sneak his hidden project—which was a round, blue tracking device using Hextech—into your small carrier bag, that you finally confirmed his obsession.

Initially, you didn't recognise it for what it was. It was sleek and compact, its edges glowing faintly with the soft, blue light of Hextech energy. But when you turned it over in your hands and felt the subtle pulse of power within it, the truth and the tech energy hit you like a wave.

This didn't seem like protectiveness. Between the two of them, you felt as though you were being pulled in opposite directions.

The breaking point came late one evening in Viktor's lab.

You had been working with Viktor, helping him calibrate a device designed to measure the flow of your magic. His hands were gentle, precise, as he adjusted the straps around your wrist.

"Tell me if it's too tight," he murmured, his voice low you could say it was intimate.

Before you could respond, the door slammed open and Jayce stormed in.

"What the hell is this?" he demanded, his voice thunderous as he took in the scene. His eyes zeroed in on Viktor's hand resting lightly on yours, an action he didn't take lightly, "What are you doing to her?"

"It's a simple calibration," Viktor replied evenly, though his grip on your wrist tightened ever so slightly, "Perhaps if you calmed yourself, you would see that."

"Calm myself?" Jayce laughed, but there was no humour in it, "You think I'm going to stand here and watch you use her as one of your experiments?"

You tried to intervene, to defuse the situation, but neither man seemed to hear you, "It's my choice, there's no h—"

"You don't have to choose him," Jayce said as he basically pleads, "You don't have to choose anyone. Just... stay with me. Let me protect you."

"And be trapped?" Viktor interjected, his eyes on yours despite arguing with Jayce.

Your chest rose and fell heavily, magic pulsing faintly through your fingertips as you struggled to steady your mind. These two are... fighting? No, right?

Viktor was the first to break the silence, his tone soft. He stepped toward you carefully, as though approaching a frightened animal. His hand reached out, brushing just beneath your wrist where the faint glow of your magic still lingered.

"You've already endured too much. I only want to help you control this power."

Jayce moved closer as well, his broad frame casting a shadow over both of you. His hand clasped yours, firmer than Viktor's, but with an undeniable warmth.

"You don't need to change who you are or what you are for anyone." His gaze flickered toward Viktor, laced with venom, before softening as he turned back to you, "I just need you safe. That's all I care about. Can't you see that?"

You were caught between them, their touches burning in different ways.

"Stop," you said, barely above a whisper. You tried to pull your hands free, but neither man relented, "This isn't about what either of you want."

Viktor's eyes narrowed slightly, his grip shifting so that his palm cradled your wrist, "This is not about want. Without guidance, your powers will destroy you or worse, they will be taken from you by those who don't care for your well-being."

His thumb brushed the inside of your wrist, lingering over the pulse point and feeling the skin he cherishes.

"They're not another one of your machines to perfect." Jayce let out a sharp, bitter laugh, his fingers tightening around yours.

You took a hesitant step back, your pulse quickening as their hungry gazes bore into you. Viktor reached out, his metal hand brushing against your cheek. Despite its cold surface, the touch was gentle.

"Your powers are so foreign... not even you know how much control you have over me."

His words made your breath hitch and you couldn't deny the way your body betrayed you, leaning ever so slightly into his touch.

Viktor's lips curled into a faint smile. For a moment, you thought he might lean closer, might say something more.

But then Jayce's hand shot out, his grip firm on your arm as he pulled you back toward him. His body was warm, solid against yours. Less... metallic.

"You think you can just talk your way into her head? Into her heart? You don't even know what she needs." The way he towered over you felt less protective and more possessive.

"So you believe you do?" Viktor countered with a confident hum.

You opened your mouth to speak, to try break up this cat fight, but Jayce leaned in, his breath warm against your ear.

"Tell me," he whispered softly, now teasing, "Do you really think Viktor could make you feel the way I do?" His lips brushed against the edge of your ear.

Clearly Jayce was trying to assert dominance. However, Viktor didn't step back and didn't see Jayce as a threat. Instead, he cupped your face, his metallic fingers rough but achingly familiar against your skin.

"Tell me you want me." Viktor's eyes locked onto yours.

"You don't understand how much I need you," Jayce's thumb brushed your cheek, tilting your head so you faced him instead of Viktor.

And without waiting for a response, he dipped his head, capturing your lips in a kiss that was as desperate as it was possessive.

The kiss was hot and insistent against yours mouth. His hands slipped to the back of your neck, tilting your head completely away from Viktor's to deepen the connection.

Jayce kissed you like he was eating you. The kiss wouldn't have lasted more than four seconds before Viktor had yanked you off Jayce.

"You're smothering her," Viktor hissed, his golden eyes sharp with irritation, "Do you think that was a kiss? To be devoured by your desperation?"

"Don't act like you're any different, Viktor. You'd kiss her if you had the chance." Jayce grit his teeth, furious his sensual kiss got interrupted.

Viktor ignored him, his attention turning to you. His expression softened, "You deserve better than this... better than him," he said hypnotically.

This time, it was Viktor's turn to tilt your head away from Jayce's and towards his own. He stepped closer, his metal fingers brushing against your wrist while his other hand cupped your jaw gently. His touch was noticeably colder.

Viktor leaned in, his lips hovering just above yours, "You are everything I've ever dreamed of," he whispered, his breath ghosting over your skin, "...I would give you the world if you'd let me."

Before you could even register the closeness, his lips met yours. His kiss was slow, deliberate, and sensual. He kissed you like he was savouring every second unlike Jayce, whose kiss was hungry.

Your mind spun, caught between the two of them, their touches and kisses blurring together. Jayce's warmth lingered on your lips even as Viktor's coolness claimed them as you pondered.

Jayce couldn't watch any longer. He stepped forward, his strong arms circling your waist and pulling you against his chest to disconnect your lips from Viktor's.

A light string of saliva connecting your lips with his before it broke.

He whispered harshly, "I'm not letting him take you from me. Not now, not ever."

Jayce's hands roamed your back, possessive and firm, while Viktor's fingers remained on your jaw, despite the little distance. The difference was dizzying. You were pressed up against Jayce's warm chest and if Viktor took a step forward, you would be sandwiched between the two.

"You don't have to choose," Viktor said softly, taking the remaining step forward as his hand moved to your waist, resting just above Jayce's, "Let us prove that you are everything."

Jayce growled low in his throat, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he tightened his grip on you, "Fine," he said through gritted teeth, his voice laced with both anger and longing.

The tension between the three of you shifted, becoming something darker, more intimate. You felt their hands, their lips, their breaths, all consuming you in a way that made your knees weak.

Their obsession was dangerous, but it was also intoxicating. In that moment, you were theirs and they were yours.

"Kiss me." Was the last thing you heard before someone's warm lips claimed your own.

Post Notes: theres something about obesssive and possesive and fighting jayvik over reader... hehehehe...

~ ~ ~

@lightupsketchersperson @simpleindividualgirl @consecratedvampire91 @donnie_is_here @erunanethiel25 @luv-urself-first

my taglist form!

#arcane #viktor #jayce #jayvik #arcane viktor #arcane jayce #the machine herald #viktor machine herald #arcane season two #arcane s2 #viktor x reader #jayce x reader #jayvik x reader #jayce talis #jayce arcane #viktor arcane #mooonjin #PLS ENJOY OBSSESSORS <333333

88 notes · View notes

theetherealbloom · 3 days ago

Text

IF THERE'S NOTHING LEFT - CH.5

Chapter Five: When They Erase Our Names, God Knows That One Thing Remains

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

Paring: General Marcus Acacius x F!Reader

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

Word Count: 6.6k

A/N: I dreaded this chapter for various reasons lol T^T I hope you enjoy!

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

Song: The Rider by Paris Paloma

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

IMPERIAL VILLA — NIGHT

The grand hall of the Imperial Villa was dimly lit, the flicker of torches casting long shadows across the marble walls. The air reeked of incense and the sharp tang of blood, a bitter reminder of the night's brutal events. You stood off to the side, your wrists bound, a bruise blooming across your cheek and a shallow cut stinging on your temple. Beside you, Marcus Acacius knelt, beaten and bloodied but unbroken, his defiant gaze fixed ahead.

Lucilla, regal even in captivity, was forced to her knees on his other side. Her disheveled hair did nothing to diminish her dignity.

The Emperors swept into the room, their appearances as disheveled as their tempers. Geta, draped in an elaborate robe hastily thrown over his sleepwear, strode in with practiced authority. Behind him, Caracalla, his tunic barely covering his fury, paced like a caged beast. Macrinus and Thraex lingered in the shadows, smug satisfaction written across their faces.

Geta’s eyes locked onto Marcus with contempt, his voice ringing through the hall like a gavel. “The honor, the dignitas that Rome has bestowed upon you—all this you have forfeited by your treachery. Thanks to the civic virtue of men like Macrinus and Thraex, your insurrection has been revealed.”

Marcus lifted his chin, the blood on his face gleaming in the torchlight. Despite his injuries, his voice carried with unwavering strength. “Please, Emperor Geta, torture me if you want. But do not lecture me.”

Geta’s lips curled in a sneer. “Your name and deeds will be forgotten, lost to history. You are damned to oblivion.”

Marcus let out a low, defiant laugh, the sound echoing ominously through the chamber. Geta bristled. “You laugh?!”

“You damn me?” Marcus growled. “I don’t care. Everything is forgotten in time. Empires fall. So do Emperors.”

Caracalla, already simmering with rage, exploded. Grabbing a sword from a nearby Praetorian, he stormed forward, his voice a snarl of fury. “Why wait? I’ll gut him right now!”

Geta rushed to restrain his brother, grabbing his arm as the blade swung wildly, narrowly missing Marcus’s head. “No! No! Calm! Calm! His death must be public.”

“Public, yes,” Caracalla hissed, his eyes wild. “Hang his entrails from the city gates!” He spun toward you and Lucilla, his gaze venomous. “And them! Crucify them both. Crucify her!” His finger jabbed toward you, his voice breaking into a shriek. “Let them all suffer!”

For the first time, Marcus’s composure cracked. “Leave her out of this!” he roared, his voice reverberating through the hall.

Lucilla, too, stepped forward as far as her restraints allowed, her voice cold and commanding. “She is no threat to you. Punish me if you must, but she is innocent.”

Caracalla’s lip curled. “Innocent? No one in your circle is innocent.”

Geta held up a hand, signaling for silence. His gaze swept over you, considering, calculating. “No,” he finally said, his voice low but resolute. “Her skills as a healer are of use. She will not die.”

Caracalla rounded on his brother, his outrage spilling over. “You would show her mercy?”

Geta sneered, his tone dismissive. “Not mercy. A healer stripped of her riches and status is no better than a servant. She will remain—serving the Empire, tending to our men. Let her be a reminder of what happens to those who think they can defy us.”

The decision was made. The Praetorians moved to haul you away, their grip bruising. Marcus struggled against them, his voice a thunderous plea. “No! Let her go!”

You glanced back at him, your heart aching at the anguish in his eyes. “Marcus,” you whispered, your voice soft but steady. “Live. For Rome. For us.”

His struggles stilled, though the fury in his gaze remained unquenched. “I will come for you,” he vowed, the weight of his words promising blood and fire.

Lucilla caught your gaze as you were pulled away, her expression unyielding. “Stay alive,” she commanded in a soft whisper. “That is how you win.”

You didn’t speak again as the guards dragged you out, but the quiet determination burning in your chest was louder than any words you could muster. The fight wasn’t over—not yet.

UNDERCROFT, COLOSSEUM — MORNING

The undercroft was cloaked in a heavy stillness, the faint roar of the distant crowd above serving as the only reminder of the chaos awaiting outside. The dim torchlight flickered against the cold stone walls, casting wavering shadows that seemed alive. You worked with quiet determination, dabbing ointment on Lucius’s wounds, though your hands trembled slightly from exhaustion. Sleep had eluded you since the altercation. If Ravi or Lucius noticed the change in your demeanor, they chose to remain silent.

Ravi was seated nearby, carefully wrapping Lucius’s wrists with the precision of someone accustomed to mending what others sought to break. Lucius, his youthful face etched with weariness, broke the silence first.

“Today, I woke up dreaming of a dark river,” he murmured, his voice low but steady. “A river I have dreamt of before, but this time, for the first time... I was crossing it.”

Ravi paused, his hands stilling briefly as he considered Lucius’s words. “Where I come from, crossing a river represents forgiveness and salvation,” he replied softly.

Lucius let out a faint, humorless chuckle. “Where I come from, it means you’re dead.” His gaze shifted to the middle distance, as if seeing something far beyond the confines of the undercroft. “I believe it means I will die today in the Arena. But—as I saw it, I was not afraid. For there were people on the other side. I was not alone. And my heart felt... open.”

The weight of his words lingered in the air, but you said nothing, focusing instead on your work. You felt the knot tighten in your chest, the reality of his belief pressing down like a physical force.

Lucius turned away, his eyes catching on the shrine of gladiators carved into the wall. He moved closer, stopping before a blank spot where a name had been crudely chiseled away. “Who was this man?”

“Maximus,” Ravi answered, rising to stand beside him. You hesitated before stepping forward, your curiosity drawn toward the name as well.

“I saw him fight once,” Lucius said, his voice carrying a rare sense of reverence. ��It was magnificent.”

Ravi nodded in agreement. “My time in the Arena was after his, but in whispers, many still spoke of him and what he did.”

Lucius tilted his head slightly, as if piecing together a memory. “I met him once. He was kind,” he added, his voice softening. “Bowed to no one.”

Your eyes met Ravi’s, a silent understanding passing between you. You swallowed hard before speaking. “Come with us,” you urged, your voice low but insistent.

---

UNDERCROFT, CATACOMBS — DAY

The air grew colder as you descended the narrow staircase, the light of your torch flickering against the damp stone walls. The tunnel was lined with catacombs, their alcoves filled with the remains of fallen gladiators. Most were marked with nothing more than a name etched into the stone—Iduma of Mykonos, Cimon.

“When a rebel gladiator dies, we are supposed to cremate him and scatter the ashes,” you explained, your voice barely above a whisper. “But we bury them here instead.”

The crypt opened into a small chamber, dominated by a single phrase chiseled roughly into the stone: What we do in life echoes in eternity.

Lucius approached the words, his fingers brushing lightly over the inscription as he read aloud, “What we do in life... echoes in eternity.” Beneath the phrase, the name Maximus was etched into the stone.

Above the crypt, Maximus’s breastplate and sword hung from the wall, the metal dulled by time but no less imposing. Lucius reached up and took the breastplate down, his expression thoughtful. “Scatto,” he whispered. “Argento.”

You watched him for a moment, your heart heavy with the weight of what lay ahead. Finally, you turned to Ravi, passing him the torch. “I must go before the games begin,” you said, your voice faltering slightly. “I...”

Ravi gave a solemn nod, his expression steady. “The people will be ready when you call upon them,” he assured you.

Lucius’s brows knit in confusion, but before he could ask for clarification, you turned and fled, your footsteps echoing in the narrow corridor.

THE COLOSSEUM — DAY

You sprinted through the labyrinthine corridors of the Colosseum, your breath ragged, the cold stone walls blurring past you. The distant roar of the crowd reverberated through the halls, each cheer a hammer against your chest.

At last, your eyes found him—Marcus, striding toward the Arena gates. His armor gleamed faintly under the dim torchlight, but it did little to hide the stiffness in his movements, the weight of his untreated wounds dragging against his formidable will. His commanding presence, though battered, remained intact, his head held high as if he bore the weight of Rome itself.

“Marcus!” you cried out, your voice slicing through the din, raw with desperation.

A Praetorian stepped forward, intercepting you with a vice-like grip on your arm. “Stand back!” he barked, his tone as sharp as the gladius at his side.

“Let me go!” you screamed, thrashing against him. Your gaze locked on Marcus, pleading. “His wounds—they haven’t been treated! You’re sending him to die!”

Marcus turned sharply at the sound of your voice, his piercing gaze cutting through the distance. The hardness in his expression wavered for a fleeting moment, giving way to something tender. “Release her,” he growled, his tone low but unyielding.

The Praetorian hesitated, glancing between you and Marcus as if weighing the consequences. When he didn’t relent, you tore your arm free, ignoring the sting of his grip. “If you send him into that Arena like this,” you said, your voice rising with fury, “it will not be a fight—it will be an execution!”

Marcus took a step closer, his battered frame radiating defiance. His eyes, however, softened as they met yours, and for a moment, the clamor of the world seemed to fade. “You shouldn’t have come,” he murmured, his voice rough, but threaded with something intimate.

“I couldn’t stay away,” you replied, your voice trembling. “Not when I know what they’re doing to you. Not when I—” You swallowed hard, the words catching in your throat.

The Arena gates groaned open, and the roar of the crowd surged, deafening. Time seemed to slow as Marcus reached for your hand, his touch brief but searing, grounding you in the moment. “No matter what happens, know this,” he said, his voice steady despite the chaos around you. “You are the light I carry into the darkness. My carissima—my heart has been yours long before this day.”

Your breath hitched, your vision blurring with unshed tears. “Then fight for me,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “Fight for us.”

A faint, bittersweet smile ghosted his lips as he released your hand and turned toward the gates. “For you, I will endure anything,” he said, his voice resolute.

As he stepped forward, the sunlight streaming into the Arena catching on his armor, you stood rooted to the spot, your heart splintering with every step he took. “Marcus!” you called out one last time, the weight of unspoken words heavy on your tongue.

He paused, glancing back with a look that spoke of endless promises. “Whatever happens, my love will echo into eternity.”

You watched him disappear into the blinding light of the Arena, the roar of the crowd swallowing him whole. The Master of Ceremonies reads off the official denunciation of the man you love, “For his treason against the lives of the Emperors and the Roman state... an Enemy of the People.”

And in that moment, all you could do was hope—that the fire in his spirit would be enough to carry him back to you.

The clash of swords echoed in your ears, but your focus was entirely on him—on Marcus. The sight of him in the Arena, a whirlwind of strength and precision, sent your heart into a spiral of anguish and awe. He dispatched the four soldiers with ruthless efficiency, sustaining only a superficial scratch. His breath came heavy as he stood amidst the carnage, blood staining the sand beneath his feet.

You tore your gaze away to look above, where Lucilla sat in the royal box, her wrists bound in chains. Her face, streaked with tears, mirrored the grief clawing at your own chest.

When Marcus’ eyes found yours, the rest of the Colosseum seemed to vanish. Though his body bore the scars of countless battles, it was his gaze that struck you deepest. His eyes burned with a fire that had kept him alive through horrors unimaginable, yet they softened when they landed on you.

Your heart twisted painfully. Yes, he wore the scent of blood and death like a warrior’s perfume, his every move a testament to his survival. But you loved him regardless, perhaps even because of it. He was a star burning with the light of a thousand suns, and your world was an endless abyss without him.

The Master of Ceremonies stepped forward, his voice booming over the crowd. “From the vanquished city of Numidia, the victor of two contests in the Colosseum—the barbarian Hanno!”

The south gate creaked open, and from the shadows stepped Lucius. Your breath caught in your throat. Fear consumed you, gnawing at your resolve. This was no ordinary opponent; this was Lucilla’s son. Lucius, whom you had come to know, to care for as a friend. And now, fate had pitted him against the man you loved.

Marcus straightened, his sword glinting in the harsh sunlight. Lucius raised his weapon, his youthful face a mask of determination, and charged.

The clash of their swords reverberated through the Arena, each strike heavier than the last. Marcus splintered Lucius’ wooden shield with a single swing, sending fragments scattering. Without hesitation, Lucius threw himself back into the fray, weapon raised high. The flat of his blade caught Marcus broadside, forcing him to stagger.

Your nails dug into your palms as you watched the brutal dance unfold. Marcus managed to disarm Lucius, knocking him to the ground. But when the final blow could have come, Marcus hesitated. He stepped back, raising his hand to the crowd, then dropped to his knees in the sand.

“Acacius has raised his hand!” the Master of Ceremonies declared. “He has surrendered!”

A stunned silence fell over the crowd. Tears streamed down your face, unchecked, as you whispered, “No…”

The silence broke with a roar. “Let the gods decide!” the Master of Ceremonies proclaimed.

Your stomach churned as Geta stood in the royal box, his hand lifted to the sky. Time slowed as he brought it down—thumb turned irrevocably down.

“No!” you screamed, though your voice was drowned by the crowd’s cheers.

Lucius rose, sword in hand, and approached Marcus. The words exchanged between them were faint, but you strained to hear. Marcus spoke with quiet conviction, his voice steady even in the face of death. “Do what you must. On my death, you must know… I love her—the healer, my carissima. Your mother was my friend. Your father, my brother in arms. I would have died for him.”

Something shifted in Lucius’ stance. He faltered, his sword lowering. And then, to the shock of all, he dropped it to the sand. Slowly, he knelt beside Marcus, defying the will of the Emperor.

Rage flared in your chest, consuming the fear that had gripped you. It was raw and primal, burning away hesitation. You darted toward a weapons rack near the Arena’s edge, your fingers trembling as you grabbed an arrow. Wrapping its head in cloth soaked with pitch, you moved swiftly to the north gate.

The guards were too distracted by the unfolding scene to stop you. Lighting the arrow on a nearby torch, you notched it and drew the bowstring back, your muscles taut with purpose. The flames licked at the arrow as you aimed high and let it fly.

It struck true, igniting a banner in the royal box. Flames spread rapidly, drawing screams from the crowd. You let out a sharp whistle, piercing through the chaos—the signal.

In an instant, chaos erupted. Some of the Praetorian archers turned on their comrades, loosing arrows in calculated rebellion. Screams and confusion engulfed the Colosseum as you sprinted toward the center of the Arena.

“Marcus!” you shouted, dodging arrows as you reached him and Lucius.

His head snapped toward you, his expression a mix of fury and desperation. “What are you doing? You’ll get yourself killed!”

“I’m not leaving you!” you shouted back, grabbing his arm.

The three of you ran for the undercroft, but not before an arrow struck Marcus in the arm. His cry of pain sent a fresh wave of terror through you, but you didn’t stop.

Ravi appeared at the entrance to the undercroft, his face streaked with soot and pale with fear, but his resolve unwavering. “This way!” he called, rushing forward to take Marcus’ other arm and hoist it over his shoulder. Marcus groaned, his weight pressing heavily against both of you, though his eyes still burned with determination despite the pain.

“Keep moving,” Ravi urged, his voice tight with urgency.

Lucius, breathing hard but steady, halted suddenly. “I will stay,” he said, his voice firm, though his expression betrayed the conflict within.

“Lucius, no,” you protested, your voice catching as you turned to him.

“I must,” he said, shaking his head. His eyes were filled with a mix of fear and fierce loyalty. “For my mother. For Lucilla. I can’t abandon her to them.”

You hesitated, your chest tightening. “Lucius…”

He stepped forward, his hand resting briefly on your shoulder. “You have a chance to make this right,” he said, his voice softer now, almost imploring. “Go. Protect him. Do what I cannot.”

Marcus stirred at Lucius’ words, his head lifting weakly. “Lucius,” he rasped, his voice laden with respect and sorrow. “You’re braver than I could ever hope to be.”

Lucius gave a small, sad smile. “No, General. I’ve only learned from the best.”

Your throat tightened as you searched for words, but none came. Instead, you nodded, a silent promise passing between you.

“Go,” Lucius said, his voice more urgent now as the distant sound of Praetorian guards grew closer. “I will buy us the time we need.”

Your heart clenched as you watched him turn back toward the chaos above, his sword in hand, shoulders squared against the impossible odds.

“I’ll see you again,” you called after him, your voice trembling.

He didn’t look back, but his voice carried through the shadows. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Ravi tugged on Marcus, breaking you from your frozen stance. “We have to move!”

You spared one last glance at the chaos above—the flames licking at the banners, the rebellion erupting like a storm, the empire trembling on the brink of collapse. Lucius stood at the edge of it all, a lone figure against the inferno.

Then you turned and disappeared into the shadows, Marcus’ weight heavy against your side but his presence anchoring you. Each step was a vow—to see this through, for Marcus, for Lucius, for Lucilla, and for the fragile hope of a future you still dared to dream of.

HIDDEN COTTAGE, OUTSKIRTS OF ROME — EVENING

The hidden cottage was small, nestled among the thick trees on the outskirts of Rome. Its weathered walls, cloaked in ivy, offered a fleeting sense of safety as you dismounted your horse, your legs trembling beneath you. Marcus slumped in the saddle, pale and shivering, his strength all but drained. Ravi rushed to help, catching him before he toppled to the ground.

“Inside, quickly,” you urged, your voice shaking as you flung open the door. The cottage was sparsely furnished—a rough-hewn table, a single cot, and a fireplace where embers still smoldered from whoever had left it behind.

Ravi and you eased Marcus onto the cot, his armor clinking as it hit the wood. He let out a low groan, his hand gripping yours tightly as his head lolled back.

“Marcus,” you whispered, brushing sweat-soaked hair from his forehead. His eyes fluttered open, glassy and unfocused.

“I’m fine,” he rasped, though the deep crimson staining his tunic said otherwise.

“No, you’re not,” you said firmly, your voice steady despite the storm raging in your chest. “Ravi, get the water boiling. We need to clean these wounds.”

Ravi nodded, already moving to the fireplace. You quickly removed his armor and tore at Marcus’s tunic, exposing the angry gash on his shoulder where the arrow had struck. Blood seeped sluggishly from the wound, a stark reminder of how close you’d come to losing him.

“This will hurt,” you murmured, your fingers trembling as you pressed a cloth to the wound.

“Hurts less,” Marcus said, his lips twitching in a faint smile, “when you’re the one tending to it.”

“Save your charm for when you’re not bleeding to death,” you replied, though your voice softened, betraying your worry.

As you worked, Marcus’s breathing grew shallower. His hand found yours again, squeezing weakly. “You’re trembling,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“So are you,” you shot back, though your resolve wavered as his thumb brushed over your knuckles.

“Carissima,” he murmured, the term of endearment slipping from his lips like a prayer. “I need you to listen.”

“Marcus, stop,” you said, blinking back tears. “Save your strength.”

He shook his head, his dark eyes locking onto yours with startling clarity despite the fever setting in. “Listen to me. There’s something I need you to do.”

Ravi returned with a steaming basin of water, and you began cleaning the wound with swift, efficient movements. Marcus flinched but didn’t pull away.

“You’re going to ride to Ostia,” he said, his voice hoarse but resolute. “You will find General Darius Sextus. Tell him to bring the army. It’s the only way we overthrow those bastards on the throne.”

“I’m not leaving you,” you said, your tone sharp as you dabbed at the wound. “You’ll bleed out if I’m not here.”

“You’ll come back,” he said, his lips curving into the faintest smile. “I know you will.”

“Marcus, stop talking like this,” you snapped, the lump in your throat threatening to choke you. “You’re not going to die.”

He reached into the pouch at his belt, fumbling until his fingers closed around something. When he pulled it free, your breath caught. It was his simple signet ring, battered with age but unmistakably precious.

He pressed it into your hand, his fingers curling over yours. “Take this,” he said, his voice trembling now. “When you return, I want to see it on your finger.”

“Marcus…” Your voice broke, tears spilling down your cheeks despite your best efforts to hold them back.

“You’ll be my wife,” he continued, his delirium softening his usual commanding tone. “You already are in my heart. Always have been.”

Your hands shook as you clutched the ring, the weight of his words pressing into your chest. “You’re feverish,” you said, trying to deflect the overwhelming wave of emotion. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I’ve never been more certain,” he murmured, his eyes searching yours. “You’re the reason I fight. The reason I live.”

Ravi placed a steadying hand on your shoulder, his voice quiet. “We need to cauterize the wound, or we’ll lose him.”

You nodded, swallowing your tears as you set the ring aside, your fingers brushing Marcus’s cheek one last time. “Stay with me,” you whispered, your voice fierce despite the crack threatening to break it. “Stay, Marcus.”

He gave a weak nod, his hand tightening briefly around yours. “For you, carissima, always.”

The fire roared as Ravi prepared the blade. You took Marcus’s hand again, anchoring him as he drifted between consciousness and oblivion. The pain would be unbearable, but so was the thought of a world without him.

As you pressed the heated metal to his wound, his scream tore through the room, and your heart shattered. But you didn’t let go. You never would.

HIDDEN COTTAGE, OUTSKIRTS OF ROME — MIDNIGHT

The crackling of the fire filled the silence of the room as shadows danced across the walls. You sat on a worn wooden stool, staring into the flames while absentmindedly twirling Marcus’ signet ring on your finger. The weight of it felt both grounding and unbearable—a constant reminder of him, of the fragile hope that lingered between life and death.

The sound of the door creaking open startled you, and you rose quickly, your heart in your throat. Ravi stepped inside, his arms laden with bundles of potions, food, and water. His face was streaked with dirt and exhaustion, but his resolve remained unbroken.

“I carried what I could,” he said, his voice quiet but steady.

You gave him a small, grateful nod. “Thank you, Ravi.”

Together, you began unpacking the supplies, arranging them on the shelves in hurried efficiency. The weight of the night pressed down on both of you, heavy and suffocating.

As he placed a jar of salve on the counter, Ravi broke the silence. “The streets are in chaos. Masses of people rioting, chanting for the emperors’ heads. It’s madness out there.”

You paused, the weight of his words sinking into your chest. “And Lucius? Lucilla?” you asked, though you feared the answer.

Ravi hesitated, his face grim. “I’ve heard talk… They plan to execute her tomorrow, along with several senators, including Gracchus.”

Your heart clenched, and tears slipped down your face before you could stop them. The thought of Lucilla—brave, steadfast Lucilla—facing such a fate made your chest ache with helplessness.

Ravi turned to you, his voice gentler now. “I know the fear inside you,” he said, his eyes steady on yours. “But let hope live beneath the doubt. You must ride to Ostia. Gather the army. I’ll stay here and watch over Acacius.”

Your hands trembled as you gripped the edge of the table. The coolness of the ring on your finger seemed to burn against your skin, its presence a bittersweet comfort. “You have to keep him alive,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I beg you, Ravi. Keep him alive.”

Ravi placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder, his gaze resolute. “I will. I swear it.”

You moved quietly into the small room where Marcus lay, his large frame stretched across the narrow cot. His brow was furrowed even in sleep, and the faintest groan escaped his lips as he shifted. You knelt beside him, your heart tightening at the sight of him so vulnerable, so worn.

Carefully, you brushed a stray lock of his salt-and-pepper curls from his forehead, your fingers lingering against his warm skin. He leaned into your touch unconsciously, his expression softening, and the faintest flicker of peace graced his face.

“I love you,” you whispered, your voice trembling. The words felt like a prayer, a promise, and a plea all at once.

Tearing yourself away from him felt like ripping your heart from your chest. Your knees threatened to give out, but you steadied yourself, reminding yourself of the task ahead. For Marcus, for Lucius, for Lucilla, for Rome—you had to be strong.

You stepped outside, the crisp night air biting against your skin. Pulling your hood over your head, you turned to Ravi, who stood waiting with your horse. He handed you the reins with a solemn nod.

“Heo is se wind. You’re the wind,” Ravi said softly, almost as if speaking to himself. “The wind that will carry them home.”

You met his gaze, your throat tight with unspoken gratitude, and mounted your horse. With a final nod to Ravi, you dug your heels into the stirrups and rode into the darkness.

The cold air whipped against your face as the cottage disappeared behind you, the quiet night broken only by the sound of your horse’s hooves pounding against the earth. The road ahead was long and uncertain, but your heart burned with a single, unrelenting purpose: to save Marcus, to save Rome, and to see the light of hope once more.

—--------------

OSTIA — DAWN

The first light of dawn kissed the horizon, streaking the sky in hues of gold and crimson. The Roman camp at Ostia stirred with life as soldiers prepared for the day, their voices carrying through the crisp morning air. You rode into the camp at a gallop, your horse’s hooves pounding against the earth, kicking up dust in your wake.

“Stop!” a centurion bellowed as you neared the heart of the camp. Others joined in, shouting commands to halt, but you paid them no mind. Your determination was unshakable.

You dismounted swiftly, your legs unsteady after the relentless ride. The horse whinnied, tethered hastily to a nearby post. Two centurions moved to intercept you, their hands outstretched to block your path.

“Out of the way!” you snapped, your voice sharp with urgency. When one of them grabbed your arm, you shoved him aside, yanking your hood back to reveal your face. They froze, their expressions flickering between surprise and confusion. A woman, unarmored, and yet, you carried yourself with a ferocity that made them hesitate.

You stormed through the rows of tents, your breath coming in shallow gasps, until you reached the largest one—adorned with the banners of Darius Sextus, the legate commanding the army at Ostia. Two guards stationed outside moved to block your way.

“Identify yourself!” one barked, his hand on the hilt of his gladius.

Your eyes burned with the fire of purpose as you held up your hand, revealing the signet ring gleaming in the early light. “This is my identification,” you said fiercely, brushing past them before they could respond.

Inside the tent, Darius Sextus sat at a makeshift table, a half-eaten loaf of bread in one hand and a goblet of wine in the other. He looked up at you with mild irritation, his brow furrowing at the sight of an unannounced visitor.

Before he could demand an explanation, you strode forward, your breath still labored, and thrust the ring onto the table. The sound of metal striking wood reverberated through the space.

His gaze dropped to the ring, and the moment recognition dawned in his eyes, he stiffened. “Who gave you this?” he demanded, rising to his feet.

You straightened, despite the ache in your legs and the sweat dripping down your temples. “Marcus Justus Acacius,” you replied, your voice steady despite your exhaustion. “My husband.”

Darius blinked, his surprise evident, but you pressed on before he could question further. “My friend Lucius Verus Aurelius Maximus, the prince of Rome, and his mother, Lucilla, are in grave danger. They need your help.”

Darius stared at you, his expression unreadable. Finally, he gestured to the ring. “This is proof of Acacius’ command. And yet, you claim he sent you as his... wife?”

Your jaw tightened, your hands balling into fists at your sides. “He entrusted this to me because he knows the danger we face. Rome is falling, and you, Legate, have the power to stop it. Marcus fights for a better Rome, not for glory or power, but for the people. If you care for your city, for your honor, you’ll listen.”

For a moment, silence stretched between you. Then, Darius stepped closer, his voice quieter but no less firm. “If Acacius sent you, where is he now?”

Your heart clenched at the memory of Marcus lying pale and wounded in the hidden cottage. “He is injured,” you admitted, your voice breaking slightly. “But alive. And he fights still, in spirit, even as his body recovers. He would be here himself if he could.”

Darius studied you for a long moment, his sharp eyes assessing. Finally, he nodded. “You have his courage,” he said, a flicker of respect softening his tone. “I will call the banners and ride for Rome. But understand this, woman—if you are lying, it will cost you your life.”

You lifted your chin, defiance burning in your gaze. “I do not fear death. But you should fear the wrath of a man who loves Rome enough to sacrifice everything for her. Marcus Acacius does not choose his allies lightly.”

Darius gave a curt nod, already turning to issue orders to his men. The tent erupted into activity as soldiers prepared to march. You stepped back into the dawn, your heart heavy with the weight of what lay ahead but emboldened by the hope flickering in the distance.

You clutched the ring on your finger, its presence grounding you. "Wait for me, Marcus," you whispered under your breath as the camp burst into motion. "I will see this through."

VIA SACRA, RIVERBANK — DAY

The air was thick with tension, the distant outline of Rome rising like a specter against the horizon. The sound of hooves pounding the ground was relentless, a rhythm of war and desperation. You rode at the front of Acacius’s army, the wind whipping your cloak as your horse surged forward. Around you, the soldiers moved as one, their determination palpable.

Beside you, General Darius Sextus rode with a stoic expression, his gaze fixed on the gates of Rome. Your own heart thundered in your chest, not from the exertion, but from the knowledge of what lay ahead. Somewhere beyond those gates was Marcus, his life tied to the fate of this city, and you would see it through—if only for him.

As you neared the gates, movement drew your attention. Macrinus, a dark figure astride his horse, galloped toward the advancing army. His presence was a challenge, a taunt, his defiance cutting through the rising tension.

You reined in your horse, watching as Macrinus paused, his sharp gaze darting between the approaching forces. General Tegula, standing at the head of the praetorian line, gestured for Macrinus to act. But before he could, another rider tore across the field—a blur of motion and purpose.

Lucius Verus Aurelius.

You drew in a sharp breath, your hands tightening on the reins as Macrinus's voice rang out.

“Will nothing kill this barbarian?” he shouted, his tone biting, his words aimed at Lucius.

The two men faced each other, their animosity tangible even from a distance.

“My name is Lucius Verus Aurelius,” Lucius declared, his voice steady and commanding. His words carried to the men at the front of the praetorian army, the hint of intrigue flickering in General Tegula’s expression. The soldiers began to falter, their loyalty visibly wavering.

Macrinus sneered, his voice laced with contempt. “A man does not become Emperor by bloodline alone. It must be taken by force and kept by force. Are you such a man as this?”

Lucius sat tall on his horse, the morning sun catching the golden trim of his armor. “I don’t fight for power,” he said, his voice resolute. “I fight to free Rome from men like you and return it to them.” He gestured to the soldiers and people around him, his meaning clear.

Your chest swelled with a mix of hope and trepidation as you glanced at Darius, whose expression remained unreadable.

For the first time, doubt flickered in Macrinus’s eyes, his bravado cracking. “The gods themselves want Rome reborn. They sent me to fulfill that task,” he declared, though his voice lacked its earlier conviction.

“And what if your gods sent me here to kill you?” Lucius countered, his voice deep and unyielding. “It’s time to end this, Macrinus.”

Without another word, Lucius drew his sword, spurring his horse into a charge. You barely had time to catch your breath as the two men clashed, the force of their collision sending Macrinus and his horse tumbling.

Your gaze followed the battle, each strike and parry a brutal testament to their will. The armies on either side stood silent, watching as Lucius and Macrinus fought beneath the Arch. Darius’s men halted, their discipline holding firm, while the praetorians hesitated, their loyalty unraveling.

Lucius’s movements were fierce and unrelenting, but Macrinus fought like a cornered beast. The clash carried them off the road and toward the riverbank, the muddy slope making each step precarious.

You leaned forward in your saddle, your breath caught as Lucius slipped, his body vanishing beneath the filthy water. Macrinus pounced, his blade flashing as he drove it downward, but Lucius erupted from the river with a rock in hand, smashing it against Macrinus’s head.

The fight turned savage. Each strike from Lucius was fueled by purpose, his blows braining Macrinus until the man reeled, blinded by blood. You winced as Lucius swung his sword with surgical precision, severing Macrinus’s arm and then cutting deep into his abdomen.

Macrinus crumpled, his remaining strength spent as he slumped into the river, his body drifting away in the current. Lucius stood motionless for a moment, his chest heaving as he stared after his fallen enemy.

When he turned back, his bloodied form ascended the muddy slope, stepping into the silence that had overtaken the battlefield. Under the Arch, between two armies, Lucius paused, his gaze sweeping across the faces of the men and women who watched him.

He threw down his sword, the sound of it hitting the ground a final punctuation to the violence. His voice, ragged but clear, carried across the field.

“You look to me to speak,” he began, his tone solemn. “I know not what to say other than we have all known too much death. Let no more blood be spilt in the name of tyranny.”

You swallowed hard, your chest tight as his words struck a chord.

“My grandfather, Marcus Aurelius, dreamed of a Rome that would be a city for the many, a home for those in need—a republic. That dream has been lost.” He looked at the soldiers on either side of him, his expression weary yet determined. “But dare we rebuild that dream together. What say you?”

For a long moment, the battlefield held its breath, a fragile stillness settling over the chaos. Lucius stood at its heart, bloodied yet unyielding, like a lone pillar in a storm-ravaged temple. His chest rose and fell with the weight of his words, his armor bearing the scars of battle, but his gaze remained steady, unbroken—a light that refused to be extinguished.

Your eyes met his, just for a fleeting second, and in that shared glance was an unspoken vow, a thread of hope tethered to the impossible. As you turned your gaze back to Lucius, he stood as a reflection of what Rome could become: bruised but not beyond redemption.

In that moment, a fragile ember of belief sparked within you. Hope, tenuous and flickering, wove itself into your thoughts. You closed your eyes briefly, your heart murmuring a silent prayer—for Marcus, for his dream of a better Rome, and for the chance to stand beside him when it was finally brought to life.

50 notes · View notes

dominarava · 3 days ago

Text

Angel

Ghostface × Female!Reader

CW: Dub/Non-Con, Blood, Stalking, Breaking & Entering, usual fucked up GF stuff

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 2.2k

Summary: The quiet guy in your discord server decides to chat you up in the general vc, and as expected, has a lot more to unpack than you ever expected.

Notes: I was lazy and just posted the ugly default AO3 link when I first posted this, so I'm coming back and making it look nicer with new and improved tags lol

This piece doesn't specify who is really behind the mask, so whoever you want is up to you~

I had fun with this and left light references to the movies, Dead By Daylight, and Mortal Kombat to honor some of my favorite appearances of him-- hopefully it doesn't ruin the immersion lol

I don't usually leave notes, but it's been a while and I've adored all the comments and kudos I've gotten in my absence, cause at the end of the day, that's what will always bring me back. I love all your support and time reading this and hopefully I have more soon to come for you all!

Thank you again so much for reading, and I hope you enjoy! 🔪💕✨️

AO3 Link

This had become the nightly habit: get off work, make dinner, chill with the lads in a Discord call until bedtime. Mindlessly playing a game, you weren't surprised by the sound of someone joining the call, however you were surprised by who it was. He was a rando that had joined a while back, was nice enough, but didn't have much to say as he relegated himself to really only short replies or emoji reactions. You could have sworn he posted a thirst trap without his face in the #selfies channel, but you weren't 100% sure. When he would join calls he would always stay muted, opting to reply in the text chat or not at all, merely listening to and enjoying just being around the good times happening. All the same, you felt it rude to not say at least a little hello.

“Hey! How’re you doin’ tonight?”

“Hey there~”

The voice on the other side was low, having a bit of a flirtatious twang in the sigh of his greeting. Your heart skipped a beat, you weren't sure if he had ever spoken to you, much less anyone else in the server. And if you were being honest, he sounded kind of hot. Letting the giddy feeling ride, you tried to keep him talking since it was just the two of you.

“Woah–” You poked cheekily, “I dunno if I've heard you say anything before.”

“I'm more of a one-on-one kind of guy,” He offered smoothly, “But I enjoy listening to everyone having a good time.”

“Fair–”

The air fell dead as you wondered what to talk about next, letting him cut into the silence with a question, “So.. what's your favorite scary movie?”

Having just finished a server horror movie night not too long ago, the question felt like a natural segway into your interests, “Hmmnn that's actually a good question– I think if we're just talkin’ horror in general my first and favorite would have to be Silence Of The Lambs. The back and forth relationship between Clarice and Dr. Lecter was probably one of the most challenging to my mind at the ripe age of twelve, since then I've loved horror that has a female protagonist that is put under pressure by the killer to make difficult choices and solve the puzzle he left for her.

“But– that's not to say pieces like Substance or Midsommer aren't incredible mentally challenging works of art to me, I love both, along with movies like The Empty Man, Smile, It Follows, The VVitch, The Void, V/H/S–”

He cut your train with a light chuckle, “I definitely want to know which you thought was better, Smile or It Follows, but I meant to ask, what’s your favorite slasher movie?”

You gave this one a lot more consideration as your heart swelled with a damning excitement at the thought of your favorite killers, “That's such a hard choice! Of course Micheal Myers from <i>Halloween</i> is like everyone's big daddy– but I think if I had to choose it would have to be Stab! Ghostface is just a lot more fun, playful, and let's be honest– horny.”

“Oh yeah?” He hummed, “Why's that?”

How his tone seemed to curl at the end of his words made your chest tighten and a heat rise to your cheeks, “I mean, at the heart of it.. the voice actor responsible for his voice changer in the movie said that his tone is flirtatious, beyond that– between the fact that the first Ghostface seemed to get off on the idea of causing his object of obsession, Sidney, the most pain possible by the mocking of her mother being the town bicycle and it's even pointed to at the end of the movie that the two who were behind the Ghostface killings were the same two that brutalized Sidney's mother–”

“Goddamn–” Nearly groaning his words as he cut you off, he cleared his throat and pressed, “Good girl~ You sure do know your stuff.” Praising you with words that melted like chocolate over your tongue, your mind tilted at his words, ‘Good girl’.

Good girl?!

“Excu–”

“I fuckin’ love girls like you–” He went on, swearing you could hear the ache of him through the call, “Your type always knows how really appreciate us..”

‘Us’?

Before you could get a word in, he went on, “Buuut it looks like that's my cue– I hope you're ready for some fun this evening.” Leaving the conversation with the disconnect sound chiming through your ears in silence to process what just happened.

The sound of him leaving the call let a wash of relief run over you, only lasting for a moment as the floor creaking caught your attention with arms wrapping you in a winding embrace. Having your arms pinned at your sides, your hands flailed looking for any sort of way out. Only, the way your grip seemed to find his length caged behind his pants before skirting over to the long hunting knife strapped to his leg, making your struggle against him stop with a gasp.

“Yeah.. that's all for you Babe, whatever you need– so.. let's behave.. alright..?” The same voice that was lingering in your headset only moments ago was in high definition against your back.

Firmly pressing his hand over your mouth, you froze as someone else joined the empty call with you, “Hey you there?”

Your headphones loud enough for him to hear, an uneasy pause passed between you two as his hold over your lips lessened, “Yeah-” He let you breathe through his nitrile gloved fingers.

“Good, kinda glad he's gone, he's chill and all, but it kinda bugs me that he's just in here just dead-ass silent all the time. Fuckin’ weird.”

Looking over your shoulder a bit to get any sort of a look at him, you were only met with the deep black drooping eyes framed by a gasping bone white mask. Familiarity of the visage made your heart drop into your stomach, forcing you to chew on the harsh fact that that same familiarity you knew to fear, also brought the flutter of butterflies in with it.

A rough bump of his hips to your back-end snapped you out of your own mind and made you bark out, “Uh– Same– he is kinda weird, I've– talked to him a little bit and he just– seems like a bit of a creep..”

“Oooh shit whaddaya mean?”

He peered over your shoulder to look at you, curious to see how you would pull this along as his other hand pushed at the elastic of your pajama bottoms, “He uh– waited for everyone to leave– and then started hella chatting me up–”

“Are you good? It sounds like you're doing something.”

Eyeing him, the slight nod of his head coaxed you to keep talking while his fingers made their home in exploring your heat, “Yeah I'm fine– I think I pulled a muscle and I–”

“Oh shit– sorry, one sec– groceries are here, I'll be back in a minute!”

At the sound of her disconnection he lifted you up with a near effortless toss onto the bed, wasting no time crawling on top of you to get at what little clothing was left with his blade. Watching the fabric dance away from your frame, he gripped your wrist as you tried to switch your mic off.

“Go on.. stay in that call.. let ‘em all know what a stagy little whore you are.” He pushed, lifting the hem of his hoodie above the glimmer of the silver button hiding his length behind the black denim.

No time was wasted getting into you, making himself at home between your legs with a few rough thrusts and shivering grunts that made your mind twist. Squirming under him the grit falling off his boots into your blankets made you buck against him in frustration, earning a low sigh from him as his beat picked up.

“Mmn if you keep fighting me.. I'll gut you like a fucking pig.” Groaning into your ear, the delicate touch of his knife teased itself between your breasts.

Defiance sparked in you to bite back, “If we're– oh god– following the rules, you'll just do it anyway–”

The blade pulled its edge against your skin, splitting you like a ripe peach under its cut, “True.. but the killer's favorite little slut never dies.. she's gotta make it to the sequel, the trilogy, hell! Maybe a whole fuckin’ saga..”

Suddenly ringing in your ear the sound of the bluetooth assistant chimed,

Battery Low.. Please Charge Soon.

You held your lips tight as the length of him pushed to the hilt over and over, letting the air in the call stay dead as your friend and others passed through, thinking you were away from your keyboard.

“What’s wrong? Suddenly have nothing to say? I thought you liked the idea of being yanked around by a big man with a knife? Little different than on the big screen, ain't it Babe?”

You could practically hear him purring behind the mask, his pace slowing to deep grind as you felt the rub of his metal pants zipper dig into your skin like a threat.

“Mmmm– remember a couple weeks back– we were all watching that scary movie– when you wouldn't shut the fuck up about how you wanted to ride that slashers cock like a carnival ride– fuck you don't know what that did to me– hearing you get all giddy about bouncing on dick after a kill– goddamn you don't have a fuckin’ clue– how bad I wanted bust through that fuckin’ window and tear you apart–”

Gripping his palm across your eyes to pin your head to the bed, the unrelenting barrage of what came was less of a kiss and more of a hostile takeover of your senses. You couldn't tell how long you were left to his devices, using you with the excitement of a new sex doll he'd been waiting months for. The fight in you began to fade with the swipe of your tongue to his, earning the zeal of him rutting into you harder.

“See.. I knew you'd love it..”

Battery Low.. Please Charge Soon.

Dipping down to your chest to kiss the fresh wound that lay spilling blood around your breasts, taking in the heavy scent of your rubies like a jewel thief making his biggest heist. Slipping his free hand over your chest to the slick of your nipple made you gasp as a perfect distraction before pulling his mask back down. Adorning his usual visage now laid a smeared print of your life in blinding crimson, letting that be the first and only thing you saw as he let you have your vision back in the darkness. Against the blur of your eyes readjusting from the pressure of his weight on them, the dip of his frame dropping against yours with his hands gripping the sides of your head in a vice made you dizzy with a feral beat between your legs. Throughout his treatment you didn't feel that familiar latex rub of a barrier between you, forcing your stomach into a twist as his panting behind the mask got heavier.

The first grace of the evening came when you finally heard the powering down beeping of your headset giving its last bit of juice before cutting out. Unbound by the fear of being heard, your voice let out a moan that vibrated the silence of the dead air room. Relaxing a little under him, he pushed your rear up, angling himself better to pump deep before running his fingers over the tacky blood joining the fresh on your chest in a macabre mess. Having the dig of his fingertips into the open wound weeping from you was a new kind of violation before he breathed out a shaken manic pleasure from the mask that captivated you.

“Oh fuck– I'm going to smear your blood over my every fucking pore!” The bubbling frenzy in his tone gave away his devouring bliss as it promised to swallow you whole.

Honestly, you weren't long for the session either way as he found just the right spot to rub his tip into the soft warmth of you hugging his length and perfect grind of his mound against your bud aching to come undone. Seeing him watch you in those last moments before you went over the edge was enough to send you there as you trembled and cried out under his grip. Moaning and reaching to touch him in any way you could, you couldn't get enough of him as your body craved the closeness it needed. Expecting swift punishment for the affection, he surprised you by taking your hand in his, slowing his pace. Lacing your fingers as one, the gentle caress of his thumb to your skin had your rose colored glasses as red as they could be. Watching with a affectionately hazed gaze while he pinned you down, your skin when cold as his words dripped from his lips like sweet poison:

“You think you're getting away that easy? I'm just gonna cum and that be that? No.. I prepared for this all day. You're not goin’ fucking anywhere.”

47 notes · View notes