#but I'm still so sad that was one of the ones i was really looking forward to hearing 💔💔💔

[stylesispunk]

"The soldier in the armour" | Last part

marcus acacius x f!reader

masterlist | previous chapter

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

wc: 16k (ups)

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

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

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

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

"Here. Drink this, my lady."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"General Acacius… Emperor Geta and Caracalla-"

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

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

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

The rage that had been simmering inside you boiled over.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At first, the darkness swallowed everything, and then

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He exhaled sharply. “I know.”

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

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

“Not without you.” You sobbed.

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

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

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

“They’re coming. We have to go-now.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Acacius was running out of time.

And you were done waiting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your blood turned to ice.

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

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

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

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

Another beat of silence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silence stretched between you all, thick and suffocating.

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

Your stomach twisted violently.

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

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

Your blood turned to ice. "You swore—"

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

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

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

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

Lucius.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your blood turned to ice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It wasn’t your mother, but Geta.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Take me to her,” you demanded.

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

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

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

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

“Mother,” you whispered, rushing forward.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You swallowed, waiting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Power is taken, not given.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You met his gaze head-on. “No.”

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

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

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

Your fingers tightened around the pin hidden in your palm.

This was it.

A moment of hesitation would cost you everything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Before he could act, the doors burst open.

Caracalla.

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

“What has she done?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Geta’s smirk faltered. “Brother—”

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

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

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

Your heart pounded, but you refused to look away.

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

You swallowed hard, refusing to react.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This was your chance.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A noise.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ice flooded your veins.

“They plan to kill him?”

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

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

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

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

Power is taken, not given.

Your grip tightened around the golden pin.

“Then we have to change the game.”

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

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

Footsteps echoed down the corridor outside. The guards.

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

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

The door creaked open.

“Time’s up,” the guard grunted.

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

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

Your breath hitched.

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

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

You swallowed, your heart hammering. "Yes."

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

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

"How did you get out?" you whispered.

Lucius didn’t slow. "A friend."

"Who?"

He didn’t answer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your highness?” Acacius asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But the moment was short-lived.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was the moment.

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

And with that signal, everything shifted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gods were never kind with lovers like you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[revelboo]

Revelllll could I beg for some skyfire crumbs?? I'm so curious what a nsfw scenario would be like. I've been obsessed with him and it's so sad there isnt more content 😭

Sure! I need to update his fic, too soon. 18+ Mass displaced mech 🌶️ Skyfire is a big bot and even mass displaced he’d be on the bigger size

Skyfire x Reader Scenario

• Mouth brushing your throat and lingering there, centering himself with the rhythm of your pulse, he settles a hand on your waist and for a moment fear darts through him. Because his hand is so big on you even mass displaced down to his limit. He’s so big. Used to towering over everyone else, feeling left out because of his size. And he’s scared he’s going to hurt you. Wants this with you, but he’s also aware that every time you two are together, he accidentally marks your soft skin. Bruises you’d called them, dismissing them and his worries. “Are you sure you want this?” Optics shuttering when you cup his face in those soft hands.

• You’d think he didn’t want you for all the worrying he does, but you know he’s just afraid he’s going to accidentally hurt you. And it’s a valid concern when he’s still so big even mass displaced. Sitting in his lap straddling him, you lean up to brush your mouth against his. Trying to calm his anxiety. “I want you,” you whisper, lips brushing his and his head turns to brush his cheek against yours. Still unable to look at your bare skin for more than a minute or so before his venting grows ragged. Embarrassed and it’s adorable. Gripping his wrist, you guide his hand up to encourage him to touch you. Warm servos skimming over skin as his helm rests against your forehead, letting you guide his big palm where you want it. Cupping, stroking, and mapping you out in gentle touches before you pull his hand down. And you can hear his internal fans hum as he shudders and dips a big servo inside you to make your breath catch. “That’s good.”

• Slick and so silken inside where you grip his servo, your warm breath mingles with his shaky venting while you rock your hips. Showing him the rhythm and moaning when he begins to pump his servo inside you. Imagines you wrapped around his spike while he moves inside you. Could you take him? You feel so tight. Optics on your face as you move against his hand, his other hand reaches to cup your cheek, shuddering when your mouth closes on one of his servos, tongue curling around him as you make those soft, needy sounds. “Please,” he growls, helm brushing your forehead, his spike aching where it’s trapped as he drives his servo more urgently inside you and you cry out, shuddering. Brushing his mouth against your cheek, your closed eyelids, and forehead, anywhere he can reach. “Touch me please.”

• Shivering at his hesitant request, you rest your forehead against him. Determined to do more than just touch him. Want this to work between you and this gentle bot. “Show me,” you murmur, and his lips brushing your forehead before he frees his spike. And he’s big but not impossible, the head tapered and the length pulsing with biolights. Catching his shoulders, you shift over him, reaching between you to find his spike and stroking him against you. And he makes a low, growling noise when you rock yourself on him, his hips lifting. “No, honey. Hold still for me.” Breath hitching you keep rolling your hips, trying to relax as the burn of him stretching you edges into discomfort. And he’s trembling against you, helm brushing your forehead as he growls.

• “You’re too tight,” he groans, servos gripping the berth under him, afraid to touch you because he will bruise you he’s so tense. Little hands hold onto his chassis as you rock your hips, taking him a little deeper with every roll of your hips and you whimper when his spike finally slides deep into your wet, heat. “Are you okay? We can stop.” Gently bumping you with his head when you cup his cheek. “Really, it’s fine.” And you roll your hips, breath hitching.

• “I just need a minute,” you moan, moving hesitantly. You’re stretched so tight around him you can feel every ridge and bump of his spike stroking inside you, almost too much. Know you’re going to be sore later, but want this. Him. “I’m okay,” you reassure him, smiling when his mouth brushes yours. His hands sliding to your hips, letting you grab onto his forearms and cautiously find a slow rhythm that makes him whine and you shiver in oversensitivity. Knew the first time with him would be rough, but as you move, the discomfort blurs to pleasure. Feeling him venting raggedly as you both move against each other in uncertain strokes. Figuring it together as your body heats and coils. One deep slide of his spike inside you tipping you over that edge and he groans, servos tightening on you then immediately relaxing. Guiding you to keep moving on him as he shudders and groans against your skin before he’s releasing inside you.

[do-androids-dream-ao3acc]

"Buck's still baking."

There's a long pause following these words, though they've been uttered in such an alarming way. Apart from that, Tommy can't make sense of it.

"He's ... baking?"

"Yeah, well, you know," Howie stretches each word, he's chewing on them.

"I sure don't," says Tommy.

"Wait, has nobody told you?"

Disbelief is dripping from Howie's voice now, and Tommy can only bite his lips to not remind him of the obvious: no, nobody has told Tommy anything about Buck in the past months, and he's not dared to ask. That's the uncomfortable truth, and since he doesn't really know where his and Howie's friendship is to place right now, he doesn't say it. He doesn't need to, because Howie is quick to talk on.

"He's been baking since you two broke up," he explains, as if that would explain anything. "Breads and cakes and pies and whatever, he's just not stopping. At first, he said it distracted him from calling you, but now I'm not so sure."

Oh, thinks Tommy. His mind doesn't stop there, he did want to call me? Why didn't he? Why did he need distraction? What does it all mean? It's an endless cycle of why's, and his stomach kind of hurts about all the missed opportunities. His own fingers have typed messages, almost on their own, so many times. He's deleted them all.

"And now," Howie continues, "now Eddie's gone, and he said Buck came by to say goodbye and he brought him some cookies. He's made cookies for Eddie, so he's still baking, and Tommy, we can't take it anymore."

"You can't take it anymore?"

He's thinking about the constant ache, that Evan-shaped gap in his heart and mind and how it never went away, never got any smaller. Weeks turned into months, but the pain persisted, like caries eating away at teeth, gnawing away more and more of the enamel because it wants to get to the core. And the core, well. The core is his feelings, Tommy knows that. He's just not sure what Howie understands of all this. Why he would care.

"No. Our fridge is packed, the cupboards are loaded, Tommy, he doesn't stop baking, and we're paying for it! He's at our door all the time, not only at ours, he's been baking for Hen and Bobby and the whole dispatch and ... everybody, really. But it still doesn't stop. There's tons of baked goods!"

"You... you called me because you're sick of cake?" Tommy asks, he can't believe it.

"The cake is a lie!" Howie almost screams now, close to hysterical. "Why are you two not talking? You need to talk."

He calms down a bit, takes a deep breath before adding, "It's not the cake, Tommy. It's ... he's sad. He's unhappy. He's not well."

"I can't fix him," Tommy snaps.

"You're sure about that?"

Yeah, Tommy, are you?

"Look, Howie, I don't really know what you expect me to do."

"Talk to him," he replies, as if it were really that simple.

But isn't it?

"You're guilt-tripping me because I'm the one who left," Tommy says.

What he thinks, however, is that it's been months, how can Evan still be unhappy? How can he still be sad? The answer is obvious.

"Yeah, does it work?" Howie replies. "Because we don't know what else to do, Tommy. At least talk to him. I know you want to."

That's bold.

"Why would you say that?"

There's a typical Howie-laughter, a low chuckle close to a crack.

"I got friends at your station," he claims, which is probably not true, but Howie is a prankster. Howie knows how to pry into secrets. "So I know," he continues, "that you pounce on every hour of overtime. You've slept in the hangar. You're not dating anyone. You're on some strange diet that is apparently so time-consuming that you haven't had an after-work beer since you broke up. Shall I go on?"

Tommy curses at the satisfaction in Howie's voice, but what can he say? All of that is true (and some is a lie, and Howie knows it).

"All of this means ..."

Don't say it, thinks Tommy.

"... Buck's still got a chance."

That's not quite the right conclusion, because he never not had a chance. This is Tommy thinking he didn't have another, that he didn't deserve it.

"Please," Howie pleads, "we don't need more breads and cakes. And Buck deserves to be happy again. You know he was happy with you, right?"

This is not Tommy's fault. And it is Tommy's fault. And maybe, maybe it's just a big misunderstanding. Something adults can work on, even if they - he - said some hurtful things.

"You think he would bake me some cookies?" he asks, and he's not even joking.

[lordcephalopod]

I'll never get over fitness weirdos insist on taking the joy out of food and acting like it won't backfire horribly on people's general well being. Like yea, no one's going to stick with a "healthy diet" that makes them miserable because it tastes like crap. I'm sorry a bit of salt and fat violate your extremely narrow definition of "healthy."

I particularly love when they recommend a meal of what amounts to plain chicken breast and rice. I can't help but think of the time my dog had diarrhea for like 3 days but still had an appetite and LOVES food more than anything in the fucking world but we had to give her Gentle Diet, y'know, on account of the diarrhea. So she got fresh made rice and lean ground turkey and when it hit her bowl she stared down at it then back at us with the look of ULTIMATE BETRAYAL. I mean she still ate it but you could tell she was like really, really sad about it.

This dog is NOT picky. She stands by the cutting board and begs when we chop vegetables. She tried to eat my Brussels sprouts out of the grocery bag. She probably shat for 3 days because she ate something rotting in the back yard. And you want me to eat something she almost rejected? Sure, I'd put more seasoning on it but STILL. Cool. Sounds reasonable.

diet talk is so inexpressibly nonsensical the instant you know anything about "the human body" or "nutrition" or if you think about it for three seconds

[sulumuns-dootah]

Are you still taking requests? Canigedduhh,, cuddling hcs for the bigger demons of your choice + Zagan please

WHB demons cuddling HCs

⟡ Masterlist ⟡

A/N: Big boy cuddling HCs coming up! ^^ I only picked from the nobles bc I write for the kings all the time :D (Sorry this took too long, but there's been a bit of a flu outbreak where I live and I ofc had to partake)

Characters: Amy, Zagan, Valefor, Glasyalabolas, Ronove, Beleth, Marbas

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Amy can be both a small spoon and a bigger spoon

Though, he does eventuelly end up feeling like the small one, just with you in his arms

I think his favorite way to cuddle is to lay on your lap tho

He's kinda like a big dog who doesn't understand that he's bigger than you

Oh and another thing:

I might've said this already, but this man holds you and no demon/angel/whatever force will be able to take you away from him

       ༺☆༻

Might not come right out to say he wants to cuddle, but there will be signs

Mostly him always seemingly being right behind you all the time

He's just craving the closeness that cuddling provides

Loves running his fingers over your skin and drawing invisible talismans onto it

And if you stay still for long enough, he might even start talking to you on his own

       ༺☆༻

Let me tell you, I am so sad that they changed his philia from being a plushie bc this man is a living teddy bear

Laying on top of him is like laying on top of those huge snorlax bean bags

Those nails of his also gotta feel really nice scratching your skull

Oh and those bazongas? 10/10 stress reliever balls

       ༺☆༻

A more risky cuddle buddy, but worth it imo (if you can ignore the subtle smell of death)

He will ask you to move as little as possible, but that won't be a problem bc if you manage to find just the right angle and position, you could be out in seconds

Glasya strikes me as the type to stroke your hair while muttering random stuff

Not even cute ones

He'll just ramble about some random stuff he's thinking about at the moment

"Hm... Yesterday Barbatos got hung for three hours by His Majesty, but I only got hung today for two. Does that mean i got hung less because he hates me so much or did he hang me for shorter time because he doesn't hate me as much?"

       ༺☆༻

Oh let me tell you

This man will hold you like you're the dearest thing to him in his life

He will cradle you like a priceless masterpiece

I imagine he also likes to play with your limbs while you lay on him

As in, he'll guide you to straighten out your arm so he can run his fingers over it multiple times and then guide it back into its original position and then move on to some other limb

       ༺☆༻

Beleth is literally a big cat and he also cuddles like one

He loves entvining his body with yours to the point where you can't even get up

If you have cat(s) you probs know the whole vibe that I'm talking about

Also if he's smoking during it, the smoke just surrounds you two and it feels like you're in a cloud

Oh and if he were to fall asleep (very likely actually), he -ironically- looks like an angel again

       ༺☆༻

It's actually really easy to get Marbas to cuddle with you

Just tell him that you need some prolonged skin on skin contact

He'll see right through it, but at least you tried, eh?

At least it's also an excuse for him to take a much-needed break and nobody will pester him afterwards

Marbas is a bit awkward at first, but eventualy relaxes

To be fair, being strapped to a board all day long has to be ruining his posture

[cheralith]

characters ; chigiri hyoma || contains ; fem!reader, she/her pronouns, period mention (not towards reader) word count ; 1k

on a good twist on the calm bf x emotional gf trope, chigiri asks you if he's "moody."

you slowly turn your head towards him with a little too tight of a smile and ask him why the sudden question. chigiri frowns and gives a huff, whipping his head away from you. "oh, so you agree?"

you hold back a laugh and touch his arm gently. "no, i'm just wondering why you're asking," you say simply.

your boyfriend sighs and turns back to you, his lips pursed with mild annoyance. leave it to stupid bachira to find dumb trends on tiktok and force everyone to do the "we listen and we don't judge trend" that's been circulating around to shake some tables. some obvious ones were thrown around, but when it got to chigiri's turn, isagi hesitated for a bit before saying,

"well... there was a time that i thought you were a girl that somehow made it to blue lock... and i thought you were really moody because i thought you were on your period or something..."

everyone except for chigiri (and rin, obviously) had burst out into laughter. while he was used to people referring to him in female terms because of his effeminate features, what stood out to him the most was that people had agreed that he was rather the more slightly impertinent of the bunch. he doesn't try to be such, but it's not his fault that sometimes people just annoy him.

he sighs, flopping himself over the kotatsu you and him are under to shield away from the winter air. "some of the guys think i'm a bit of a diva, apparently."

you stay silent, giving another tight-lipped smile while raising your brows. "did they now...?"

"you don't think i'm like that," chigiri faces himself towards you, a slight wrinkle in his brow and a quiet pout on his lips. "... right?"

you open your mouth, trying to think of what to say to comfort him that wouldn't simultaneously lead him into an oblivion that would misguide him. you love your boyfriend very dearly, but even you agreed that he was prone to making some remarks towards those that would strike a nerve to him. you were sometimes victim to his sharp-tongue, though you don't really give it much thought, knowing his unique attitude is what made you so drawn to him in the first place.

"welllll..." you drag as your eyes pull themselves away from his gaze. you were a terrible liar, but you still try to soften the blow anyways. "sometimes, you can be a little..."

chigiri's stare hardens. his lip juts further out, as if he's testing you.

"... emotional," you finish with a tight throat, your smile still plastered firmly.

a thick swallow passes through your throat, the words you just said a little sour on your tongue. you didn't really like telling him the truth, but lying to him wouldn't really do him any good either. chigiri stares at you for a moment longer, digesting what you said, before his eyes soften.

"you think i'm emotional?"

he asks the question so soft, so sad, it squeezes your heart and a guilt seeps itself within it.

"i..." you start, panic bubbling within you as you try not to break at your boyfriend's woeful face.

chigiri knows that sometimes he can have princess-like antics, since the nickname doesn't just stem from his appearance. he knows he's quick to roll his eyes and mark out another player's fault, but those moments don't matter as much as how he acts with you.

his mind races, trying to think of times in which he's shared the same sentiments with you without meaning to. chigiri cherishes you in a way he's never felt about anyone, so the mere thought of accidentally striking a chord in your heart by his quick wit makes his ego falter a bit. the last thing he'd ever want to do is hurt you and not even know it, since you have a bad habit of suppressing things.

"did i do something to you to make you think that i'm like that?" chigiri asks.

"um," you fiddle with your fingers and look down to distract yourself. "n-nothing that i can recall recently?"

"you're lying," he retorts flatly.

"am not!"

"you and i and literally the entire country of japan know that lying isn't really your strong suit," he says, his eyes rolling. chigiri suddenly slaps a hand over his mouth, realizing he had just done it again without even thinking. "shit, i'm so sorry... i did it again, didn't i?"

"no, no, it's okay," you comfort as you grab his hand in between your own two grasps. your thumbs ease over the back of his in an attempt to soothe him. "i should've been more honest. i won't lie and say you don't have your moments but—hyoma, look at me, please?"

you gently grab your boyfriend's face to make him share your gaze. the disappointment in his eyes is still embedded within the fuchsia pools that you just find yourself swimming in so often, and you want nothing more than to filter it out.

"you just state your mind," you murmur softly. "i don't think that's a bad thing at all. i liked how honest you are, and that's one of the reasons why i was so drawn to you before we started to date. not many people can show that sort of integrity without second-thoughts."

chigiri's eyes widen at your words. his body goes limp when you caress his cheekbones so tenderly as you push away some stray hairs out of his face so you can look at him clearly.

"maybe some people don't like it, but i sure do," you giggle, flashbacking to when he'd gossip with you about bypassers on the street just to make you laugh. "sharp wit is attractive, y'know."

he settles himself in your hold, just letting himself breathe into a moment between you and him. vulnerability is hard to face and it's another thing to face it head-on, but what chigiri loved most about you was to make up for the lack of creating a false guard, you're able to keep things upfront and personal with him when needed. honesty is crucial to him, and he sighs out of relief, giving you a soft kiss on the tip of your nose as a thank you for easing his nerves.

the guilt from earlier now spilling away from within him, your assurance brings him back to a peace chigiri only feels with you.

[holyguardian]

Nothing could have prepared her for that reaction from Somnus. Of course Aerith was surprised, and she openly regarded him in that manner. Eyes widened, lips lightly parted as she looked across to him. He spoke of war so... lightly.

It was a heavy subject. One drenched with blood and loss. Yet he simply took it in his stride... like it were as easy as taking a walk...

Aerith's lips pursed together as she looked down to where she had clasped her hands. That same easiness did not find its way to her. Instead she felt a pit of worry, perhaps even guilt. She wasn't being a good wife. She was supposed to support him, not look so downtrodden when he was puffed up full of confidence.

"Then... I hope you can crush him, before there are too many men to heal." she finally mused, her hands squeezing together. Being a healer wasn't all rosy and sweet. It was... quite sad, really.

Aerith stood from the bed a lot slower. "I will try to put my worries aside, at least for this day. I don't lack confidence in you. But after.." after what happened.. "I'm not looking forward to the hurt."

She looked back to him. Then she approached, and pressed a sweet little kiss on his cheek — specifically on his freckle, yet again, before she eased back. "I better put myself together. You won't get a tour if I keep dragging my feet." she gently pointed out.

For a brief time, she disappeared behind the veil of privacy, pulling her hair back in a simple ribbon and dressing in her finer underlayer. When she stepped back out, she had her previously-chosen dress in hand. One that was too casual to match with his.

"Ever laced a dress before?" she asked in passing, a small smile hooking her lips. She already knew the answer, but it was still a fun little question to put out into the world. "Want to try?" she added, walking to her old room to sort through finer materials, pulling out one of the few blue dresses she owned.

“Hurting me?”, he echoed, while he moved to close the fine chain around her ankle. It looked delicate, it was perfect. He was a little proud that she accepted it – though there seemed to be other things on her mind.

The little words she used were merely hints, but Somnus understood. To talk about war was a lesson in itself. Words could decide political tides, too. And cause wars just as easily.

Humming, he got up and then simply sat down beside her. The problem was that she was right. He could not deny that. But he also… did not mind.

Looking at his sandals as he balanced his feet on his heels, sitting beside her and leaning back a bit, Somnus pondered his answers.

“You know… I am not afraid if the coming war. I am not afraid of Jacob. Or his men. I am used to fighting and I am also used to way worse. At least men are predictable. Daemons much less so.”, he mused, shrugging his shoulders and looking at Aerith as if he was talking about a simple hobby. Reading, riding, maybe even his playing chess. Not the bloodied and torn battlefields that she had gotten a mere taste of on their journey here.

Jumping to his feet, Somnus turned and raised his arms wide in quite the confident gesture. As if he could challenge the fire king with his attitude alone.

“Do not worry. Jacob is just a man. He might have the power over fire and a few loyal lunatics… but I am sure I can crush him. There is nothing that this old man can do that I haven’t mastered already! This will be the shortest of wars ever fought and the farmlands will have a bright future once more.”

[knight-a3]

Heavenbound AU

Hazbin Masterpost

Mimzy

Mimsy was an interesting one to work on. I wanted to make sure she looked inhuman like the other characters, but without making too big of a change. Canon Mimzy basically just has the black eyes and sharp teeth.

She's apparently loosely based off a chicken, which is why she has a hooked nose. But I knew pretty early on that I wanted to use peacock colors. It also helps increase the color variety of the cast by reducing the red.

More notes under the cut, including human Mimzy

Face: I gave her face markings that resemble running mascara, because I figured she wanted to be a showgirl or movie star or something. But she kept getting rejected, so she cried a lot. And apparently "mimsy" was a word coined by Lewis Carroll and is a blend of "miserable" and "flimsy".

She has vampire fangs for two reasons:

1. She leeches off others. Alastor was missing for 7 years, and the first thing she does is dump her problems on him.

2. In the 1920s, there was an equivalent to femme fetale called "Vamp". Vamps were more or less extra promiscuous versions of flappers.

Hair: An iconic 1920s hairstyle was finger waves. I made them a bit loose, because I didn't like how it looked plastered to her head.

I know she has a tattoo in the show, but I don't know how important it is for her to have it. So I just didn't bother with it. If it becomes significant, I'll add it back in.

Mimzy said that she and Alastor ran in the same circles while they were alive. He frequented the club that she sang at. But she also sounds like she's from New York, so I'm not sure how/why they ended up in the same place.

She died in the 1920s in her late 20s or early 30s. Not sure how she died.

1920s fashion--

I'll try to keep this brief. You know the stereotypical flapper dress? With the fringes? That wasn't really a thing. The style was slim, dropped waist, and no curves. The clothes weren't heavily tailored and just draped over the body like a potato sack. Fringes happened occasionally, but not often. More common was beading, pleats, tiers, and ruffles. The skirts were shorter than in previous generations, but they were still below the knee. Sometimes the stockings would be rolled down so the edge was visible--Scandalous!

While I appreciate the body diversity with Mimzy, she is honestly not an ideal choice to show off 1920s fashion. Plus sized women would utilize vertical lines to help create the illusion of thinness. So I changed canon Mimzy's film strip motif and made it vertical instead. Historically, the top would not be so form fitting, but I'm claiming that modern influences got to her a little bit. But in her human design I'm claiming it's just stylized.

The stereotypical flapper dress better resembles showgirls and lingerie, imo. Not entirely sure what to think of that, but there it is.

Makeup--There are two makeup styles to go over. Regular and movies.

Regular is fairly straight forward. Pale skin. Black eyeshadow(or a color that matched the eyes). Thin, pencil-drawn eyebrows that look kinda sad. Lips with an emphasized cupid's bow. Rosy blush on the center of the cheeks.

Movie makeup: I went down a rabbit hole with this topic. It gets pretty interesting, but I am simplifying a lot. I also only know the basics.

The 20s was a transition period of the types of film used. There was the older orthochromatic/blue-sensitive film, which struggled to pick up warmer colors. Reds ended up darker than they really were, and tended to emphasize facial blemishes. This was counteracted by lighting and makeup. They used Arc lights, which gave off a blue-green light, were noisy, and hard on the actor's eyes.

The idea was basically to wash everything in blue light, to counter any reds present. Then they just had to worry about values. White or creme makeup was used to even out the skin tone (At least for white people, didn't find anything for other skin tones, but I imagine the basic idea would be similar). Then dark blues were used to contour the face, enhance definition/contrast, and mimic blush. Light blues would act as highlights. The lips would vary based on if you wanted a natural look or not. Greens and yellows could get a natural to dark lipstick appearance. If red was used, it could only get a dark lipstick look. Overall, the actors would have looked pretty weird.

If regular makeup colors were used, then everything would end up looking too dark.

Panchromatic film started becoming more widespread by the late 1920s. It had a wider range of sensitivity(but was still more blue sensitive than the human eye, which is more yellow sensitive. Reds were difficult for film even into the 21st century. That could lead me into a tangent about the Raimi Spiderman films, but I'll hold it in). They were able to switch to incandescent lighting, which were quieter(important for the rise of "talkies") and easier to maintain. The way makeup was previously used in movies was essentially invalidated.

(Below)I'm not sure what type of film the left side was designed for exactly, possibly panchromatic(because the green and purple is an interesting choice) or early color. But the right side is for blue-sensitive films.

I guess I bring this up because it's interesting, and helps me justify her blue-green color scheme.

I think that's everything relevant.

(edit notes will go here if needed)

[writing-the-stars]

Mikaelson Ball (Kol)

Pairing: Kol Mikaelson x Fem!Reader

Summary: After a thousand years apart, you reunite with your long-lost love. However, all is not as it seems.

Warnings: ANGST (Like a sickening amount. I laid it on THICK this time), Talks of Death and Murder, Canon-Typical Violence (Really just a small confrontation that happens in the episode). Let Me Know If I Forgot Something

Word Count: 6.6k (I wasn't even expecting it to be this long!!!)

A/N: Hey guys! So, just wanted to let you know this is my last Kol fic (unless a request is submitted). I have debated on whether or not I should even post this, but I worked REALLY hard on this and I would be sad to let it go to waste. This is one of the first TVDU fanfictions I started YEARS AGO, so this fic has been through a lot. In fact, it's been through so much that (depending on y'all's feedback) it has the potential to become a two to three part series (maybe 4, but I hope I'm not THAT verbose). As I was working I realized how long it had gotten and cut it in half, so Part 2 is mostly done and needs some edits, but if you all want it, I could post it very soon. Anyway , long author's note this time around. All of this is to say, this is one of my babies and I had a lot of fun working on it. I'm super proud of it and I hope you all enjoy it. Thank you for reading and have a wonderful day!! (TL;DR: This is my last Kol fic (unless a request is submitted) and has the potential to be a multipart if you all want it)

Masterlist | TVDU Masterlist

A storm of emotions brews within you as you anxiously await your reunion with the man who was once your everything. A thousand years have passed since you last saw Kol, and the uncertainty gnaws at you. Do his feelings still remain? Did your love really survive the passage of time?

A thousand years is an eternity— a vast expanse of time that undoubtedly swallowed all the moments you shared. The possibility that he has moved on weighs heavily on your mind, as cruel as it seems. After all, you’ve been dead.

Your stomach tightens with a wave of panic. What are you doing here? you question. The thought of turning around, leaving this past behind, grows increasingly tempting. Walking away seems like the safer option, a way to protect your fragile heart from the weight of inevitable disappointment. Just as your feet begin to move, the voice of Esther— unmistakable and clear— pierces the air, as if she knew exactly what you were about to do.

“I want us to be a family again. And to prove my good intentions, I have brought a gift.”

The door swings open, and there you stand, feeling suddenly exposed and vulnerable beneath the astonished gazes of the five people who were once your family.

They look... different. But unmistakably the same.

Your heart lurches as you take in the sight of them, their familiar faces now etched by the passage of time. Elijah stands to your right, his once-shoulder-length hair now cropped short, and his attire— a tailored, sophisticated ensemble— commands an air of authority you didn’t recognize from the man you knew. Beside him, Finn’s leather attire and long hair suggest a nod to his former self, though a sense of quiet power surrounds him. In the back of the room, Niklaus looms, his sharp gaze cutting through the air. His presence is menacing, dark and commanding, a notable contrast to the man from your memories, yet the edge of familiarity remains.

To your left, Rebekah dons a stunning red piece that resembles a dress, radiating timeless grace. Her beauty is still as striking as ever.

And finally, your gaze finds him. Kol.

The moment you’ve both longed for and feared.

Anxiety grips you as your breath catches. Time seems to slow as you take in the sight of him— so like the Kol you remember, and yet... so different. His hair is styled similarly to Elijah’s, sleek and sophisticated, and his attire— though foreign— seems to suit him perfectly, giving him an almost regal quality.

But it’s his eyes that stop you cold. His gaze locks with yours, and the world falls away. He looks at you with the same eyes that once held yours with such warmth and passion, promising you forever.

Your pulse quickens. The same mischievous glint dances in his eyes—an emotion so familiar and intimate that it stirs something deep inside you. For a heartbeat, you feel as though you’re standing in the past again, caught in that beautiful, tragic moment when he first swept you into his world.

“Y/N,” he breathes, his voice thick with disbelief. His tone lingers in the air like a prayer, the name a soft, desperate whisper. It feels like an eternity since you last heard him speak your name.

Kol had long resigned himself to the belief that he would never see you again, after your death a millennium ago— the true love of his life. Your loss had driven him to madness, compelling him to descend into the darkest recesses of his vampiric existence. For centuries, he had nothing to hold onto, nothing to desire or cherish.

And yet, here you are, standing before him— alive— and just as beautiful as the day he first laid eyes on you. The youngest Mikaelson son is rendered speechless as he struggles to hold onto this fragile thread of reality, having only dreamed of this moment. 

Unable to stop yourself, you move toward him, your feet unsteady as you draw closer. Kol’s eyes soften, disbelief giving way to awe as he steps forward, his hand gently cupping your cheek. His touch is so tender, so tentative, as though he fears you might vanish.

A smile stretches across his face— small, incredulous, but genuine. The same smile that once set your heart on fire.

You smile back, the flood of emotions overwhelming you. “Hi, Kol,” you whisper, your voice trembling with the joy you thought you would never feel again.

Without another word, he pulls you into a kiss— deep, urgent, filled with longing and a desperate love that spans a thousand years. His lips press against yours as if he’s trying to make up for all the time lost, all the moments stolen from you both.

When the kiss breaks, he pulls back just enough to whisper against your lips, “Darling, I’ve missed you so much.”

His voice is raw with emotion, a depth of feeling you thought might have dulled with time. But there is no denying it— his love for you remains. He still loves you.

“I’ve missed you too,” you reply, a fresh wave of tears spilling down your cheeks as you gaze at him, overwhelmed by the tenderness in his expression.

You turn your gaze to the rest of the Mikaelsons— your family— who are still staring at you with wide eyes. Shock, awe, and disbelief reflect in each of their faces. You’ve been gone for so long, and your death left scars on them all.

You let out a soft laugh, brushing the tears from your cheeks, and speak the words that have been in your heart for so long, “I’ve missed all of you.”

For a moment, the room is silent, the magnitude of your return sinking in. Finally, Elijah speaks. “How is this possible, Mother?” he asks, turning to Esther for an explanation. The rest of the family follows suit, each of them seeking the truth in their eyes.

Esther steps forward, a serene smile gracing her lips as she addresses them. “On the night of Y/N’s passing, I managed to preserve her body,” she explains, her voice calm and measured. “I kept it hidden, safe within the caves from which I was resurrected. Though Y/N is not bound to us by blood, she is a cherished member of this family. We would not be whole without her.”

As Esther finishes her explanation, the Mikaelsons— one by one— rush toward you. Rebekah is the first to reach you, pulling you into a tight, emotional hug, her tears blending with your laughter. “I can’t believe you’re here,” she whispers through her tears, holding you close.

The others follow, each one enveloping you in their arms, their joy and disbelief palpable. Kol stays close by, never letting you slip from his side, his hand always finding yours, his gaze never leaving your face.

The night passes in a blur of hugs, laughter, and tears. And as the reunion unfolds around you, you realize that all those years spent in darkness and sorrow have finally come to an end. You are home. And you are loved.

-*-

“Rebekah, tell me how handsome I am,” Kol calls out from in front of what you’ve learned to call the mirror. The thing still fascinates you— how it reflects your image so clearly, no magic involved.

“Ah, Kol, you know I can’t be compelled,” Rebekah replies from beside you, prompting a soft giggle from you in response.

Kol frowns dramatically, swiveling from the mirror to cast a mockingly reproachful look in your direction. A playful gleam dances in his eyes, and you can’t resist returning his gaze with a cheeky smile.

“Great, she’s just returned, and already you’ve turned my wife against me,” Kol remarks, his tone light but feigning frustration.

You snicker, your eyes flicking to Finn, who had been watching from his fitting. He turns now, offering a knowing smirk to his youngest brother. Rebekah, pleased with herself, flashes a triumphant smile before resuming her focus on her freshly painted nails.

It feels so natural to be here, like you’ve never been gone. The easy camaraderie you share with your family slips seamlessly back into place, like a favorite memory that never quite fades. The banter, the jokes, the teasing— it’s all so familiar. For the first time in a long time, you feel something like peace.

“I think you look fetching, Kol,” you say, your voice warm as you shoot him a smile that matches the fondness in your words. He turns back to the mirror, a pleased smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he admires his reflection once more.

“Thank you, darling,” he replies, his voice soft with affection. He straightens his jacket— a suit, you’ve learned. The look fits him well, but it’s his self-assuredness, his confidence, that makes the moment feel so... right.

The door slams open with a violent force that rattles the room. Niklaus storms in, his fury unmistakable, his aura thick with rage. “You went after Elena?” he roars, eyes blazing, “What is wrong with you?”

Your stomach drops at the sudden shift in atmosphere, the lightheartedness evaporating in an instant. You realize with a sharp jolt that his wrath is directed at Rebekah, and you feel an uncomfortable knot tighten in your chest.

The Niklaus you knew— once gentle and kind— feels like a distant memory now. The years have twisted him, and his anger has fermented into something far darker. The warmth in his soul has been mutilated to a volatile, vindictive cruelty.

You think of what Kol told you, the countless betrayals, the violence. The times he daggered his siblings, locked them away in coffins, and manipulated every one of them to suit his whims. You shiver involuntarily, the stories of his temper leaving a bitter taste in your mouth.

“Here we go,” Rebekah mutters under her breath, her voice still laced with amusement as she watches Niklaus’s fury unfold. You notice the small, almost imperceptible smirk tugging at her lips. She’s always enjoyed riling her brothers, a quality you’ve always admired her for— her fearless audacity. She isn’t afraid of Niklaus..

“Do you want another dagger in your heart?” he threatens, his voice laced with menace. 

You tense, your body instinctively bracing as you position yourself closer to Rebekah, ready to protect her if necessary. The weight of Niklaus's fury settles over the room like a storm, thick and oppressive. Though his anger intimidates you deeply, you can't help but feel a surge of determination. Not this time. You've only just been reunited with your family and you’re not about to let him tear them away from you. Not without a fight.

Even though you were warned about Niklaus’s drastic transformation, witnessing it firsthand is nothing short of jarring. The man who once exuded warmth, tenderness, and a kind of charming vulnerability now stands before you— his presence dark, heavy, and filled with an unrelenting malice. His eyes, once soft and capable of genuine affection, now gleam with a cold, calculating cruelty that sends a shiver down your spine.

The contrast is staggering. Gone is the brother you remember—the one who, despite his flaws, had moments of kindness. In his place stands a figure that commands fear, his rage so palpable it feels like an almost physical force in the room. His words cut through the air like a blade, each syllable dripping with venom, and you feel the pull of that darkness like a weight on your chest.

You glance at Rebekah, who, though clearly unfazed by her brother's outburst, has a flicker of something in her eyes—something you can’t quite place, but it’s there. A weariness. A resignation, maybe. She’s endured Niklaus’s wrath for so long that it no longer rattles her, but you know it’s still painful, still damaging.

“More dagger threats? Don’t you have any other tricks up your sleeve?” Kol taunts from behind Niklaus, his voice dripping with mockery and a hint of challenge. The boldness of it makes you wince.

You turn to your husband, your eyes wide with silent pleading. You’ve heard that Kol, more than any of the others, has borne the brunt of Niklaus’s wrath. How he’s been daggered more times than anyone could count, all for daring to cross Klaus in even the slightest way. You cannot stand to see him suffer that again— not when you’ve just found your way back to him.

Niklaus barely spares him a glance, his expression dismissive. “Oh, go back to admiring yourself,” he replies, almost lazily, his eyes flicking back to Rebekah as if Kol’s words were no more than a minor distraction.

You take a step closer to Kol, your hand brushing against his arm as you whisper urgently, “Kol, don’t—”

But your husband, ever the provocateur, ignores your warning completely.

“And who are you, my father?” he retorts, a biting edge to his voice, the sarcasm unmistakable. You can feel your heart sink. The last thing you want is another confrontation between them, especially when there’s so much unspoken between them already. But Kol is Kol—reckless, defiant, impossible to hold back.

A deep sigh escapes you as you close your eyes in frustration. This was never supposed to be the way you reunited with your family.

Niklaus, for his part, is barely fazed. “No, Kol,” he says, his tone chillingly cold as he steps forward, his imposing presence growing with each movement, “But you’re in my house.”

The tension in the room thickens, and you can practically feel the electricity crackling between the brothers. The history between them weighs heavily in the air, and you know how far this could go if Kol doesn’t back down.

You open your eyes, but Kol’s gaze remains fixed on Niklaus. There’s no retreat in his posture, no hesitation. The challenge has already been issued.

“Then perhaps we should take this outside,” Kol says, his voice firm, steel running through every word as he faces his older brother with defiance.

The air feels heavy as you step toward Kol, the tension in the room palpable— Niklaus’s silence speaking volumes. He doesn’t need to say anything for you to know the danger in the air

“Kol, stop,” you urge, your hand landing gently but firmly on his chest in a desperate attempt to calm him. The contact should have grounded you, but instead, it feels as though you're pressing against a solid wall of muscle and defiance. His body tenses beneath your palm, and the force of his presence is enough to make your heart race.

The silence stretches, thick with the weight of the standoff, until Esther’s voice cuts through it like a blade, sharp and commanding. “Enough!”

She enters the room with her usual grace, but her modern appearance— fitting seamlessly into the façade you’re all working so hard to maintain— reminds you that beneath her calm exterior, Esther is no stranger to control and power. With a glance that commands attention, she directs her words to Niklaus.

“Niklaus, come.”

He hesitates, throwing one last simmering glare in Kol’s direction before reluctantly following her out. Kol remains unfazed. His smirk remains firmly in place, his eyes glinting with the satisfaction of having provoked his older brother.

Once the door closes behind them, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. You turn toward your husband, giving his shoulder a firm smack. It won’t faze him, of course, but it’s all you can do in the moment to express your frustration.

He turns toward you, his eyes wide with feigned innocence, though the playful spark in them betrays any semblance of remorse. “What was that for?” he asks, his voice light, unbothered.

“Why did you have to provoke him?” you admonish, your tone a delicate balance of exasperation and concern, “We’re trying to live peacefully, remember?”

Kol just chuckles, the sound rich with amusement. That familiar smirk of his reappears, and before you can protest, he leans in to plant a kiss on your forehead, his lips lingering for a moment as if to soothe the tension in your own body.

“Darling,” he murmurs with a soft chuckle, “it’s all in good fun.” He pauses, his gaze steady on you, warm with affection. “Niklaus wouldn’t dare break one of Mother’s rules,” he reassures you, his fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from your face.

Your breath catches at the tenderness in his touch, but you aren’t fully swayed. “Kol…” you begin, but he cuts you off gently with a playful nudge, clearly eager to move on from the moment.

“Now,” he says, a mischievous glint still in his eyes, “go finish getting ready. We wouldn’t want to keep everyone waiting.”

He gives you one last smile before turning to leave, still carrying that lighthearted arrogance that both frustrates and charms you in equal measure. You let out a weary sigh, shaking your head, as if to physically rid yourself of the frustration bubbling beneath your skin. You know better than to argue with Kol when he’s in one of his moods. As much as you want to argue, to make him understand, you recognize the futility in it. Kol is Kol— charming, reckless, and utterly impossible to control.

You can’t help but watch him for a moment, the conflicting emotions swirling inside you. A soft rustling sounds from across the room, and you catch sight of Esther’s figure as she steps toward Finn, summoning him for what is likely another private meeting. You’ve become all too familiar with the urgency in her tone these past few days— the need to push forward, to set everything in motion before the final hour.

That sharp pang of guilt hits you again, this time deeper, sharper, as the weight of your purpose presses down on you. You remember the true reason behind your return— why you were brought through the veil of the Other Side. You were meant to help Esther destroy everything you had once loved. Your family.

When Esther first appeared to you on the Other Side, she came as an unsettling whisper— offering you a chance to return, to see Kol again. But with that offer, came a price. She spoke of vengeance, of the Mikaelsons’ monstrous sins, and the desperate need to put an end to their immortal lives. The thought of betraying them, of helping the woman who had once so desperately tried to save them, had felt impossible. You had never seen the Mikaelsons as monsters, and the very idea of murdering them was abhorrent to you.

Theirs had been the only family you’d ever known, and even after death, your love for them, for Kol especially, had never wavered. How could you betray them?

And yet, the pull of Kol’s memory was undeniable. The desperate yearning to hold him, to be close to him again after all those years, twisted your heart into something darker, something willing to overlook the weight of betrayal in favor of a fleeting, fragile reunion. Two weeks. That was the offer. Two weeks to be with him again, to feel his presence and love one last time.

Now, it feels like a hollow, idiotic decision. To sacrifice his life— for two weeks. How had you ever thought that could be enough? After all, you had died to save him once, only to throw his life away for a moment of personal happiness. The enormity of that decision makes your chest tighten, suffocating you in its finality.

You glance over at the Mikaelson siblings, their voices drifting through the air, light and carefree. Kol, teasing Rebekah as she rolls her eyes. Elijah, offering a rare chuckle at one of Kol’s more ridiculous remarks. For a moment, the room feels suspended in time. The warmth, the joy, the familiarity of it all. It feels so... so normal.

But all you can do is offer them half-hearted smiles, your thoughts lost in the suffocating weight of the knowledge hanging over you. By the end of the night, you will be sealing their fates. The pain in your chest flares again, sharper now, as you look at Kol. His smile— so effortless, so genuine— shatters you. How could you do this? You think, heart heavy with regret.

Their laughter echoes in your ears, and it suddenly feels cruel. The humor, the happiness— it’s a cruel irony, knowing that it’s all about to be torn apart.

-*-

“The doppelgänger has arrived,” you announce, feeling her energy the moment she steps through the mansion’s doors. Your voice is steady despite the churning in your chest. You try to ignore the unease tightening your stomach, but it’s no use. The guilt of the plan looms ever larger.

Esther looks up from the table, her fingers poised over the arcane materials laid out before her— materials meant to bind the Mikaelson siblings together in a way that could never be undone. A soft smile tugs at her lips, one that’s full of satisfaction, like a puzzle piece finally falling into place.

“Excellent. The plan is coming together perfectly,” she says, her tone airy with triumph. Rising from her seat, she glances between you and Finn, her pride radiating from her. “I am proud of you both,” she adds, her gaze lingering longer on you, and you can almost feel her approval burn through you like a silent command.

Finn responds as expected, a soft bow of his head, the quiet humility of the eldest Mikaelson always present. You, however, simply offer a carefully controlled smile, masking the turmoil stirring inside you. You’ve spent enough years under Esther’s influence to know how to wear a mask, but it’s never been more difficult than now.

Esther clasps her hands together, her face hardening into something resolute. “You two should join the ball before anyone becomes suspicious. I’ll join you shortly,” she says, her voice cutting through the air with a finality that brooks no argument.

You nod, but the command weighs heavily on you..

With a curtsy that feels forced, you exit the elder witch’s chamber, Finn falling into step behind you. The click of your heels echoes through the hall as the two of you walk in silence. It feels like an eternity before you finally break it, your voice quiet but laced with an undercurrent of disbelief.

“Are you truly willing to sacrifice your life to further Esther’s plans?” you ask, unable to mask the bewilderment in your tone. Finn has always been loyal to her— his willingness to follow her blindly never ceased to astonish you— but this? To give up everything, including his life, for something that is, at its core, a betrayal of his own family? It doesn’t sit right.

Finn’s answer comes without hesitation. “I am,” he says solemnly, his face unreadable. “I am deeply ashamed of what I and my siblings have become. Mother’s plan for us is a gift—a freedom from the shame of our monstrous existence.” His words are heavy with conviction, but beneath them, you hear the faintest hint of desperation.

You nod, trying to suppress the growing ache in your chest. You understand him in a way— you once believed the same things. Esther’s words were like gospel to you back then. She had saved you, taught you to believe in her cause.

But somewhere along the way, that idealism faded, the weight of reality replacing it. You cannot see the plan the way Finn does, with all its promise of redemption. The quiet tragedy of it all makes your heart ache. You wish he had outgrown this naïve faith, the same way you had.

Your disappointment must be evident, because Finn leans closer to you, his expression softening just a fraction. He whispers, “You’re not having second thoughts, are you?”

You freeze at the question, your stomach dropping. “Of course not,” you reply, feigning offense, though it’s more out of instinct than anything else. “The balance of nature was disrupted when Esther granted you immortality; it’s only right that this imbalance be corrected.”

Finn nods, satisfied with your false reassurance, and heads off toward the doppelgänger. You can hear his footsteps fade, but your thoughts remain with him, tangled in a web of guilt and regret.

As Finn disappears from view, you let out a brief, quiet sigh, the weight of your decision pressing down on you like a physical burden. But it’s quickly overshadowed by the sense of someone approaching— him.

Kol’s presence fills the space behind you with warmth, but that warmth does little to thaw the coldness seeping into your bones. The comfort of his nearness is only a fleeting reprieve from the crushing reality of your guilt.

The moment he draws near, you stiffen, and you can barely bring yourself to meet his gaze. His presence, as always, is magnetic, but now, it feels like a slow burn— intoxicating and dangerous. You’ve never been able to hide anything from Kol, especially not the way you feel about him, but right now, the weight of your betrayal is too much.

“There you are, darling,” Kol says, his voice warm and affectionate, like a comforting balm to your restless heart. His eyes sparkle with that mischievous yet sincere gleam, and for a moment, the weight of everything else fades as he steps closer. “I’ve been searching for you everywhere.”

The sincerity in his tone makes everything feel even more unbearable. It twists in your chest, amplifying the heavy knot of guilt lodged there. You want to meet his eyes, want to return his affection with the same warmth, but the deception you're entangled in is too overwhelming. His words should bring you comfort, but they only serve to heighten your sense of impending betrayal.

Kol stops in front of you, his gaze drinking you in, and you catch the awe in his eyes— the way he looks at you now, as if you were a treasure he’d long lost and finally found again, makes your heart ache.

“You look absolutely ravishing tonight,” he murmurs, the words like velvet, and it causes your cheeks to flush a deep crimson. The compliment, so effortlessly given, only deepens the knot inside you. You want to smile, to accept his praise with the same joy he’s giving it, but it’s difficult to reconcile the beauty he sees before him with the dark truth lurking behind it.

You lower your gaze, unsure of how to handle this moment where his admiration feels both like a gift and a weight. Kol notices the way you shy away, and his smile only grows, delighted by your modesty, though there’s a tenderness in the way his eyes soften.

He steps closer, his hand lifting your chin with a gentleness that feels like it’s meant to reassure you. Your heart skips a beat as his fingers graze your skin, so familiar, so Kol. When his gaze locks onto yours, it’s as if the world falls away—there’s no Esther, no plan, no guilt... just him.

And then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he leans in and presses a soft kiss to your lips.

The kiss is a spark of warmth that spreads through you, igniting a flutter of butterflies in your stomach. It's the same feeling you had when he kissed you all those centuries ago, when you were alive, when you could never have imagined the distance time would create between you.

You want to lose yourself in the tenderness of the moment, to forget everything but Kol and the love he’s offering, but the sharp edge of reality cuts through the haze. This is not a simple reunion. This is not the sweet promise of forever. This is a stolen moment, tainted by the knowledge that you will soon betray him in ways you can't yet fully comprehend.

When Kol pulls away, his eyes remain locked on yours, his smile gentle and full of affection. “I am so happy to have you back,” he whispers, his voice low and soothing.

His words are meant to comfort, but instead, they deepen the ache in your chest. The warmth of his sentiment is a stark contrast to the cold reality you’re living. You want to tell him everything— that you’re not who you used to be, that you have to make hard choices, that your love for him is bound up in a betrayal so great it makes you sick— but the words won’t come. Instead, you just stand there, caught in the weight of your own silence.

The tenderness in his gaze is so overwhelming, it makes your heart ache in ways that no longer feel sweet. The shame creeps in, tightening its grip, suffocating the joy that his presence should bring.

You wish you could feel the same peace, the same certainty that Kol exudes in this moment. But the truth is, you’re already drowning in the lies you’ve woven, and the deeper you go, the harder it will be to come back up.

Elijah’s commanding voice cuts through the heavy air. "Attention, everyone," he calls, the authority in his tone silencing the room instantly. His intervention is a welcome relief, allowing you a moment to steady yourself before Kol can ask more questions, questions you’re desperately trying to avoid.

Kol’s arm remains possessively around your waist, as he guides you toward the grand staircase— a protective gesture that, for all its warmth, feels like a chain locking you to this moment. The familiar sensation of his touch should comfort you, but tonight it only adds to the weight pressing down on your chest.

“Welcome. Thank you for joining us,” Elijah continues, his voice carrying effortlessly across the room. His presence always commands attention, and tonight it is no different. As you stand on the grand staircase with the Mikaelsons, you scan the crowd below, hoping to catch a glimpse of the doppelgänger. If you can speak with her, if you can convince her to leave before Esther has her ear, maybe you can stop this madness. Maybe you can save them.

But deep down, you know it’s futile. Esther’s plan is already set in motion, and there is nothing you can do to stop it.

“You know, whenever my mother brings our family together like this, it's tradition to begin the evening with a dance,” he announces smoothly, with just the right mix of warmth and command. His words stir a strange mix of nostalgia and dread within you.

You knew this night would come— when they would all stand together, united for the first time in a thousand years. And yet, as much as you’d once longed for a reunion like this, now it feels like a cruel joke. The only reason you’ve been brought together is so they can die.

You feel a shiver creep down your spine as Elijah continues. “Tonight’s pick is a centuries-old waltz, so if all of you could please find yourself a partner, join us in the ballroom.”

Kol’s hand tightens gently around your waist, pulling you a little closer. You instinctively lean into him, seeking the comfort of his touch, and for a fleeting moment, it feels like the world could be perfect again. You exchange a look with him, both of you remembering the first time you danced this waltz— back on your wedding day, a lifetime ago. The melody, the rhythm, the elegance— it all floods back to you in a rush.

For a brief moment, the weight of your guilt lifts, and you allow yourself to smile up at him, sharing in the memory of a love that once seemed untouchable. The familiar waltz fills the space, and you can almost pretend, just for a second, that everything is as it should be. 

As the dance continues, your heart grows heavier with every step you take, the crushing weight of your impending betrayal sinking into your bones.

You feel nauseous. The closeness of Kol’s embrace, once a safe haven, now feels like a prison. The tenderness in his touch only serves to amplify the guilt that gnaws at you, relentless and unforgiving. Every step of the waltz feels like a step closer to your destruction.

“Are you alright, darling?” Kol’s voice, soft and concerned, pulls you out of your spiraling thoughts. You blink, meeting his gaze for a split second, but immediately look away. You can’t bear to see the warmth and love in his eyes— eyes that once trusted you without question, eyes that you’re about to break forever.

You nod faintly, too scared to speak, afraid that your voice might betray the turmoil inside you. Kol studies you for a moment, a flicker of worry crossing his features, but he doesn’t push. Instead, he pulls you closer, his hand moving to the small of your back as he leads you through the steps of the waltz with practiced grace.

As the dance progresses, your heart races, each step you take with Kol serving as a cruel reminder of what you stand to lose. The beauty of the moment, the elegance of the ballroom, feels hollow now. Every spin, every glide across the floor, only deepens your sense of isolation, as if the room is closing in around you.

You try to focus on the music, on the rhythm, on the familiar warmth of Kol’s touch, but it’s impossible to ignore the gnawing truth: by the end of the night, you will have sealed their fates. And no amount of dancing, no amount of love, will change that. You need a way out. You need to stop this. But how?

Kol, ever perceptive, senses your unease. His brow furrows in concern, his gaze flickering down to you as he keeps the dance steady. “Y/N,” he whispers softly, his breath warm against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine despite yourself. “You’ve been behaving strangely all day. What’s wrong?”

The sincerity in his voice makes your heart ache. How can you lie to him again? How can you wear this mask when he’s so close, when he’s giving you the same love he always has? You know you’re being unfair to him, to the love he believes is unshakable, but the truth is, it feels impossible to escape the web Esther has woven around you.

You sigh, forcing yourself to meet his gaze, hoping to keep your facade intact. "Nothing," you reply, the word coming out more breathlessly than you intend. You attempt a nervous giggle, a small, hollow sound that you hope will deflect his concerns. "I guess I’m still adjusting. This new world is so different from how it was a thousand years ago."

Kol’s eyes narrow slightly, and though he doesn't speak, you can feel the weight of his scrutiny, his gaze probing deeper than you would like. You’ve never been able to fool him for long. Kol always did have a knack for reading between the lines.

He slows the dance, his hand resting more firmly at the small of your back, pulling you even closer, his body a solid warmth against yours. The intimacy of the gesture should comfort you, but it only heightens the sense of isolation gnawing at your insides. He’s here, so present, so full of affection— and yet you’re already slipping away from him.

For a long moment, you hold his gaze, not daring to look away. You know that breaking eye contact will only give away the truth of your turmoil. His stare softens, but there’s a glimmer of doubt in his eyes that you can’t ignore. Still, after a beat, he seems to let it go, accepting your lie for the moment.

He pulls you closer, his arm circling you tighter, and you feel the gentle pressure of his embrace, as though trying to shield you from the weight of the world. “I’m here, darling. You can tell me what’s bothering you whenever you’re ready,” he murmurs, his voice laced with tenderness, the words offering a strange comfort even as they add to the burden.

You want to tell him, you really do. You want to share your fears, your guilt, your plans to stop Esther— but you can’t. Not yet. So instead, you bury your head against his chest, feeling the familiar steadiness of his heartbeat. The rhythmic sound should be soothing, but tonight it only reminds you of the time slipping away.

The music swells again, and for a moment, you allow yourself to close your eyes, to block out the noise of the world and lose yourself in the movement. The feel of his arms around you, the steady cadence of the waltz, the warmth of his breath—everything about this moment feels like a lifetime ago.

If this is all you have left with him, if your time together truly is limited, then you will savor every second. The guilt of your deception, the knowledge of what’s to come—it presses against you with suffocating force, but you push it down, deep into the pit of your stomach, refusing to let it destroy this last dance, this last moment of peace.

Kol doesn’t know. He doesn't know that the very family he’s protecting will soon turn on him. He doesn’t know that the love you share, so fragile and delicate, is the price for your family’s survival. But for now, you let him hold you. For now, you let yourself be consumed by the beauty of this one final dance.

As you sway in Kol’s arms, his touch steady and reassuring, you let your breath slow, feeling the weight of the world lift just a little. He’s right there with you, strong and unwavering.

His love, so constant and true, is a balm for your frayed nerves. You allow yourself to bask in it, closing your eyes and surrendering to the comfort of his presence.

Kol notices the subtle shift in you. The tension in your shoulders loosens, your movements more fluid as you relax into him. He looks down, his umber eyes scanning your face with a mix of affection and concern. Your serene smile doesn’t escape him, and for a brief moment, the weight on his own chest lightens. Still, the unease in his eyes never quite dissipates. He can’t ignore it—something is wrong, and he knows it.

Gently, Kol presses a soft kiss to the top of your head, the tenderness of it making your heart ache. You open your eyes, meeting his gaze, and you’re once again drawn into the warmth of his soul. His eyes—the deep, endless umber that always felt like home to you—hold a question, unspoken but palpable.

You return his smile, a bittersweet ache in your chest. Here, in his arms, everything feels right. He’s here. He’s with you. And yet, the world outside this moment is crumbling. But for a fleeting second, you let the world blur, wishing this moment could last forever.

With a soft exhale, you tilt your head slightly, closing the distance between you, and press your lips to his in a kiss that’s both tender and desperate. When you pull back, the words slip from your lips, whispered in a voice barely louder than the music around you.

"I love you, Kol. Forever."

His eyes soften, his lips curling into that familiar, affectionate smile— the one that makes your heart ache in ways you don’t want to acknowledge. "Forever," he echoes, his voice thick with emotion, as if he knows, just as you do, that forever feels like a fragile thing when everything around you is crumbling.

If you want to be a part of my tag list, please submit an ask specifying series, fandom, or all and I will happily add you (If you don't specify, I'll just assume you want to be on the general list)!

Taglist: @chaoticfanpeach @hazgold @devotedlycrookeddonut @catmikaelson20

[ominoose]

𝐂𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐥 𝐃𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐬 - 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐇𝐂'𝐬

Made my own little Valentines alphabet thingy!! I know I'm so smart and stuff. Anyway Cecil is a hyper little puppy on Valentines, do not change my mind 💞

V - Vase (What flowers he gets you)

Whatever flowers are the cheapest and red looking at the closest Walmart. Not that he doesn't care, but the man is borderline broke and only knows three flowers. That said, if there are several bouquets with the same price, he's spending at minimum an hour contemplating each option at length and calling his cousin for a second opinion.

He makes sure whatever bouquet he picks has roses, because that's the Valentines flower and it's not Valentines bouquet if it doesn't have roses.

A - Affectionate (How openly affectionate is he?)

Extremely. From 12am on February 14th till probably 4am the next day he is envisioning a day of just you and him, declining any other plans at all, even if it's a doctor's appointment, thinking it's gob-smacking to be expected to be parted from you on the day of love.

His vision of Valentines is a montage with falling petals, a grainy filter and still frames of you both giggling on a swing.

L - Love Language

Physical Touch.

Cecil needs to be touching you at all times and doesn't even realise it. He'll drape his legs across yours on the couch, entwine your fingers together even if it's an awkward position, wrap his leg around your own under a table. It's an automatic instinct he isn't aware he does until you move and leave him whining with wet puppy eyes.

Valentines only amps this up, any time you cruelly peel away from Cecil he's gasping in shock and crying out about how 'It's Valentines! We're meant to be all over each other, don't you love me?!'. Cecil also expects tons of kisses.

E - Eat (Where and how does he dine you?)

Some run down diner close by, probably the regular one you both go to every other night, one with peeling wallpaper and water stains on the tiles. In his mind, you've been before, and you like it, so why wouldn't he pick it? Truly, he thinks any dining out is a 'good' night out.

On the plus side, he insists you both share a dessert (a luxury usually skipped) and pays for the whole bill. He even makes you a special blunt for the drive home if you're partial.

N - Nicknames (What nicknames do you share?)

Baby is the usual default, and it doesn't disappear during the holiday, but he likes the excuse to throw in some overly sweet ones too.

Sweetness, sugarplum, honeybun, snookums, pookie, anything of the cheesy romcom sort.

You can also get him to do absolutely anything if you call him something cheesy too, his knees physically bend.

T - Tacky (How cliche is he?)

Extremely. Cecil always takes every holiday very seriously, but especially so when it relates to his significant other (his relationship is half his personality).

He's gotten you a Walmart card with a handwritten poem scrawled on the inside. It isn't groundbreaking, but he did write it himself, and includes a whole sentence about how much he loves your ass. Besides the mandatory bouquet of flowers, he's used a red velvet store-bought cake mix and cut it into a heart too, something sweet to start the day with.

One Valentines he tried to sprinkle petals over the bed for a romantic night of love making but winded up discovering a new allergy that left him covered in hives.

I - Innovate (How did he fix a Valentines gone wrong?)

If you're working on Valentines (god forbid, the man nearly dies of horror) and come home with the weight of a bad shift on your shoulders, Cecil is probably the best at quickly coming up with Valentines themed solution.

Crappy takeout from your favourite place is ordered, Netflix's top romantic movie is already on the TV with ten tealight candles littered around the table next to your flowers. You'll get the biggest slice of cake too, because feeling sad on Valentine's Day (or any day really) should be illegal in Cecil's mind.

N - Naughty

To Cecil, Valentines isn't complete until you've both given each oral at least once, preferably the moment you both wake up. There's no hint to where this tradition came from in his mind, but it's stuck.

One of his favourite Valentines memories is of you on the splayed on the couch with his curls nestled between your thighs as The Notebook plays on the TV. He spent half the movie there and has no idea what happened, but he swears it's his favourite romcom anyway.

E - Ending (How does he wrap up Valentines day?)

Curled up in bed (with no petals), spooning with some sappy love songs playing softly in the background as you both catch your breath. Every limb feels syrupy and all that's left to do is fall asleep nestled under messy blankets after a marathon of good sex.

S - Song

If you need to take the deathtrap he calls a car out on Valentines, this is the first song he plays, every year.

[sissylittlefeather]

Daddy Loves His Baby

A/N: I was feeling some type of way earlier and I just wrote this half as a comfort to myself and half because people keep reading Daddy Likes His Football. So this is yet another part, but this one is a little... sweeter?

Here is part 1, and here is part 2.

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, kissing, cussing, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampie

Word count: ~1.3k

“Honey, what’re you doin’ in here?” Elvis cracks the door and peeks into the room you share. It's dark despite the sunset outside and as his eyes adjust, he sees the lump that must be you in the bed. “Are you asleep?”

“No.” You sigh deeply and roll over onto your side, trying to hide the fact that you were crying.

“You been up here all day?” You close your eyes and cringe internally. You have, in fact, been in this bed all day long and he's just now noticing. He's busy, you know that, and you're being a little overdramatic, but it still hurts. Especially in your current state of mind.

“Yeah.” It’s barely audible, so he walks further into the room, looking down at you in the bed. You have these moods sometimes, and hell, so does he, but this seems to be worse than normal. He stands and stares at you, trying to decide just how firm he wants to be with you. You're an angel when he gets like this, but quite frankly, he's a little annoyed. He buys you everything you could ever want, gives you whatever you need, and is only ever a little grumpy about it.

“What's the problem?” It comes out a little harsher than he intends and you flinch.

“I dunno, Elvis. I'm just… sad.” He wants to roll his eyes so badly, but he holds back.

“Honey, you have no reason to be–”

“I know that!” You snap at him for the first time ever and it completely catches him off guard. “But you don't either and I put up with your bullshit moods all the time!”

You have no idea where this anger is coming from. Elvis is the love of your life and taking care of him is your joy, even when he's down. But right now you just want to be left alone to wallow in self-pity.

He purses his lips and shakes his head. A sad mood is one thing, but you need to remember who you belong to.

“Enough.” In two strides, he's next to you, yanking the covers off of you unceremoniously.

“Elvis!” You holler, but he ignores you, picking up your body easily and throwing you over his shoulder.

“Ya been in bed long enough. No more feelin’ sorry for yourself.” He carries you to the bathroom as you kick and yell and pound on his back with your tiny ineffectual fists. You gasp as he plops you on the lid of the toilet and then walks to the shower to start it up.

“What are you doing?! I don't wanna shower!” He continues to ignore you, checking the temperature and coming back over to you to undress you. You protest verbally, but let him strip you naked.

“You always feel better when you're wet, one way or another.” He's not wrong. There are two things that'll cheer you up without fail: sex and water. Maybe it's the Pisces in you. And you don't seem to be too eager to fuck him, so he decides a shower is the next best thing. You scoff and harumph as he moves you under the water.

“This isn't helping.” You sound like a petulant child now and he does roll his eyes this time.

“Shut up and wait for daddy.” He starts to pull his clothes off as you stand in the shower pouting. Eventually, you feel him move in behind you and sigh despite yourself. The water does feel really good and knowing he's naked behind you is just enough of a distraction from your mood. You turn to face him and lean your head back into the stream of water, moaning softly. He suppresses a smile at how quickly you seem to be coming back to life. It comforts him to know that he knows you this well. His relationships are never easy, but with you it feels like it's worth whatever he has to put up with. You drive him crazy in the best way possible and he loves you more than he's ever loved anyone before. He puts his hands on your hips and moves closer to you, pressing his lips to your neck. “You like this?”

You're quiet for a bit, just enjoying the sensation of his hands and mouth on you, but eventually you sigh and whisper, “yeah.”

He puts your arms on his shoulders and presses his body against you. Thinking about how much you mean to him has his cock hard where it pushes against you.

“You want daddy to make it all better?” You nod, your bad mood completely forgotten as your center radiates heat on his leg. “Good girl.”

He turns and presses your back up against the shower wall, dropping to his knees in front of you. You moan loudly and your eyes roll back as he shoves his tongue into your pussy. Usually it's you on your knees, so this is a welcome change.

“Fuck, daddy…” Your hand goes to the front of his hair as he eats you like a man starved. His tongue swirls your clit and then he sucks on it lightly, determined to make you cum as quickly as possible. He slides his long middle finger up inside you, curling it against your g-spot as he licks you. You feel your orgasm approaching you and your legs tremble with anticipation. He feels your walls start to flutter and grumbles into you.

“Cum for daddy, baby.” You listen to him and moan again as your climax washes over you, pounding in your veins and lighting you up like a firecracker. He groans as he feels you pulse around his finger and then pulls back, standing up. You lean against the wall, shaking and panting as he lifts one of your legs and bends his knees to line his cock up with your entrance. “Be a good girl and let daddy fuck you until he fills up this sweet little pussy.”

“Yes, daddy…” You whimper as he pushes inside you, grunting. He holds the side of your neck, his thumb brushing your lips as he picks up a steady pace, fucking into you faster and harder as the shower water mixes with the sweat on both of your bodies.

“Whose baby are you?” He growls, his cock sliding in and out of you.

“Yours, daddy.” You moan, reveling in the power with which he slams into you.

“And does daddy love his baby?” He doesn't give you a chance to answer, pressing his lips to yours and pushing his tongue into your mouth. When he finally does pull back, he puts his forehead on yours, thrusting deeper into you. “Does he?”

“Yes, daddy.”

“And daddy will always take care of her and make her happy?” You nod furiously and he moans. “Fuck. Daddy loves you, baby.”

He closes his eyes and fills you one last time, trembling as he shoots you full of cum and you lose control, another release vibrating in between your hips. You slump against him and he holds you steady, kissing your forehead gently. The steam curls around you and for a while there is nothing but the sound of your breathing as your heart rate normalizes.

“I love you too.” You murmur against his chest. He runs his fingers through your hair and kisses your temple. It's amazing how safe and at-ease you feel now, considering your mood from earlier. But that's just the effect he has on you, that you have on each other. He is your home, your peace. You love to tease him, but you'd never want to be without him. He reaches around you and converts the shower to a bath, laying down with you in his arms.

“You feel better?” He holds you, stroking your arm gently. You can be a real brat sometimes, but when it comes down to it, he wouldn't trade you for anything.

“Yeah. Thank you.” You sigh again and settle against him, snuggling into the hair on his chest.

He kisses the top of your head and smiles softly. “Any time, baby. Any time.”

******

The End

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Taglist:

@ccab @atleastpleasetelephone @aliypop @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @tacozebra051 @your-nanas-house @joshuntildawn13 @lookingforrainbows @60svintage @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @louisejoy86 @rjmartin11 @from-memphis-with-love @deltafalax @cinnamoroll-things @burnthheparaphilia @jhoneybees @cattcb @everythingelvispresley @returntopresley @searchingforgravity @msamarican @angschrof @lustnhim @polksaladava @librababe99 @hooked-on-elvis @theelvisprincess @makethemorning @peaceloveelvis @mrspresley69 @pxpresley @kxnnxy @angelriley222

[quiet-night-sky-writers-blog]

The bodyguard

Chapter 1

Pairing: Marc Spector x fem!Reader

Rating: 18+

Word count: 2 649

Summary (for the entire work): imagine you are the only daughter of a really rich man. To your father, there's nothing more important than you, so he decides to keep you safe in a way that you find excessive and unnecessary at first. You change your mind quickly, though.

AU, in which Marc got a timely chance to leave his mercenary job.

Warnings (for the entire work): description of sex scenes, superficial mention of injuries, swearing, mention of alcohol consumption. Author chooses not to state the warnings in more detail so as not to reveal the plot of the story in advance. But please be mindful of age restrictions.

*Y/N - your name, Y/L/N - your last name

Another shot of whiskey was not a really good idea. Marc was well aware of that when he gave the bartender a sign to repeat. He was well aware of what a hangover awaited him tomorrow. Still, he drained the glass in one gulp - and yet felt disgustingly sober. He wanted - no, he needed to forget the last two days and this damned case. He needed his head to shut off, at least for a while, but the alcohol was stubbornly refusing to work for its intended purpose, and Marc was already starting to get mad: at the bartender, at himself, at the whole world around him.

Out of his gloomy thoughts he was pulled by an ingratiating voice.

- Good evening, mr. Spector.

At the bar counter, to his left, settled a short man in a gray suit; he looked too groomed and tidy for this kind of establishment. Marc eyed him up and down, and then turned away again.

- Do we know each other? - he strained through his teeth.

- You don't know me, but I know a lot about you. I speak on behalf of my employer, who greatly values your expertise and talents, and is interested in you utilizing them while working for him, - his speech was soft but insistent, carefully rehearsed. It was obvious that the suit was a professional.

- Ah, that's how, - Marc replied dryly, - and who is your employer?

- I'm afraid I cannot tell you his name now. You will meet him if you agree to accept his offer.

- And what exactly does his offer include? - Marc barely kept his remaining composure. The suit pissed him off so much that he wanted to smash the empty glass on the counter in front of him against his balding, egg-shaped head.

- My employer wants you to provide for his personal security. You may not worry about the pay - I assure you it will be more than generous.

- Not interested, - Marc snapped. The suit gave a feigned sigh of sadness, then pulled a pen and a white card from his pocket. Carefully scribbling something on its back, he pushed the card toward Marc and stood up from his chair.

- This is my business card. Please contact me if you change your mind. I've indicated on it the amount my employer is willing to offer you. And just to clarify, this is the monthly fee for your services. Have a good day.

Marc didn't touch the card and didn't even dignify his interlocutor with a sight as he left. Probably, he decided, he should go, too. On his way home he was going to buy a bottle of something cheaper and stronger at the nearest store and finally get properly drunk. Rising to his feet, he glanced again at the white piece of cardboard lying lonely on the bar counter, and curiosity took over after all.

- Fuck me... - he muttered to himself.

What did that moron say? This is how much Marc would get in a month..?

That's how Marc started working for your father.

He never found out how these people got to him, but it wasn't surprising: power at that level, and most importantly, money, gives almost unlimited access to any information.

Frankly, Marс was glad that he hadn't made a complete fool of himself and had accepted the offer. He finally got rid of the scumbag Bushman and all the crap they'd been doing. His job as a bodyguard allowed him to keep his hands almost clean, both figuratively and literally: he rarely had to use his fists, much less weapons, and even in such situations it was enough just to scare, but not to put it into action. And most often his job was simply to stand by with a stern look and monitor the occasion.

It had been just over a year since Marc had got this job when you came home.

After graduation, you could have got your own place, of course you were able to afford it, but your father insisted that you live in the family mansion, at least for a while, and you agreed. You loved your father, and, admittedly, you missed him very much - for during your years of study you had seen him only a few times. He had his quirks, but you two never had any serious disagreements. And, after all, he was the only family you had.

Since your father directed to have Marc around all the time, he was allotted a spacious room in the west wing of your mansion. Mr. Y/L/N never treated his bodyguard as a servant, and besides, they got along well - your father had also been in the military a long time ago, and it had brought them closer together. Marc was allowed to move freely around the house, to use the impressive library, the swimming pool (which he avoided because he hated any body of water and preferred not to get into it unless necessary), obviously the gym (which he visited with enjoyment). And, of course, the kitchen, which was the only one in the house. It was exactly where he saw you for the first time.

After the time zone change, you had a terrible night's sleep on your first night back home. Awakening at about 6 a.m., you tossed and turned all over in bed, but couldn't go back to sleep again. Resigned and sighed irritably, you climbed out from under the covers, slipped your bare feet into your fluffy slippers, and, yawning, headed for the kitchen in search of caffeine.

Marc always woke up at the crack of dawn - an old army habit. He knew no one would have got in his way at that time: mr. Y/L/N was still asleep, and the maid, cook and gardener's workday started much later. Yesterday he had heard bits and pieces that miss Y/L/N had come home, but had not yet had the pleasure of being introduced to you in person. And as he entered the kitchen this morning to have breakfast, he stood frozen in the doorway.

You rummaged through the top shelves of the cupboards looking for coffee beans. So far you'd only found a packet of your favourite almond biscuits, which you planned to do later, when you'd finally managed to brew some coffee. You stuck out the tip of your tongue and stood on your toes, trying to reach the cherished can. You didn't realise that at that moment there was a man standing behind your back, and your silk nightgown lifted slightly from your efforts, exposing, even just a little bit, the lower part of your butt to his gaze.

Finally coming to his senses, Marc coughed quietly, signalling his presence. You shuddered and turned round, holding your precious find - a golden-black tin filled with aromatic beans - to your chest. Marc realised that he was now staring at you in the most unconscionable way, but he couldn't find the strength to stop. Besides, he noted, you were staring back at him almost exactly the same way.

With a hoarse mumble of “excuse me” he disappeared out the door, leaving you, with your cheeks flaming in embarrassment, alone.

Hastily striding toward the west wing, Marc unsuccessfully struggled with the irritation and horniness that combined in a rather nasty way. How the hell is he supposed to work here if you're going to be carelessly strolling around, flashing your obscenely pretty arse left and right? No, seriously, he'd never seen such a perfect, such a...

- Fuuuck... - with a hint of despair, he moaned quietly, feeling his boner grow even harder. It had started out so well... Now he could only hope that you'd be busy with your own stuff, he'd be driving around to meetings and business trips with your father, and your crossing of paths would be kept to a minimum. Hope, and try not to imagine him kneeling behind you, covering your sweet butt with kisses and delightfully licking out your juicy pussy.

After lunch, mr. Y/L/N invited you and Marc into his cabinet. This time you had a sensible amount of clothes on, but that didn't hinder Marc's brain from relentlessly, over and over again, replaying in his mind the marvellous picture presented to his sight that morning. He was standing at attention with his hands behind his back at a respectful distance from you, comfortably nestled in one of the big armchairs. You furtively glanced at him, mistakenly assuming he didn't notice it, while your father talked on the phone. Studying Marc, you wondered how someone could be so sexy. No, seriously, dude just stood there, staring straight ahead with a frown, and you were ready to melt and spread yourself into a puddle at his feet, if it were physically possible.

Finished conversing, your father finally turned his attention to the two of you.

- Marc, I suppose you've already met my daughter, Y/N.

You looked over at each other.

- Actually, not officially, - you smiled. Mr. Y/L/N nodded.

- Y/N is my only child, she is the most precious thing I have, I live for her, - you felt tears welling up in your eyes, - Marс, I am extremely pleased with your service, and moreover, I trust you completely. So I've made a decision: now, that Y/N is back, you will be ensuring her safety, and not mine.

- Dad! - you threw up your hands, - we've already talked about this! I don't need a babysitter!

- Of course you don't, sweetheart, because you're a little too old for a babysitter, - you pouted, not appreciating the joke, - that's why we're talking about a bodyguard.

- But what's that for? No one has ever tried to harm me!

- And I want to keep it that way.

- Well, what about you? - you've been running out of arguments.

- I've already found a worthy replacement for Marc. It's my decision, full stop. And please don't argue.

You sighed irritably and scowled, crossing your arms over your chest.

- Marc, do you have any questions? - you gave him a slanted look. He didn't react to the news at all, didn't move, except that he didn't seem so composed anymore, as if his outward bravado had cracked. Like he was a little - bewildered?

- No, sir, - he reported, quickly pulling himself together again.

- Good, - your father responded contentedly and glanced at you again, - sweetheart, I'm busy today, but I'd like to spend more time with you tomorrow. I'll take you out to lunch, pick a place of your choice.

The next day, while you and your dad were enjoying lunch at a exquisite Italian restaurant, Marc was watching you closely. Of course he needed to realize, who he was going to be dealing with. And he couldn't help but admit that he liked you - really liked you. Sure, you were stunningly beautiful - in fact, you were probably the most beautiful girl he'd ever met. But that wasn't the point.

You were nothing like a typical spoilt rich bimbo. Every your step, every gesture, every look was full of dignity, but at the same time you never seemed arrogant. In addition, you were incredibly intelligent - Marc had realised that, when he listened up you two discussed your father’s work, and caught himself thinking that he had no idea what it was all about. And also you had an amazing quality: wherever you were and whatever you were doing, you seemed to light up the space and the people around you with your presence. It was as if there was a warm, tender sun hiding inside you.

After lunch mr. Y/L/N kissed you on the cheek and headed off to meet another business partner, leaving you and Marc alone on the street outside the restaurant. Your bodyguard, who was standing behind you, coughed softly.

- Where would you like to go now, miss Y/L/N?

You turned round, meeting the gaze of dark-brown, almost black, eyes that seemed to be studying you intently.

- Home, I guess. I have a job interview tomorrow, I want to get a good rest and prepare properly.

Marc nodded mutely, and, stepping around your car, opened the passenger door for you. Before you climbed in, you gave him a grateful smile.

The silence in the cabin was broken only by the quiet grumble of the engine, but this silence was not oppressive. Strangely enough, you were comfortable around this man. You'd met him only yesterday and knew nothing about him at all, but you liked the way you felt around him. He was enveloped in an aura of calmness and reliability. He reminded you of a majestic, monumental rock, with the ocean splashing at its foot; a rock that could withstand any storm and remain unbroken. And though, like that rock, he seemed as sombre, cold, and impregnable, it didn't frighten or repel you.

- Marc, - you called softly.

- Yes? - he echoed, not taking his eyes off the road.

- Please, call me Y/N.

He glanced at you briefly, as if in doubt, and then concentrated on driving again, and after a moment's silence, he uttered:

- Okay, Y/N.

At first, the only feeling you had about the idea of having a bodyguard was annoyance. You highly valued your freedom and privacy, and you weren't enthusiastic about the idea of someone looming around watching you all the time.

However, as you looked at Marс more closely, you decided that you probably wouldn't mind his presence around. The reason for that was not only the feeling of safety he gave you, which wrapped you up like a warm blanket, and not only the way he treated you like a princess, which was the dream of if not any girl, then almost any. The reason for that was also the fact that you'd never met a sexier man, the fact that you'd never been attracted to anyone with such a furious force.

Of course, you held your own as best you could - and usually you succeeded. But there were exceptions to that rule, like any other: the moments when you were alone together. As he drove, you stole glances at his focussed profile: the habitually furrowed brow, the large eagle nose, the strong jawline. You wondered: did his thick black curls feel stiff or soft to the touch? What his lips tasted like?

Within the walls of your home, away from prying eyes, the situation became even more complicated. Your roles seemed to smudge, their borders blurred, and you became essentially just a man and a woman living under the same roof. And no matter how much you wanted the opposite, you tried to avoid him by any means necessary, and when you did cross paths, you called on all your self-control. That self-control, however, was rather tentative: all your emotions were literally written on your face.

You absolutely knew that you would not take any action towards him, because in your “boss-subordinate” relationship he might feel pressurised, if not coerced, and that was certainly not acceptable.

What you didn't know was that your feelings were 200% mutual.

You didn't know how strong was the desire that gripped him when you were near. The desire to lavish you with all the affection and tenderness he was capable of. To worship you. To give you as many orgasms as you could handle. And then fuck you roughly until you were hoarse from screaming. You didn't know you were causing his boner over and over and over again.

And you didn't know that he swore to himself that he would never cross that line with you.

Next >>

-Intro-

Comments / reblogs are incredibly meaningful! Please support your content creators!🫶🏻

[lucy---lou]

Part 15 Lucys-hdg-story

My brain feels really fuzzy. I try to stretch, nope not possible I ehm oh Ellie and Misst... miss... miss... Miss Duralis. Weird why couldn't I remember her name, odd. The vines I was sleeping on move so I go and stretch, "mmmmrrrrrrp"

My eyes sheepishly open. Weird

"Wwwhy aaree wee outsiiideee?", yep words are not functioning properly. Probably high as fuck.

"Is my sleepy blushy kitten awake again. We are still in the park where you fell asleep", miss Duralis answers.

"But I shouldn't sleep in public. It's not safe to sleep. Scratch that silly thought"

"I see it's still working, everything alright my petal?"

"I eh think so, that was real wasn't it?", I say with a blush.

"Sure thing my cutie"

"Oh I ehm - I"

My stomach grumbles. I giggle.

"I think I'm hungry", saved myself.

"You did sleep through lunch. Ellie knocked you out, she already had something to eat. What would you like?"

"Some pizza please,misst- Duralis", I squirm in place at the embarrassment.

"There should be a take away near this park. Are you alright staying alone with Ellie, while I get something?"

"Should be. A margherita please", I chirp. Wow I'm realy hungry.

"Alright my little kitten I'll be back in ten minutes. Be a good girl"

"Yes, Miss"

Miss Duralis unravles from underneath me and Ellie and I are placed on the picnic blanket. We continue to cuddle for a few minutes. My eyes drift of a little, not sleeping but also not awake. I open then again and I'm outside.

outside is not safe

outside is dangerous

my heart starts to race.

I need to leave

sophonts are dangerous

I musst leave

I push Ellie harshly away, get up and run in the direction my old hab was.

I begin crying

something yellow flashes at me

I run

something red flashes at me

I run for dear life

somthing beeps at me

somebody tries to talk to me

"beeeeeeeeeep", my vision goes blurry, everything fades away. Somebody moves in my direction. I fall. I -

********************************************

<Sorry I don't know what happend. I saw her runnning looking terrified. I tried talking to her. Her collar beep loudly as it injected her, atleast I caught her before she fell.>

<Thank you Renor. She was completly fine before I left, to get her pizza. I feel like such an bad affini, she has had so many panic attacks under my care. Ellie was so much easier. Lucy is just so scared of anything that isn't our hab>

I heard talking but couldn't understand it, but that didn't matter. Miss Duralis was here and that meant I was safe.

<She looked terrified, maybe she didn't feel safe once you left>

<DIRT, she's got a hypnotic trigger that lets her feel safe while she feels my biorythm and I left my poor kitten alone. I....>

My affini was sad, so I pawed at her and smiled. I'm so fucking high.

"I'm so sorry my little kitten this won't happen again"

I got obliterated with pets. unable to form any coherent thought. So I did the next best thing and grabbed a vine and hugged it.

"awww she is really cute", the unkown affini said.

"She really is, especially cuddling with Ellie. They are sooo going to be pinnates. The problem is that she is so tame and then the second you're not looking she's either running away or hurting herself. She is going to make me rebloom"

I'm hurting my affini, she is sad because of me, it is all not my fault. But there is still one question.

"I still don't know what a pinnate is, this time I insist"

"If you insist, florets become pinnates when they love each other very much and we deam it cruel to seperate them. So they're guaranteed to be able to stay together for their rest of their lives."

"El- Ellie, she, she wants me forever?", I blush hard, "but that's for florets"

"Yes you are still only a ward, but I think today showed again that you are not fit to live as an independent"

I should be angry, shouldn't I ? But I'm not. I don't want to leave Miss Duralis or Ellie. I don't think I -"kitten?"- could sleep without her. I would be lonly. I'd have nobody -"Lucy? "- to cuddle. I'd hurt my self. I'd be -"Lucy kitten ?"- in danger. I would be kissed - what? - I'm being kissed. What I -

I shake my head.

All three of them are looking at me, I blush at the kiss.

"What!?"

"Lucy you were unresponsive for two minutes.", Miss Duralis says.

"Yeah and you only woke up at your saviours kiss", Ellie beams.

"I-I enhm, - I - I'm still waiting for my pizza", I distract.

They laugh at me.

"Sure thing, Renor can I have the pizza?"

"Sure thing, I'll be on my way again, please send me photos of your cuties"

"Did you just copy me. Will do, thank you again. Good bye, have a nice day", Miss Duralis laughs.

"Sure thing byeee", Renor grins.

"Sure thing, he's a silly affini", Ellie adds.

"Oh my please make it stop", I beg to the stars.

A vine taps my cheek. "wha-" pizza is delivered in my mouth, the stars have saved me with delicous pizza. I go to close my mouth and a vine taps the bottom of my chin. I chew, enjoying the pizza.

A tap - pizza

A tap - close

A tap - I forget and pizza is on my face. Ellie laughs at me and I pout. I open my mouth and delicious pizza is delivered.

A tap - close

A tap - pizza

A tap -close

The rest of the pizza is soon fed to me. Miss Duralis cleanes my face and I look at her confused.

"You still had pizza in your face", she smiled.

"I know", I pout.

"Adorable. Lets get you two back. It's time for a bath and this time you're even awake. I'll make it special for you"

"But I - I can clean myeeeeeeeeeep", yep got yanked of the ground again.

"Don't be silly we both know you want it."

[olenoidedserratuspilled]

So I'm a gay man from a completely different part of the world from any of you, and so I don't have much insight into the dating culture of the US because I've never participated in it - or dating culture at all, really. Nonetheless, I'm gonna leave my two cents on this under the cut. Feel free to ignore them if you'd prefer to.

what's essential is understanding that other people including women are full humans just like you, who matter just as much as you.

I'm mostly sure OP already understands that. There's no indication that he doesn't, at least. In either case, this is by your own admission the bare minimum. We both know that the bare minimum isn't gonna cut it here.

there are so many women who are out there who want a guy who is caring and on top of his shit. like the bar is so low for some women, it's not hard to clear it.

See, showing other people that you're caring is hard, especially when you're showing it with the intention of pursuing them romantically - which, let's not kid ourselves, is the intention here. Even if you do mange to convey that - again, it's still only the bare minimum. It's good, sure, but not enough.

less dating apps, more befriending all sorts of people through hobbies and volunteer work.

"Befriend" is the key word here. Dating people you were friends with befrehand is complicated to say the least, we could have an entire separate thread about it, but to summarize my outlook I think it's half a matter of luck and half one of finesse. If you don't do everything exactly, perfectly right, it can easily end with both of you sad, angry and potentially traumatized - and it will be your fault, not in the sense you'll be blamed for it, but in that it'll be objectiely your fault.

figure out what you have to offer to the world, offer it, people will take notice.

Sure, they might. If they do though, will anyone want it? If they want it, why would they not seek it from someone else? Someone who's been doing it for longer, who's more skilled at it, or who's just got more to offer besides it? Just "having something to offer" isn't good enough, it's the bare minimum.

There's nothing you can offer that can't be easily found somewhere else. It doesn't matter who you are, there's always gonna be a billion other people exactly like you except better. And what, you want somebody else to settle for you when it'd be easier, less risky and more gratifying to just look for somoene better instead? That's selfish. I'm not being coy here, it is objectively, undeniably selfish to want that. I do need this to be clear: I'm not blaming anyone other than OP/the hypothetical man this advice is aimed at in this scenario.

it also really really sucks for straight women, my god does it suck ass. you need to understand the ways it sucks for women before you can improve your game, btw.

I mean, I think the ways it sucks are fairly obvious. A lot of people do it but at least for me it's kind of hard to ignore the murders, rapes and domestic abuse. By all means seek to understand them and work to not perpetrate them, but "Don't be a piece of shit" really doesn't paint a very clear picture of what, specifically, you're supposed to do beyond that point.

so many people want out of the box and are out of the box. go befriend and dare them.

If you pardon me being cynical (it's sort of my gimmick, if you couldn't tell), what reason do the people out of the box have to give some dumbass newcomer who just crawled out of the box the time of day? Just thinking "out of the box" isn't enough. It's the bare minimum. It's still just objectively not good enough.

you've set up an equation that means that you must always lose, and it's the type of equation that is primed to make you hate women.

I mean yes and no? From what I understood, one of the equation's components is "if a man fails to find a relationship, the failure is all his". If you interpret this as a false preconception that the world around you holds then yeah I can see how it'll lead down that path, but if you interpret it as true then at worse it'll just lead to hating oneself. Not ideal no, but at least no women are impacted as a result.

this equation is false, and based on false premises, that you and a ton of men and women think is gospel.

It depends on how you define false, really. If we go by objective, observable reality then actually both the presented equations are false and all human interaction is nothing but the absurd acts of chemicals (this is what I believe, to put all my cards on the table).

If you wanna be less Reddit-ey about it though, one could easily argue that - because "the equation" is, consciously or otherwise, upheld by the majority of the population (at least the ones involved in the straight dating scene anyway), then it's true in the sense that it is the social norm that you're expected to abide by. You can say it's morally wrong, sure, but it's still just as "true" as things like dining etiquette and formal grammar.

Feel free to ignore dining etiquette all you like, but you're gonna get a lot of mean looks from relatives and restaurant staff.

one of your falsities is that straight and bi women don't like feminine men. this is patently false. have you met a goth woman? have you met a woman who is in fandom? they are jerking it to the most pathetic and wet sissy rat men.

Fictional men and real men are radically different. For starters, fictional men are just plainly easier to grow emotionally attached to because they come with none of the... "Baggage", for the lack of a better word, and just because someone thinks baby-faced white twinks (because make no mistake, that is what 99.5% of fandom, regardless of gender, imagines when they hear the words "feminine man") look hot on TV doesn't mean they'd ever want to actually date one. Hell, even baby-faced white twinks are becoming kinda passé. Himbos are all the rage right now and I'm sorry but the average guy just isn't himbo material.

Another reason you shouldn't use people's attractin to fictional characters as a baromater is because fictional characters are just kind of... Innately superior to real people, in the sense that it's much easier to glance over all the less palatable aspects of their characters and focus exclusively on the aspects that appeal to you. You can't really do that with a real person.

This is of course not even taking cultural differences into account. I am gay myself and even I'm afraid of presenting as femininely as I'd like to beause (body image issues nonwithstanding) I live in rural Brazil and that's just not socially accepted here, be it by women or men. If I were a straight guy and I did try being A Little Gender and Gay I'd get rightfully told to go fuck myself.

So for my conclusion, I definitely don't know enough about the topic to say whether or not you're right about it, but the advice offered is only a basic foundation that only really helps if you've already got okay to good social skills - which let's be honest, just doesn't describe most men, straight or otherwise.

Even if a guy does every single thing you've advised here though, all he'll have accomplished is... Being a sort of okay guy, maybe. That's a good start for sure but even then you're still gonna fall short. You're still not gonna be interesting, or special, or exciting... Or good enough. And in my experience, if you aren't these things already, you'll probably never be.

TL;DR, here's my point: I think your advice is ultimately harmless, but commits the usual error of only providing a semi-real sense of hope. I'm willing to bet a lung that you and your casanove friends all have much, much more to offer to potential partners than anyone in this thread has or ever will have... And that's kinda the problem. The harsh reality you're avoiding is that some people aren't meant to find love - and if you haven't already found it, that probably includes you.

For what it's worth, I do at least have a boyfriend. We'll probably never meet IRL, but it's good enough for me. Maybe the real lesson OP and other guys should learn is how to acept the cards you've been dealt.

I looked at this thread

and it's another signal from the world of something like "sociosexual realism". Which is like, feminism or whatever told us that men and women were equally agentic, but unfortunately it was lying, and actually it's men's responsibility to be seductive, and if they fail at that then TFR goes down and the Amish win.

It's not just the thread, a lot of relationships and dates make me feel this way.

I'm stuck believing this unpleasant belief. What am I missing? Is the world not like that?

[mandoriana]

Arthur and Merlin are drinking at the bar when they encounter one of their knights crying.

Merlin: Sir Rick, what's wrong?

Rick: My boyfriend left me...

Arthur: Don't cry, mate, sometimes bad things happen for a reason. Did it happen recently? Is that why you're crying?

Rick: No, sir.

Merlin: Wow, if it's been a while, why are you still crying? How long has it been?

Rick: It was in March, Merlin.

Merlin: Damn, that guy must have been really good in bed for you to be suffering over him for this long!

Arthur: Were you guys in a serious relationship?

Rick: Yes, sir.

Merlin *serves two mugs of beer to Rick, Arthur, and himself*: Wow, how long were you together?

Rick: We were together for about 2 years.

Arthur: 2 years! And you haven't dated anyone since he broke up with you?

Rick: No.

Arthur: And you haven't even wanted to try again?

Rick: No. 🥺

Merlin: Come on, Sir Rick, that guy didn't deserve you.

Arthur: Why did it happen? Did he give you a good reason at least?

Rick: He said I was overweight.

Merlin *outraged*: He complained that you were overweight! That son of a bitch! And you're sad because of him!

Arthur *trying to calm Merlin down*

Merlin: For God's sake, Sir Rick, you should be happy that you got rid of that jerk! Do you agree with me?

Knights: Yesssss

Merlin: See? The boys are on your side, Rick!

Arthur *laughing*: We came here just to drink and ended up having a therapy session 😂

Merlin: It's good that gossip connects you with your men, sir, what's a king without a special connection, right boys?

Knights: Right, Merlin.

Merlin: See? 🤣

Arthur: So, Sir Rick, doesn't your ex-boyfriend have any friends you could date?

Merlin: Yes! You have to forget that guy, I mean, you've been upset since... *doing mental math* 25 months already!

Arthur: 25 months? 🤔

Merlin *ignores Arthur*: Do you still see him or not?

Rick: Yes.

Merlin: Great.

Rick: He's my neighbor.

Arthur: Even better! Are you roommates or housemates?

Rick: Roommates, sir, we live in the castle.

Merlin: Wow, Sir Rick, you need to sleep with someone and moan loudly as soon as possible. Right, boys? 😏

Knights: Yessss

Arthur: And you, Sir Charles, I know you're friends with Sir Rick, why don't you help him out?

Charles: I tried, sir.

Merlin: Do you know his ex-boyfriend?

Charles: Yes.

Arthur: Was he a jerk?

Charles: Very much so.

Merlin: Was the way he treated Sir Rick a surprise or not?

Charles: Not at all, Merlin.

Arthur: Clearly, everyone expected it, except you, right Sir Rick?

Rick: Not everyone can have the perfect relationship like you and Merlin, sir 🥺

Merlin and Arthur *look at each other*

Merlin: Are we in a relationship?

Arthur: Maybe, I'm not sure, I think I just found out.

Knights: 🤣🤣🤣

[loves0phelia]

Red And Blue

Summery: His canon event.

Words: 1.9k

Warnings: kinda gore at one point nothing too crazy, grammar mistakes.

A/N: I'm so sorry for the amount of mistakes this probably has but i cant be bothered to care more i just want to get this fic out. Listen to my tears ricochet as you read

Rafe had always been good at hiding things. He kept his head down, stayed out of the spotlight, and made sure no one looked too closely. But ever since the bite, since the powers, since the responsibility that came with it, lying had become second nature.

Especially to you.

It killed him, really. Every time he bailed on a movie night, ignored your texts, or showed up bruised and breathless with a half-baked excuse, he saw the confused and hurt look in your eyes. But what was he supposed to do? Tell the truth? That he was ditching every time to swing across rooftops, and fight criminals? No. That wasn’t an option.

Tonight was no different.

“Are you serious, Rafe?” You leaned your head down, phone pressed against your ear, voice sharp with frustration. “You're leaving me again. You promised this time. I know you don't like school events but just once please”

“I'm sorry” he muttered, running a hand through his already-messy hair. “Something came up.”

“Something always comes up. What is it this time? And don’t tell me it's homework or family stuff, because I know when you’re lying.” 

“I just…” He exhaled, as if a weight was pressing on his chest. “I can’t tell you, okay?” He swallowed hard.

Silence. At first he thought you hung up but he could still hear a faint shuffling from the other end of the phone call.

The silence was somehow worse than you cursing him out for bailing.

“Why not? I thought we told each other everything.” your voice was softer this time, more fragile

God, how badly he wanted to. He wanted to tell you about the fights, the injuries he had to patch up alone, the weight of trying to be a hero when all he wanted was to be a normal guy. But if he told you he'd put you into too much risk.

He couldn’t let that happen.

So he did what he always did.

He lied.

“I just need you to trust me,” he said even if his chest ached. “Please.”

You thought for a long moment, then shook your head with a sad smile even if he couldn't see you. “You say that like I don’t already.”

And that hurt more than any punch he’d ever taken.

Because he knew he was running out of chances. The more he lied the more it felt like you were walking away.

“Welp” you said, popping the P, as if trying to lighten up the mood, before taking a small pause. “I'm already half ready and Gwen really wants us to go to the party so if you change your mind just call me?”

"Okay," he whispered into the phone.

"Bye, Rafe." The call ended with a soft beep, leaving him alone with the silence. 

“i suck” He let out a heavy sigh, groaning as he flopped onto his bed. The mask, half-folded over his face, slipped down, unfolding on its own. It rested against his nose—a quiet, relentless reminder of the responsibilities he has over the city.

"Heyyyy!" Gwen called out, sprinting toward you from the front steps of the school, where she had been waiting. Her face lit up the moment she spotted you approaching.

You hesitated, glancing at the building behind her, you could hear music thumping from inside. 

“Rafe is not with you?” she asked, looking around you thinking she might have missed him.

“No, you know how he is. He bailed again” you sighed.

“What is his problem?” She didn't wait for an answer and continued, “you know what? let's forget about him and just have fun” she looped her arm with yours and instantly began dragging you.

The homecoming party was in full swing, music pounding against the walls, and laughter echoed through the gym where it took place. It reeked of sweat, and the floor was already sticky as if someone had dropped bottles of juice on the floor and honestly if Rafe was here you would have begged him to leave with you already.

You tried to enjoy the moment, despite the nagging feeling in the back of your mind. You clutched a red Solo cup filled with non alcoholic fruit punch, swirling the liquid mindlessly. You knew you’d only take a few sips—just enough to look like you were part of the fun.

Beside you, Gwen nudged your arm with a playful grin. “Come on, loosen up a little! It's homecoming, not a funeral.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “I’m trying, okay? This just isn’t really my scene.”

 “You mean you don’t love being crammed in a gym full of sweaty high schoolers who haven't  learned what deodorant is yet, with music so loud it could cause permanent hearing damage?” Gwen dramatically gasped.

“Shocking, right?” You smirked.

“Alright, no excuses. One dance. Then I’ll let you go back to brooding in the corner with your untouched fruit punch.” She grabbed your hand, pulling you toward the dance floor

You sighed but let her drag you along anyway , attempting to let go of the tension in your chest just for a few minutes.

But it didn't last long. 

A single phone rang loudly, cutting through the music—then another, and another, until the entire gym was filled with the sound of alerts. Conversations stopped, and a wave of confusion swept through the crowd as people scrambled to check their phones. Those who had left theirs at home leaned over shoulders, desperate to see what was happening.

It was an emergency alert.

A link attached to the notification led to a live report from a hovering news helicopter. The shaky footage showed Spider-Man in a brutal fight with something massive—a creature that towered over him. Gasps and murmurs spread through the party as people recognized what they were seeing.

Another lizard.

New York had seen its fair share of Dr. Curt Connors copycats, but this one was different. It was bigger—almost dinosaur-sized; its scaly skin was reflecting the city lights as it tore through the streets. The ground seemed to shake even through the screen.

“This… this one’s huge,” someone whispered, their voice barely audible over the growing panic.

The realization hit all at once. This wasn’t just another mad scientist playing with forbidden experiments and  chemicals. This was something worse. And it was heading straight for the school.

The battle outside was relentless. The massive Lizard roared, its tail whipping through the air, sending cars flying like toys that weighed nothing. Rafe gritted his teeth, webbing up debris and yanking himself through the air to keep up with the monster’s destructive path.

Every web he shot was torn apart and all his strength did nothing against the creature. Rafe's body ached, exhaustion creeping in faster than he wanted to admit. The Lizard was too strong, too fast, and it was pushing forward, heading straight toward the school. Toward you.

He forced himself to move, barely dodging a swipe of the creature’s paws. His vision blurred for a moment, his limbs trembling. His suit was torn. He was too weak. He wasn’t going to make it.  

Then he saw it. In that small moment of hesitation, that single breath he allowed himself to take, the monster had surged forward. Its massive feet slammed into the school celling, reducing the entrance to ashes. Dust and debris shot into the air as the walls groaned under its weight. His chest tightened—he had wasted precious seconds

A deafening explosion sent shockwaves through the school, knocking people off their feet. walls shattered, dust lifted in the air, screams filled the gym, all the lights were shut off putting the school in full black out and the once-lively party descended into chaos.

Everyone was running frantically, The entire building shook as you all felt the creature getting closer seeking destruction. All you could hear was the scream of people desperately trying to find an exit. 

“We have to go!” Gwen took your hand and began running but there was nowhere to run, the school was falling piece by piece.

The next thing you knew, the Lizard’s massive paw tore through the ceiling, debris raining down. Screams got louder and louder. It wasn’t just destroying the building—it was tearing apart anything in its path.

Even students.

You barely had time to process the horror unfolding before your eyes. The sickening sound of ripping metal, the desperate cries for help—it was too much. You wanted to run, to do something, but your body felt frozen in place, paralyzed by terror.

And then you saw it.

A lifeless hand, limp beneath the rubble. A shoe that hadn’t been there seconds ago. Blood smeared across the floor where moments earlier, there had been laughter.

Your breath hitched, your chest was tightening with a grief so sharp it felt like it might crush you. This wasn’t just destruction. It was a massacre..

You barely had time to process  it before a chunk of debris came crashing down—right toward you and a figure dressed in red and blue dropped from the ceiling and came at you as fast as light could travel.

In a blur of motion, you were flying through the air, held tightly against a strong chest. 

“You need to go!”  Spiderman yelled as soon as he dropped you back on your feet. But you couldn't hear him over the roars and the screams.

Before you could respond, a violent force knocked you both apart. You tumbled across the floor, the wind knocked from your lungs and the monster hovered over you. 

Spider-Man lunged, webbing the creature’s face and yanking it backward. “Run!” he shouted at you, desperation in his tone. He fought with everything he had, flipping, dodging, striking with all the strength he could collect. But the Lizard was relentless.

Then, in the chaos, you tried to run—but the Lizard’s tail lashed out, striking you hard. The sound of impact was harsh. You hit the ground with a sickening thud.

“No!” Rafe’s voice cracked, Something inside him snapped. Rage flooded his veins, and every ache, every ounce of exhaustion vanished.

With a furious roar, he attacked. His punches came harder, his movements faster. He webbed the Lizard’s limbs, yanking it into the ground with a force that shattered concrete. He didn’t let up. He couldn’t. Not after what had just happened.

Finally, with one last web the monster was tied to the floor unmoving and unconscious, the host of the lizard and succumbed.

But none of it mattered.

Rafe stumbled toward you, collapsing beside you before pulling his mask up to truly see you.

 “No, no, no—come on” he pleaded, his hands lifted your head up and he felt the liquid pouring out of the large gash behind your head. His blood stained hands trembled as he brushed the hair from your face, his vision blurred with tears. “Please, Y/n—”

Your eyes fluttered open slightly, breathing shallow. A weak, bittersweet smile ghosted your lips. “I always knew,” you whispered. “I always knew it was you.”

Rafe froze, his breath catching in his throat.

“I just… wished you told me,” You murmured, fingers barely gripping his suit. “I still would’ve… loved you.”

Tears streamed down his face. “No, don’t—don’t talk like that. You’re going to be okay. I promise, I—”

But you exhaled one last breath, your hand slipping from his suit. Your body went still.

“Please, no. i love you” he lifted your body further into his as if his warmth could bring you back but it didn't.

And after that moment the canon remained intact.