#but no in my dream he still had blue eyes | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tiramissyoucake · 17 hours ago

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And so the Graysons/Catherine crossover begins. This is my dream. And nightmare. I desire a situationship with them. Note that this is almost word for word Catherine narrated with different roles, some scene skipping. All I'm doing is putting it in fanfic format as these 2.

CW: ooc, cheating, implied sex, drunk choices were made and they're not good, Dick is the mystery man in case it wasn't obvious

Sleep was scarce. Work was in abundance. If you've ever felt like you were ever spreading yourself thin in life, this would be its prime. The adorable cafe you sat in overwhelmed you, especially the rhythmic fingers drumming in front of you. You can hear someone talking, were they talking to you?

"Snap out of it!"

Your body jerked in response at the command from your boyfriend, looking up at his concerned expression that bordered on annoyance— shit, did you space off in the middle of a date?

"Were you listening?" His eyebrows furrowed, your eyes refocused on him, a clean white collar neatly adjusted over his blue sweater. Mark always cleaned up nice for your dates.

Guilt swallowed you as you cleared your throat. "Y-yeah. Sorry." A lie and an apology, but he was smarter than that.

"You've been spacing out a lot lately, is everything okay? You seem... off lately." Whenever Mark had a concerned look on his face, you were instantly reminded of a pet dog who was left home alone too long.

You nodded, one hand coming up to rub the strain of sleepless nights out of your eyes. "Sorry, I had to work early this morning..." this excuse wasn't a lie, you've been called in to do more overtime lately.

Concern still evident, but a small smile made its way onto his face. He was happy you were being responsible for yourself, at least it wasn't fatigue from staying up drinking or worse.

"Are you getting anything extra?" His question threw you off-guard, your expression told him everything he needed. "For all the overtime you're doing."

"Oh! N-no, I... usually don't get anything for it." You admitted sheepishly, Mark sighed and glanced away. "Seriously...?"

An awkward guilt hung on your shoulders again, you glanced down at the cutesy cup topped off with some tea, bringing it to your lips though you quickly winced at the bland bitterness. Mark held back a coo at your adorable reaction, opening the equally cute sugar container to pick up to sugar cubes for you. "You never like your tea or coffee without too much sugar, huh?"

A friendly jab, you hoped you were on his good side today... maybe you should ask.

"Hey, Grayson?" You looked up from the dissolving sugar. "Have you ever had a dream where you... died?" He tilted his head curiously, humming in thought.

"Like, where you're in danger? Near-death situations?" You shook your head, sitting up. "No, like where you actually die. Like, get killed?"

Nothing came to mind as he thought of his dreams, one did invoke a smile, one that said that he knew he shouldn't be smiling "No, usually I do the killing in my dreams."

You let out an uncomfortable laugh, his smile was lovely but paired with his words. "Yeah, haha..! That sounds like you..!"

A small quiet fell over your table, his palm came down onto the table with a sigh. "What's that supposed to mean?" You grew quiet, unable to respond, so much for friendly jabs.

"... Hey, how long have we been together?" Mark asked as he glanced away, dread loomed over you like a wave of cold water. How long HAS it been? You've been together so long you completely forgot.

"Hmm..! How long?" You tried to playfully shoot it back to him, as if it was a rhetorical question, he looked at you with a sigh. "I'm asking YOU."

Yikes, no use beating around the bush. You were glad he chose to continue. "It's just that... Mom's been calling me a lot lately asking how we're doing."

The memory of his mother came to mind, a no-nonsense woman. "Oooh..." You hummed, Mark elaborated. "She's just worried about me, she knows my job keeps me busy."

You had a feeling you weren't going to like where this conversation was going. Mark looked away nervously, you could see a red dust his cheeks. "I know things are easy right now and it's more comfortable to keep them this way, but..."

"W-well y'know what they say, Simple is best! Right...?" It was a weak argument but he couldn't retort, things were easy, not complicated. "I suppose you're right..."

You didn't miss that tone in his voice, one that learned for more.

. . .

"Sounds to me like he finally wants to tie the knot with you." Your friend responded after you relayed the events of your date to her, a tired groan escaped you. "You think so, too?"

She scoffed as she held her drink up to her lips. The booth you sat at in the bar you frequented offered little but enough privacy. "What else could it mean? Asking how long you're together, mentioning his mom? I can never imagine you as a married woman."

You shook your head, baffled. "No! No, it's not official yet. I love him, but I feel like... running into a marriage together? Everything feels... comfortable, right now."

"Does it though?" She coaxed the truth out of you, you looked away in guilt. "That's how he phrased it too."

You took a small sip from your cup. This went down easier than the bitter tea. "He's always been... the goody-two shoes type, I thought he worried more about the people around him to care about things like... marriage."

"You honestly thought he'd stay like that forever?" You almost groaned, this wasn't a good look for you. "That's not that I mean! You're one to talk for a single girl."

"I'm still looking for my soulmate, and if I never find them? I never get married, easy." She shrugged. You wished you were as clear on your intentions as she was.

The conversation died as you both drank in silence, almost painfully so. She decided to drop another uncomfortable conversation, though bound to be more interesting than your boyfriend dropping hints. "... did you hear about Olivia? She's dead."

Your eyes went wide as you recalled her, nice girl, you barely knew her but you knew she had issues with her husband. "THAT Olivia?! When..?!"

"Yeah, 'just got out of a divorce' Olivia. Apparently her mom found her dead in bed this morning." Your heart plummeted to your stomach, the two of you glanced at the TV that recounted the mystery death that happened this morning. "... shit, that was her?"

You thought life would start looking up for her after finally divorcing her husband, you're not sure but you heard rumors of an affair. You're not exactly in the best position to judge, you have your own boyfriend to worry about.

Your friend left you to your own thoughts citing she had work early, as if sitting alone in a busy bar in a booth wasn't pathetic as is, you were too preoccupied with your conversation earlier today with Mark.

"How long have we been together?"

You texted back and forth with him after getting a moment to yourself. Although they were more hints, he saw some friends today and you could practically hear the wistful sigh as he recounted how they had golden or silver bands around their fingers, some of them were expecting children or already had children. And a scolding telling you to get home soon from the bar, he knew you too well. Scarily well.

He was a sweet guy, a great lover... but were you ready for this? You changed jobs, he was so focused on his, and you were happy to have a moment of solace with him (a date or two, the check-in texts, the times he came over...).

You lowered your glass, feeling someone approach you. You weren't expecting any of your friends to come, and you hadn't invited Mark to come either.

"Hi, you mind if I sit here?" You look up, blinking tiredly.

He was tall, smiling down at you with soft blue eyes. You saw hints of dimples framing those pretty lips. Jet black hair that fell just right, unlike your boyfriend's usual neat styling. You couldn't tell if this guy had a tan or if the warm lighting of the bar made him seem more inviting. He was muscular. The tight black shirt let you know that he was angular as well- How can a man have a better waist than most women you've met?

There's no harm in the company. It's not like you were busy.

. . .

"Shouldn't you be happy if you two are together? Marriage is just tradition. It's like a relationship with extra paperwork and bland jewellery." The man swivelled the ice in his cup as he responded to your worries. You were glad someone understood. "It's less daunting, better to be free, right?"

You were surprised he understood your viewpoint. "Odd, most men are in a rush to 'claim' their women with a ring on her finger, all they can think about is marriage. But..." You lowered your cup, he looked like he enjoyed having your eyes on him too much.

"There's men like you out there, who would've thought?"

"C'mon, I'm not that weird, am I?" He leaned forward on his arms, flexing slightly under the movement. "I'm not so insecure that I need to wife up whoever I'm with to make sure she's mine."

"I'll keep that in mind." Your hands grew busy as you tugged out a box of cigarettes, a shameful habit, but how shameful can it be when you're in a bar full of people who definitely had responsibilities they were avoiding?

You almost dropping the later and the cigarette from between your lips when he suddenly appeared next to you. "Thank goodness, we're the same."

The mystery man paid no attention to your body staggering back from his sudden appearance, picking up his glass and finally drinking down the entire beverage in one go, taking his time and allowing your eyes to rake over him in an alcohol-infused haze, he looked too... ethereal, was he really a man? He lowered his glass, the ice clinking together as he let out a satisfied sigh.

You were staring, you should look away. He made eye contact with your staring, you should REALLY look away.

"What is it?" Fuck.

"Nothing— I'm just... spacing out." You quickly glanced away, he didn't like that.

His elbow that helped his hand prop up his cheek shuffled closer as he moved near you, landing on your drink's coaster- it slipped right out from underneath and dragged him smackdab against you.

Your hands instinctively went up to hold him up, one around his shoulder and the other on his chest, the man let out a small laugh. "Thanks.. you're so sweet."

What were you doing? "Hey, uh- I gotta go, I have work early tomorrow—?!" Your hand that was supposed to be off his chest by now was trapped underneath his, his hand held yours closely to his chest, you can feel the contours of his muscles.

"I really have to get home now and... I.. had fun talking to you—" your breath hitched as he guided your hand down his firm chest. You could feel his defined form over the cloth, his hand pressing yours closely to his body

"You must like what you see." His voice was low, only for you to hear. You quickly retorted. "I'm not staring!"

"You're a bad liar..." his free hand came up to guide your chin to look at him, those lips you noticed the moment he approached you closing in to yours, you were dumbfounded as he pressed his lips to yours, it would've been innocent, but you know both of you shouldn't be here right now.

The cigarette quivered in your hand, he parted from you, licking his lips. ".. you taste like smoke, not that I mind..."

You prayed your string of nightmares had ended and this was just some guilty pleasure dream.

. . .

This was a nightmare, nightmare after nightmare. Your head hurts from the alcohol, the late night... God, what time was it?

As you sat up, you realised your pillows and sheets felt way too heavy. Arms were locked around you, warm skin pressed to your own... did you invite Mark over last night?

Those familiar lips, that black hair that was tousled perfectly. This wasn't Mark. Sitting up, panic rattled your entire being as you registered who this was; the mystery man from yesterday. Naked. In your bed. In your apartment. You slept with someone who isn't your boyfriend. You got shitfaced drunk and cheated. This isn't good.

"Mmh..? What isn't good?" You hadn't realised you were mumbling to yourself and that he was awake. A stutter spilt out of your mouth as you tried to recover. "Y'know! This..? Er, hooking up...? After we just met..?"

The mystery guy hummed as he was lying on your pillows like he belonged there. "... is this gonna be a problem then?"

Your mind rattled for any excuse, you two were just drunk. Drunk and lonely. This was a mistake. You just needed to clear things up with this guy first—

"Woah- hey! hey...!" You gasped as he sat up to straddle your waist. He was being too playful. Can he not see the distress on your features..?

"... last night was really fun," he started with a smile. "But.. don't get the wrong idea about me, OK? ... I came here because I like you."

You couldn't respond, how do you respond? He practically had hearts in his eyes as he looked down at you, it didn't help that you could feel everything— and you mean everything — pressing against you.

"L-Look, this is my first time doing something lol this— a-and you're great, really..! You're..." You heaved as he hung on every word, biting his bottom lip. "Just... not what I'm used to and... god- what do I even say...?!"

"Not what you're used to...?" He chuckled, his finger tracing shapes at your collarbone. "So... would you say this is love at first sight?"

He didn't wait for a response as he leaned closer to press his lips to your neck, a whimper escaping you, you brought your hands up to his shoulders to attempt to remove him, jolting when he did it for you and sat up quickly.

"Wait! You said you have to go to work, right?!" Jeez, where did this ethic come from? He quickly removed himself from you to get dressed. You sat up with a lot of hesitation as you watched him hurry, still retaining some sense of grace as he moved about. "I have to go, I have a whole meeting thing at work and my boss, he uh.. he'll get really mad at me if I'm late!"

He pouted as he adjusted his hair in your mirror, looking at you through the reflection. "I guess that'll have to wait until next time, huh? See you soon!"

"Wait! I'm actually—" the door slammed shut as he left, your explanation that you're already dating someone left unattended.

This is bad, this is really bad.

#mark grayson x reader #dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #invincible x reader

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ldolbybts · 3 days ago

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Forbidden - Part 2

Pairing ➜ Dealer!yoongi x Female Reader Warnings ➜ 18+, sex, male receiving oral, little bit of angst Summary ➜ You never meant to lock eyes with the beautiful stranger at Namjoon’s house party, you also didn’t mean to completely fall for him. Word Count ➜ 7.7K

Part 1

The next morning you woke up with a killer headache and a dry mouth. You turned to your right and saw a passed-out Taehyung lying next to you.

Your eyes widened as you quickly tried to recall last night’s events.

After your phone call with Yoongi, you had quickly stripped Jin’s sheets and replaced them with a fresh pair, looking for a washing machine you threw them in, hoping no questions would be asked. It was a strange challenge to complete when drunk but luckily nobody had seen you and you had got it done relatively quick.

You had then went back downstairs and partied. Hard.

You remembered at about 5am you were too tired and Jin had announced you could sleep in any of the bedrooms, Taehyung had followed you to talk but you both had just ended up passing out.

You smiled, remembering Taehyung had been concerned with no ulterior motives, you two were just talking complete nonsense however for about an hour before you both had just fallen asleep.

You reached out to the bedside table, where you had left your phone and checked the time.

10AM it had read, only 4ish hours of sleep? Why the hell were you awake?

You saw you had a message from Yoongi, but you were pretty sure you needed a few more hours of sleep if you wanted to text back anything that made actual sense.

You did however make the valiant effort of plugging your phone into a charger before passing out again.

When you woke up again you didn’t know how much time had passed.

You reached out for you phone again to see it read 1PM, Taehyung was still miracuously passed out beside you.

You took a minute to examine his features, how the fuck did anyone deserve to be that beautiful? Especially after a night of partying? Jackass, you thought before sticking an elbow into his side.

“Tae,” you called out in a singsong tone. “Tae wake up.”

You earned a small groan from him and knew you were getting somewhere.

“Taeeeeeeee,” You called again.

You rolled over onto him, straddling his hips and leaning into him.

“Tae wake up!”

Semi awake - you knew this because he has consciously grabbed your hips to keep you in place – he groaned again, probably unaware of who you even were.

“Wake up you loser!” You said, cupping his cheeks and shaking his head side to side a little.

“M’awake.” He replied, his grip on your hips tightening when he finally realised who you were.

He smiled, his eyes still closed.

“Hm, I always have dreams of waking up with you on top of me like this.” He murmured.

“Never thought it would happen though.” He said as he slowly opened his eyes.

You were 100% sure you’ve probably never looked worse, but Taehyung only smiled wider when he saw your face.

“I was just trying to wake you up…” You trailed off, suddenly very aware of how your crotch was literally sitting on his.

You rolled off him, leaving him to fully wake up, pulling your phone off the charger.

You remembered the message from Yoongi, unlocking your phone.

A smile crossed your face as you remembered the events from last night. You felt giddy and a little ashamed at what you had actually done last night, but the giddy feeling overwhelmed you and you pushed away the hangover blues that were threatening to loom.

9:39AM

Yoongi: hey, text me when ur awake

You grinned even harder, typing your reply.

1:13PM

You: hey sorry my lazy ass is only awake now, i stayed in Jin’s, let me call you when im home and showered T_T

“God you must have it bad.” Taehyung said from beside you.

You glared at him “I don’t know what your talking about.” You replied.

“Well if how hard your smiling at your phone is anything to go by, you must clearly have it bad for somebody.” He said.

You rolled your eyes at him.

“I’m going back to my dorm.” You said, standing up, feeling a little dizzy.

“Okay, I guess I’ll see you.” He said, winking.

You mimicked gagging as you threw your shoes on and fled Jin’s house.

As you stepped out of the warmth of the shower and wrapped a towel around your hair, you threw on a long t-shirt and got settled into your bed.

You pulled out your phone and opened up your recents, hitting Yoongi’s name, you watched it as it began ringing.

You became a little nervous, your mind thinking back to everything that had went on last night.

You put the phone up to ear listening to the sounds as you closed your eyes letting out a heavy sigh of exhaustion.

They sprung back open as soon as you heard the “Hello?” from the other side of the line.

“Hey.” Was all you could manage, your anxiety sky rocketing.

“Hey,” Yoongi replied. “So how bad is your hangover?” He asked.

You laughed and scoffed. “Leave me alone! I am currently dying and in serious need of unhealthy food.”

“Maybe I can help with that?” He asked, a hint of uncertainty in his voice, like you were going to tell him no.

“What do you mean?” You asked, a smile on your face.

“I can pick up anything you want, bring it to you. We can talk.” He said.

“Oh yes please that sounds amazing!” You said, glee overwhelming you.

“Okay text me what you want and your address.”

And with that the conversation ended, you quickly jumped up to dry your hair and put on a pair of shorts.

When there was a knock on the door you leaped up, heart about to beat right through your chest.

You opened it up with a smile and Yoongi smiled back holding up food in one hand. You grabbed his hand and pulled him in.

Your dorm room was small so you didn’t really have any other choice but to sit down on your bed and pat the space beside you.

“Here is the chicken strips your majesty ordered.” He said, sitting beside you.

“Thank you so much, you have no idea how hungry I am.” You opened up the bag getting stuck in like some depraved animal.

“I didn’t know you lived in a dorm,” He said, gazing around your room.

“Yeah,” you said, munching on fries, you swallowed and began again. “I’m in my 3rd year.”

“Wow, I don’t know…I pictured you to live in some ridiculous mansion like the rest of them do.” He said with a shrug of the shoulders.

“No, believe it or not I am in no way rich, far from it actually, I met them because my mom used to clean Namjoon’s house actually, she used to bring me along. That’s how we all met.”

You weren’t ashamed that you had significantly less money that your friends, far from it actually, your mom was a single mother who did her best for you, still was.

“Oh really? That’s actually quite surprising.” Yoongi said, his eyes skimming over your face, meeting your eyes.

“I’m not ashamed! Those rich dicks help me a lot actually, they’ve definitely made sure I didn’t I go hungry or anything, they treat me well, I’m super thankful.” You said, taking another bite of your food, it was going down a treat.

“Thank you for the food, I have some money in my coat pocket-“ You made a move to stand.

“Please, it’s on me.” Yoongi said, putting a hand on your arm to stop you getting up.

You laughed. “I probably just made it sound like I’m some sort of charity case.”

Yoongi shook his head, “Not at all, I just wanted to do something nice.”

You looked up at him again, his dark hair was falling in his eyes a little.

“Listen,” he began “About last night, I hope you don’t regret it.” He said, he wasn’t looking at you anymore.

You put the rest of your food to the side, wanting to move closer to him.

“Of course I don’t.” You reaasured him. “Do you?” You asked.

Now Yoongi looked at you once again, “No.”

“See? We both don’t regret anything. I’m glad.” You said, resting a hand on his thigh.

“I want to talk though,” He started, his eyes focused on where your hand was. “I know it’s no secret. What my job is.”

It was your turn to listen to his story and you did, you nodded, letting him continue.

“I know what I said to you the first night we met, and I won’t lie I still feel like that a little, I’m a first class scumbag right? I mean what else kind of person deals drugs.”

He said, scoffing at himself.

He kept going, he clearly wanted to get everything out on the table.

“I never wanted this, my dad’s side of the family are all like this, my mom ran off, I guess she was afraid of him, but she didn’t take me with her. I grew up with this and I never wanted to do his dirty work for him. I tried to fight him on it but what can I do? He wouldn’t let me leave. I know I’m a bad person, I try so hard not to be, I only sell to people I can trust, no addicts, no one underage, just mainly rich kids who want to party ya know? I know that doesn’t make it any better…”

You could tell he was struggling to get this out, but it needed to be done.

“My dad’s a hardass, he doesn’t even do any of the dirty work, just sits on his throne all day, keeping his hands clean. He threw me into this, his own son, said he wanted me to get a taste of what it was like out there.”

You were listening intently, afraid to speak. Him saying this made it all so real.

You knew what he was doing was wrong, but the fact that he was basically being forced to do it made your heart ache, he didn’t ask to be born into that life and running away from home when your father was that kind of man…it wasn’t an option either you guessed.

“I’m not making excuses, really I’m not, I just. I like you a lot and there is no way I can take this any further without you knowing all this. I understand if you don’t want to see me again.” He said.

You looked at him, he was still looking down unable to meet your eyes, was he really that ashamed?

A part of you wanted to tell him you didn’t want to see him again, to not let yourself get into this sort of situation, but something about him was so damn infatuating, you wanted to keep seeing him, get to know him, his hobbies, his hopes and dreams.

It had been a while since he spoke and you realised you hadn’t replied to him.

“Look I get it, I’ll just go.” And as he made a move to stand you hastily grabbed at his wrist.

“No please don’t go Yoongi. Please. This was just a lot to process, I’m sorry. But I definitely don’t want you to walk away.” You said giving him a - what you hoped looked - reassuring smile.

Yoongi smiled back but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“I know it’s a lot, that’s why I don’t date or get involved with girl’s at all for that matter. But then I saw you at Namjoon’s party…I couldn’t believe how beautiful you were, I’ve never felt like that before after seeing someone for the first time.”

Your heart swelled.

“I thought the same about you, I mean I tried to flirt from the damn bathroom.” You said, laughing a little.

“I know,” Yoongi replied, laughing a little too as he recalled the memory. “I said that cheesy line aswell, I felt like a damn moron for that.”

You laughed harder. “Don’t worry, I liked it.”

“You were drunk!”

“I wasn’t that drunk…well actually…” You trailed off as you recalled.

You both were laughing hard now.

You couldn’t believe how natural this all felt, being like this with him.

And that’s how the rest of your afternoon with him went, just talking about anything and everything, you were getting to know each other and it felt amazing.

So when he announced he had to go you had pouted and he gave you a quick kiss on said pout and promised to call you.

You were sitting with Jungkook in your local coffee shop, both stressing about assignments, but avoiding them like the idiots you were.

“This has got to be the worst week of my life, I feel like I’ve been hungover for about 5 days and this essay is due in in 2 days, how do they expect me to write five thousand words whilst trying to party? I go to college to party, not to work.” Jungkook was moaning, you weren’t really listening to him, you rolled your eyes.

“Jungkook you’re gonna flunk out if you don’t start doing some work.” You said sighing.

“They can’t flunk me,” he began with a cocky smirk, “When your dad’s on the board there are some perks, for example, doing the bare minimum and getting away with it.”

You scoffed at him, hitting his shoulder.

“And where is that attitude going to take you in life? Hmm?” You were tired of dealing with his rich boy antics.

“I don’t know, hopefully surrounded by some good pussy and parties 24/7.”

You were pretty sure if you rolled your eyes any harder they were going to fall out of your head.

“Well, unlike you, I have to actually put some effort in, I’m going to the library, it’s due on Monday.” As you got up Jungkook stood with you.

“I’ll walk you over.” He offered and you didn’t decline.

As you walked across the grass, Jungkook had his hands in his pockets.

“So does that mean you’re not going to the party tomorrow?” He asked.

You shook your head a firm no, that was the last thing on earth you needed to be doing.

“Awh no fun, I hate it when you’re not there.” He said and you gave him the side-eye.

“What are you talking about? We barely speak at parties your always too busy trying to get laid by the first brunette that walks through the door.” You stated.

“Oh come on! Not fair. Me and you know how to have a good time, you’re the only person I can count on to get as fucked up as me.” He said, smiling at you.

You hit his shoulder again. “Why are you so proud? Us embarrassing ourselves isn’t cute.”

“It is so.” He retorted.

You just shook your head, walking in silence until you were back on campus.

“Hey look… isn’t that Min Yoongi?” Jungkook asked, nodding his head in the direction he was in.

You shot your head up immediately, Jungkook was right, Yoongi was there. Standing in front of what you could only assume was his car, it was sleek, black and look like it cost more than a house.

You looked away, turning to Jungkook. “How do you know who he is?”

“A lot of people on campus know who he is, he’s infamous, you know he used to go here? He dropped out, turned into… ya know…a drug dealer.” Jungkook said lowering his voice.

“He refuses to sell to me. I’m pretty sure he’s Jin’s dealers though, I see him around sometimes.”

You widened your eyes in surprise, smacking Jungkook on the shoulder for what had to be the 15th time today.

“Ouch! What did I do now?” He said, faking hurt.

“You tried to buy from him? What are you, some sort of idiot?” You scolded.

“He’s a cool guy ______, I’ve heard the rumours about him selling to only a select few, but I thought I’d chance my arm anyway, see if he was down, he most definitely was not.” Jungkook said, laughing at the obviously funny memory.

“Jesus Christ Jungkook, you really are shameless.” You stated, distracted.

Yoongi had spotted you, he wasn’t making it obvious but he stole a few looks your way.

“Is he…looking at you ______?” Jungkook said, suddenly aware of the situation.

You immediately turned bright red.

“Oh my god, he is!” Jungkook half shouted.

“Jungkook oh my god, shut up!” You said back at him, suddenly irritated at his childishness, if anyone were to find out about you and Yoongi – well let’s just say Jungkook would’ve been dead last on your list.

“I can’t believe this…wait, how do you even know him?” He asked, he stopped walking and suddenly turned to you, going into full blown interrogation mode.

“I don’t! Well not really, I just talked to him at Namjoon’s party once, I didn’t even know who he was.” You said, it technically wasn’t a lie, you just couldn’t let Jungkook know it had went so much further than that.

“Jesus…” Jungkook breathed out, he was clearly in deep thought.

“Please stop making it sound like such a bad thing Jungkook, it isn’t that deep!”

“He’s a fucking dealer _____, do you know how dangerous that makes him!” He shot back, clearly worried for you, it would be almost endearing if you hadn’t felt such a strong need to defend Yoongi.

“You know he doesn’t even want that life? His dad forced him into it, he didn’t have a choice in the matter…” You trailed off, hoping Jungkook would be reasonable.

“How well do you know him, really? I’m sure that makes it seem like it’s all okay _____, but it doesn’t.” He wasn’t budging on his opinion.

You wanted to fight him on this, but honestly…how could you?

“You didn’t...get with him…did you?” Jungkook asked, seeing how worked up you were getting up over the situation.

“Jungkook, I swear to god, if you don’t stay out of my business, we won’t be friends anymore.” You shoved him out of your way and stormed on, you heard him call your name but you ignored him.

As you were walking it suddenly hit you, Yoongi had just witnessed your whole confrontation, he hadn’t been close enough to hear but anybody with two eyes could clearly see you and Jungkook had been arguing.

You didn’t look over at Yoongi, you put your head down and powerwalked all the way to your dorm.

As you closed your door you threw your bag on the floor in anger. Who the fuck did Jungkook think he was? He wasn’t in charge of your life you were a big girl.

You began shedding clothes, suddenly feeling too hot, you were getting far too worked up, ready to burst into tears.

Your phone was buzzing incessantly in your back pocket and you finally took it out, looking to see who it was;

Notifications:

JK: iMessage(s) (8)

Yoongi: iMessage(s) (2)

You sighed and threw your phone on the bed, you couldn’t bring yourself to read any of them, your head was hurting and you just wanted to crawl into your bed.

So you did.

It was only 2pm, but a nap couldn’t hurt, your problems would still be there when you woke up, but you could avoid them for a few hours.

When you woke up, it was due to the sound of your phone vibrating once again, you didn’t know how long it had been doing that exactly, but the fact it had been seeping into your dream, you figured it had been a while.

You picked it up from beside you and squinted at the bright light in your face.

Incoming call: JK

You hastily declined the call and when you did you saw the notifications on your home screen.

Notifications:

JK: iMessage(s) (14)

Missed calls (6)

Yoongi: iMessage(s) (5)

Missed Calls (1)

You groaned at the time, you’d been asleep for about 2 hours, but Jungkook obviously had a lot to say to you, you knew he had been saying everything to you out of his love for you, that he didn’t mean to be mean or hurtful. Heck you knew what kind of situation you were in and damn you and Yoongi had beat that horse to death the first time he had came over to your dorm, you were taking it slow, unaware of where you two wanted to take this, but you both knew how badly you’d wanted to keep seeing each other.

You took a deep breath and unlocked your phone, staring at the messages Jungkook had left first.

2:07PM

JK: _____ I’m sorry about how that went down, we need to talk

JK: Please don’t ignore me, i know i annoyed you

JK: i know i didnt even take the time to really hear you out

JK: You know how much i care about you

JK: How could i stand by and let you just do something like that?

JK: Wht kind of friend would that make me?

JK: please please don’t shut me out

JK: i love you sooo much don’t be mad at me :(

3:13PM

JK: i promise i wont say anything to anyone

JK: i do think you should tell Jin though

3:56PM

JK: _____ please pick up the phone

JK: im going fucking crazy sitting here

JK: i just need to know you don’t hate me :(

JK: ik im being a stalker here, but just one word to reassure me you’ll talk to me again is all I need :( ur my best friend ,,,

You sighed heavily as you scrolled through his texts, he was obviously annoyed at himself and clearly demented at the thought you may never speak to him again, he'd always had a flare for the dramatic.

You put your anger aside to type one quick reply.

4:04PM

You: I don’t hate you, I just don’t know how to talk about this with you yet, give me time.

He typed a reply right away.

JK: okay !! i understand im so glad you replied

You really needed to set things straight with Jungkook but you knew you both needed to speak to each other in person, you would in due time.

As you took another heavy sigh you clicked over to yours and Yoongi’s text conversation.

2:04PM

Yoongi: Hey is everything okay with you and your friend (jungkook I think, im not sure…)

Yoongi: I wanted to come say hi but things look a little heated, do you wnt me to come over?

3:45PM

Yoongi: im sure youre busy I don’t want to be that person who worries over not getting a reply, but I really do hope ur ok…

Yoongi: ive tried calling u sorry if that’s annoying lol, let me know ur okay?

Yoongi obviously didn’t realise your argument with Jungkook had been over him, so how could he know you couldn’t even tell him what you two had been arguing about, you didn’t want to lie to him he clearly seemed to care, but you thought the truth would be more damaging than good as you began to type back.

4:07PM

You: hey im sorry! Ur not annoying i just accidentally fell asleep, sorry if i left you to worry about me although it is very cute tho,,,, me and jungkook were just talking about one of my close girlfriends, he said he something about wanting to fuck her and i got angry…it’s the norm with me and him, nothing to worry abt :)

You read over what you typed about 5 times, hoping it was believable, you pressed send.

You lay in your bed waiting for ten minutes before you got a reply.

4:19PM

Yoongi: it didn’t look like nothing, my offer to come and see u still stands ya know… im still about campus

You heart felt heavy. You thought about how much you wanted to see him, and you knew that even though Jungkook was right he was also so very wrong.

4:21PM

You: yeah i would actually really like that…you remember where i am don’t u?

After about 10 minutes you heard a knock on your door and you bounce up from your bed, you probably look a hot mess but you don’t care.

You pulled open the door and were practically beaming at him.

“Hi.” You said.

“Hi yourself.” He replied as he walked in, you took a step back still watching him as he closed the door behind him.

You were still awe of how effortlessy beautiful he was, the dainty silver chain around his neck, his hair was getting a little too long but the way it was falling into his eyes made him even more beautiful.

“What is it?” He asked a small laugh escaping him, clearly confused by your staring.

“Nothing really…I just think you’re cute.” Your eyes widened after you finished speaking, that sounded a whole lot better in your head.

Yoongi let out an amused scoff.

“You think I’m cute?” He retorted.

He took a step towards you and you felt your heart rate began to go a lot faster.

“Well…I d-,” He was getting closer. “I don’t know – it just slipped out.” You said.

“It just slipped out?” He repeated.

You had never felt more flustered in your life and it only got worse as he finally got close enough to rest his hands on your hips and pull you close to him.

“Do you…wanna watch a movie or something?” You asked, god he really was fucking you up.

“No.” Was all Yoongi said before he leaned in and kissed you.

You welcomed his kiss immediately, leaning into his touch and wrapping your hands around his neck, teasing the ends of his hair with the tips of your fingers.

You slowly began incoporating your tongue into the kiss and let out a pleased moan when Yoongi began lightly sucking on it.

“You make the prettiest noises…” He said breathily between your kisses.

“Hmmm.” Was all you responded.

“Even better hearing them in person rather than over the phone.” He stated.

You froze a little feeling your cheeks heat up in embarrassment at the memory of Yoongi talking you through your orgasm over the phone.

“I must’ve jerked off to the memory of that about a million times, god it was so fucking hot,” You were staring wide eyes at him, you could feel the familiar heat growing between your legs.

“R-really?” Was all you could mutter as Yoongi began kissing your neck his hands reaching round to grab at your ass.

“Are you kidding me? Of course, you sounded amazing baby, did so well for me.”

Fuck.

You could feel yourself getting more flustered by the second, all you could think to do was to kiss him again.

As you both grew more heated you let Yoongi guide over to your bed and your stomach was doing flips in anticipation.

You let him lie down and crawled over ontop of him stradding his hips.

You pulled off your top leaving you in your bra and Yoongi just stared at your chest.

His hand reaching up he moved round to unhook your bra.

You shuddered at his touch and slender fingers getting to work and when he finally let your bra slide off your shoulders his hands reached up to palm at your breasts and you let out a small moan when he teased your nipple with his fingers.

“You’re beautiful.” He murmmured.

You could feel him under you, hard and heavy.

You began grinding down allowing you both to have some friction.

“Fuck, I think I could come like this.” You moaned, grinding down on him harder.

Yoongi was smirking, “Yeah why don’t you try?” He challenged.

You smiled back at him, closing your eyes and throwing your head back, you went to town.

“Fuck, I can feel how big you are Yoongi.”

You swore you felt his cock twitch at that.

“Want you so bad, so fucking bad.” You were talking yourself up now, getting yourself more and more worked up, you were so close.

“Yeah? Show me how bad you want me baby, fucking use me.” Yoongi said while he continued to tease your nipples, he sat up slightly, using his mouth to suck one into his mouth.

“Fuck!” Was all you managed before you came undone, riding yourself on Yoongi through your orgasm.

“You really weren’t lying.” Was all Yoongi could manage before you began moving your body down his.

You pulled his jeans down, revealing the outline of him through his boxers, your mouth watering.

You palmed over him, “You really are big, fuck.” You whispered, almost to yourself.

“You want to suck my dick baby?” He offered.

You nodded like a crazy woman, you wanted him so bad and him asking you something like that only spurred you on.

You pulled his briefs down letting his cock spring free.

“Jesus.” Was all you could say.

Yoongi laughed, clearly amused at your reaction to his dick.

“I mean it’s no Jesus but I appreciate the compliment.” He said.

You laughed, hard. You couldn’t believe you had his dick in your hand and he was making you laugh like an idiot.

“Okay stop or I won’t be able to do a damn thing.” You stated trying to get your breath back.

“Hm okay sorry I’ll stop.”

You just smiled as you lowered your head taking him slowly into your mouth.

You wrapped your hand around what you couldn’t put in your mouth, beginning to really get to work.

You heard Yoongi’s breath hitch and let out a small groan at your actions and mentally congratulated yourself.

“Fuck you’re good at that.” He said breathless.

“Hmmm.” You moaned around him.

“Ah fuck baby please.” He said an encouraging hand on your head willing you to take more of him in your mouth.

So you did just that, you took more of him, he hit the back of your throat and as you tried to suppress your gag reflex Yoongi clearly appreciated what you were doing.

He moans. And oh god it is such a sexy noise you want to just start touching yourself then and there, you were insatiable.

After a few more minutes your jaw was beginning to ache but you never faltered wanting to finish the job, it’s Yoongi who stops you.

“Babe stop, I don’t wanna come like this. Wanna be inside you.” He stated and you felt yourself suddenly become nervous, looking up at him you could see his fucked out expression and it only turned you on more, you pushed your nerves to the side; you trusted him, and you’d wanted him this way from the moment you set your eyes on him.

“Do you have a condom?” Yoongi asked as you sat up to remove your skirt and underwear.

You turned to him to see him taking his shirt off, only to pause when you remembered you couldn’t even remember the last time you purchased condoms.

“Shit…No actually, I don’t.” You said.

Yoongi looked at you laughing a little in disbelief.

“No it’s okay, I’m clean and I’m on the pill!” You said as you straddled him, you weren’t going to let this ruin your first time with Yoongi.

“I’m clean too, to be honest it’s actually been a while-“

“Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.” You interrupted him, “you still want to do this then?”

You saw his cock twitch at your teasing and you laughed a little only to gasp in shock as he grabbed you by the hips and all of a sudden you were underneath him.

“Of course I want to do this.” He said into your ear.

“Then do it, fuck me Yoongi, please.” You could hear the neediness in your voice but you didn’t care.

Yoongi buried his head into the crook of you neck and let out a groan of frustration before pulling away and looking at you, he gave you a small kiss before muttering something that sounded something like ‘what are you doing to me?’

Yoongi lined up at your entrance and you were so wet the tip slid in with ease.

You let out a small whine as the initial feeling, you couldn’t believe this was finally happening.

“Baby jesus chirst…you are so wet…so tight…fuck you feel amazing.” He said.

You merely nodded in agreement, you didn’t trust yourself to speak, he was all in the way in you now and you had to bite your lip to hold back a scream.

“Please…move…Yoongi.” You managed.

And with that Yoongi started thrusting into you, hard.

You were moaning loudly completely lost in the pleasure.

“Baby you sound so pretty, keep moaning like that, you want me to fuck you harder?” he asked.

He was breathing heavily but when you gave him a small yes he complied, fucking into you at an unbelievable pace, you body started moving a little up the bed but Yoongi grabbed you by the hips to keep you in place.

“Yoongi just like that oh my god just like that.” You moaned.

Yoongi reached his hand down to rub at your clit and you jerked at the bolt of pleasure, it was almost too much. Almost.

“Couldn’t stop thinking about you like this…” Yoongi murmured, “underneath me moaning like this.”

You smiled “Really? Did you get off to the thought of this a lot?” You asked teasingly.

“Fuck more than I care to admit.” He breathed out.

You lifted your arms to wrap them around his neck, pulling him in for a kiss.

He was hitting you deeper now and his relentless attack on your clit was only causing you to reach your end quicker, you put your face in the crook of him neck and let out a loud whine.

“Baby are you close already?”

Yoongi had slowed now but he was rubbing your clit faster and you could feel you orgasm about to wash over you.

“Yes – fuck – I’m gonna come.” You said.

Yoongi was panting heavy, picking up his pace again, he could feel you clenching around him and you knew he was just as close as you.

“Come for me please baby.” And with a few final strokes of your clit your orgasm hit you like a train.

You were lost in yourself, lost in your orgasm you took a moment to come back down to earth you put your hands on Yoongi’s shoulders and wrapped your legs around his waist encouraging him to come.

“Baby please come, please fill me up.” You said in your fucked out moan.

And he did, spilling inside you the feeling of him filling you up was so blissful you moaned again.

“Oh fuck,” Yoongi whispered you almost didn’t hear him, but the way he said those words just confirmed he had enjoyed himself just as much as you had.

When he pulled out of you you were both still breathing heavy the both of you so fucked out you couldn’t even speak yet, Yoongi rolled over to lay beside you.

After a minute of silence Yoongi finally spoke.

“That was-“

“Amazing.” You finished.

Yoongi laughed, leaning over to kiss you, a small affectionate peck that left you smiling like an idiot.

“Let me get you a cloth.” Yoongi offered, getting off the bed he pulled back on his underwear and walked into your small en-suite.

You could feel Yoongi’s cum seeping out of you and as gross as it was it only caused you to smile knowing what had just happened.

“Here.” Yoongi said, as he walked back out handing you the cloth, it was hot and you appreciated the fact he had taken the time to do that for you, it was sweet.

“Thank you.” You said sitting up to clean yourself.

You climbed off your bed aswell, throwing on Yoongi’s shirt to cover yourself up.

“Looks good on you.” Yoongi said.

You scoffed, “I’m gonna shower I’m sure I look like a mess…give me a minute?”

“Yeah no problem –” Yoongi was muttering as he reached for his phone to check it, after a second he was bouncing up.

“Actually I’m sorry I have to go – god I really don’t want to be that guy that just leaves right after…” He trailed off, his eyes wondering over your body until you realised he was looking at his own shirt on your body.

You nodded trying not to show your upset at the events that were unfolding in front of you.

You hastily reached for your dressing gown to cover up your naked form as you pulled his shirt up over your head.

“______ please don’t get quiet on me like that, you do know I care about you and I would not be leaving unless this wasn’t an emergency, right?” He said as he pulled on his shoes and stood up.

He made his way back over to you and took both your hands in his, encouraging you to look up at him.

“I’m sorry, I really am, please don’t be upset, please tell me you understand.”

It took everything in you to nod and give him a small smile.

“I’m fine Yoongi, go, I understand.” You lied.

He took another 10 seconds to further examine your face to make sure you weren’t upset, you were definitely giving him a convincing enough expression.

He gave you a small nod before grabbing his keys and phone giving you a small peck on the lips and leaving out the door.

You let out a huge sigh, you felt tired again.

You woke up the next morning and let out a frustrated groan as you remembered yesterdays events.

After Yoongi had left you stood there for a minute before you let the shame wash over you, you felt like you had just been used for a quick fuck, you wanted to believe Yoongi wasn’t like that but it was hard not to when he was already out the door even as his cum was still inside you.

You had showered for a long time, trying to rid yourself of the negative thoughts that were overwhelming you.

Yoongi wasn’t like that, he had shared himself with you, told you details of his private life and in turn had listened to your story as well, but was this a regular occurrence with him?

Was the time that you were able to spend together going to be far and few between?

You decided the best thing for you was to simply distract yourself, so as you sat on your bed you opened up your laptop to get started on the assignment you had due, you decided to switch off your phone, you knew if you didn’t you would be checking it every 5 minutes waiting on a text from a certain someone.

A few hours passed as you really began getting into your work you figured you’d be able to get it finished by tomorrow, but a sharp knock on your door made you jump out of your skin.

“_____ , open up please.” You heard a muffled voice come from behind the door.

It was Jungkook.

You took a deep breath, you hadn’t been mentally ready to see him for a while, but here he was.

You stood up off your bed, walk to the door you hesitantly opened it just a crack as you peered out to him.

He looked good as usual, black jeans, black cap and that damn black leather jacket. He immediately looked at you as you poked your head through the gap in the door.

“What do you want Jungkook?” You asked, you really weren’t in the mood to get lectured right now.

“What am I, some stranger? Let me in and we can talk.” He said moving closer to the door.

“Jungkook – I’m really not in the mood right now.” You said.

He pushed the door open anyway his strength no match for you.

“What are you deaf now?! I don’t wanna talk Jungkook.” You stood back from him as he closed the door behind him, he really did look huge in your small dorm room.

“Please just let us talk this out, you know I hate fighting with you, the other guys… I will freeze their asses out when they’re mad at me I don’t care…but with you.” Jungkook looked at you with those bigs eyes and you let out a huge sigh, you had a soft spot for him.

“Okay, let’s talk.” You said with a heavy heart, you weren’t ready for the dose of reality Jungkook was going to hit you with.

He took a seat on your bed, your dorm room didn’t even have a desk so everything had to happen on your bed, you cringed a little when you realised you hadn’t even washed your sheets since you and Yoongi had had sex on them.

You took a seat beside him folding your legs up underneath yourself.

“You wanna tell me how this happened?” Jungkook said, you got the vibes he wanted everything out on the table.

“I wasn’t lying yesterday. I met him at Namjoon’s house party the other week. He was there because you all cried in Jin’s face about getting coke.” You said, you were definitely on the defence.

Jungkook furrowed his eyebrows a little, you know he could tell you were going to be snarky about this but he had the patience of a god when it came to you, lord knows you could be difficult.

“Okay…” Jungkook began slowly, “So you two just…what?”

You rolled your eyes. “Jungkook, I saw him at Namjoon’s party I flirted with him even after I found out who he was, I saw him at Jin’s again and he kissed me…he actually was here yesterday��” You didn’t know what else to say, how did you tell your best friend you were fucking a drug dealer, it wasn’t exactly something you just said, but you knew Jungkook was smart enough to already know what you were saying.

“What?! You mean you two have already…” He didn’t need to finish his sentence, he trailed off looking like he was deep in thought. “Aren’t you moving a little to fast here _____? I mean if you only met him at Namjoon’s party then –" You took second to blink at Jungkook before hitting his shoulder.

“Excuse me?! You fuck the first girl you see at any any party within an hour of meeting her and you’re going to lecture me about whoring it out?!” You weren't really that angry more, just in shock that Jungkook had actually said something like that to you.

Jungkook laughed a little at your reaction “I didn’t mean it that way, I��m sorry I guess it’s just because of who he is…you have to know this is a bad idea right?” He was looking at you a lot more serious now.

You nodded solemly, “I know Jungkook, fuck believe me, we both know.”

“But…let me guess, he’s not entirely what I’m picturing? Cause I know damn well you wouldn’t let get this worked up over someone if you didn’t like them a lot.” He said, resting a comforting hand on your knee.

Sometimes you forgot how attentive Jungkook was, a lot of your relationship was joking around with each other, so when shit got serious you were reminded of the fact that he actually cared about you a lot and that he actually knew you pretty well.

“Yeah, it’s new but…I like him a lot, although I’m not even sure if the feelings are one hundred percent reciprocated. Maybe it’s just self deprecation thinking that… I don’t know it’s been so long since I’ve wanted to see someone more than once. I forgot how hard this shit is.” You scoffed out a laugh, you were pretty sure you sounded stupid but you weren’t sure how to talk about this.

“Please, are you kidding me? If the feelings aren’t reciprocated then he is a total dumbass because any guy would be so lucky to have you.” Jungkook said.

You didn’t know where to look, Jungkook speaking like this to you felt foreign.

“I know that was cheesy,” Jungkook laughed a little. “But it’s true, I mean look at Taehyung, he embarrasses himself all the time trying to get you to go out with him.”

You rolled your eyes.

“All Taehyung wants is a quick fuck.” You deadpanned.

Jungkook scoffed “Are you kidding me? I’m pretty sure Tae’s been in love with you from the moment he set his eyes on you, remember when he gave you his favourite toy to play with and we all were in shock cause it was the first time we’d seen him share anything.”

You laughed at the memory, but Jungkook had no idea what he was talking about, Taehyung only saw you as a friend and possibly another notch on his belt.

“Listen, what I’m trying to say is _____ at the end of the day this is your choice obviously but please be careful, please, I can look out for you but I don’t think I stand a chance against a drug lord’s crew if it came down to that.”

You looked at him in shock. “Jungkook don’t say shit like that oh my god! Nothing like that would happen!”

You shivered at the thought for a second, thinking about how you only saw Yoongi and not his world, it probably was a dangerous as Jungkook was imagining.

Jungkook put his hands up in defence. “I’m sorry okay, I’m just going to be worrying like crazy from now on, you know that right? Let me be the overbearing overprotective friend please.”

You let out a heavy sigh chosing to not say anything for a moment as you got lost in your own head.

“______, I respect your choices always. But please be careful.”

You nodded, “Thank you Jungkook, and you know I will.”

“Listen I gotta go, but I’ll text you okay?” Jungkook said as he stood up.

You stood up with him following him to the door.

He leaned in and gave you a hug, it was warm and you felt safe in his arms for the short moment they were around you. You really did have great friends you thought. With a quick goodbye Jungkook left you alone with your thoughts.

#yoongi x reader #yoongi smut #bts smut #bts fanfction #min yoongi x reader #my writing

77 notes · View notes

novaursa · 1 day ago

Note

i would love some more on Brandon stark (the wild wolf) ♥️ i love ur characterisation of him and really think you’ve nailed his northern charm and stoicism, and your also like one of the only fanfic writers that writes for him which I’m vv grateful for 🤗

maybe a fic with a targ!reader? a reader that gives off helaena vibes, like she’s very soft-spoken and timid but still has her own version of strength. idk how the northerners would react to someone like that, due to their slight hostility(?) so maybe they hold a slight bit of animosity for her (brandon sets them straight tho 🙏🏻) + i doubt that aerys would be so willing to send his daughter so far away but maybe someone managed to convince him lol

brandon seems like the kind of person to be a stoic and true-blue type, yet absolutely smitten for his southern targaryen wife ♥️♥️

Burning Snow

- Summary: A story where the wolf dares to ask the dragon king for his daughter’s hand.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Brandon Stark (The Wild Wolf)

-Rating: Mature 16+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @idenyimimdenial

- A/N: I hope you like it, dear anon. ❤️

The gods had stitched silver into your hair, finer than moonlight, and woven starlight into your eyes. That was what Brandon Stark told you the first time he approached, brushing past lords and knights as if none of them bore swords or names. You had been standing at the edge of the lake at Harrenhal, your pale hands folded at your waist and your face lifted slightly to feel the warmth of the sun through the drifting mist. Rhaegar was nowhere near you that day, a rare moment of solitude granted by his distraction with harp strings and cryptic lyrics. Viserys clung to Queen Rhaella’s skirts far behind you, and your father's attention—when it ever drifted your way—was kept on the banners flapping around the tilt yard. You were left to your thoughts, half lost in the eerie quiet of your dreams, until Brandon Stark’s shadow fell over you and changed the course of your world.

"You look like a ghost who never left this place," he said, bold and utterly shameless, voice low and warm like a hearth fire in the middle of the northern snow. "But I know you’re real, because I’ve never dreamed of anything so beautiful."

You blinked, startled, heart fluttering like a caged bird, but did not retreat. Others had spoken to you with flattery before—lords and boys and their simpering smiles—but never like this. Brandon’s voice didn’t tremble or seek approval. It was firm, full of raw admiration and curiosity, not praise for a dragon princess but fascination for you.

You lowered your gaze demurely. “You shouldn’t say such things, my lord.”

“Why not?” he asked, folding his arms across a broad chest encased in soft black leather, trimmed with grey fur despite the southern warmth. His grey eyes danced with mischief, though there was something reverent in the way he looked at you—as if you were something he’d never seen in all the cold forests of the North. “Is it a lie?”

Your lips parted, breath catching in your throat. You wanted to vanish beneath your silver skirts, but instead you gave a slight shake of your head. “No,” you whispered. “It is not.”

That had been the beginning. The next few days passed in a blur of silk and smoke and dream-tinged glances. Brandon was everywhere. You felt his presence before you saw him, like the heavy scent of pine after a summer rain, unmistakably northern, wild and earthy. He was not like Rhaegar or any southern prince. He did not speak in riddles or compliments laced with formality. He said what he meant and meant it completely.

He would watch you from the stands with his chin in his hand, ignoring the match before him. He brought you a single white blossom he had found near the godswood and tucked it behind your ear before anyone could stop him. Once, he took your hand while you were seated under a great carved pavilion and traced the lines of your palm with a calloused thumb, murmuring, “Even your hands look like they belong to old magic.”

“Brandon,” you said, unsure, looking around at all the eyes—Lord Rickard, Lord Umber, Lord Cerwyn, and the scowling face of his younger brother, Eddard, who had glanced away with discomfort.

“I know what they think,” Brandon replied, lifting your hand to his lips. “I don’t care.”

It was not long before their displeasure reached his father’s ears. Lord Rickard summoned him near the encampment on the fourth evening of the tourney, when the fires were being stoked and servants poured mead by the barrel. Brandon stood tall, arms crossed, face impassive while his father spoke.

“She is the daughter of the Mad King,” Lord Rickard hissed under his breath, careful not to raise his voice above the crackling of the fire. “Do you know what that means? Her blood is fire and madness. You’d drag the North into chaos.”

“I know who she is,” Brandon replied, steady as ice. “I’ve known from the moment I saw her.”

“A wolf cannot marry a dragon,” Lord Umber cut in gruffly. “And not that dragon. There’s nothing good to come from bedding a Targaryen, lad. You’re not thinking with your head.”

Brandon turned slowly toward them all, his gaze hardening. “I am thinking with my head. I know she’s quiet, and strange to you southern fools, but that girl sees the world in ways none of us can. She dreams things, and they come true. She feels pain like it’s hers even when it belongs to others. And she is braver than half the knights who strut around this place.”

Eddard shifted awkwardly beside their father, glancing away again as Brandon’s voice rose. “You see her as fragile, but I’ve watched her walk through crowds with her eyes on the sky, unafraid of your scorn. That takes strength you’ll never understand. And if you think I’ll let your fear decide who I marry, you’ve mistaken your son.”

Rickard Stark’s face flushed, but his voice stayed cold. “And what do you intend, then?”

Brandon looked over the fire, past the sea of tents and fluttering banners, to the tall tower where the Targaryen royal family stayed.

“I intend,” he said slowly, “to ask the king for her hand.”

The silence that followed was sharp as a blade, cut only by the crackle of burning logs. Somewhere in the distance, a bard sang of gallant knights and stolen hearts, but none of the lords standing by the fire heard it.

Brandon turned and walked away without waiting for their answer.

The hall was soaked in red light, the tall windows casting bloody shadows on the polished floor as the sun dipped low behind the spires of Harrenhal. The black castle, even dressed in banners and gold, still carried a gloom it could never shake, and under that vaulted ceiling with its faint echoes and the smell of old stone and dragonfire, Brandon Stark felt the weight of a dozen watching eyes. Courtiers, lords, and the silent, slinking presence of the eunuch spider gathered near the edges of the throne dais. At its center, King Aerys II Targaryen sat stiff upon the raised seat, his fingers clutched so tightly around the armrest that the knuckles were pale, though his nails remained a sickly yellow. His beard, no longer pristine, curled down his chest in silver strands. His mouth twitched as if he were trying not to bare his teeth.

You stood a little behind your father, beside Queen Rhaella. Your hands were clasped before you, knuckles white. You had not spoken since the summons had been issued—since Rhaegar had turned toward you in the gardens with unreadable eyes and told you softly, “He means to ask for you.” Not for alliance. Not for gain. Not for crowns or peace. But for you.

Brandon knelt on one knee, his head bowed respectfully, though not meekly. His sword hung at his hip, but it was peace-tied. His dark hair was combed back, his leathers cleaned and brushed, but there was still something untamable about him—something the court could not scrub away, no matter how handsomely he dressed.

“My king,” he began, voice steady and deep, echoing off the stone, “I come to you not as a northern lord’s son, nor as a challenger in your lists. I kneel as a man who has come to admire and care deeply for your daughter, Princess—”

“You presume much, Stark,” Aerys interrupted, voice sharp and high, crackling like a log tossed too suddenly into flame. “You presume far too much, if you think I’d hand over my daughter to some cold-blooded wolf who reeks of snow and treason.”

The air in the room shifted—tensed, biting. Brandon did not rise.

“With all respect, Your Grace,” he said evenly, “I would never dishonor your daughter. I ask for her hand because I love her. And I swear, on my name and on the gods, I would protect her with everything I am.”

You felt a tremor ripple through you—not fear, not quite. It was too raw, too electric. You had dreamed of dragons made of snow before, of a wolf walking through fire without burning. You had dreamed of a heart that beat beside yours, even in your sleep. You had seen Brandon’s face before you ever knew his name. But none of those visions prepared you for the sound of him, the certainty in him, speaking of love like it was a vow he’d already bled for.

Aerys rose slowly from his seat, the velvet of his robes dragging like a serpent across the stone. “Love,” he hissed, pacing a few steps. “What do you know of love? Do wolves fall in love, Stark? Or do they only take what they want and leave the bones behind? Is that what you’ll do to her? She is not for you. None of you deserve her.”

Brandon’s jaw tightened. “Then who does?”

That stopped the king. His eyes gleamed with a sudden, unnatural brightness. He turned his head slowly. “What did you say?”

You inhaled sharply, but your voice did not come. It never did when you wanted it most. Queen Rhaella’s hand brushed your sleeve, but she said nothing.

“I asked,” Brandon said again, rising slowly to his feet, “who, if not me, is worthy of her, in your eyes? Or will she be locked in a tower until her hair turns white?”

Aerys’s breath caught. His gaze flew to you—focused, suspicious, glinting with something cruel. “Is this your doing?” he snarled, pointing a shaking finger. “Did you whisper in his ear? Seduce him with your moon eyes and dragon blood?”

You shrank back, lips trembling. “No, Father.”

He paced in quick, twitching steps. “You’ll breed bastards with this wolf, that’s what you want. Pollute our blood with northern filth. You think I don’t see it?”

“Aerys,” Queen Rhaella said quietly, but it was not enough.

And then Varys moved.

He had not spoken, had not stirred, but now the eunuch glided forward, robes soft against the stone, his hands folded delicately in front of him like a priest at prayer. He bowed just low enough to be polite, his painted eyes betraying nothing.

“Your Grace,” he said, silken, mild. “Might I offer counsel?”

Aerys’s lips peeled back. “The whispering spider dares to speak.”

Varys continued, unshaken. “Only if it pleases Your Grace. There is advantage to this, you see. Much advantage.”

“What advantage?” the king snapped, pacing again.

Varys stepped closer to the dais, voice barely above a hush. “You gain the North’s goodwill. You tie one of the realm’s most dangerous houses to the crown in a bond of loyalty, sealed by affection rather than duty. And above all—” he lowered his gaze briefly, “—you remove your daughter from the line of those who might oppose Prince Rhaegar’s eventual rule. Surely it’s better that she marry a wolf, and not become a dragon that flies too high.”

The king’s breathing slowed. He paused at the edge of the dais, staring down at Brandon with narrowed eyes. The words sank into him, feeding the paranoid roots twisting in his mind. Yes, you could almost hear him think. Yes, better to have her far away. Safer. Out of reach of crowns and court. Let the girl freeze in the snow with her wolf, so long as she does not burn me.

You knew the shift when it happened. His shoulders dropped. His mouth curled into something that might have once been a smile, though it was twisted now, and wrong.

“Very well,” he said, waving a lazy hand. “Take her. Freeze together in your barren woods. But you’ll wait. She’s young yet. You’ll be betrothed first, until I say otherwise.”

Brandon stepped back, and for the first time, he turned his eyes to you. There was fire in them, and something deeper—something unshakable. You felt your pulse skip.

He bowed once, deeply. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

Aerys turned away already, muttering to himself, robe trailing like smoke behind him. But Varys remained, and as he passed you, he bowed his head the smallest degree. “Be careful, princess,” he murmured, low enough only for your ears. “Even the snow burns, if you hold it too long.”

You stood in silence, still trembling, still breathless, as Brandon walked out of the hall and your fate with him.

But for the first time in your life, the tremble in your hands was not from fear.

#asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #game of thrones #fire and blood #house of the dragon #got #got/asoiaf #asoiaf x reader #asoiaf x you #asoiaf x y/n #brandon stark #the wild wolf #house targaryen #house stark #brandon x reader #brandon x you #brandon x y/n #x reader #reader insert

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queenendless · 3 hours ago

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ÞŘỊPŁƏ ẄŒØ

A/n: As much as we all love current Jinwoo, every version of Jinwoo is precious. And SO!

All Jinwoos have romantic feelings for you but not for each other cause they're the same person.

Triple Sung Jinwoo x Fem!Adult!Reader

CW: MANWHA SPOILERS INSIDE! SPOILER ALERT: There will be a PT 2 to this one shot cause this got kinda long. So there's that.

BIG TIME What if AU. Angst, hurt/comfort, depression, chronic problems, sleeping anxiety.

NO PLAGARIZING, REPOSTING, TRANSLATING, USE OF MY FANFIC WORK IN AI STUFF ALLOWED. REBLOG, LIKE AND FOLLOW INSTEAD PLS N THNX.

You never imagined you'd become the light of your angel's life. You still have days when you think that it's all been one long dream and you'd wake up back in that grey lonely life you never want to go back to.

But no, waking up that afternoon in your shared spacious bedroom. Rolling in that King sized bed to detect his side had his scent lingering still. But empty. Meaning he hadn't returned from his guild work from yesterday.

The sound of the front door to your shared home opening got your heart racing with joy at the chance to see your dear Monarch again.

And yet, the ensuing situation that followed suit really did feel like walking into a dream. An unusual one at that, sure. But also quite intriguing.

“Neither a curse nor a status debuff, my ass. You'd think these new Monarch powers could undo this side effect?” The tallest Jinwoo grumbled under his breath, brushing back his hair in frustration, pacing back and forth in the living room.

“How are we supposed to be out in public now? Handle the guild? Seeing our folks? Our secret will be found out at this rate!” Post reawakened Jinwoo griped, pinning you in between him and pre reawakened Jinwoo like a sandwich, to your dopey smiling satisfaction.

“In any case, I'll be the one visiting the guild for those matters. Otherwise, you and I will tackle the dungeons ourselves, alone.”

“H-Hang on! Why should I be left behind?! I'm no male housewife!” Starter Jinwoo whined.

“Yeah, don't kid yourself, squirt.” Monarch Jinwoo ruffled his unruly mop of hair affectionately, his baby faced counterparts pouting and puffed up cheeks proving his point.

“Aw, please don't leave me alone.” You nuzzled his pink dusted face like a needy cat, that got him melting up.

“Uh – I – o – okay~” His bashful smile got you planting a big ol smooch on his lips. He couldn't stop smiling as he swooned over your lap.

Jinwoo #2 glared, a vein popping up on his head. “Hey, it's not fair he gets to hog our sweetheart all to himself all day while we have to work.”

“With no reawakening, he can't level up so he'd be putting himself at Death's door again like before. If even one of us dies, we'll all die and leave our family behind, including our beloved here. And they won't be defenseless.” King Jinwoo explained.

The sight of Beru appearing out of your Shadow got Jinwoo#1 trembling from fear instinctively at the imposing entity when Monarch Jinwoo stood between you two and his General.

“Should any harm come to these two, like getting distracted by your period dramas, you know what will happen, don't you?” The deadly gaze of his King spoke doom for the former Ant King.

Shadow Preservation will let him know the moment Beru fumbles.

“Yes, I do, my liege! I will not let you down! And if I fail, I will gladly accept my punishment! But please give me a chance to prove my usefulness to you all!” Beru weeped before his liege dismissed him, meshing into the shadow of —

“Jinwoo mochi.”

“ … Eh?” All three sweatdropped in sync.

The action of cupping OG Jinwoo's supple cheeks, kneading and pinching and rubbing your thumbs in circles on such pure smoothness had your eyes sparkle in wonder and your hums of content heard behind your smitten grin. The visual of pre Jinwoo's face going from pale to rosey red as his grey blue eyes had spirals of tipsy dazeness, incomprehensible sounds spilling out of his dopey smile.

“You are so fucking cute, I can't stand it!” Your playful growling as you indeed began chewing on his cheeks got his nervous laughs rumbling into your chest next, his heart in overdrive, matching beat for beat with yours.

The steamy blow of air through their noses was one warning signal that the other two Jinwoo were irked — envy molten auras in blue and purple another sign — that baby-faced them was getting your current attention.

“Don't you dare forget about me, beautiful~” Jinwoo the 2nd cockily purred in your ear, plopping behind you on the couch, nipping at your nape, his nose dotingly rubbing your cheek, keeping you struggling between focus on both bois.

“I'll engrave myself in your mind then~” The effortlessly hot deepness of King Jinwoo’s inflection had him gently grip your chin to raise your face to meet him over the couch in quite a devouring kiss.

“Hey, sharing is caring, you sneaky bastards!” Baby Jinwoo shrilled up. Breaking free just to save your deprived lungs, an all out argument between all three ensued, your light headed self slacking against the couch.

The cacophony of range these three voices could go filled in your now lively place.

And so, then began this unexpected arc in the story of you and Jinwoo times three.

Pre-reawakened Jinwoo.

While the other two would do their dungeon raids together, that meant you'd spend most of your time with him.

Stuck at home together meant you teaming up to manage it, whether that be folding laundry to even cook together. If you don't really cook, he's more than happy to teach you. Having his hands layer yours, pressed up against you from behind, is the best feeling. Course he'd melt in a puddle shortly after.

Taking walks together outdoors meant holding hands or intertwined arms as you spent hours chatting about anything, mesmerized in each other's eyes while admiring the flora and fauna of nature.

“Okay, I am the male wife.” He mumbled in surrender, slumping against you, both of you in your casual tees and shorts, binging your favorites together in the living room while sharing your snacks together one lazy day.

“He admits it!” You exclaimed dramatically, ruffling his already unruly shaggy mop to his giggling delight.

“I know I'm not like the other mes… but I will do my best to make you happy. I'll do anything for you. I love you with all my heart, saarang.”

You easily top him over, laying atop him, your bedroom eyes conjuring hearts in his grey blue irises. “Then I'll make sure you're reminded each and every day that you're just as well loved. You're all mine now, baby girl~”

His drawn out squeak was the only sign of him still alive from the embarrassment, slacking in your arms like a limp noodle.

He's the easiest to mess with, all out of love.

Post reawakened Jinwoo, still an E-rank.

You did most of your outings into the city with him. Usually he goes incognito, whether in caps and a face mask or keeping his hoodie on, hoping not to be spotted and mistaken for his S-rank self.

You both did the buying, groceries and window shopping. Your phone gallery was chock full of selfies with you and your bashful grinning hunter.

While Tank became his assigned Shadow in the meantime, he could serve as transport. But only when it was just you two around or unless it's an emergency. Besides, he still has his own speed skills. Hence, giving you piggyback rides before zipping away in a flash, leaving folk wandering nearby nearly falling over from the sudden strong gusts of winds he left in his wake. His cheeky grin looking back at you took your breath away.

Joining him in on his daily quest workouts nearly do you in, your physically ailing limits being the root cause. Your legs turn to jelly as you nearly collapse from fatigue but your dashing hunter lover makes sure to catch you in his arms, holding you tightly while riding on Tank for the trek back home.

While you can openly tease and mess with him, he's on even footing with you, even more so.

“It's a pain to be split in three and not knowing how long it'll last, so having you with me is a blessing. Now tell me, what will it take for you to make me the best Sung Jinwoo in your eyes? Come on, honey, let your angel Woo you over~”

That cheesy pun out of the blue sent you buckling over in bouts of laughter, nearly falling over but his arms enveloping you kept you standing within his grasp. “Wow. Can't believe that actually worked,” He murmured in astonishment, grinning confidently in response. “She has Sung her approval~!”

That got you cackling, clutching your aching tummy, as more puns came your way to leave you a breathless mess that went beyond his expectations, utterly convinced to be more silly from that point on, even after he hopefully becomes whole again.

And Shadow Monarch Jinwoo, the tenth S-rank hunter in Korea and the head of his own guild, is hands down the most possessive over you. The rare moments you get alone with him happen in his own private office when he takes you to work with him.

The selfie of him putting you in an explicit headlock rivaled every single photo you took with his reawakened past self. His vibrant violet eyes on his smug smirking face littered by your lipstick smooches, your blushing squished cheeks, those veins along that flexing bicep smothering your lip smeared shameless face.

Making a group chat with just the Jinwoos proved a bad call when the other two were driven up the wall with envy at their superior version laying claim to you when they weren't around. The stream of emojis from Jinwoo 1 merging with the countless threats from Jinwoo 2 made big boss Jin darkly chuckle in the entertaining response, the mirthful twinkle in his eyes rippling from spotting you red in the face like mush in his big leather desk chair.

Unwinding from the stress of his guild master duties and keeping face with his colleagues and family while also having to wait out however long this three in one problem will last. Taking rides together on Kaisel gave you both a much needed breath of fresh air. Updating you on pupil Jinwoo's progress leveling up although the Gates turn red whenever he joins in said gate all to challenge him. He assures you immensely that he ensures his other self’s safety while sharing the EXP.

“Sharing you with my other selves has been quite the test for my tolerance.” Tugging insistently on his tie, the taut muscle definition of his upper chest peaked out, his neck flexing those veins, flaring his collar out in the process. “However, I am resolved to remind them just who truly is in charge here.” Pinning you literally on top of his desk came just as quick as you did already feeling him brush up against your valley. “Including you~”

Chronic problems plagued your form. Daily migraines, tense knots in your neck, the works. Regardless of which Jinwoo does it, massages always come your way. Whether resting your head on your lap or laying down on the bed, you melted from their shared skill touch.

Of course not every day is sunshine and rainbows. With chronic issues also came depression. Of course, all three dudes come to an agreement on equally giving you space to unwind as well as teaming up to give you all their affection.

Jinwoo #1 gifts you single flowers that grew surrounding your home, placing them behind your ear after presenting you one each day. Home-cooked meals are a given at this point, keeping in mind your allergies and dietary restrictions should you have any. He helps prepare salt baths that you more than invite him to join you to keep your clingy self company. And he lends his hoodie for comfort on those moody grey days.

Jinwoo #2 gifts you during your shopping sprees together, purchasing plushies and apparel to even getting fried chicken that you make sure you have enough to share with all your bois at home. You and him game together when he comes home early from raiding. Although his fatigue relief skill kicked in, he still deflated in your embrace welcoming him back home in the foyer, nuzzling your adorable face like a needy feline himself. Plus, his rambunctious commentary sends you into a wheezing mess, handing him easy wins. The times you did dethrone him resulted in his stubborn self knowing he could do better, challenging you for another round.

Jinwoo #3 is the one most able to give you anything your heart desires. With such influence and connections on top of his limitless abilities as the reincarnated Monarch, he would make anything possible. But considering he was the busiest out of the three, all you really wanted was to spend more time together. He still gifted you the same items as his other selves, but he made sure to include a fancy dinner and a dance among the stars as an inviting bonus.

Sleep anxiety is also a struggle you face. Incidents from your dreary past late at night left their scars. So taking naps now and then throughout the day after sleeping in the morning was your norm.

Even now, comfortably sleeping through the night is difficult, anxiety making you uncomfortable on edge for the unpredictable and unknown.

One step, one night at a time, the secure embrace giving you reassuring squeezes in bed reminding you you weren't alone. Whichever Jinwoo it is, they all are perfect bedmates. Their cooing words became your ASMR.

“Ssh. There there. I'm right here. Listen to my breathing, my heart, my voice. You can rest easy now, sweetheart.”

Kissing your teary face and letting you rest on their cozy warm chests as they rubbed comforting circles along your back, the combined sensations slowly aided in your sleep, however long or short. For the moments you woke in the middle of the night,

So returning the favor only made sense.

All three Jinwoos suffered from nightmares. Mostly Jinwoo #1. Night terrors were his own sleep struggle throughout this story arc. Especially from dreams of the Double Dungeon. Breaking out in a cold sweat, tossing and turning, whimpering and weeping, before screaming out in awakening, heaving haphazardly, desperately reaching his hands out to you, clinging to you like the life line you are. Especially on nights when your other Jins’ are still out due to whatever reason.

Singing a lullaby song you heard from a show that really stuck with you helped a great deal in calming him down. Cradling him in your arms, brushing through those sweat matted bangs, your voice was the angel of music gracing his ears. It's too mesmerizing to ignore.

“You're okay. You're alright. I'll never ever leave your side. I will stay and I will fight with you~”

Unbeknownst to you two, Beru's shadow linked to both versions of his master, Jinwoo #3 swoons over your heavenly voice, smiling like a lovesick fool, Jinho silently hoping they finish work early so his big bro can get back to you, his one and only.

“Please don't leave me. Please stay, Y/n.” Your Jin baby's wish gets granted by your doting, utilizing the same exact methods they use to treat your night troubles.

Jinwoo 2 is less vocal when he wakes up from bad dreams. Yet you feel a sturdy heat envelope around you. His endearing gaze grew the more he stared at your peaceful face, his stare blurring from warm wetness, blinking them back before pecking your forehead. “You're my dream come true~” He whispers lovingly in your ear before cuddling up against your precious self, tears actually shed as you return the hug through your slumber, thoughts of you and only you lulling him into good old dream land.

Now Jinwoo 3 is something else. He usually sits up, lost in thought for a bit, before heading to the kitchen for a mug of water and maybe even preparing some food to keep him busy. And every time, he could feel you arising, finding him, and joining him all so he wouldn't be alone. He'd do the same for you. They all would, absolutely.

You can hear the aching vulnerability trembling with each breath he took as his towering frame draped over you, his shoulders shaking as his hands clawed at your back, your very existence grounding him in the here and now.

“Parts of me will never be the same, not after all I've done … yet you still choose me. How did I ever deserve you, huh?” His nose caresses yours, rocking with you side to side, as his submerging look sunk its hold upon your trembling soul. “Y/n, you truly are something else. My safe haven~”

While having three Jinwoos is indeed a handful, seeing every part of him that make up who he is reminds you of his empathy, sympathy, cleverness, tactfulness, and brilliance.

But you too hope that your three darlings become whole again soon.

And soon enough, at last, your shared prayers were finally heard.

The solution to this dilemma?

Well ...

What do you think~?

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plasticflowersinahistorycemetery · 11 hours ago

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❤︎ first meeting ❤︎

❤︎ Ben x Saturn ❤︎

Warnings: language, kissing, blood (kinda? You'll see), I think that's all for now.

Word Count: 1,437

Ben was pissed off and half-bleeding to death when he saw you for the first time.

Rain came down in sheets, washing the grit and gunpowder off his face, but not the fury. He was limping—ribs probably cracked, shoulder socket threatening to pop out again, blood soaking through what was left of his flak jacket. The op had gone sideways. Real fucking sideways. And now he was walking six damn miles back to the safehouse because Butcher’s genius plan didn’t account for extraction. Typical.

His boots slapped against puddled concrete, each step a quiet fuck you to the world. Thunder cracked overhead. He didn’t flinch.

Then he saw the warehouse.

Old, rust-bitten, left to rot. A place no one sane would hang around in this part of the city—especially not in weather like this.

Except… someone was up there.

Perched on the edge of the roof like it was nothing. Legs dangling over three stories of nothing but gravity. Backlit by lightning. Still as a painting. Eyes tilted toward the sky like she was trying to memorise the shape of the storm.

You.

Ben squinted. Thought maybe the blood loss was fucking with him. You didn’t look real—some soaked-through fever dream dressed in black and indigo. Hood down. Boots scuffed. Face lifted to the clouds like you weren’t afraid of getting struck.

He almost kept walking. Almost. But then you turned your head. Looked down at him like you already knew his name. Like you were expecting him.

And you smiled.

“Hey,” you said, voice barely carrying over the rain. “You’re leaking all over my view.”

Ben blinked. Actually blinked. For a second, the rage stopped humming in his teeth. Then he laughed, quiet and to himself. You tossed something down. It hit the pavement with a soft thud. A half-empty bag of blue M&M’s.

What the fuck?

He stared at it, then back up at you.

“Is this some kinda trap?” He growled, hand twitching near the knife strapped under his jacket. “’Cause I’ve had a long fuckin' night and I’m not in the goddamn mood.”

You just laughed. Soft. Strange. Like thunder in velvet.

“No trap,” you said, stretching your arms above your head like a cat in the rain. “Just figured you looked like you could use a sugar rush and a place to bleed that doesn’t smell like piss.”

Ben paused. War still buzzing under his skin. But something about you—it wasn’t softness. It wasn’t sympathy. It was indifference. Or maybe something holier than that.

You didn’t care who he was. What he’d done. What kind of monster limped out of the dark. You just turned and disappeared over the rooftop’s edge.

He hesitated. Then scoffed to himself. “Fuckin' Christ on a cross.”

And followed.

The warehouse groaned under his weight. Rotting beams, metal staircases that hadn’t seen care since before Vought was a fucking thought. The inside stank of wet rust and dust and the kind of silence that got under your skin.

He moved slow, heavy boots echoing off the walls. Every muscle was screaming, but he’d long since stopped listening.

When he reached the top floor, he saw it.

Your little world.

Blue and indigo candles flickered in glass jars and broken mugs, scattered like stars across the concrete floor. Their flames danced against water-stained walls, casting soft shadows across a makeshift mattress, threadbare pillows, a thick blanket that had definitely seen better days. A stack of old cassettes sat next to a battered player, the kind with a cracked speaker and paint-chipped buttons.

It smelled like wax, leather, and something warmer underneath—vanilla and cedar smoke.

Ben stood there, dripping blood and rain onto your floor, and you didn’t look up.

You were crouched beside a crate, digging in a metal tin. Calm. Like this happened every day. Like strange bleeding men just wandered in during thunderstorms to sit in your candlelit shrine of fuck-you serenity.

“Sit down,” you said, not even glancing at him.

He stared. Scoffed.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, limping over. “This is a cult lair. You one of those weird witch girls?”

You looked up at that—eyes catching the candlelight just right, gleaming like a galaxy cracked wide open.

“No,” you said. “I’m worse.”

He snorted. Dropped down onto your mattress with a hiss, blood smearing across his ribs. “Figures.”

You grabbed a needle, black thread, and a rag soaked in rubbing alcohol. Popped a cassette into the player. A low crackle gave way to some gritty, reverb-heavy punk—female vocals and crashing drums.

Ben watched you move. Controlled. Precise. Unbothered.

When you leaned over him to start stitching, he didn’t miss the way your hoodie slipped off one shoulder, revealing the glint of a knife strap against your skin. Your fingers were cold and steady, blood-slicked and sure.

“You do this often?” He muttered, voice low.

“Only for the bleeding disasters who show up looking like thunder had a fistfight with their face.”

“Cute.”

You smirked, threading the needle like it was second nature.

“The moon’s in Scorpio,” you added casually, like it explained everything.

Ben blinked. “The fuck does that mean?”

“Means you’re feeling impulsive. Self-destructive. Violent.”

“I’m always violent.”

“I'm sure.”

He didn’t know what to do with that. So he just watched you—watched the way your lip tucked between your teeth in concentration, the flick of your eyes, the way your fingers pressed into his ribs like you didn’t mind the mess of him.

God, you were fucking gorgeous up close.

Rain tapped at the broken windows, the music snarled through the speaker, and he found himself wondering what your lip tasted like.

“You got good hands,” he said gruffly. “For someone who looks like she writes poetry in graveyards.”

You didn’t look up. “Who says I don’t?”

He huffed a laugh.

“Alright, mystery girl.” He tilted his head as you wiped the blood near his temple. “The hell you doin' here?”

You finally glanced at him. “Wandering.”

“Alone? In the ass-end of nowhere? Durin' a fuckin' monsoon?”

“I like storms,” you said, casually climbing into his lap like it meant nothing. Like straddling a stranger you’d just sewn up wasn’t a fucking thing.

You took a rag and dabbed gently at the cut near his hairline. Your fingers were cold. Your thighs were warm. His hands itched at his sides.

“You’re fuckin' crazy,” he muttered, looking up at you through the rain in his lashes.

You leaned back just a little. Smirked. “You’re worse.”

Then you tilted your head, studying him like you were cataloging every scar, every ugly piece. Something shimmered in your expression—curious, unafraid, like you wanted to know what would happen if you struck the match.

You leaned in.

Ben didn’t hesitate. His hands snapped up to your waist, dragging you down hard against him as his mouth crashed into yours. It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t slow. It was a goddamn detonation.

You kissed him back like you’d been waiting for this storm to hit all your life.

It turned mean in seconds. Teeth, breath, heat—your fingers curled in his soaked jacket like you meant to peel him open. Ben didn’t waste time. He never did. One moment you were in his lap, straddling him like you belonged there, and the next—

He flipped you.

Your back hit the mattress with a wet thud, the ruined fabric sucking in rainwater from his clothes, blood smearing across the faded blanket like war paint. Candles guttered. The music snarled through a static-drowned chorus. Thunder cracked above like the fucking sky was watching.

And you laughed. Not a sweet sound. Not polite. It was low and amused and blasphemous—like you liked that he’d snapped. Like you wanted to be thrown down.

Ben hovered over you, eyes dark, jaw clenched, his breath coming hard. Water dripped from his hair onto your cheek. You didn’t flinch.

“Jesus Christ,” he growled, kissing you again—harder, deeper, like he could find answers in your mouth. “You’re outta your goddamn fuckin’ mind.”

You smirked against him, eyes lit up like lightning. “Told you. You’re worse.”

And maybe that was true. Maybe you were both fucked six ways from Sunday—born from broken things and bred for chaos. But in that moment, soaked and bloodied and half-wild on a mattress ruined by rain and rage, something clicked.

You weren’t peace. You weren’t salvation. You were the fucking storm.

And so was he.

Two disasters, finally colliding. No survivors. Just thunder and flame and the taste of something inevitable.

His voice was rough, low, dragging over the wreckage between you like gravel. “Fuckin’ pathetic, lettin’ me put my hands on you like this—and I don’t even know your goddamn name.”

You didn’t flinch. Just grinned, sharp and shit-eating, and smacked the side of his head—not hard, just enough to sting. He blinked, caught off guard, before your fingers slid into his damp hair, tugging.

“Saturn,” you murmured, lips brushing his like a secret. “Try not to forget it, Soldier Boy.”

Then you pulled him back down, mouth on his, thunder in your ribs, and he let himself drown in it.

A/N: HERE SHE IS. Our little thunderstorm. I love her so much. I feel like I'm going a little crazy putting kissing in during their first interaction, but that's what I get for taking on a project that doesn't involve smut (yet, because trust me, there's plenty of that a'coming) but I just feel like she's that feral, mystery girl who would kiss you and then dip out without a sound, leaving you wondering who the hell she was. I hope you guys are enjoying this series as much as I am. All the love.

@mostlymarvelgirl @losers-clvb @lunaleah. @itshellfire @drakulana @sl33pylilbunny @suckitands33 @nevercameraready @0ccvltism @lyarr24 @imtheworst123 @podiumackles @spxideyver @tinas111 @ohgodimgoungtodie @cevansbaby-dove @paristheonewhoreads @winchestersbgirl @blossomingorchids <3

#pfiahc writes #my writing #soldier boy #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy fanfiction #soldier boy x you #soldier boy fic #soldier boy x female reader #the boys fanfiction #the boys fanfic #the boys x you #the boys x reader #the boys x female reader

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god-o-bees · 1 day ago

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Nikto X Dog!Hybrid Reader

Suggestive

It was not love at first sight when Nikto got his hybrid. Sure, you were small and cute, your little puppy ears always pointed in his direction and your soft tail wagging idly everytime you were in his vicinity. But he didn't need "emotional support" or "companionship."

"Why don't you try giving them a belly rub?" Krueger suggested. You ears perked up at the mention of belly rubs. Nikto grunted as you rolled over onto your back, a hopeful look glittering in your eyes.

He rolled his eyes, but got on he knees, figuring there was no harm in just amusing Krueger.

The first touch of your soft fur on his skin sent a shock of electricity through his body. His blunt nails scraped over your delicate belly, pulling a happy sigh from your lips. He became lost in it, not even registering Krueger chuckling a few feet away.

Ok, so he could keep you around. Just for the occasional therapeutic belly rubs, but that was it.

Of course, that wasn't it. He had quickly taken over your bathing routine, insisting that you shouldn't have human responsibilities while a human was in the house. Surprisingly, he never crossed into any sexual territory during it, seemingly just as hypnotized by cleaning you as he was by petting you.

He eventually allowed you to sleep with him, holding you close to his chest as you curled up underneath the sheets. He couldn't help but stare at your peaceful face as he wondered what you were dreaming of. Did you dream about silly things like catching squirrels and earning treats, or did you dream of him?

His gaze began to travel to your chest when he gave you belly rubs. Maybe you wouldn't notice if his hand just lightly brushed over the bump of your nipple from under your shirt... what the hell had gotten into him?

No, he couldn't let this go any further. He was far too broken for an innocent little hybrid like you. Your relationship would have to remain where it was- completely platonic.

"What are those?" He asked when he saw you taking a small pill one morning during breakfast- another responsibility Nikto took over.

"For my cycle. So I don't go into heat." You explained, holding the bottle up to him.

He hadn't considered that you would have heats, although it was a common concern for some hybrid owners. He had assumed you were spayed like other service hybrids, but apparently not. Blood rushed down between his legs when he realized the implications.

He began to buy you things. Chew toys and treats for play time, a nice grooming kit for your silky fur and even little outfits tailored for your small hybrid body. If he saw a store selling hybrid care products, he'd come away with something, even if it was just a gift card.

The baby blue collar he had personally clipped onto your neck was his favorite. His fingers dipped below it to stroke your neck as you slept with him at night, shifting his body so you wouldn't be too bothered by the erection pressing against you.

He was relaxing on the couch one afternoon, stroking your stomach lazily when his eyes traveled up to your lips. He could imagine they were as soft as pillows and as sweet as sugar, and suddenly every nerve in his body was burning to kiss you. His thumb stroked your cheek a little closer to your mouth. He had to bite his tongue to make sure he didn't go any further.

But those soft whimpers and little sneezes of yours would still haunt his dreams, rest assured.

Masterlist

#nikto cod #cod nikto #nikto #call of duty nikto #nikto x reader #call of duty

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themareverine · 15 hours ago

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— Toy Soldiers, part II

worst!wolverine x namelessfem!OC

tags: Indian in the Cupboard themes (iykyk), fluff, AU, not entirely sure what else at this point, with blue eyes could be interpreted as reader, mentions of a best friend named Rose, literally based on this silly little toy I rescued and now have crafted extensive lore for, kinda a Deadpool & Wolverine AU, time travel elements, TVA & Loki mentions, celeb!Hugh Jackman elements eventually.

synopsis: He was just a one of those fast-food kid’s meal toys from 1993—key word, was. now he’s Hugh Jackman incarnate, standing in the master bedroom of her midwestern apartment, lost in time and infinity. she’s gotta get him back to his world, where he’s the worst Wolverine, where he belongs—or, maybe not?

a/n: It's been way too long, fam! I'm sorry! I'm happy to return to these two, because they make me a little feral. I've been hesitant to pursue the next chapter because I was a little stuck on how I wanted to proceed from the first part, but, I like where this is going!

MASTERLIST | NAVIGATION | SERIES MASTERLIST

This isn’t the first time she’s thrown up in the kitchen sink in front of someone. But hopefully it’s the last.

She’d been almost 18 getting her wisdom teeth removed, and one traumatic surgery – in which she’d blown her IV three times, and had far more impacted teeth than previously thought – later, she’d been parked at her cousin’s house for her mother and aunt to go shopping.

Twenty five mouth stitches and a strong dose of Vicodin later, she’d non-stop vomited up her guts for most of the night. Unsurprisingly, throwing up in front of her cousin’s boyfriend while watching Tom Cruise re-runs ranked in the running list of the most humiliating moments in her life.

Maybe this is all a dream – yeah. Gross. Why am I puking in a dream? What am I dreaming about? Oh my god I’m going to die –

Trembling arms hold her up over the sink, a thin veil of sweat sticking her hair to the back of her neck. Groaning, she swallows roughly, the sting of bile sour and putrid in the back of her throat.

Muscles aching, head splitting, she slaps at the tap controls and slowly blinks her eyes, sunlight from the window brutally stabbing at her eyeballs. Discarding glasses to somewhere on the counter, she scrubs her face with water. Head and heart reeling, she looks down at her hands — shaking, She’s still shaking.

What’s felt like an eternity has been seconds, maybe. Vibrations from the floor shoot up her legs and she spins around quickly, heart flying forward against her ribs as her stomach plummets to her kneecaps.

“Feel better?” It’s goading, antagonistic even. “You gonna tell me where the fuck I am now?” He looks innocent enough in the aftermath of gouging the hell out of her sheetrock, despite his hot, growling tone.

Hands at his sides, sweat mottling her brow. He’s huge, standing six-something in her kitchen, all broad and Hollywood looking. She can’t even swallow properly. It comes together in her brain slowly, as if she’s completely checked out of the last eight minutes of her life. Blacked out.

Her recall reaches far, until blurry fragments piece back together. Adrenaline and fear. Survival and flight. That's right. He’d stumbled upon her looking for that damn Wolverine toy lost in the abyss of her room, him and his actually really convincing cosplay get-up.

Eyes skating past him to the door, her stomach drops again. Eyes widen in even more realized fear, and she feels the blood fall out of her pallor again. Cold fear snakes up the length of her spine, pushing hard against every vertebrae — right. She remembers. It’s impossible.

How does not matter, not really. God stopped time for Joshua, split open seas for Moses. How is the least of her worries — but why. Why is the question. Not how or when, but why. It beats rhythmically through her brain like a helicopter blade, why why why.

This had Marvel written all over it. And somehow it was happening in her Minneapolis apartment. Unable even to entertain any question beyond why her, she can’t stop looking at his hands. How his knuckles are still stained with the coppery blood he’s tried to wipe away from his knuckles, which has vanished amid the muck and grime of his uniform.

“You’re,” White knuckling the edge of her farmhouse sink, her jaw clamps to the point she worries her bones will grind into batter. “— um. You’re Logan,” there’s a faraway wonder in her voice as she sinks farther back against the sink, like it's a holy revelation that will get her killed. “I mean, I think you’re Logan?” Releasing hands from the sink, she slowly creates distance between them. “I don’t really understand —”

He’s breathing harder now. His brow drops into a deeply confused line. “Do I fucking know you?” She’s unsure if it’s meant to be an admission of identity or a genuine question, but his eyes skate over her body like he’s trying to recall her.

He takes a daring step forward that seems to rattle the very walls. It scares her, and she jumps, lunging for the corner of the counter — without thinking, instinct snatches one of the cooking knives from her magnetic knife strip on the wall. Reeling back around, she swallows the terror that’s splashed more bile up the back of her throat.

Irritated, he huffs out a scoffing breath and dares to roll his eyes at her. “You really think that’s gonna help you?” Nodding to the knife, a flick of his wrist produces the three iconic blades from between his hands with a bloody, squelching snikt! that nobody in Hollywood would even think about. “Drop it, honey. I don’t wanna tussle with a girl.” Lifting his hand, he considers the claws before lifting a brow at her. “I will, but you’re not gonna like how it goes.”

It’s so Logan that it makes her head hurt. Every organ in her body seems cut off from blood supply, throbbing painfully against her bones. She can feel the heat on her skin, the sweat pearling along her spine. So much tension pulls at the muscle in her jaw that she can’t hear past the burn in her muscle, and her tongue chases her bottom lip as she weighs his words. There’s not a drop of moisture in her mouth, so the sensation almost stings — and she can’t look away from his claws.

His claws.

Biting on her lower lip to the point she worried about blood, it’s suddenly hell to breathe the air.

“You’re, oh my god —” Black spots kick up in front of her eyes.

For a second her legs forget how to function. Tossing the knife to the counter, she stumbles like a foal and catches herself on the counter, her breathing irregularly. Not a stitch of strength can be found in her entire body, and with wide-eyes she looks at him, unbelieving. He takes two hard, long strides to her and she thinks to scream, but doesn’t.

Thick hands wrap around her arm and jerk to her a stable that’s solid. He’s so close now that she can smell his sweat, the musk she’d always imagined the Wolverine to carry in every comic book, all his appearances on screen.

Heavy eyes seem to weld in her place, and they are suddenly more and not at all Hugh Jackman, not in a way that she’d ever believe. They are Logan, only Logan, tortured and lost and worn. Their tiredness matches the lines in his face, the slight gray in the iconic tufts of hair and muttons.

His grip on her is real, certainly. But she does the only thing she can think — she reels back and smacks him hard, a rough sound that cracks the air like she’d only ever heard performed. It turns his head, and he hisses at the contact, but isn’t moved.

The sting in her hand confirms it – he’s as real as the sun pounding into the apartment from the window over the sink.

“You done?” He chides, his voice thick with a deep throatiness that alarms her even more. “If I wanted to hurt you, sweetheart, I would’ve.” Eyes skating over her frame so close to him, his expression changes into one that’s genuinely confused. “All the places the fuckin’ TVA could’ve spit me out, can’t say this is the worst one.”

“You’re real,” it’s a squeak, her chest heaving with every painful breath, “what are you — what are you doing here?” Attempting to wrench her arm out of his hand, she looks to his hold on her and then back to his face, “Let go of me,”

“I asked you if you were done,” it’s challenging. His brow pops, waiting. “I can do this all day, princess.”

She doesn’t even think. “Because you’ve got so much to worry about, right? Yeah.” Pulling back again, he releases her and she takes a few hard steps back, until her hip brushes against the counter. Evening her breathing comes slowly, and it hurts to speak, but she does again. “You’re Logan. Logan Howlett. The Wolverine.” Gesturing to him, she swallows the disbelief in her voice. “How the heck did you get in here? Where did you come from?” Not to mention how the hell are you even real in my world, but, baby steps I guess.

Muttering a low fuck under his breath, his hand cards through his hair.

His chuckle is exaggerated, forced. “So much for that,” his scoff comes off a snort, “fuckin’ TVA. Don’t know how to use their own damn tech. Fucking geniuses.”

“The TVA?” Her tone still isn’t even, “You mean the TVA, as in, like, Loki’s TVA?” There’s a warble to it she can’t shake as she tries not to eyeball him too much. Instead she searches the counter for her glasses, retrieves them, and gives him a wide berth to retrieve the chair she’d knocked out of the way in her hurry to throw up.

Putting the chair between them, her fingers dig into the back of it as her eyes skate over him. It’s impressive, his suit — sorely needed, for a Hugh Jackman Wolverine. And it’s terrifying just exactly how much he resembles Hugh, standing in her kitchen – all the marks the same. The nose, how his eyes glitter. The tip of his lips, the posture of his shoulders. All the body language cues are there, and for a brief moment, she wonders if he’d be able to sing and dance like Jackman, as well.

She pushes the thought from her head and lifts on her toes to exhale, uneasily. “I –I don’t know how you got here,” biting her lower lip, she pushes the chair his direction with a foot, “and I’m sorry for uh, well—attacking, I guess. You scared me, I thought you were a rapist or something.” Stepping back from the chair, she gestures to it with a hand. “Um. If you have to go, I get it, but — you’re welcome to stay. I’ll listen to you, maybe I can help. I don’t think you realize where exactly you are.”

His eyes flick from the chair to her wrapping her robe around herself tightly, chin tucking to her chest as she weighs just exactly how to explain what universe he’s bounced himself into.

A world where X-Men and Wolverine are just characters in books, on television. How there’s not a Magneto or an X-gene, there’s no Charles or Jean Gray to whom he can run.

How time travel, previously, is something only God manages – where the TVA is something recent to the MCU and exists to complicate the hell out of everything.

A world where his life is played out by an Australian actor she’s been parasocially in love with since teenagedom.

His posture changes. Loosening his shoulders, he clears his throat and approaches her kitchen chair slowly. It scrapes the floor as he pulls it to himselfs, lowers into it backwards. It creaks, accepting his 400+ pounds. Resting his chin on his arms draped across the back of the chair, he exhales slowly. Logan stares off into the space of her apartment for a few heartbeats as his eyes move back to hold hers, pointedly.

She realizes this is the point of a movie that could make or break her part in it. She becomes A or B story from this moment alone, and it empties her soul of any and all courage. “You want some coffee?”

“Coffee,” he chuckles, a hint of a resigned smile tugging at his mouth as his hand scrubs his face, slowly. “Sure. If coffee’s all you got, that’s fine.”

It’s so stereotypically Logan, and the look on his face deeply shows every one of his nearly-200 years.

Biting the inside of her cheek, she nods slowly. Takes a few hesitant steps into the kitchen, towards the void of space over her Frigidaire. Managing a leg up onto the counter, she can feel him watching her as she retrieves the bottle from the cobwebs. Her fingers brush over the label, and she blushes at the dust.

“Whiskey it is, then.”

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theenemyod · 10 months ago

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Alex Strike was in my dream good

Alex Strike was trying to kill me and my brother in my dream, bad.

#also hey no Master Joseph this time #The golden tower shoved it's way into my brain while I was sleeping #and ik it was TGT because I was in a tower when he was throwing chaos and shit at me and brother #though he looked human.#not like a devoured #wasn't wearing the mask at least #and that's the one bit of character description i remember for the devourd Alex #and the cool eyes #but no in my dream he still had blue eyes #And the tower wasnt golden #idk #magisterium #alex strike

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allpromarlo · 7 months ago

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tall man with long hair….save me tall man with long hair……..

#this applies to A Lot of people but #haven’t met him yet (i’m still stuck on fucken jarilo vi. help) but jing yuan………..#urghhshdhsjhs #pretty….pretty man….#i just know his hair feels like silk and downy i just KNOW it #i keep seeing fanart of him and girl he’s doing things to me #motivated to go through robo bitch faster so i can look at all these men #on that note i had a dream that i pulled gepard last night. imagine my disappointment when i found out #gepard is another like he don’t have long hair but UHHHHHNMM #i’m looking for a man in finance #TRUST FUND 6’5 BLUE EYES #hated him when he beat my ass twice in a row but now??? ahehe #nobody cares abt him anymore idc i luv him #hsr #jing yuan #hsr jing yuan #pretty pretty man #why is his type LIGHTNING #some of these attack types just do not make any sense why the fuck is blade wind??#like why is he not physical are you dumbbbb #n e ways

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novaursa · 3 days ago

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Love your stories! I had a request.

Could you please do a Euron/YN story? I'm thinking maybe Y/N could be a captive aboard the Silence.

Another request: please make this story as unhinged and dark as possible. I know that's your specialty.

She Who Sleeps Beneath

- Summary: Euron believes he captured a god, but the truth is, you are something far more terrible.

- Pairing: reader/Euron Greyjoy

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (all flags are up for this one)

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @idenyimimdenial

- A/N: You let me off the leash and I went rabid.

The deck of Silence reeked of blood, salt, and madness. You hung there like a fallen angel—if angels ever came from the black abysses beneath the world—naked and slick with brine, eyes too wide, too still, too ancient for the form they now wore. A girl, they thought. A girl no older than fifteen summers, skin like cold wax, hair clinging to your shoulders in tendrils like kelp. But you were no girl. No thing so simple. You watched them with that eerie stillness, as if you could already see the meat peeling from their bones.

Euron Greyjoy stood over you, barefoot on the red-slick planks, his lips parted in something between a grin and a religious trance. His good eye blazed with sea-glass hunger. The other, the black one, was a void, a maw, an open mouth with no throat. His robes were stained with salt and old gore, his teeth sharp from too many dreams of gnawing on the divine. You smelled it on him—madness, rot, old blood, and something older, something deeper.

He had hunted you for ten years.

Ten years of storms and slaughter, of necromancers flayed on his deck for answers, of sailors thrown screaming into the sea with bells tied to their ankles so he could hear the deep sing back. Ten years chasing whispers, wet footprints on stone, sightings of a girl in glassy waters, ships swallowed whole in perfect silence.

And now you were here. Lashed in chains made from weirwood roots and black iron, soaked in oils scoured from drowned priests and unborn calves. Your eyes blinked once. Slowly. He shuddered.

“She’s mine,” Euron whispered, turning to his crew with arms spread wide. “Do you hear it? Do you feel it?” He laughed, a hideous, choking sound. “She’s the womb of gods! The mother of tides and ruin. I will crawl inside her and be reborn. I will tear sons from her belly that will drink the stars dry.”

The crew didn’t answer. Most didn’t dare meet your gaze. One of the thralls muttered a prayer before Euron silenced him with a knife through the throat.

“They don’t understand,” he crooned, dropping to his knees before you. He cupped your face like you were something delicate, a relic pulled from a drowned city. “But I do. I’ve seen you in my dreams. You walked through the weeping tunnels beneath the world. You tore kings in half with your teeth. You laid with leviathans, and birthed monsters that swallowed continents.” His breath was foul, his words reverent.

You said nothing. Your lips were blue, faintly cracked, and you blinked again.

Inside, you imagined the taste of his tongue.

You imagined how he would scream when you split his ribs open and wore his lungs like wings. You had done it before. Long ago, in a different form, before the world remembered sunlight. Your mind slithered through time like a serpent through ruins, tasting his flesh already. He thought he’d won. But you knew better. You’d let him find you. You’d let him drag you aboard this rotting ark, because now you were close.

Close enough to smell the iron in his blood.

“I’ll fill her with god-seed,” Euron declared, rising now, arms shaking with the strength of his madness. “Every night. Every tide. Until her belly swells and bursts with children. They will climb from her screaming like stormspawn. They’ll walk on water. They’ll tear down the gods of men.”

One of his lieutenants—Qarlen, you remembered, a thick-necked man with red boils on his arms—spoke then, voice unsure. “She don’t look like she can bear no babes, Captain. She looks like a child.”

Euron turned slowly. “Do you question me?” His voice was quiet, terrifying.

Qarlen took a step back. “No, Captain. Just… she ain’t natural.”

“Exactly,” Euron whispered. “That’s the point.” He turned back to you and pressed his forehead to yours, trembling. “You’re not of this world. You’re from the dark before time. You’re the end of all things. You’re mine.”

Your eyes flicked down to his throat. You knew where his arteries pulsed. You fantasized about puncturing them with your nails. Or your teeth. Or the ridged mandibles that slumbered beneath your tongue. For now, you waited. Let him think you weak. Let him feel victorious.

Let him feed you.

He kissed your forehead. You barely felt it.

“I’ll keep you beneath,” he said. “In the hold. Where the bones sing. And when the moon’s high, I’ll come down and pray. I’ll anoint your belly with blood and salt. You’ll give me a kingdom of horrors, won’t you, my love?”

You smiled. Just barely.

One day, you would eat him alive. You would peel his skin and wear it long enough to whisper madness into every ear that had ever heard his name. You would sing his death-song in a voice of knives and drown this ship in his screams.

But for now, you closed your eyes and let him dream.

The hold of Silence was a womb of black and brine, thick with the reek of mildew, blood, and the slow rot of things too long kept in the dark. No torch burned there. Only the phosphorescent glow of barnacles smeared across old hull planks, casting a sickly, pulsing light that seemed to breathe. You lay upon a slab of driftwood and rusted chains, cold as stone, your skin still glistening with sea-slick and salt.

Above you loomed Euron.

He was shirtless, glistening with sweat, eye wild and unblinking, and every breath he took shuddered like a man possessed. His voice was a rasp, thick with reverence and lust.

“You’ll remember this,” he whispered, as if speaking to a goddess. “You’ll carry me inside you, the way the sea carries the bones of drowned kings. You were made for this.”

You didn’t answer. You watched him with those still, glassy eyes—empty of resistance, of emotion, of anything resembling fear. It pleased him.

He tore what little covered you and pressed himself to your cool flesh, trembling with desire and terror. You were pliant beneath him, as silent as the dead, your breath shallow, body unmoving save for the gentle rise and fall of your chest. He didn’t notice the way your pupils dilated—long, vertical slits slicing through the black of your eyes like cracks in reality. He didn't see how your mouth twitched, just slightly, as if remembering how to split wide.

His hands roamed your skin as he whispered profanities and prayers in the same breath, groaning your name—though he did not know it. He called you Womb of the Abyss, Bride of Leviathans, Mother of the Next World.

And then it was done.

Euron collapsed atop you, breath ragged, lips pressed against your neck as he muttered a lullaby you did not understand. “You are mine. You are mine. My queen of horrors. My whore of the deep. My vessel…”

You did not move.

Until you did.

Something shifted beneath your flesh.

Your hands—small and pale—snapped shut around his wrists with a strength that no child should possess. He tensed, startled, but before his mouth could form a question, your head turned toward him. Slowly. Inhumanly. Your lips peeled back in something that could not be called a smile.

There were too many teeth.

The skin on your face rippled, peeled, tore—and something inside unfurled.

Euron screamed.

It was a wet, helpless sound, sharp with panic and disbelief. He tried to pull back, but your body had opened like a blooming flower, your limbs lengthening, black carapace gleaming beneath tearing flesh. Bone cracked as your arms split at the elbows, long fingers stretching into jagged claws. Your chest split down the middle with a sickening wet pop, revealing a slick, chitinous maw, and your tongue uncoiled like a whip of muscle and hooks.

“You were inside me,” you said, but the voice was not yours. It was before you. A thousand voices murmured beneath it—dripping, wet, writhing things. “Now I will be inside you.”

He tried to scream again, but your tongue lashed around his throat and pulled him down.

You bit into his face first.

The eye—the real one—popped between your jaws. The black one, the void, you sucked from the socket like marrow from a bone. He thrashed, blood spilling in great pulsing waves, staining the planks with steaming crimson. You tore his chest open next, ribs cracking like splintering ice. His heart was a hot, twitching thing between your teeth.

He died gurgling your name.

You chewed.

When it was over, what remained of Euron Greyjoy was a mess of bone and pulp strewn across the floor of his own ship, dragged into a rough spiral by your claws—a mark left by your kind long ago, older than speech, older than gods. You stood in the wreck of your human skin, the shape of you now monstrous—taller, lithe, slick with mucous and blood. Your body gleamed with armored plates and sinew. Four eyes blinked across your face. The mandibles twitched.

And you breathed.

Climbing the steps, you emerged into the moonlight, glistening and grotesque.

The crew froze. Every man on deck stared at you. Some dropped to their knees in horror, others backed away until they fell overboard. None moved to stop you.

You walked through them without fear. Their terror was thick, savory, and you basked in it. A few dared to speak your name, to whisper of monsters and old stories, but no one followed as you reached the edge of the deck.

You looked back once. The wind blew through your hair—what little remained of it—and your jaw distended with a hiss that silenced every mouth.

Then you leapt.

You hit the water without a sound, and the sea accepted you like a mother reclaiming her child.

And Silence was truly silent at last.

#game of thrones #asoiaf #fire and blood #a song of ice and fire #house of the dragon #got #got/asoiaf #asoiaf x reader #got x reader #got x you #got x y/n #house greyjoy #euron greyjoy #euron x reader #euron x you #euron x y/n #x reader

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yueebby · 3 months ago

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𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧 (𝐢) – 𝐠𝐨𝐣𝐨 𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮

contents. period piece, forbidden love, ooc, angst (eventual comfort), yandere emperor!gojo, lovesick!gojo, servant!reader, obsessive behavior, lowkey unreliable narrator, time skips, 7.2k words of gojo unable to process his feelings

notes. sorry for leaving everyone hanging after the prologue (make sure to read or reread since it's been a hot minute!) TT but here it finally is!!!...not proofread soz :x

series masterlist | chapter 1/2

You haunt his dreams, he’s sure. Gojo never believed in superstitions or the supernatural despite what all those old geezers preached. That was until your figure started to appear every time he closed his eyes.

The familiar scene of you gets cloudier every time it appears in his dreams, but he knows it is still you. It’s nearly comical how even his subconscious knew of your everlasting beauty. Everytime, the same sequence replays: a grand celebration he had hosted in the palace in honor of a prosperous year of his reign. The two of you were overlooking the guests, seated at the head of the room.

You’re wearing court attire that was altered to fit solely you (it hugged your body in such ways that made Gojo’s head spin), fabrics and dyes all originating from foreign lands. In your hair sits beautiful hair ornaments, swinging with every movement you make.

However, Gojo knows it is not the materialistic items that make you beautiful, no, he knows that it was simply you.

“Has anyone told you how unnerving your eyes are?” You quietly comment, eyes still trained on the party in front of you. Satoru cracks a slight smile, not ashamed in the slightest that he was caught ogling you.

“I thought you said you loved them?” He blinks at you, attempting to lean closer to show off his blue orbs. “You’re starting to hurt my feelings, beloved.”

You purse your lips, subtly leaning away before he can initiate improper conduct. He does not take your action well, snaking an arm around you to firmly cage you in his hold. Normally, you would welcome his advances but you’d rather not be publically humiliated in front of the entire Imperial Court and all of the influential clanheads of Japan.

“Please have mercy on me, Your Grace,” You whisper, eyes flitting across the room, making sure there were no eyes on you. Luckily, everyone was too absorbed with the luxurious goods Gojo had imported for the occasion. It was the anniversary of his coronation, after all.

He makes a noise of disapproval, “Can’t. Must let these people know that you’re mine.” Gojo closes the gap between you and sniffs your neck, softly moaning at your scent. He knows that if the geezers looked up from their silver spoons they would have a heart attack at his public display of affection. Not that he cares. His unorthodox ways may make them livid, but Gojo knows they won’t do anything. He was going to pave the way for the Golden Age of Japan— with you by his side.

“Your Grace!” You giggle at the ticklish sensation left by his warm breath. Any attempts of shying away from him are fruitless.

“Don’t run away,” His other hand firmly places itself on your clothed thigh, restricting your movements. All of this is hidden by the table that sits in front of the two of you.

You’re looking at him with those shiny eyes of yours, silently pleading with him. “Can’t this wait until tonight?”

He huffs, “I have suffered enough today without your presence. Ijichi kept begging me to finalize the preparations, but who am I to care? My flower was too busy having fun without me.”

“You and your dramatics. I was only away to tend the gardens in the Consort’s Pavilion. Which, might I remind you, is fading by the moment because someone refuses for me to stay there.” You tut, picking up your chopsticks to eat the delectable fish placed in front of you.

Gojo’s stare never falters as he watches you pick up a small piece, eyes shining as if he were watching a spectacle. “You know I can’t sleep without you.”

“And I, you.” You pop the piece inside of your mouth, chewing happily at the flavor that fills your tongue. “You know, I–” You began, but were cut off by the sudden seizing of your throat.

The chopsticks in your hands clatter loudly with the porcelain they are dropped on.

Gojo's breath hitched, his eyes wide and trembling with horror as he watched you struggle for air. "My love?” he choked out, his voice cracking under the weight of rising panic.

Your hands immediately travel to your neck to alleviate the sudden burning feeling that blossomed in it.

“[Name]!” He shouts, large hands quickly rising to cup your cheeks. In a desperate attempt, he squeezes your cheeks to get you to spit it out.

"Poi–poison," Your voice was hoarse, your face losing its color by the second. Satoru was frozen with fear. “Don’t eat it…Satoru.” With those parting words, you lose consciousness.

“[Name]?” Satoru’s hoarse voice can’t stop repeating your name like a prayer, hands lightly tapping your cheek as if it was going to bring you back to life.

Gojo wanted to laugh. Even when you were dying, you worried about him. Not that it mattered. You weren’t going to die. He refused.

Sometime during your struggle the chatter had stopped, and all eyes were on you. Satoru looks up from you to bark orders to the guards he had placed around the room. They leave to summon the Imperial Physician while Gojo is left clinging onto your limp body, praying to the Heavens above that they will grant him one more miracle.

—

Back in his chambers, Gojo’s head pounds, but he’s not sure whether it was the speed he shot up from his bed or the dream itself. He feels hot, sweat running from his bare chest that heaves to bring oxygen to his quickly pumping heart. He’s nearly certain his chest is going to cave any second with the way it constricts with pain. It was like he was a geezer, he humors silently.

“Your Grace?” A delicate hand cups his cheek.

He follows the direction of the hand, eyes slowly trailing up the feminine body it belonged to, barely covered as a result of the thin silk nightgown that highlighted her natural curves. “Are you alright? It was only a nightmare.” She cradles his face, moving slowly in his vulnerable state.

Satoru breathes heavily, eyes widening as they travel from her breasts to her face, beautifully illuminated by the sparse moonlight leaking from the window. Her dark hair falls past her shoulders, obscuring some of his access to her skin. His beautiful mistress. He’s sure that she is whispering sweet nothings into his ear, but the images of his memory keep replaying in his mind, occupying it from functioning properly. ”Himiko, how did you–”

“I heard you and I couldn’t bear it.” Her finger softly caressed his flushed cheek, trying her best to ignore the bewildered look on her lover’s face.

THE PRESENT —

The journey to the Inner Palace was a blur. After a long goodbye, a horse drawn carriage was sent to the front of Yaga’s estate the very next morning. Your mind was elsewhere the entire time, too busy mulling over your past and now damned future.

That is why when the carriage comes to a complete stop in front of the servants’ quarters, you are startled to meet two awfully familiar faces.

The two are silent, eyes carefully watching you exit the carriage. The purple set of eyes steps forward first to take your bags from you.

“Ah thank you Mister—“ Your voice trails off, eyes looking up from the dark robes in front of you only to be surprised with a familiar face. “L-Lord Geto?”

His lips quirk up slightly upon recognition. “Welcome back, [Name].” Your heart throbs at his indifference from the last interaction you had. It is quickly concealed by the excitement in your voice when your eyes spot a comforting pair of eyes.

“And Kento?” You light up.

Suguru raises an eyebrow at your familiarity with the Imperial Chancellor. He knows he should be relieved that you held no malice towards himself and Nanami, knowing the struggle you were subjected to when banished. However, there was a foreboding feeling gnawing deep within his soul. Guilt? Fear? It was hard for Geto to put a finger on it.

Nanami simply nods in acknowledgment, but stays silent under Geto’s watchful gaze.

“[Name],” The black haired man starts. Your eyes return to his face. “I wanted to be the first to greet you here, but I suppose Lord Nanami must have had the same idea.” He chuckles lightly, but the mirth never makes it to his eyes. You don’t notice Lord Nanami stiffening up.

“To say I am flattered would be an understatement, Lord Geto.” You return the same sugarcoated pleasantries.

Geto must have noticed your unease, reminding you, “Please, there is no need to keep your guard up around me. I don’t bite.” His voice has a teasing lilt. It does little to soothe you.

“Can you blame me, Lord Geto?” Your eyes meet his purple ones that narrow at your allusion.

“I suppose not.” He hums. “Though I must tell you that the incident was out of my power. I must carry that burden everyday, so I implore you to forgive me, [Name].” He throws out your given name once again like you were familiar.

When you don’t respond, he continues, “I know, it is easier said than done.”

“You don’t say.” You bite your tongue as soon as the words leave your mouth. He fails to acknowledge how your last interaction was your banishment, served just by the man in front of you.

A sigh escapes Geto’s lips. "As a gesture of my accountability, I place myself entirely at your disposal. Simply name a favor, and it shall be fulfilled." You can’t detect anything but sincerity in his words, leaving you speechless. “Of course, it had to be within my power, but I shall grant you one request in return for your forgiveness.”

“I—” You were too shocked to form a thought. “I don’t know what to say.”

Suguru’s eyes crinkle, "Our last encounter may not have been pleasant, but I still consider you a dear friend, after all.”

“I am flattered to say the least that you had decided to grant me such honor,” you gape.

Geto shakes his head softly, “You shouldn’t hold me to such high regard. I could hardly bear the weight of your disfavor.”

“You know I don’t harbor any ill feelings towards what happened,” you say softly. It wasn’t Suguru’s decision what happened that night.

“I wouldn’t be able to live with myself otherwise,” the black haired man in front of you pushes. You relent. Perhaps you should just bite your tongue and accept the opportunity presented. “Please. Just think about it.”

You watch in silence as Geto turns around to walk away. His sudden offer leaves your mind racing. A man of his caliber, second to none but the emperor himself, would be able to grant any of your desires. Perhaps you should ask to import Western literature, tales of great fantasy— or, you could think bigger and ask to move back with your clan. Though you highly doubt he will entertain the latter, considering your indentured servitude to the Inner Palace.

Your racing thoughts are diverted when you hear someone clear their throat to capture your attention. You perk up when you realize that Lord Nanami was still here, and you have completely ignored his presence.

“I am just as surprised to see your immediate return to the palace.” Nanami adjusts the glasses on his face, sympathetic eyes never leaving you. You flush under his gaze. It was quite embarrassing knowing the entire palace probably had caught wind of your incident with the emperor.

A nervous chuckle escaped your lips.

“It wasn’t my intention,” you mumble. “But I suppose if fate has decided, there is not much I can do.”

“You truly believe that it was fate that brought you here?” Nanami asks, the hold he had on your arm tightening enough to catch your attention but not enough to hurt.

“I-” You begin, words failing to conjure. “I’m not sure.” You had thought that your banishment was fate, but now that you had been brought back, it felt like you were simply at the mercy of something cruel.

Nanami watches your eyes staring wistfully at the blue sky above, his own flickering to each of your features. He wonders if you know that your expressions gave you away. It’s more endearing than anything, from the flutter of your eyelashes, the wrinkle of your nose, to the furrow of your eyebrows. Only a blind man would deny the fact that you were easy to fall in love with. However, it would make a foolish man to dare to pursue you.

He’ll appreciate you and your charm from afar where his head may stay attached to his body.

The comfortable silence shared between the two of you is disrupted by a flock of handmaidens passing by. Nanami tenses his jaw when the voices become audible.

“Is it really her?”

“It’s said that she tried to sneak into the Emperor’s chambers.”

“Is that Lord Nanami? My, we must warn him about that whore that tried to seduce the emperor!”

“Poor Lady Himiko.”

Anger swells in your chest. Though you’re not sure what tale had managed to escape the servants’ quarters, but you pray that they may never reach the emperor’s ears. It was simply profane to the beloved consort, an offense that you know Gojo would never forgive you for. You can deal with nasty gossip, having previous experience, but you doubt you can handle being beheaded for conspiring against the emperor and his consort.

“I’m afraid no matter how much time has passed, the palace rumors seem to never die.” Nanami sighs, exhaustion evident in his gravelly voice. “I advise you to brace yourself. Within these coming days, the fire will only get hotter.” He doesn’t bother elaborating on his words, choosing to lead you to your new chambers.

“Thank you for the advice Nanami,” you exhale. “However, I am sure I’ll be able to manage on my own. After all, I’ve been doing it for quite some time.” The moment the solemn words leave your mouth his eyes soften. You quickly look away, flustered.

“I know you can, [Name]. I suppose my anxieties are misplaced, forgive me.” You can feel his stare bore into the side of your face. He sighs, “it is a habit that comes natural to me.” He worries for you. The words go unsaid, but you are able to decipher his double meaning.

Your heart flutters at his kind implications, eyes too shy to meet him once more. Instead, you choose to fix your gaze on the doors to the servants’ quarters. The blonde man beside you takes the liberty to open the doors to your new room.

At the sight in front of you, your heart lurches.

Before you stands a familiar head of white hair, standing tall with his back turned towards you. His head was tilted slightly, as if scrutinizing something unseen, before he slowly shook it. Then, with an unsettling calm, he turned to face you, his gaze heavy with unspoken intent.

“I’ll take her from here,” Gojo’s icy voice breaks the silence that had overtaken you and Nanami.

“Of course,” Nanami bows deeply. You turn to bid the man goodbye, but he leaves hurriedly without sparing you so much as a glance. You can’t help but furrow your eyebrows in confusion, eyes longingly watching your old friend walk away.

The moment the shoji doors close behind him, Gojo clears his throat.

“[Name],” he tests the waters, his movements deliberate as he takes a slow, tentative step toward you, the air between you thick with an unspoken tension.

“Your Majesty,” You respond shakily, retreating a step as your breath catches.

“Please,” Gojo mutters breathlessly, his voice trembling with unspoken desperation, his eyes pleading with an intensity that only deepens the pit in your stomach. He takes two deliberate strides forward, the gap between you vanishing as though drawn by an invisible force.

“No,” You shake your head, pain flashing across your face. You won’t let him waltz right into your life after carelessly tossing you away, not without consequence. It is to no surprise that words seem to go unheard to the man in front of you. His eyes glistened in the dim lighting, fixed intently on your face, tracing each feature with a quiet focus, as if he were trying to burn them into his memory.

The world seemed to stay still just for the two of you. But it only lasted for just a moment.

“I’m so sorry,” Gojo mutters, a strong hand flying to the back of your neck tugging you towards him for a searing kiss. The instant his lips crash against yours, he lets out a soft whimper, as though the very act consumes him. Despite the passage of time, your body responds instinctively, like it was always meant to be this way.

It felt like the only thing that mattered was the fact that he was right in front of you, your fast beating hearts making contact with the way he had your chest pressed to his. All while pushing you against his body, Gojo allows his hand to trail down your back, revisiting every valley that he had once memorized.

“Mph,” your traitorous hands find their way into his head of white hair. He smiles into the kiss upon hearing his name leave your mouth.

“Yes?” He leaves a wet kiss at the base of your throat, bending down to continue his frenzy.

“This isn’t right,” the words came out of your mouth in a whisper, as if you almost didn’t believe them yourself.

“You’re wrong.” He inhales deeply, attaching his mouth onto your collarbone, ”I was made solely for this.” A small whine leaves his mouth when you hesitantly try to push him off. He uses his innate strength to fight your attempts.

“May I ask something of you?”

A kiss was placed on your jawline. Another on the base of your throat.

“Anything,” he breathes.

“Do you..” Your voice falters. “Do you love her?” Like you loved me?

The trail of kisses come to a complete stop. For a second you fear you may have overstepped. The emperor’s silence was palpable. The only sound that filled your ears was the harsh thuds of your own heart.

“[Name]...” he slowly stands up to tower over you with his height. The distant look in his eyes forms a pit in your stomach.

“Answer me,” you whisper, the pit deepening.

“I am just a man,” he reasons. Your heart drops at his answer.

“You could not even take an oath of monogamy,” you spit. “You are nothing but a weak man.”

His eyes shoot up from their trance frantically. You fear that the lust he had been tempted with had worn off, and now you were left with nothing but wrath.

“I understand that I was nothing but a spoil of war, but you could have done me one last favor by allowing me to leave on my own accord. You did not have to cast me away,” your vision starts to waver with the tears that puddle in your eyes. “If I knew your heart had yearned for another I would have left.”

The set of blue eyes that stare at you are no longer the lively shade that you had grown to love. They have been replaced by an uncertain stormy grey. It was almost laughable. A man, so big, who had the world in the palm of his hand looked so small.

A cruel part in you enjoyed seeing the turmoil in his eyes after the events that had transpired.

“Had I known the tribulations I put you through, perhaps I would have put a second thought before choosing you.” Gojo exhales, pinching in between his eyebrows. “But I must assure you that you weren’t the only one suffering.” And for a moment you think you see lightning strike in those stormy irises of his.

Your eyes widen at his confession.

He lets out a deep sigh, “The head maid will be here any minute. I bid you farewell. I pray that with our next interaction, your heart learns to soften.”

Ever for dramatics, Gojo leaves before you can get the last word.

—

True to his word, the head maid soon comes to assign your duties. You’re not surprised at your new set of responsibilities: tending to the emperor’s garden, sweeping the floors to his chambers, and overseeing his meal preparations.

It is nothing out of your skill set, and you’re more than willing to accept your predicament rather than being burned alive for offending the emperor on numerous accounts. You suppose even Gojo was kind enough to spare you from that cruel fate. It almost softens your heart enough to decide to forgive him of his transgressions. Almost.

Your thoughts are interrupted by a loud clang of a pot. When you turn your head towards the direction of the sound, you’re met with the head maid’s stern gaze. Her eyes narrowed on the wooden spoon you had been mixing in the broth.

Ah. She wanted you to perform the mandatory poison test before serving the food to the emperor.

However, just as you bring the spoon to your lips, it is violently swatted from your hand, clattering to the floor. Your eyes sadly linger on the spilled broth before snapping to the culprit, your gaze filled with disbelief.

"There were strict orders to ensure that the task did not fall to you," the head maid, Ogami, declared sharply. The elderly woman, with silver hair neatly tied in a tight bun and skin etched with the marks of years spent in service, raised a wrinkled finger in your direction.

You blink, taken aback by her sudden reprimand, the sharpness in her gaze leaving you momentarily frozen. It didn’t make sense—there had been no mention of any such orders, no one had informed you of any changes. You open your mouth to speak, but the words catch in your throat, swallowed by the weight of her unyielding stare.

How strange.

Days pass by like a blur, your routine falling into place. When dawn arrives, you’re up to prepare the emperor’s garments for the day. Your mid-mornings grow even busier as the palace comes alive with activity. Whether mending torn hems or ensuring the ceremonial robes are free of imperfection, you move like a ghost through the corridors with hopes of going unnoticed. The emperor’s unusual antics, however, make it nearly impossible to slip by unnoticed. He seems to have a knack for drawing your attention. His antics often begin at ungodly hours, long before the sun graces the horizon, as he attempts to coax you into sharing the first meal of the day with him. You decline each time, yet his persistence never wavers, a boyish grin always accompanying his invitations. By the time the sun reaches its zenith, Gojo finally departs to attend to his imperial duties. It’s only then, in the quiet lull of his absence, that you find the chance to make real progress with your work.

“To say I am relieved because of your presence would be an understatement, [Name].” Nanami and you overlook the palace’s main courtyard.

You smile, hands filled with silks that needed washing, “I could say the same.” The emperor’s outrageous requests were driving you mad. Your mind flashes to earlier that week when he had insisted on hand feeding you honey! You wonder how he survived without a personal servant before you took the position.

“His Majesty is as eccentric as ever, I assume.” Nanami’s eyes crinkle.

You laugh, “You know him too well!”

“I didn’t have much choice,” he shakes his head, smile ghosting his lips. “We’ve known eachother since our youth.”

You perk up at the news, your curiosity piqued. The confusion must have been written all over your face, prompting Nanami to offer a quick clarification.

“It was brief, our time at the academy. But we were both under the instruction of Yaga,” he elaborates. Huh. What a small world, you think as Nanami paints an unexpected connection.

“I am struggling to imagine you and him studying under the ever serious Yaga,” you giggle.

“I was in the year below him. It was Lord Geto and Shoko who were first hand witnesses to his nature.” Nanami tells you.

You nearly dropped all of the emperor’s clothes, “Shoko?” The revelation that your own friend was acquainted with the emperor stopped you dead in your tracks. Had she known him personally all along? If so, she made no effort to reveal it. Instead, she appeared almost disgusted by him, though you had chalked it up to her disdain for the new ruling dynasty rather than a personal vendetta against the man himself.

“I am aware you were well acquainted with her in your time in the Outer Palace, no?” “Yes, but–” you pause, before eyes snapping back to Nanami. “How did you know?”

Nanami blinks, momentarily caught off guard. His eyes widen a fraction, and he opens his mouth as if to explain, but then falters, his words stumbling.

Before he can say anything, a soft, familiar voice drifts from behind you.

“[Name]!” A servant of Lady Himiko calls urgently, her voice laced with a sense of urgency. You turn to face her.

“Yes?”

“The emperor requests your presence in the ceremonial hall. He says it is of great importance and that you must make haste!” The girl exclaims, grabbing your only free arm and tugging you toward the hall.

You glance back at Nanami, your eyes silently promising him that this conversation is far from over. He gives a small nod, acknowledging your unspoken words as he bids you farewell.

“Ah, may I ask what the emperor requires of me?” you ask, trying to maintain some control over the situation.

“You’ll see,” she replies, her tone clipped. Without sparing you a glance, she pulls you forward with determination, clearly focused on her task.

Like a lamb heading toward slaughter, you find yourself helplessly being dragged through the grand doors of the ceremonial hall, your thoughts swirling with questions you can’t yet answer.

The expansive room was eerily empty, a stark contrast to its usual grandeur. The sunlight poured through the tall windows, casting long beams of light that danced across the polished floors, illuminating the intricate tapestries and the grand pillars that lined the hall. But your gaze soon shifted, focusing on the emperor’s seat at the very end of the room.

You had expected the usual scene: Gojo slouched in his throne-like chair, whiny and complaining about the mountain of paperwork he despised. But what greeted you instead was something far more unexpected.

A figure stood poised at the head of the room, commanding the space with an elegance that was undeniable. Anyone familiar with the court could recognize her signature choice of kimono—the rich plum silk embroidered with intricate gold patterns, delicate yet striking. Her hair, black as midnight and flowing like a river of silk, cascaded down her back in perfect waves, a stark contrast to her porcelain-like complexion.

It was Lady Himiko. Her beauty was legendary, whispered about among women across the nation, often compared to a living work of art. The rumors of her grace and poise weren’t exaggerated. Standing there, surrounded by her ladies-in-waiting, who remained perfectly still and attentive at her side.

Her eyes met yours, and for a brief moment, your breath was stolen. The stillness of the room was palpable, and you couldn’t help but wonder why she was here, in the emperor’s seat, with not a whisper of Gojo in sight.

“Ah, just the one I was looking for!” her eyes light up when she sees her servant return with you in her hand. The gleam in her eyes fill you with unease.

“Lady Himiko, it is an honor,” you bow.

“There’s no need for that! Please, stand.” She waves her slender fingers at you, or so it seems, but at her silent command, her ladies-in-waiting begin to move toward you.

You take a step back, instinctively using the emperor’s garments, still damp from your earlier washing, as a shield against their sudden movements. The soft rustling of fabric is almost deafening in the silence that follows.

Lady Himiko’s eyes narrow at the motion, her sharp gaze flicking to the garments you hold between you and her. A faint, almost imperceptible smile plays at the corners of her lips, but it does nothing to ease the tension thickening in the air.

“I understand the unspoken animosity between us,” she says, her voice smooth, but there's an edge to it that sets your nerves on edge. “I pray you will accept my humble apology.” She clasps her hands together, but her eyes remain calculating, never leaving yours.

Her words hang in the air, heavy with implication. “I had not expected the emperor to kindle such… passion for me so suddenly. It was neither of our intentions that fateful night we reunited after the days of our youth.” She shakes her head softly, laughing nervously. "How rude of me, I doubt you of all would want to hear about Satoru and I."

Your breath hitches, caught between surprise and a tightening knot of discomfort in your chest. The weight of her words presses down on you, and you struggle to maintain composure.

“I do apologize for bringing you here on such deceptive terms, but I had to get your attention somehow,” she continues. “As one who has been a former concubine, I wanted your counsel on how I should navigate this delicate matter.” If you didn’t know any better, you would say she was mocking you. But you knew Himiko wasn’t one you wanted to offend, so you bite your tongue.

Instead, you nod, steeling yourself against the discomfort crawling up your spine. “What is it that you need from me?” you ask, your voice betraying none of the wariness you feel.

Himiko’s ladies-in-waiting close in around you swiftly, subtly guiding your every step toward the emperor’s stand. The grand hall feels even larger as you’re led deeper into its heart, each step reverberating through the space.

At the end of the room stands Himiko, watching you approach with a distant gaze. The soft glow from the nearby windows catches on the polished surface of the wooden desk before her, where inkstones, brushes, and stacks of paper lie in disarray.

You pause, your gaze falling upon the desk, and that’s when you notice the manuscript she’s pointing to. Her perfectly filed nails trace the edges of the paper with deliberate slowness. Though you cannot read the characters from this distance, the emblems that adorn the papers are unmistakable. They belong to some of the most powerful clans in the empire, each one a mark of authority and influence.

As your eyes skim across the paper Himiko’s hand rests on, the characters seem to leap off the page in a rush of realization. It’s a proposal– one written by the notorious Zenin clan. You can almost feel the air grow heavy as you piece it together. The words speak of demands for more autonomy—an increase in their power, more control over the lands they already possess. And you know, instinctively, that if this were to pass, everything Gojo has fought for, everything he’s struggled to protect, would crumble into dust. His fight against the rigid clan-based hierarchy would be for naught.

For a moment, your mind reels. This is no mere conversation or request for guidance. This is a game of power, one where you’re being used as a pawn. Her eyes lock with yours, and the air between you thickens with unspoken understanding. She must’ve taken you for a mere tool to execute her own plans.

But you’re no fool, and that realization comes like a slap to the face. You straighten your posture, eyes hardening as the weight of the situation settles in.

“These seals...” Your voice falters as you stare at the emblems, your hand hovering over the manuscript as though touching it might implicate you further. The weight of the realization crashes down on you like a cold wave. You look up at Himiko, bewildered, your heart pounding in your chest. Meddling with state affairs, let alone tampering with the emperor’s documents was a crime punishable by death.

“Does the emperor know about this?” you demand, your voice trembling with a mix of fear and indignation. “This—this could be considered treason!”

“Careful with your words,” she says softly, her tone calm. “It is not treason when it is for the betterment of the empire.”

Your mouth opens as if to respond, but no sound escapes.

“The emperor has always held you in high regard,” Himiko says with a wistful sigh, her eyes narrowing on your figure. “I’ve no doubt he would find it impossible to refuse any command spoken by you.”

Her cryptic words linger in the air, their implications sinking into you. You’re left reeling, unsure of whether her remark is meant as flattery or a thinly veiled mockery of your banishment.

She scoffs, her delicate façade cracking as her tone turns venomous. “The emperor may not know, but I see right through you. Seducing him to claim yourself as some spoil of war and twisting his mind to lead our nation to ruin—it’s sickening. Truly, a shame the assassination attempt failed.” Her words lash out like a whip, her civil mask shattering entirely.

You gasp, her implications cutting deep even as your heart hardens against the venom. Had she known–?

“Perhaps that is what the entire Court believes of me,” you manage, your voice trembling yet steady enough to carry your conviction. Months of whispered rumors and vicious gossip had thickened your skin, and you refused to crumble under her scrutiny. “But I will not allow you to sully the emperor’s reputation.”

As much as you detested Gojo, your disdain for the corrupt elders burned hotter. They had plotted your downfall, attempted to take your life, and now sought to undermine everything Gojo was fighting to build. You could not allow them to gain any more power in the Court than they already held.

Himiko’s lips curl into a cold, triumphant smile as she picks up an inkstone and brush from the emperor’s desk. “As his Honored Consort and future Empress I command you to hold this for me while I pave the way for a greater future.” Her words are laced with mockery as she extends the inkstone toward you.

You recoil instinctively, shaking your head. “No. I refuse—” Your rejection is firm, your voice sharper than you expected, as you pull away, clutching the emperor’s garments protectively against your chest.

The next few moments unravel in slow motion, as though fate itself had decided to humiliate you. Himiko’s gasp pierces the air as your sudden movement causes the inkstone to slip, spilling its dark, viscous contents over her elaborate kimono. The silk, undoubtedly crafted from the finest threads in Japan, drinks in the stain, the deep black spreading like a wound across the fabric.

“My lady!” Her servants rush to her side, their collective cries of alarm startle you. They push you aside as they fuss over her, their movements frantic as they attempt to salvage her now-ruined garment.

You stumble back, staring in disbelief at the disaster you’d unwittingly caused. “I—I am truly sorry—” you begin, but your words falter under the weight of the situation.

“What is going on here?”

The booming voice echoes through the hall like thunder, freezing everyone in place. You whip your head toward the source, your pulse quickening as your eyes land on the figure now standing in the doorway. The emperor himself, Gojo, commands the room with his presence, his expression a mixture of confusion and rising fury as he takes in the scene before him. By his side stands the owner of the voice, an elder, with an expression carved with barely restrained anger piercing through you.

Himiko lets out a sharp cry, her voice trembling with a convincing mix of distress and indignation. Gojo reacts instantly, rushing by her side, his features hardening with concern.

“I found her forging His Majesty’s signature,” Himiko exclaims, her voice wavering just enough to sound genuine. “When I tried to intervene, she lashed out and attacked me.” She trembles as she buries her head against the emperor’s chest.

It hits you—the full realization of her calculated scheme. This was her plan all along.

“I-I didn’t!” you stammer, your voice raw with desperation. “That wasn’t what happened at all– she was the one tampering with imperial documents. I tried to stop her!”

Gojo’s piercing blue eyes snap to yours, cutting off your explanation. His gaze, once warm and teasing, now burns with unrestrained fury. The bile rises in your throat as you see it. Anger, disdain, and worst of all, disbelief.

“Himiko,” he murmurs, his arms tightening protectively around her trembling form. Her soft sniffling only adds to the spectacle.

“To be caught tampering with imperial records is one thing,” Gojo finally says, his voice icy and cutting, “but to stoop so low as to accuse Lady Himiko? Was this an act out of jealousy? Spite? How pathetic. This is beneath even you, [Name].”

You feel your knees weaken, the tears you’ve fought to hold back beginning to pool in your eyes. “Please, you have to believe me,” you whisper, your voice cracking under the weight of his words.

His expression darkens further, the light in his sky-blue eyes replaced by thunderclouds. “Why would I believe you?” he sneers, his tone laced with contempt.

A single tear escapes down your cheek, followed by another, and then another, until you can no longer stop them. The dam of your resolve breaks, shattered by his cruel dismissal.

“Why?” Your voice trembles, breaking as the tears come freely now. “Why don’t you believe me?”

Gojo’s lips curl into a bitter smile. “Don’t make me laugh,” he says coldly. “How could I ever believe in one as base as you?”

His words cut deeper than any blade, piercing through the walls you’d built to protect yourself. You’d convinced yourself you were immune to his indifference, but the searing pain in your chest proves otherwise.

“Leave,” he commands, his voice sharp and final. “Do not look back. Your very presence stirs nothing but disdain within me.”

You stagger back, his words striking harder than any physical blow. He might as well have drawn his sword and ended it here. The infamous tales you had heard about Gojo were once glorious images that were painted of your beloved. You had never thought you would be on the other end of his blade.

Without a word, you turn and run, your vision blurred with tears. The emperor’s garments slip from your hands, forgotten in your haste to escape the suffocating anguish. You don’t look back, even as the echoes of his disgust chase you out of the hall.

If there was one undeniable truth that Geto Suguru knew, it was that his best friend, Gojo Satoru could be an utter fool. Perhaps it was the inevitable result of a youth stolen too soon, replaced by the crushing weight of an empire resting on his shoulders. The brilliance that made Gojo a formidable emperor rendered him hopelessly inept when it came to navigating the labyrinth of his own emotions.

And as his closest confidant, bound by loyalty and friendship, Geto Suguru couldn’t help but feel the urge to shake some sense into him—to force him to confront what he stubbornly refused to see.

That is why, when your trembling form hurries across the courtyard, tears streaming down your face, Geto Suguru can’t help but halt you in your steps.

“I’m leaving.” you declare, your voice raw, your eyes red and swollen. The words, so resolute despite your trembling tone, catch him off guard.

“What?” he asks, his brows knitting together in confusion.

“My favor,” you say firmly, though your voice wavers. “I want to leave this place.”

For a moment, Geto says nothing, his sharp mind scrambling to process the abruptness of your request. Then he shakes his head, his expression softening. “You know I can’t do that.”

Your incredulous gaze snaps up to meet him. “So you lied to me?”

“No, not at all,” he says quickly, holding up his hands. “I meant—I can grant you time off. But as someone under the emperor’s direct supervision, I can’t allow you to leave permanently. What I can do is give you one lunar cycle away from court.”

You hesitate, weighing his offer before giving a sharp nod. “I’ll take it. Just let me leave,” you reply, sniffling.

Geto watches you for a moment longer, his chest tightening at the sight of your despair. “I’ll make the arrangements right away,” he says gently. “I’m sorry we seem to meet only under such terrible circumstances.”

“I’m sorry too,” you murmur, your tone hollow.

He hesitates, searching for the right words to offer some semblance of comfort. “Whatever he did, I’m sure—”

“I don’t care,” you cut him off, your voice colder now. “He made his disgust for me perfectly clear.” You march past him, your steps resolute despite the trembling in your shoulders. “Thank you for understanding, though I must beg you to keep this between us. Who knows what might happen to either of us if he finds out.”

Geto exhales slowly, his composure steady but his mind racing. Just what, exactly, had his best friend done this time? Gojo’s antics always seemed to leave Geto cleaning up the aftermath, but this—this was something else entirely.

Just as he promised, there is a carriage waiting for you outside of the servants’ quarters. With heavy bags in hand and an even heavier heart, you make your way toward it, each step weighted with reluctant resolve. The irony of the moment doesn’t escape you, a sense of déjà vu washing over you, as though life had played this scene out countless times before.

You turn sharply, your bleary eyes meeting the calm, hazel gaze of someone you hadn’t expected to see.

“Nanami?” you breathe, disbelief coloring your tone.

He inclines his head in a polite nod. “Forgive the intrusion, but I insist on accompanying you,” he says, his voice as composed as ever. “The roads beyond the palace can be dangerous, especially for someone traveling alone.”

For a moment, you simply stare, caught between gratitude and confusion. The warmth in your chest battles against the ache that lingers from your earlier ordeal. “And what of the emperor?” you ask, forcing a faint smile. “Would he not throw a fit in your absence?”

Nanami lets out a quiet, mirthless laugh, the sound more bitter than amused. “Perhaps,” he admits, adjusting the luggage in his hands with ease. “But he was never one to share, was he?”

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stylesispunk · 3 months ago

Text

'The soldier in the armour' | part i

Marcus Acacius x f!reader

next part

summary: Lucilla arranged a wedding between you and General Acacius to protect you from Emperor Geta. Acacius doesn't love you but he has swore to protect you.

w.c: 12k>

warnings: power imbalance, age gap, arranged marriage, creep man, suicide attempt, smut, fluff, and angst.

a/n: this is a mix of two requests! I lost one of the requests in my asks so if you see it, please feel free to yell at me haha there is it! 😭 I wanted to say sorry for taking so long on this, but I made the choice to mix both because I didn't have the time to write separately and I didn't want to make you wait anymore, don't hate me, please.

| dividers by @/saradika-graphics |

There were blurry reminiscent of the life you once had. It wasn’t very different from the one you had now, but it wasn’t the same either.

The empire seemed at peace back in the day, the sun caressed your skin with the tenderness of a loving mother touch, but now it burnt your skin as if you had been set in a fire.

You remembered your grandfather death.

You recalled your uncle’s death in the arena.

Maximus death, and with him the dream of Rome died, swapping the peace of the empire away.

You recalled a brother. He was your twin, and you remembered loving him.

Lucius.

Your mother had sent him away under sacred protection, with Comodous’s death, he was the next emperor in line.

But you had stay here. After all you were a woman and your blood didn’t have the value running through your veins.

You had been forced to live with the faded memories of Lucius's blue eyes, those that mirrored your own somehow, the ones that used to gleam with the particular mischief of a kid. Now, they haunted your dreams like ghosts, a reminder of the bond torn apart by politics and promises of protection.

Each day in the palace felt like a gilded cage rusted by the passage of time, where the air was thick with deceit, and every word spoken seemed laced with hidden agendas. Emperor Geta’s obsession with you had made life unbearable. His attention was suffocating, his gaze lingering too long, his presence a constant reminder of your vulnerability as a woman in the imperial court.

Under his and his brother rules.

And when your mother and the council proposed your marriage to General Acacius, you had resisted. Marriage was meant to be a union of love, not a transaction of protection. That what you were told by her when you were a kid. Yet, as Geta’s obsession grew more unhinged, and whispers of his plans to claim you as his own wife reached your ears, you knew there was no choice.

Lucilla braided your hair, the same way she had been doing it since you were a kid. Her touch was gentle, but her face displayed her worry. Her lips pressed into a thin line, and the occasional quiver in her fingers spoke of the weight they carried on her hands, not just as your mother but as a woman who had maneuvered through the treacherous politics of the empire her entire life.

"My sweet girl," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper as she tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "I know this is not the life you would have chosen. If I could take your pain and bear it myself, I would."

You turned to look at her, meeting her gaze through the reflection in the mirror. Her eyes, though still fierce, carried a shadow of regret that seemed etched into her very soul. For a moment, you weren’t the daughter of a woman which fate as empress, had been stolen, you were just a child looking for comfort in your mother’s arms.

"But you can’t," you said, your voice trembling as you tried to hold back the emotions threatening to spill over. "You sent Lucius away, and you kept me here. You say it’s for my protection, but sometimes it feels like I’ve been sacrificed for a safety it’s not real.”

Lucilla’s hands paused in your hair. Her reflection in the mirror faltered, the weight of your words cutting deep. "I sent Lucius away because he was a target," she said, her voice breaking slightly. "I thought once he was older enough, one day he would reclaim what is rightfully his. But you... I couldn’t send you away, too. I couldn’t lose both of you."

"Instead, you bound me to this place," you said, unable to stop the bitterness in your tone. "To a life I didn’t choose, to a marriage that will feel like another cage."

Lucilla moved to face you, her hands resting on your shoulders. "Acacius is a good man," she said firmly. "He may not have been the man of your dreams, but he is a man who will protect you. And I swear to you, I chose him because I saw something in him. Something that told me he would be more than just a shield for you”

Her words hung heavy in the air, and you didn’t respond. Deep down, you knew she believed she was doing the right thing, but it didn’t make the ache in your chest any less sharp.

“I wish I was dead” you whispered to yourself only.

The wedding day arrived cloaked in grandeur, yet it felt suffocatingly hollow. The palace was adorned with gold and crimson, every corner lit by the soft glow of countless lamps. Musicians played melodies meant to celebrate unity, but their music tortured your aching heart. Guests gathered in their finery; faces painted with polite smiles masking their true thoughts. You stood at the heart of it all, draped in a gown of ivory silk embroidered with golden threads, a symbol of wealth and duty, not love.

As you walked towards Acacius, flanked by your mother, the room blurred, as if it wasn’t truly real. The man awaiting you at the altar stood tall and composed, his features carved from stone. Acacius wore a ceremonial armor, the white and gold catching the light, but his expression was unreadable. His eyes met yours, steady and unyielding, and for a fleeting moment, you wondered what he truly thought of all this.

The vows were spoken. His voice was deep, calm, and detached. When he slipped the ring onto your finger, his touch was light, almost hesitant. There was no tenderness, no sign of warmth. Only duty. The ceremony ended with applause that echoed in the vast chamber, but the sound felt distant. You were bound now, not by love, but by necessity.

Emperor Geta would stop his courting towards you.

Later that evening, you found yourself alone with him in your new chambers. The fire crackled softly, casting flickering shadows across the walls. You sat at the edge of the bed, your hands folded tightly in your lap, while Acacius stood near the window, his back to you. He seemed restless, as if the weight of his armor had been replaced by the burden of this union.

"You don’t have to speak to me if you don’t wish to," you said quietly, breaking the silence. Your voice was steadier than you expected, though your heart raced. "I know this wasn’t your choice any more than it was mine."

He turned then, his gaze settling on you. For a moment, his cold exterior softened, though only slightly. "It wasn’t," he admitted, his tone measured, as if he were weighing every word. "But it was necessary. Your mother asked me."

His honesty stung, even if it wasn’t unexpected. You nodded, unable to meet his eyes. "My mother,” you echoed, her title feeling heavy in your mouth.

Acacius sighed and ran a hand through his hair, the movement breaking his usual composed demeanor. "This isn’t what I imagined for my life either," he said, his voice quieter now. "But I’ve sworn to protect you, and I will. Even if this arrangement feels..." He paused, searching for the right word. "Unnatural."

"Unnatural," you repeated with a bitter smile. "What a lovely way to describe a marriage."

His jaw tightened at your sarcasm, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he crossed the room, stopping a few steps away from you. His presence was imposing, yet his movements were deliberate, careful, as if he were afraid of overwhelming you.

"I will do my duty," he said finally, his voice firm but not unkind. "And I will honor you as my wife. But I can’t pretend to feel something that isn’t there.”

His words were a knife, cutting through the fragile hope you hadn’t even realized you’d been clinging to. You swallowed hard and nodded, keeping your gaze fixed on your hands.

"If you need anything, you only have to ask. I’ll be in my chambers." he said. And then he was gone, leaving you alone in the vast, empty room.

That night, you lay awake, staring at the ceiling, the weight of your new reality pressing down on you. Acacius’s words echoed in your mind, and though they weren’t cruel, they felt colder than any rejection. You couldn’t blame him, not really. But that didn’t make it hurt any less.

You wished you could close your eyes and be anywhere else. In the gardens with your brother, in the safety of Lucius’s protection, or even in the quiet stillness of a life unbound by imperial chains. But instead, you were here, in this gilded cage, with a husband who was as much a stranger as the walls around you.

The following days were a blur of formality and silence. Acacius remained distant but civil, his actions guided more by duty than emotion. He escorted you through the palace when required, his hand resting lightly on your arm but never lingering. At meals, he was polite, engaging in conversations when prompted but offering little more than what was necessary. You were a pair in appearance, but the gulf between you was undeniable.

Lucilla watched it all silently. She offered no commentary, but her concerned glances betrayed her thoughts. Her belief that Acacius was the right choice remained unwavering, yet even she couldn’t deny the strain in your union.

One evening, after the day’s obligations had ended, you returned to your chambers to find Acacius standing by the window. He was in his tunic, having removed the heavy armor that seemed to weigh him down as much as the marriage itself. His posture was stiff, his shoulders tense as he gazed out into the fading light of dusk.

“Do you regret this?” you asked softly, breaking the silence. The question had been clawing at you for days, and you couldn’t keep it bottled up any longer.

Acacius turned to you; his expression unreadable. “Regret isn’t the right word,” he said after a pause. “This wasn’t what I wanted, but it’s the path I’ve chosen. I will honor it.”

You crossed the room, stopping a few paces from him. “You speak of honor as if it’s enough to make this work,” you said, your voice trembling slightly. “But what about us? Are we just to coexist in silence, fulfilling obligations without ever truly living?”

His brow furrowed, and for a moment, his cold demeanor cracked. “Do you think this is easy for me?” he asked, his tone sharper than you expected. “I didn’t ask for this any more than you did. But I’m trying. I’m doing everything I can to give you the life you deserve.”

“The life I deserve?” you echoed, anger bubbling to the surface. “I deserve a life where I’m not a pawn, where my choices matter. I deserve a marriage built on something more than duty.”

Acacius looked away, his jaw tightening. “And yet, here we are,” he said quietly. “Bound by something neither of us chose.”

Silence hung between you, heavy and suffocating. You turned away, wrapping your arms around yourself as you tried to hold back the tears threatening to spill. “I didn’t ask for this,” you whispered, more to yourself than to him.

“I know,” Acacius said, his voice softening. You felt his presence behind you, and a moment later, his hand rested lightly on your shoulder. “I can’t change what brought us here, but I can promise you this; I will protect you. Always.”

“Why do you don’t like me as a person?” you asked, unable to meet his gaze

Acacius’s hand froze on your shoulder, and for a moment, he didn’t respond. The weight of your words hung in the air; unspoken questions laced with vulnerability. Slowly, you turned to face him, your arms still wrapped around yourself as if shielding your heart from the answer you feared.

“Why don’t you like me as a person?” you repeated, your voice trembling. “Is it because you didn’t choose this? Because I’m nothing more than an obligation to you?”

Acacius’s jaw tightened, his eyes searching yours as if debating whether to speak the truth or spare you further pain. Finally, he exhaled deeply, stepping back to create some space between you. His hand fell to his side, the warmth of his touch fading.

“It’s not that I don’t like you,” he began, his voice low and measured, as if choosing his words with care. “You’re intelligent, strong-willed, and far braver than anyone gives you credit for. But... this isn’t about you. It never was.”

Your stomach twisted, the pit forming at his words. “What do you mean?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He turned away, running a hand through his dark hair as he stared out of the window. “Your mother,” he said finally, the words falling like stones. “I... I loved her.”

The breath caught in your throat, your chest tightening as if the room had suddenly closed in on you. “What?” you managed to choke out, disbelief coloring your tone.

Acacius turned back to you, his expression a mixture of regret and resignation. “Lucilla. I loved her long before any of this. Long before Commodus fell, before your world became this mess of alliances and power struggles. But she...” He hesitated, his gaze softening.

“Asked you to marry her daughter because of Geta’s courtesy” you ended his sentence. You felt disgusted by his confession and guilty for destroying the chances of your mother and Lucilla of being happy together.

Acacius's eyes widened slightly at your words, but he didn’t deny them. Instead, he looked at you with a mixture of shame and helplessness, as though he carried the weight of his choices like chains he could never cast off. “It was more than just Geta,” he said quietly. “Lucilla believed—she hoped—that this union would keep you safe from him. And I thought... I thought I could do that for her.”

You stepped back, your heart pounding. The walls of the room seemed to close in, suffocating you under the weight of his confession. “And in doing so, you destroyed any chance you both might have had for happiness,” you said, your voice trembling. “Because of you, she sacrificed everything—for what? To tie me to a man who doesn’t even want me.”

“Hey,” Acacius said quickly, stepping closer, but you held up a hand, stopping him in his tracks.

“Don’t,” you said, your voice breaking. “Don’t try to justify it. You will never love me, and now I know why. Because all you see in me is her shadow.”

“No.” His voice was firm now, his eyes blazing with an intensity that startled you. “You’re wrong. I never wanted this to be about her, and I never wanted you to think I see you as anything less than who you are. But I can’t bury my feelings, and I can’t undo the choices we made.”

Your stomach churned with anger, disgust and despair. “Do you even realize what you’ve done?” you demanded. “You’ve tied me to a life I never wanted, a life where I’ll always wonder if I was just a piece in someone else’s plan. I’m always trapped in the middle of something.”

The tears you had been holding back finally broke free, spilling down your cheeks as sobs wracked your body. The weight of Acacius’s confession, of everything you had endured, crushed you, and the walls of the room seemed to close in around you.

“I can’t do this,” you said, your voice trembling, thick with emotion. “I can’t stay here.”

“Please,” Acacius began, his tone urgent as he stepped toward you, his hand outstretched. But you recoiled, shaking your head fiercely.

“Don’t!” you cried, your voice cracking. “Don’t come near me! Don’t tell me it’s going to be okay when nothing ever is. You’re just another person who’s used me, another person who doesn’t see me.”

The rawness of your words hung in the air, and for a moment, Acacius froze, his face etched with a mixture of pain and helplessness. But you couldn’t bear to look at him any longer. The walls of the room blurred as your tears continued to fall, and you turned abruptly, your feet moving before your mind could catch up.

You fled the room, your sobs echoing in the empty corridors as you ran blindly through the villa. Servants and guards turned to look at you, startled by the sight of their lady in such distress, but you ignored them. You needed to get away, away from Acacius, away from the suffocating weight of expectations, away from everything.

Eventually, you found yourself in the gardens, the cool night air biting at your skin. The sky above was scattered with stars, their distant light doing little to ease the turmoil within you. You collapsed onto a stone bench, your arms wrapping around yourself as you cried, the sound of your grief swallowed by the rustling of the trees.

You had tried so hard to find a place in this world, to make peace with the life forced upon you. But tonight, every fragile piece of that illusion had shattered, leaving you adrift in a sea of uncertainty and pain.

As your sobs subsided, a cold breeze swept through the garden, chilling you to the bone. For a brief moment, you thought of Acacius, of the way his eyes had softened when he spoke, of the regret laced in his voice.

But the anger and betrayal still burned too brightly within you to let those thoughts linger.

The cool night air stung your cheeks as you sprinted through the gardens, past the rows of manicured hedges and marble statues. The villa loomed behind you, its walls suffocating even at a distance. Your lungs burned, your heart hammering against your ribs, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t. You didn’t know where you were going—only that it had to be far away from Acacius, from the weight of his confession, from the life you no longer recognized as your own.

Your feet carried you to the outer grounds of the villa, where the shadows grew darker, the torchlight dimmer. The muffled sound of distant voices reached your ears, guards patrolling the perimeter, but you veered away from them, toward the narrow dirt path that led to the forest. The trees ahead beckoned like a sanctuary, their darkness promising solitude.

You barely noticed the snap of a twig behind you until a voice cut through the silence.

Before you could gather your thoughts, you heard soft footsteps approaching once more. Your heart lurched. "Acacius?" you called out tentatively, but when the figure stepped into the moonlight, your breath caught.

It wasn’t Acacius.

It was Geta.

He stood there, his face shadowed yet unmistakably troubled. The smugness on his face was characteristic but still you couldn’t name his expression you couldn’t place what he was feeling, desperation? Anguish? The way his chest rose and fell told you he’d been running, as if chasing you had been his sole purpose.

“Emperor Geta? wha-what are you doing here?” you demanded, your voice shaking, not with fear but with a volatile mixture of emotions you couldn’t quite name.

“I was on my way to pay a visit to our beloved General” he answered, his sinister smile still on his face, "I must admit," he said, stepping closer, his tone dripping with false amusement, "I didn’t expect to find you wandering out here all alone. What would dear Acacius think, hmm? Leaving his precious wife unguarded in the dead of night?"

Your heart pounded harder now, but for an entirely different reason.

Geta took another step toward you, and you fought the urge to recoil. The air between you felt suffocating, charged with a tension that made your skin crawl.

"You’re drunk, emperor" you said sharply, hoping to mask the fear creeping into your voice. "Go back to the palace, Geta.”

But he only laughed, a cold, hollow sound. "Oh, I’m perfectly sober," he said, his eyes narrowing. "And I think it’s time we had a little... talk, you and I.”

“What more could you possibly want from me, Emperor?”

His eyes met yours, and for the first time, they weren’t cold or calculating. They were raw, bare, and filled with an emotion that made your stomach churn.

“You,” he said, the word barely above a whisper.

Your blood froze. “What?”

“I’ve loved you,” he said, his voice trembling. “For as long as I can remember. And I’ve hated myself for it, but I couldn’t stop. Not even when I tried to keep my distance. Not even when I told myself it was wrong.”

The ground seemed to shift beneath your feet. This was a nightmare—a fever dream born of the turmoil of the night. It had to be.

“No,” you said, shaking your head vehemently. “No, you can’t—you don’t mean that.”

“I do,” he said, stepping closer, though he didn’t reach for you. “I’ve tried to bury it; to pretend I could be the dutiful emperor everyone thought I was. But every time I see you, every time I hear your voice...” He broke off, his hands clenching into fists. “It is like I am set on fire.”

“I—” you started, but words failed you.

Geta took another step forward, his desperation palpable. “Do you see now?” he asked, his voice softer but no less intense. “I’ve only ever seen you as mine.”

“Stop,” you said, your voice trembling as you raised a hand to keep him at bay. “Just stop. Whatever you think this is, whatever you feel—it’s wrong.”

He froze at your words, his face twisting with a mixture of pain and defiance. “Wrong?” he repeated, his voice cracking. “How can it be wrong when it’s the only thing I’ve ever been certain of?”

“Because I don’t feel the same!” you shouted, your tears spilling over now. “I will never feel the same. I’m married.”

Geta flinched at your words as though you’d struck him. His face, already a storm of emotions, darkened further. “Married,” he spat, his voice low and bitter. “To a man who will never truly see you. A man who cannot love you the way I do.”

Your chest tightened as anger began to bubble within you, momentarily overpowering the fear and confusion. “Love?” you repeated, your voice trembling. “This isn’t love, Geta. Whatever you think this is, it’s twisted. You’ve turned me into some...some object to claim, a possession to own!”

His jaw clenched, and his hands balled into fists at his sides. “I have done nothing but love you,” he said through gritted teeth. “When no one else cared about your happiness, when they made you a pawn in their schemes, I thought of you. Always.”

“Then why didn’t you stop it?” you demanded, stepping forward despite yourself. “Why didn’t you, with all your power, say something? Do something? If you loved me so much, why didn’t you fight for me?”

Geta’s gaze faltered for the briefest moment, a crack in his otherwise unyielding façade. “Because I couldn’t,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “Because to love you openly would have been to destroy you. You think I don’t know how they look at me? How they whisper? They already call me unfit to rule, unstable. If they knew how I felt, they would have turned their wrath on you.”

“That’s not love,” you said, shaking your head, your voice breaking. “Love doesn’t hide in shadows. It doesn’t tear someone apart from the inside. It doesn’t...” You trailed off, pressing a trembling hand to your mouth as sobs threatened to escape. “It doesn’t feel like this.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence was deafening, broken only by the distant rustle of leaves in the night wind.

“I didn’t want this,” Geta finally said, his voice almost a whisper. “I never wanted to hurt you. But watching you with him, knowing you’re his...” His voice cracked, and he took a shaky breath. “It’s killing me.”

“I’m not yours,” you said firmly, the words sharper than you intended. “I’ll never be yours.”

Geta’s face hardened at that, the softness of his confession replaced by something colder, more dangerous. “We’ll see,” he said quietly, his tone chilling in its calmness. “The gods have a way of changing fates”

The sound of hooves pounding the earth broke through the tension that had built between you and Geta. The rhythmic thundering grew louder, and you instinctively turned toward the noise, your heart racing in your chest.

Acacius appeared from the shadows, his silhouette cutting through the night as he rode forward, leading a group of horses. His eyes immediately locked on you, and in an instant, his expression shifted—darkening, as though a storm had formed within him. When his gaze flicked to Geta, the atmosphere around them changed.

Geta remained still, but his eyes narrowed. He knew exactly who had arrived. A low tension crackled in the air, like two opposing forces on the verge of collision.

“Emperor Geta,” Acacius said sharply, his voice hard, his stance unwavering. His hand instinctively tightened on the reins of his horse as if it were a weapon, a subtle warning. “It is too late for you to be out in the middle of the night”

For a moment, Geta didn't respond. The intensity of his stare met Acacius’ head-on, the challenge in his eyes unmistakable. But Acacius didn’t flinch. His presence was commanding, and even Geta, in his turmoil, could sense the shift.

You stepped back slightly, the weight of the situation dawning on you. The conflict between these two men was palpable, and it made the ground beneath your feet feel unsteady. Your heart pounded, not just from fear, but from something deeper, more painful. The realization that you were now caught between these two men who seemed to hold pieces of your life in their hands.

Geta’s lips curled slightly in a sardonic smile, though there was an edge to it. “I bet is too late to pay a visit to our beloved general"

Acacius ignored the provocation, his eyes now focused solely on you, his voice softening. “Are you all right?” he asked, though it was laced with an undertone of concern, almost as though he was afraid to hear the answer.

You could feel your chest tighten as Acacius’s eyes met yours, the concern in his voice stirring something deep inside of you, something vulnerable. You wanted to say something, anything to ease the tension, but the words wouldn’t come. Your emotions were a storm, a swirl of anger, fear, and confusion that made it impossible to think clearly.

Before you could respond, Geta’s voice cut through the moment like a knife. “Does he really care, or is this just about keeping control? Do you really think he’s here for you?” He sneered, stepping forward as if trying to push Acacius out of the space between you. “Or is it just the idea of you that he wants to control, the power that comes with your bloodline?”

The truth was beyond the obsession Geta had towards you, there was fear. He was aware your blood belonged to the realm, so you weren’t a lover he wanted to possess but a treat he wanted to eliminate.

You weren’t just a woman who caught his eye; you were the reminder of the power he feared losing. Your existence in the realm, your connection to the throne, made you a target in his mind. His twisted love for you wasn’t love, it was a deep-seated need to control, to erase what he couldn’t possess or manipulate.

Your marriage to the General of Rome put you in a place where you could go back to ruling the empire.

Acacius stood tall, his eyes still fixed on Geta, the tension between them thick enough to choke the air around you. His expression was hard, his jaw clenched with quiet fury, but it was the protective energy that radiated from him that caught your attention. He wasn’t going to let this spiral any further.

"Whatever matter you think needs discussing, Geta," Acacius began, his voice steady but firm, "it can wait until tomorrow. Not tonight. Not in the presence of my wife."

The words were sharp, final. There was a strength in them that sent a clear message, a line that Geta could not cross. Acacius’s gaze never wavered as he took a step forward, a silent challenge to Geta, daring him to try anything more.

You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, torn between relief and dread. Acacius's words were a shield, but they didn’t seem to do anything to quell the storm brewing between the two men.

Geta’s face hardened, the flicker of emotion that had passed through him earlier replaced by a steely resolve. “Your wife, Acacius,” he said, the venom in his tone unmistakable, “is a part of this empire, and the future of it is bound to her. Don’t think for a second you can keep her out of this.”

Acacius’s grip tightened on the reins of his horse, his knuckles white as he kept his stance, unwavering. “I’m not keeping her out of anything,” he said, his voice low but deadly. “But as her husband, I will not let you use her to fuel your delusions of power.”

For a moment, the air seemed to freeze, the threat hanging between them like a sword poised to fall. But Geta, ever the strategist, knew when to back down. He held your gaze for one last moment, his expression unreadable. Then, without another word, he turned away, his posture stiff, and he strode off, leaving the two of you standing there in the quiet aftermath.

You exhaled shakily, feeling a weight lift from your chest, but it didn’t last. The shadows of what had just transpired seemed to cling to you, the fear, the confusion still buzzing in your veins. Acacius’s protection, though fiercely given, couldn’t erase the uncertainty of everything that had just happened.

He turned to you then, his expression softening, though the hard edge from earlier remained in his eyes. “Are you all right?” His voice was gentle now, and the concern in his gaze pulled at your heart in a way you couldn’t explain.

You nodded but soon after you moved your head, everything went completely black.

The world slowly came back into focus, the heavy weight of unconsciousness lifting from your mind like a veil being drawn aside. You blinked, the sharp light of the morning creeping through the windows, and the gentle rustle of sheets beneath you signaled you were no longer outside. You were back inside, in the cool, quiet comfort of your chambers.

Your body felt heavy, as though every muscle had been drained of energy, but the pain from the night before had faded, replaced by a strange weariness that seeped into your bones. You tried to sit up, but a soft voice stopped you before you could move.

“Careful,” Lucilla said, her tone gentle but firm. She was sitting by your bedside, her eyes fixed on you with a mixture of concern and calm reassurance. “You need to rest.”

Your heart raced for a moment, the fragments of the night’s events rushing back to you. Geta’s confrontation, the threat in his voice, and Acacius standing between you, the tension thick enough to choke the air. You could still feel the sharp edge of fear in your chest, but for now, you were safe.

“Mother…” you whispered, your voice hoarse. “What happened? Is… is everything all right?”

Lucilla’s eyes softened, and she reached out to brush a lock of hair from your face, her touch soothing. “You fainted, my lady. After the confrontation with the emperor, you collapsed. Acacius was frantic. He had you brought inside immediately. He’s been by your side all night.”

Her words made your heart flutter, a strange mixture of emotions flooding you. Acacius had been there, waiting, watching over you, just as he always did. But there was something else in the air, something unspoken between you and him that neither of you could ignore.

“He stayed with me?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. The thought of him there, protecting you, made something twist inside your chest.

Lucilla nodded, her expression softening. “Yes. He didn’t leave your side for a moment. He’s worried about you.”

As Lucilla’s words settled into your mind, the door to your chambers creaked open. You barely had time to turn your head before Acacius stepped inside, his figure towering in the doorway. His presence seemed to fill the room, his eyes immediately locking with yours. There was a quiet intensity in his gaze, a depth of emotion you couldn’t quite decipher. For a moment, it felt as though the world outside of your small room had disappeared, leaving just the two of you, caught in the stillness of the moment.

He took a step forward, but it was the way he looked at your mother that made your breath catch in your throat. The same tension you had felt between you and him last night now seemed to make sense. The raw honesty, the confession he had made—the admission of his feelings, the vulnerability in his voice—was clear in that single glance. And in that moment, something inside you recoiled.

You were a burden.

“Acacius…” you whispered, barely able to speak, your mind reeling. You could feel the panic rising inside you, suffocating, as if there was no room to breathe in his presence. Was this what you had been running from all along?

He stepped closer, his voice steady but strained. “You’re awake,” he said quietly, almost as if he was still processing the fact. His eyes softened when they met yours, but there was a flicker of something darker behind them, something you couldn’t place.

“I was worried about you,” he added, his tone still holding a thread of concern, as if your well-being was his sole focus.

You swallowed hard, your mouth dry, and for a moment, you couldn’t find your voice. Lucilla, sensing the weight of the moment, quietly excused herself, leaving you and Acacius alone in the quiet of the room.

As the door clicked shut behind her, the silence between you two seemed to grow heavier, more suffocating. He took another step closer, his gaze never leaving yours, but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet it fully. Every part of you screamed for distance, for space, and yet, he remained close—too close.

“Acacius, I—” you started, but the words caught in your throat. How could you put into words what you were feeling? The confusion, the fear, the overwhelming weight of it all? It wasn’t just about what Geta had done or said; it was about the emotions Acacius had stirred in you, emotions you didn’t know how to deal with.

You wanted to feel loved in a way your skin felt when the sun caresses your face in the midst of a cold winter.

But Acacius could never love you.

The days passed like slow, heavy drops of rain. The storm of emotions that had churned inside of you seemed to settle, but it wasn’t a calm; it was the oppressive stillness before something darker took hold. Acacius remained by your side, always present, but the warmth that once ignited in your chest when you saw him, when you felt his concern, began to dim. His confession, those raw words of love for your mother, left a lingering sting that you couldn’t ignore, no matter how hard you tried.

Each time you saw him, you felt a coldness creeping into your heart, like the chill of winter settling into your bones. It wasn’t that you hated him, far from it, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that something fundamental had broken. You had wanted to feel cherished, wanted in a way that made you feel whole, like the sun warming your skin during the harshest of winters. But instead, you felt like the shadows of something lost were all that remained.

The days blurred together as you drifted through them in a fog. The joy that once accompanied your moments with Acacius, his gaze, his touch, seemed to fade with each passing day. You were still there, still functioning, but you weren’t alive in the way you had once been. You were a shadow of the person who had laughed freely, who had dreamed of a future with the man who had stood beside you through every storm.

Now, his presence only reminded you of what could never be. Every word from him felt weighted, laced with an unspoken truth you couldn’t escape. He was there, yes—but it was Lucilla’s name that seemed to linger in the air between you, a constant reminder of what could never happen.

You stopped meeting his gaze as often, your conversations clipped and polite, but distant. You couldn’t pretend anymore that things were the same. You couldn’t ignore the hollow feeling that had taken root inside you, gnawing at you like a slow, insidious poison.

The days felt endless. The life you had once felt for each moment, for each glance he gave you, slipped away bit by bit. You told yourself you were strong, that you would move on, that you could adapt to the life in front of you. But the spark that once filled your soul, the fire that had kept you going, was slowly being smothered. Each day without clarity, without answers, without that spark, made you more resigned, hollower.

The days blurred into weeks, and life continued its chaotic, inevitable march forward. The grandeur of Rome, its towering structures and ancient streets, became a distant backdrop to the turmoil that had taken root within you. Despite the growing tension surrounding you, your presence at the grand events of the empire remained. There were battles in the Colosseum—events that had once stirred the blood, filled with anticipation and excitement. Now, they were merely noise, the sounds of clashing steel and roars of the crowd unable to penetrate the numbness that had taken hold of your soul.

Geta's obsession with you deepened, his presence more frequent, more invasive. His eyes never seemed to leave you, and every word he spoke, every look, was an attempt to assert control, to draw you into his tangled web of fear and power. But his attempts only felt more suffocating. You were trapped, like an animal in a gilded cage, unable to escape his watchful gaze. He wasn’t interested in you as a woman; you were a symbol to him, something to manipulate, to dominate, to erase the threat you posed to his fragile claim on the empire.

Despite your growing isolation, Acacius remained at your side. His concern for you was evident, though he seemed to be walking on a thin line, careful not to overstep or push you too hard. He knew you were withdrawing, knew that something had shifted between you, but he didn’t know how to reach you. He could see the distance in your eyes, the way you pulled away when he tried to comfort you. And it broke him, though he never spoke of it.

There were feelings he didn’t know he was able to feel, appearing.

The battles at the Colosseum grew more brutal, the spectacle becoming more and more gruesome with each passing day. The roar of the crowd no longer thrilled you. The sight of blood, the cries of victory and death—it all blended into a backdrop of life that felt increasingly distant, like you were watching it all from behind a veil. You were alive, yes—but you weren’t truly living.

One evening, as you sat beside Acacius in the grand hall, your hand in his, you tried to force a smile. You knew he was watching, hoping for some sign that the woman he once knew was still there. The fingers that held yours were strong, steady, but you felt a chill crawl up your spine. His warmth didn’t reach you anymore. His presence, once a comfort, now felt like a reminder of everything you had lost.

"Smile," he whispered, his voice gentle, coaxing. "Just for tonight. For me."

You nodded, a small, strained smile curling at the corner of your lips. But as you smiled, something inside you felt hollow. You knew what he saw—the facade of a woman who was still whole, still alive. But inside, you were dying. The life that once burned brightly in you had been extinguished, snuffed out by the weight of betrayal, fear, and a love that could never be returned. And as you smiled for him, you felt like an actor playing a part—faking a life that wasn’t truly yours anymore.

The crowd cheered as Acacius raised your hand, the symbol of his victory and his loyalty to Rome. But you couldn’t feel the victory. You couldn’t feel the joy. You just felt death. Not the death of your body, but the death of everything you had once been. The woman who dreamed, who hoped, who believed in love and light, was slipping further away with each passing day.

Acacius, for all his strength, could never reach you. You could see the worry in his eyes, the way he would glance at you when he thought you weren’t looking, as if he was searching for something—anything—that would tell him you were still there. But you weren’t. You were a shadow, a flicker of the woman you used to be, trapped in the space between life and death.

As the days stretched on, Geta’s obsession with you grew more dangerous. His presence became a constant reminder of your captivity, the ever-present shadow of his desire to control. He wasn’t content with merely watching anymore. No, now he was making his move, pushing harder, testing boundaries. You could feel the weight of his eyes on you, even when he wasn’t in the room. He was always there, lurking, waiting.

Acacius noticed it too. He saw the way you tensed whenever Geta entered the room, the way your eyes darted nervously, the way your smile faltered. He knew you were becoming a shell of the person you once were. And for the first time, Acacius found himself unsure of how to help you. He had always been your protector, your constant, but now, it felt like he was failing you.

“You don’t have to pretend for me,” he said one night, his voice rough with emotion. He reached for your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I see it. The distance. I see you slipping away from me, and I don’t know how to fix it.”

You wanted to tell him, to let him in, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, you turned your gaze toward the distant horizon, watching the sun set behind the buildings of Rome, casting long shadows across the streets. It was a beautiful sight, but you couldn’t appreciate it. The beauty of the world was lost on you now.

"I’m sorry," you whispered, though the words didn’t feel like enough. They would never be enough.

Acacius squeezed your hand tighter, as if trying to hold onto you, to keep you from slipping away entirely. But you knew, deep down, that it was already too late. You were already gone.

The days continued to stretch on, the weight of your own existence pressing down on you with each breath you took. You moved through life like a specter, haunted by your own thoughts, consumed by the shadow of everything that had transpired. The air around you felt thick, suffocating, and nothing seemed to reach you anymore.

One evening, after yet another long day of feigned smiles and empty conversations, you retreated to your chambers. You had long since stopped caring about the grand appearances, the masks you were expected to wear. In the silence of your room, the darkness that had begun to take root in your heart felt heavier than ever before. It was as though the weight of your despair had become a tangible thing, pulling you under, drowning you from the inside.

You moved toward the bath, the cool marble surface inviting you with its quiet promise of solitude. You sank into the warm water, hoping, if only for a moment, to drown out the noise inside your mind, to forget the suffocating reality that had become your life. The water enveloped you, and for a brief moment, you felt weightless, free—free from everything that bound you, from Geta's obsession, from the looming presence of the empire, and from the love you could never have.

But the peace was fleeting. The thoughts came rushing back, overwhelming and relentless. Acacius’s touch, his words, his confession of love for your mother—it all swirled in your mind like a storm, too much to bear. And in that moment, something inside you snapped. You wanted it all to end. The pain. The confusion. The crushing weight of everything.

As the water rose higher, you slipped under, the coolness surrounding you like an embrace. It was quiet. So quiet. The pressure in your chest intensified, a cold finality settling in. Your body felt heavier, the world fading as you sank deeper into the water. The voices in your head quieted, the darkness enveloping you completely. And for the first time in a long while, you felt... peace.

But fate had other plans.

Just as the darkness threatened to consume you completely, a sudden hand gripped your arm, pulling you from the water with desperate force. The world rushed back in an instant, blinding, harsh, and you gasped for air, coughing, choking as water flooded your lungs.

“No!” a familiar voice cried out, filled with fear. “Don’t you dare do this!”

Your vision swam as Acacius’s strong arms pulled you up, his face a mask of panic and determination. He moved quickly, his hands steady as he worked to lift you from the bath and cradle you against his chest. His voice was shaky, though he tried to hide it.

“Stay with me,” he urged, his voice breaking as he held you close, his hands pressing against your wet skin. “Please. Don’t leave me.”

You were too weak to respond, your body trembling, your mind foggy. But his words—don’t leave me—cut through the haze. They echoed in your ears, but they didn’t make sense. Why would he want you to stay when you were nothing more than a burden, a shadow of what you once were?

“Acacius…” you whispered weakly, your throat raw as you fought to speak. His name felt like the last thread that held you to this world. "Why...?"

His grip tightened on you, his body radiating warmth as he looked down at you, his eyes filled with desperation and anguish.

“Because I want to love you,” he said, his voice shaking but steady with resolve. “I’ve always wanted to love you. You don’t have to carry all of this alone. I don’t care about the empire, about the danger, or the expectations of the world. I care about you. I want to be there for you—to love you.”

His words hung in the air like an echo, reverberating through the silence that had settled between you. You wanted to believe him. You wanted to reach for that spark of hope, the promise of love he was offering, but the weight of everything you had been through, everything you had lost, held you back.

You closed your eyes, your breath still shaky, and tried to push away the wave of conflicting emotions that surged within you. Acacius’s love, though it was sincere, felt like a distant dream—a dream that you didn’t deserve. How could you accept his love when you felt so broken, so consumed by the darkness inside of you?

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, but filled with the depth of the regret you felt. “I’m not who you think I am. I’ve lost so much of myself...”

Acacius gently cupped your face in his hands, his touch tender and comforting, as though he were trying to steady you from the storm that raged inside of you. He was quiet for a long moment, his gaze soft but unwavering.

“You’re not lost,” he said, his voice low but steady. “You’re not alone, even when it feels like it. I’m here. I will always be here, whether you believe it or not.”

The warmth of his touch seemed to seep into your skin, like a quiet promise. But even with that promise, there was still a part of you that resisted. You were drowning—not just in the water, but in the weight of your own thoughts, your own feelings. How could you possibly let yourself love again, after everything that had happened?

“I don’t know how to let anyone love me anymore,” you admitted, the words slipping out before you could stop them. "Not after everything I've been through... everything that's been taken from me."

He leaned closer, his forehead resting gently against yours as his hands moved to hold you more firmly. "You don’t have to figure it all out right now. Just let me be here with you, for as long as you need. You don’t have to carry the world on your own anymore."

His words settled in your heart, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to breathe, to feel his presence. It wasn’t a solution to all that haunted you, but it was something—something real.

“You’re not alone, either,” you whispered, your voice still fragile but more certain than before. “I don’t want to be alone, either.”

The quiet between you felt like an unspoken promise, an understanding. You didn’t have all the answers, and you didn’t know how to fix what was broken.

Acacius carefully lifted you in his arms, his movements gentle yet strong, as though he feared breaking you. The room was quiet, save for the sound of his steady breathing and the soft rustle of the sheets as he settled you onto the bed. His hands lingered at your sides, making sure you were comfortable, as though he couldn't bear to be too far away, even for a second.

You lay there, your body trembling from the cold of the water and the emotions that had swirled through you in such a short time. But there was a warmth now, a steadiness in the way Acacius was with you, something that grounded you amidst the chaos. His presence filled the space between the silence, and you wanted to hold onto that feeling, to keep it close as though it were the last thread that could save you from the darkness.

But even as your thoughts tangled, your voice came out soft, barely a whisper, as if afraid to disturb the fragile calm that had settled around you.

"Acacius," you said, your voice catching slightly. "Stay... please."

The words hung in the air, vulnerable and raw, and you could feel your heart beating faster as you waited for his response. You weren’t sure what you were asking for—comfort, reassurance, or simply the presence of someone who cared when everything else seemed so uncertain.

Acacius didn’t speak at first. He simply moved to sit on the edge of the bed, his gaze intense, but filled with an understanding that pierced through the barriers you had built around yourself. His hand gently rested on yours, his thumb brushing over your skin in slow, soothing motions.

"Of course," he finally said, his voice a soft promise, like the calm after a storm. "I’m not going anywhere."

He pulled the blanket over you, ensuring you were warm and comfortable, and then he settled beside you, close but not too close. His presence filled the space beside you, but there was a tenderness in the way he lay next to you, giving you the space you needed while still remaining close enough to feel his warmth, his care.

You turned your head slightly, your eyes meeting his in the dim light of the room. The vulnerability in your chest, the fear of asking for too much, made you hesitate for a moment. But then, with a shaky breath, you spoke again, this time more urgently.

"Stay with me," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. "Just... for tonight. I don’t want to be alone."

Acacius’s gaze softened, his lips curling into a faint, reassuring smile. Without saying a word, he shifted closer to you, his arm slipping around you as he pulled you gently against him. His warmth enveloped you, and for the first time in a long while, you allowed yourself to rest, truly rest, without the weight of the world pressing down on you.

In that moment, as you felt his heartbeat steady against yours, the storm inside you quieted, if only for a little while. The darkness still lingered at the edges of your thoughts, but Acacius’s presence, his steady, unyielding care, was a reminder that, for now, you didn’t have to face it alone.

And so, you closed your eyes, letting the warmth of his arms around you pull you into a fragile peace, knowing that, for this one night, you were not lost.

In the days that followed, something shifted between you and Acacius. It was subtle at first, like the quiet change of seasons, but it was unmistakable. His devotion to you became more evident in every action, in every word. It wasn’t just the caring gestures—though those were abundant—but the way his gaze lingered on you, the way his touch seemed to convey more than words ever could. You could feel the change in the air, like the warmth of the sun breaking through the clouds.

Acacius, the loyal general, who had always been steadfast in his duties to the empire, had turned his focus entirely toward you. His thoughts, his actions, and his very presence were now centered around ensuring that you were safe, that you were cared for.

Every morning, he would bring you breakfast, a small smile on his lips as he placed the tray before you. He would sit with you, talking about the day’s events, but his attention was always on you, his eyes soft with concern, his every movement thoughtful. If you showed signs of fatigue, he would insist on helping you with whatever you needed, no matter how small. And when the nights came, he would always stay, watching over you as you slept, keeping his promise to never let you be alone.

At times, you felt the weight of his care, the devotion he gave so freely, and it both soothed and unsettled you. The fear of being a burden gnawed at your mind, but each time you tried to withdraw, Acacius was there, offering reassurance, pulling you back from the edge.

“What about when you have to go into battle again?” you asked once, your voice barely above a whisper. The question had been haunting you ever since your marriage. No matter how much Acacius promised protection, he was a general first—a soldier bound to the empire’s whims.

He hesitated, his eyes meeting yours. For a moment, the confident, stoic mask he always wore faltered, and you saw the man beneath it, a man burdened with duty and uncertainty.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I will make sure you’re safe before I leave. Always.”

His honesty was disarming, and for once, it didn’t feel like an empty reassurance. Still, the thought of him riding off to battle, leaving you behind in the suffocating grip of the palace, sent a shiver down your spine.

“And what if you don’t come back?” you pressed, your voice trembling.

Acacius stepped closer, his gaze steady. “I will come back,” he said firmly. “I’ve survived countless battles, and I’ll survive the next one. Because now, I have a reason to.”

His words made your breath catch, and you turned away, unwilling to let him see the tears welling in your eyes. “Don’t say things like that,” you murmured. “Don’t make promises you might not be able to keep.”

“I’m not making promises,” he said, his voice softer now. “I’m telling you the truth.”

You looked at him then, your emotions a whirlwind of fear, anger, and something else—something you weren’t ready to name. “You make it sound so simple,” you said bitterly.

“It’s not,” he admitted, his expression unflinchingly honest. “But I’ve faced death more times than I can count, and I’ve always fought to live. Now, I fight for you, too.”

The weight of his words settled over you, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. Finally, you broke the silence, your voice raw.

“I don’t want to be the reason you don’t come back.”

He reached out, hesitating for a moment before placing a hand on your shoulder. “You won’t be,” he said. “If anything, you’re the reason I will.”

The vulnerability in his voice was almost too much to bear. You closed your eyes, taking a shaky breath. “I don’t know how to do this, Acacius,” you admitted. “I don’t know how to let myself care for someone when everything in my life has been taken from me.”

He stepped closer, his hand sliding down to take yours. “You don’t have to figure it out all at once,” he said. “But let me stay by your side while you do.”

His grip was firm yet gentle, and in that moment, you felt a flicker of something you hadn’t allowed yourself to feel in years: hope.

“Just... come back,” you whispered, your voice breaking.

“I will,” he promised, his gaze unwavering. “Always.”

And for the first time, you allowed yourself to believe him.

After the gladiators’ fights had concluded in the Colosseum, you and your mother, left the arena, your minds still lingering on the chaos of the day. Acacius had been by your side throughout the event, his protective presence never wavering. But you noticed something had shifted in him—the tension in his jaw, the restlessness in his eyes, as if his mind was elsewhere. It was as though the very air around him had grown heavier.

As you made your way back to the villa, you could feel the weight of the looming battle on his shoulders. The orders from Emperor Geta and Caracalla had been clear: Acacius was to return to the front lines in two days. The idea of losing him, of seeing him walk into another battle with the same fierce determination he had shown every time, filled you with dread.

The villa felt quieter that night, the cool breeze brushing against the stone walls, but inside, the silence was almost suffocating. Acacius was pacing in his chamber, his armor now set aside, but his mind seemed far from peace. You watched him from the doorway for a moment, your heart aching as you saw him battle with his own thoughts.

"Acacius," you said softly, stepping closer.

He didn’t look up right away, but when he did, his eyes seemed to carry the weight of the world. "I’m sorry," he muttered. "I know you want more from me, but right now, my duty—my loyalty—it demands more than I can give."

You walked toward him, the soft sound of your sandals barely reaching his ears. "You don't have to apologize," you said quietly, touching his arm. "But I can see it... you're restless. You're carrying the burden of something you shouldn't have to face alone."

He sighed deeply, his gaze dropping to the floor. "I have no choice. The orders are clear. If I don't return to battle, I dishonor my men, and if I do... I risk everything. Including you."

Your heart fluttered at his words. You moved a little closer, your voice softer now. "You don't have to risk everything alone. I’m here, Acacius. If you need my company tonight, I will stay. I will help carry your burden, if only for this one night."

For a moment, he stood still, as if weighing your words. Then, slowly, his hands reached for you, gently pulling you closer until there was no distance left between you. The tension in his shoulders softened, but only slightly. His eyes, filled with uncertainty and longing, met yours.

"I don’t deserve you.” he murmured, his voice rough.

You shook your head, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. "You are more than that. You are the man who has kept me safe, and for that alone, I would follow you anywhere."

He seemed to hesitate for just a breath, then, with a sudden urgency, he kissed you. It was gentle at first, a soft press of his lips against yours, as if he were testing the waters. But the moment your lips met, everything else faded. The weight of the empire, the war, the orders—none of it mattered in that instant. The world outside was silent, and the only thing that existed was the warmth of his kiss, the soft but undeniable spark between you.

As he pulled away slightly, his forehead rested against yours, both of you breathing a little faster, your hearts racing. His voice was low, almost a whisper. "You’ve made this so much harder”

You smiled softly, your hands resting against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingers. "Maybe that’s exactly what I want," you whispered, a playful glint in your eyes.

His lips brushed against yours again, this time more urgently, more desperately, as if the fear of losing you in the battle, or the fear of losing everything in the coming days, had driven him to this moment.

And in that kiss, you both found something you hadn’t realized you were searching for. You had been lost in the chaos of the empire, in the uncertainty of what came next, but in this moment, with him, everything felt right. You weren’t alone anymore.

As you pulled away from the kiss, Acacius didn’t let go of you right away, his hands still resting on your shoulders, as though afraid you might slip away. His breath was uneven, his chest rising and falling in time with your own. For a long moment, neither of you spoke, the world outside the villa’s walls completely forgotten.

Carefully, he brought his hands to your shoulders, traveling down your arms, at the same time your skin bristled under his touch. You had never felt this before, the mixture of nerves and lust of being touched with delicacy and love that you didn't know could exist.

He carried you to his bed gently, in slow steps without taking his gaze from your eyes that looked at him with curiosity and lost in the ecstasy of the moment.

Lust and desire.

The fabric of your dress felt suffocating against your skin and as if he had read your mind, he peeled your clothes off your skin leaving you completely exposed under his gaze. You gaped at him, half embarrassed, half impressed, then he pulled his lips back upon yours, palming your breast, as he made his way to his bed.

You chuckled as you lay there, and his face matched your smile as he continued to kiss you down your neck. The warmth of your uneven breaths mingled, enveloping you both as he quickly worked on his garments, and as soon as his clothes were removed, there was nothing to keep you apart. You curled your fingers in his hair as he kissed you all over your body for the first time. You could sense the emotions, but the intimacy and lust were like a fire in your core.

You felt Acacius' lips against your hips and angled them up for him. You were already dripping as he licked a route from your thigh to your cunt before sucking on your clit and pressing his fingers against you.

You whimpered while holding his head between your legs. His cock hardened as the sound from your lips and you clenched around his fingers. He sucked like he was hungry, forcing your legs apart till you had one calf under his shoulder. His free hand moved up your torso, grabbing your breast, as his nose rubbed against your clit. For instinct, you buried your heel into his back and dragged him closer until all he could taste was you.

He fucked you slowly, taking his time to taste your wetness on his lips before locking eyes with you. You were flustered, and your eyes shone.

"You...fuck," you whispered.

"I want you; I need you before leaving" he whispered desperately, going forward between your legs, forcing your knees up to your breasts, and plunging into you easily. You sighed and leaned forward to kiss him. Your hands were on the back of his neck, and he was on your breasts, attempting to touch you everywhere. As you both kissed, you raised your hips to fuck up into him as he drove down into you, attempting to be as cautious as possible.

You mumbled "Acacius, I love you" into his ear before he reclaimed your lips. He leaned down and sucked your nipples, lightly biting your breasts.

“I’ll come back for you cara mia” he promised, between thrusts, grinding his cock as deep as into you as it could go as you encouraged him with your moans and nails scratching down his back. Those marks would accompany the wounds of thousands of battles.

He slid his hand down to your pussy and rubbed along your clit. You fucked yourself harder on him by thrusting back against him right away.

When you came, he whispered something on your neck. You clutched around him and your hips trembled even as he continued to fuck you. Soon after, he began thrusting into you and eventually pulled out while making uneasy gasps in your shoulders. After that, the only sound in the room was the mingling of your breaths.

Acacius was nosing at your throat, promising he would come back alive to continue his life adoring you

The room was quiet, save for the soft rhythm of your breaths, which mingled together in the stillness. Time seemed to stretch, the weight of the moment settling around you like a gentle, unspoken promise.

his warm breath grazing your neck, and you felt a shiver run down your spine. His hands, still holding you with a tenderness you hadn't known before, seemed to search for something, as though memorizing the contours of your skin, tracing the lines of your jaw, your shoulders, your breath.

"I’ll come back," he murmured, his voice hushed, as though sharing a secret only meant for you. "I promise, I will come back to you. I won't leave you alone."

His lips brushed lightly against the soft skin of your throat, and you could feel the intensity of his words in that simple, delicate touch. You felt a sudden knot tighten in your chest, a mixture of longing and fear, but more than that, a deep, consuming need to believe him, to trust in the promise he was making.

"I will continue my life loving you," he continued, his voice thick with emotion, as though each word was a vow, a binding thread between you two. "When the battles are over, when the storm has passed, I'll be here and I will adore you for as long as I live."

You closed your eyes, feeling the warmth of his body pressed so closely against yours, the heat of his devotion seeping into your soul. For a brief, fleeting moment, it felt as if everything else faded away—the empire, the scheming, the endless pressures. It was just the two of you in that room, your hearts beating as one, a bond forged in the quiet moments when nothing else mattered.

You took a deep breath, feeling his hands gently cradle your face, his thumb brushing away the stray tear that had escaped. Your hand instinctively reached for his, holding onto him tightly as if the act itself could somehow make his promise real, could anchor him to you forever.

"I need you to come back," you whispered, the words escaping before you could stop them, your voice trembling with the weight of the truth behind them.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, his hands steady and comforting. Then, with a soft and almost hesitant voice, Acacius finally asked, "Could you stay with me tonight? Sleep beside me."

The vulnerability in his words surprised you. Acacius had always been the strong, unshakable general, the one who carried the weight of the empire on his shoulders with unyielding resolve. But now, in the quiet of your shared space, he seemed as human as anyone, his guard lowered, his needs simple, yet profound.

Your heart gave a quiet thud in your chest, and without hesitation, you nodded. "Of course," you said softly. "I’m not going anywhere."

His eyes softened, the slightest flicker of relief crossing his features. He led you over to the bed, the weight of the day seeming to leave him as he settled beside you. The soft rustle of the sheets was the only sound as he adjusted, his body tense but slowly relaxing as you lay beside him.

For a moment, neither of you said anything, simply sharing the same quiet space, your presence the only comfort either of you needed. But the closeness was enough. It was as though the war, the orders, the empire itself could not reach you here, in this space that was just yours and his.

"Stay with me," he whispered after a while, his voice barely audible in the stillness of the room. His hand found yours in the dark, his fingers threading through yours, a simple but grounding gesture.

You squeezed his hand gently, resting your head on the pillow beside him. "I’m not going anywhere, Acacius. I’m here. And I’ll be here tomorrow, and the day after, no matter what happens."

The words hung in the air, simple but true, and in that moment, you both found something precious, peace in the storm, a promise without words. Acacius’s breath slowed, his body finally releasing the tension that had held him captive for so long.

Acacius woke slowly, the gray light of early morning spilling softly into the room. For a moment, the heaviness of his reality came crashing down on him—the orders from Geta and Caracalla, the battle that awaited him, and the uncertainty of what lay ahead. The weight was still there, pressing on his chest like an unrelenting force, refusing to let him breathe freely.

But then, he became aware of something else.

You.

Your warmth was pressed against him, your head resting on his chest, your hand lightly curled over his heart. The soft rise and fall of your breathing matched the quiet rhythm of the room, and for the first time in days, maybe even months, Acacius felt the smallest flicker of peace.

He glanced down at you, his eyes tracing the curve of your face in the gentle morning light. You looked so calm, so trusting, nestled beside him, as though you belonged there. A part of him still couldn’t believe you had stayed, that you had given him this small gift of solace before he left for what could be his last battle.

Carefully, as though afraid to wake you, he lifted a hand and brushed a strand of hair from your face. His touch lingered for a moment, his fingers barely grazing your skin, and he let out a quiet sigh. How had it come to this? How had you, someone he had been ordered to protect, become the person who made him feel safe?

The thought brought a bittersweet smile to his lips. He knew he didn’t deserve this, didn’t deserve you. And yet, here you were, giving him the strength he hadn’t even known he needed.

You stirred slightly, nuzzling closer to him in your sleep, and he froze for a moment, unsure if you were waking. But you only let out a soft sigh and settled against him once more. He couldn’t help the way his arm tightened around you, holding you closer, as though he could shield you from the world for just a little while longer.

His voice was barely a whisper, more to himself than to you. "What have you done to me?"

As the minutes passed, Acacius let himself stay in that moment, letting go of the weight of his duty, if only for a little while. With you there, the storm within him seemed to quiet, and for the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to hope.

When you finally began to stir, blinking sleepily up at him, he felt his chest tighten. Your eyes met his, and though your expression was soft, he could see the worry lingering there.

"Good morning," you murmured, your voice warm and still tinged with sleep.

"Good morning," he replied, his voice lower than usual, as though the morning had stolen some of his strength.

You reached up, your fingers brushing lightly against his cheek. "You didn’t sleep much, did you?"

He shook his head, his lips quirking into a faint smile. "No. But this... this helped."

You smiled at that, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. "Then let me help you more. Whatever you need, Acacius, I’m here."

He closed his eyes for a moment, leaning into your touch as though it was the only thing keeping him steady. When he opened them again, his gaze was clear, filled with something deeper than gratitude.

"I’ll remember this," he said softly, his voice carrying a promise you didn’t fully understand but felt all the same. "No matter what happens, I’ll remember."

#marcus acacias x reader #marcus acacius fanfiction #marcus acacius x f!reader #marcus acacius x you #marcus acacius x reader #general marcus acacius #marcus acacius fic #marcus acacius #gladiator 2 fic #gladiator 2 #gladiator 2 fanfiction #pedro pascal #marcus acacius smut #general acacius x you #general acacius

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reiderwriter · 4 months ago

Text

☎️ Don't Call Me ☎️

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Summary: After catching your boyfriend cheating, you find accidental comfort in your coworker. With your phone ringing nonstop, you're willing to do whatever it takes to start fresh.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, bug mentions (cockroaches), cheating, exhibitionism, dom/sub dynamics, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), squirting, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, slight spanking, mentions of masturbation. Dom! Spencer.

A/N: Haha... hi guys... been a while 😚 Please enjoy the fic I dreamed up over a month ago now, and was finally able to conjure up!

Masterlist

If you were to be asked how you assumed a five-year-long relationship would end, you'd likely say something like irreparable differences. Maybe a difference in lifestyle, growing out of love, or even different plans for the future. Unfortunately, the irreparable difference your boyfriend had chosen at 10 pm on a Thursday evening was being balls deep in an irreparably different woman.

You supposed you should've seen the signs the relationship was drawing to a close and likely you did, but with your job itself being a life or death situation almost daily, you really didn't have much time to worry about the fact that your boyfriend was sowing his oats in other fields. Based on the look of the woman spread across your bed, the oats weren't that great for her either.

Your reaction had been somewhat delayed, but curiously not as much as hers. She'd been wonderfully blasé about the man writhing on top of her before you started screaming and throwing things, and even now you were armed with a vase of flowers (dead - you'd bought them yourself before the case you'd been on for the last two weeks) she still looked slightly bored. But at least her legs were together now, and not gynaecologist level apart.

Your boyfriend - ex-boyfriend? - managed to regain an ounce of dignity with a scrap of clothing, and did his best to shepard you out of the crime scene as you regained the ability to hold coherent thoughts that weren't about strangling him with his own tie.

“Listen to me, please just for five minutes-”

“Listen? I was just listening! To you moaning into that woman's shoulders with your eyes rolled back in your head!”

It was as if in the last few minutes all the love you'd had for this man, all five years of relationship and comfort, and nights spent together had melted away in an instant. The rage dissipated, and you were surprisingly calm again, though that worried you, too. Surely you should be crying, or at the very least upset. You should be feeling some kind of emotion that wasn't a vague disgust at the man in front of you in full pooh bear mode, trying to tug down the hem of his shirt to cover the crown jewels.

“It didn't mean anything. She doesn't mean anything. She's just - You're gone so long on cases, and I just-”

“So you're saying it's my fault you're cheating on me?”

“Yes! No, wait, no, no, no, no-”

“No, heard loud and clear, I'll try not to save lives in the future, I'm sure the BAU will understand I should be on my back 24 hours a day instead, taking all four inches you have to donate to my worthy cause.”

“Y/N, don't be like that,” he said, exasperated. Whatever he had to be exasperated about, you had no idea. Maybe blue balls.

“Like what?”

“Like a bitch!”

The room went still with silence as you let him sit with the words he'd just spoken, willing him to snap back quickly so you could keep even just a shred of respect for him.

No such apology came.

“I'm leaving now. I expect your things packed and out of here by 12 pm tomorrow, including your thing in the bedroom. Don't bother cleaning the sheets. Just burn them. Lock the door and post the keys through the letterbox when you're done.”

“Y/N, I told you it's not like that, I still love you, come on-”

“Well I don't love you. And please go put some fucking pants on.”

You stepped back over the threshold of your apartment - the lovely, nice apartment you'd been living in for the last eight years, your nice safe space - and you shuddered.

The question wasn't exactly what next, but more like where next. What next was sending a group text in your ex-boyfriends family chat telling them what you'd walked in on, and then leaving the chat before you could get any response. The where would be a harder sell.

From this part of the city, it'd take 2 hours to get to Penelope’s apartment, especially at this time of night without a car. Emily's apartment was similarly far. Going through a list of your coworkers again, you mentally crossed off Tara, who'd been injured on your last case and was resting at her girlfriend's apartment, Luke, who despite the promised comfort of a cute dog, you were absolutely sure didn't have a spare bed, and all members of the team with spouses and/or children. Which left just Spencer and Rossi.

Needless to say, you found your way to Spencer's apartment in only 20 minutes, though you were sure you had disassociated the entire thing.

Knocking on the door, you felt a little bit awkward, but not awkward enough to leave and find a hotel at nearly 11 pm. Your last case hadn't been a pleasant one, hotel-wise, and you weren't exactly eager for another check-in.

Spencer opened the door quickly, his eyebrows knitted in confusion as he found you there but only for a brief flash before his face brightened up.

“Y/N? Do we have a case again? I thought Hotch said-”

“Can I stay here tonight?” you blurted, needing to get the words out as quickly as possible before you convinced yourself to walk away.

Spencer took a moment to take in your words, and you took the opportunity to look at him then. He was fully clothed at least, and you were glad to find that his pajamas looked comfortable and clean. A simple plaid cotton pant with a soft-looking white long sleeved shirt pushed up his arms slightly. He'd taken out his contacts and put on his glasses, and you wondered if you'd caught him mid-book.

“Please?” you added in a hopeful voice as he still looked at you slightly confused.

“Oh, of course,” he said, stepping aside and gesturing inside. “Is there something wrong with your apartment?” he asked, taking your go-bag from you without question and guiding you into the main living space of his apartment.

“Thank you, yeah. Something like that. Shoes off or on?”

“I have some slippers. You can take them off. What happened?” he said, placing the slippers in front of you and turning back to bolt the door.

“Invasive species?” You said, trying to sound as nonplussed as possible despite now feeling incredibly plussed.

“Oh, bugs? Yeah, I've had a cockroach or two in the apartment before. Did you know that the average female cockroach can produce up to 10,000 offspring in a single year?”

You sat on his couch quietly, trying not to imagine 10,000 cockroaches and failing nearly spectacularly. Unfortunately, the only image that could surpass tiny cockroach babies was of your boyfriend pounding away at another woman. Which was just a brilliant move for your psyche.

“Spencer, I know I've really intruded here tonight, but do…. Do you wanna drink with me?” You asked, hoping to drown at least a memory or two of the last 24 hours. Hopefully, the cheating one, but you'd take cockroach extermination as well.

A slightly worried look settled on Spencer's face, but he said nothing and nodded, walking to his kitchen, grabbing two beers and meeting you back on his loveseat.

“Oh you really have beer here!” You exclaimed, thanking him for the beverage before cracking it open and taking a sip.

“Morgan came over with some to celebrate 6 months out of prison. These are leftovers.”

“Right… right…”

The first few sips were so painfully awkward that you thought about returning back to your apartment and just sleeping on your own couch.

Vaguely, you felt Spencer watching you, taking a sip of his drink for every sip you took of yours.

“So…” you said, and he raised an inquisitive eyebrow again, already questioning whatever was about to come out of your mouth.

“So?” he asked. You weren't sure if it was the beer, the look on his face, or the crazy implosion of the last 5 years that had you giggling all of a sudden. You were just glad that when you cracked up, he cracked a smile as well, and a little bit of the tension went away.

“Why are you really here, YN?”

You took a deep breath and looked straight forward at the bookshelves Spencer had lovingly filled. Maybe this had taken him half a decade as well, so he'd understand how your life felt a little bit like a wobbly bookshelf at that second.

“The invasive species I mentioned? It was the woman screwing my boyfriend in my bed. Ex. Ex-boyfriend.”

You heard the intake of breath from Spencer before he put his can down and started thinking of something to say in reply to that.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Oh… Y/N, I-”

A shrill ringing cut him off, and you were almost glad to not be on the receiving end of whatever pitiful words he was about to push on you, until you checked the caller ID and saw your ex's name.

“Don't pick that up,” Spencer said as you hesitated towards the phone. With a hand over yours, he flipped the phone over, locking eyes with you as he let it ring out.

“He's just going to try it again.”

“Let him.”

You nodded, breaking eye contact and sinking back into Spencer's slightly wilted couch cushions.

“In your bed? Really?” he asked, talking another sup as you took a gulp, letting the beer fizz down your throat before you could answer.

“I told him to expect me tomorrow because of how the case was looking. I guess he wasn't expecting me.”

“I think that was a given. Unless he was into that. Exhibitionism is one of the most common kinks among adult males, and-”

“Oh he was not into exposing himself,” you laughed into your drink, propping your head up on your hand and turning to face Spencer more. He shot another questioning glance but didn't push the issue, so you silently explained as well. By pinching your fingers together to the approximate size of your ex-boyfriend's dick.

“Oh. Well, it's not the size that counts?” He whispered almost ironically as he took another sip, now much closer than before. You'd done your best to distance yourself from your boyfriend even as he'd followed you through your apartment half naked, but you didn't seem to find Spencer's proximity threatening at all.

Maybe because he wasn't having sex with a random woman in your bed 5 seconds before.

“You wanna know the worst part?” You said, leaning closer as if to tell him an even bigger secret. “He didn't even know how to use it. I haven't-”

Another phone call blasted through, and you grabbed your phone and put it behind you.

“He's really great at interrupting conversation when it’s just getting good,” Spencer laughed, but you were slightly disappointed that he'd leaned back away now.

“What was it you were saying?” He asked, taking a swig of beer again, can nearing its close.

“I haven't had an orgasm in almost three years,” you said bluntly, watching the most genuine spit take you’d seen in your life. You pat Spencer's back as he coughed up inhaled beer, bringing your feet up under you into a cosier position.

“Okay now?” you asked as his breathing returned to normal.

“No? Three years, Y/N? Really?”

You shrugged and looked away almost embarrassed to be meeting his eyes now that your sexual history was the topic of the night.

“We had sex. He's just… he's just a really lazy lover. It'd be the same stuff every time. Handjob to some clumsy fingers missing my clit, a few pumps and cum on my face. I wasn't exactly initiating seven days a week in the hopes that this time he'd be able to locate it.”

Spencer was somewhere between horror and trying not to laugh, eyes wide with either alarm or the strain of having to keep it in.

“It's okay, you can laugh,” you said, but he shook his head politely.

“Y/N, I was in prison and still had more orgasms than you this year.”

“Hey, I hear prison is a great place to meet new people. Have new experiences.”

Spencer shot you a quickly horrified look as his cheeks flushed with heat. “Y/N, I was not someone's bitch in prison.”

“Why not? You're pretty enough for it?”

You'd meant the line to come across as teasing, just as you'd expected the finger now twisted in a lock of his hair, playing with him, to come off as teasing as well.

But you felt a definite throb between your legs when he looked at you again, doubly so when his eyes darted down to your lips.

You cleared your throat and tried for a teasing tone once again.

“So you made someone else your bitch?” you smiled, trying to drag his eyes away from your lips before you did something you'd regret.

“No. I… I spent a long time in solitary, and there's… there's really not that much to do.”

“So you did yourself?”

The tips of his ears were scarlet when you finally decided to back off, tucking the curl of hair behind his ear and letting him cool off.

“Why didn't you masturbate then?” he asked, pouting slightly still from your interrogation.

“Excuse me?”

“Your boyfriend couldn't make you cum, but a vibrator probably could. But you still haven't had an orgasm in three years. Why is that?”

It was your turn to feel the heat, the warmth from the beer finally reaching your head.

“He didn't want me to.”

You didn't mean for the words to sound as sad as they did. The fact itself was just incredibly sad. Your boyfriend saw anything vaguely phallic shaped as competition and had encouraged “organic” coupling instead.

You waited for Spencer to say something else, anything else as you held his gaze, waiting for the other shoe to drop, and him to start talking down to you as if you were simply a victim of the worst sex in the world.

Instead, he said “so did that other woman look as miserable as you've been for the last three years?” and the spell was broken.

You laughed so hard, you nearly choked on the beer you'd already finished. This time, it was Spencer's turn to land a hand on your back as you winded yourself with laughter.

“She looked bored! She looked genuinely bored. I almost thought it was just a lifelike doll, she was that unphased,” you kept giggling between gasps, forcing the words out as you threw your head onto Spencer's shoulder, hand landing on his thigh as you finally calmed down.

“I'd be horrified if anyone looked bored while in bed with me,” came Spencer's voice, and a little shiver ran down your spine as the rasp of his whisper rang in your ear.

You looked up from his shoulder and caught his eye immediately. If you wanted to, you could lean up by a centimetre and catch his lips with yours. And you suddenly, very much wanted to do that.

A final shriek of your phone behind you deterred you for a few seconds, and you were about to work yourself up to scooting a little bit away from Spencer when he leaned over you, grabbed the phone, and hung up on your boyfriend.

“Do you want to cum, Y/N?” he asked, as quietly as before as his hands traced over you on their return journey to him. He looked down your body, eyes greedily drinking in your breasts, hips, thighs and legs tucked into his side on his couch.

You didn't know what you were going to respond when your head practically nodded by itself. Enthusiastically.

He doesn't immediately pull you in for a kiss, and you're worried for a beat that he meant that only as a hypothetical and not an invite. A final cry from your phone has you standing in seconds, completely detached from Spencer, and the nearly embarrassing moment you pouncing him would've been.

“I should probably take it this time,” you explained, turning slightly.

But Spencer was faster than you, if not more prepared for what was to come. Wrapping an arm around your waist, Spencer tugged you back, pulling you onto his lap. When you were firmly situated - ass over his now evidently firm cock - he grabbed the phone out of your other hand, hung up and put it in his pocket.

“Spencer, I-I don't think that's a good idea,” you gasped as his hands slowly progressed up to your chest, and his lips dropped to your neck, biting and sucking along whatever flesh was easy for him to access.

“You need to cum. You deserve to cum, Y/N. I'm just here to help. Use me.”

You stifle a sharp, quick moan, biting your lips and thanking God that he couldn't see the face you made when his hips ground his cock up into your ass.

“I'm probably not ready for this,” you stuttered slightly, breath departing your body quicker than it could arrive.

“Probably not.”

“We work together, too. It would be awkward.”

“It might,” he nodded. “But you still want to.”

You couldn't help the moan, finally letting it free as you tossed your head back and clawed at his forearm, wrapped around you.

Your ass had a mind of its own, grinding back into him in circles as his hands found their way under your shirt, inquisitive fingers stroking your nipples through your bra.

“S-Spencer,” you whimpered again, legs spreading apart as you felt that familiar warmth settle between them. He didn't miss the longing in your tone, the shift in your core, pushing one hand down your stomach and trailing it onto your thigh.

It was as close as he could get with your pants still on, tight against your skin. He squeezed your thigh, still licking and sucking at your neck before his hand rose to the clasp of your pants.

It took him a long lime to fumble with them, and you thought of helping multiple times but you let yourself get distracted by the tense definition of his muscles, the rigid line of his body as he strained to please you.

Your mind fogged with lust, and you felt the vibrations from his pocket right under you when your phone rang again. You practically jerked up in shock as pleasure hit you in a wave, Spencer's fingers finally dipping into your panties just as the vibrations hit you. They weren't centred, of course, not anywhere close to where you needed them to be for you to enjoy them the way you would a toy, but that's what Spencer was for.

He let the call ring out, tracing small, slow circles over your clit as you jumped up into his hand, moaning and whimpering the entire time.

“What an idiot. I bet he never touched you like this. Nice and slow.”

“N-no, S-s-”

“I'm so glad I'm right. He didn't deserve this beautiful cunt. You're so wet for me, right, baby?” You nodded and he hummed in response, voice low and making you pulse in his lap.

“That's it, good girl,” he whispered as you worked your cunt up and down his fingers, stilling himself so you could find your own pleasure.

“Spencer… Spencer, fuck-”

With his free hand, he turned your face to the side and finally kissed you properly as you moaned into his mouth. He was quick to deepen the kiss, to press his tongue against the seam of your mouth and enter your mouth, quickly dominating you as you let yourself get more and more excited. Your hips stuttered, out of rhythm and out of practice, and you almost whimpered in frustration that you couldn't get off quicker, that your body wasn't finding the orgasm quick enough despite how good, how perfect this felt.

Sensing your growing frustration, Spencer broke the kiss.

“Come with me,” he said, pulling his hands away from your wet cunt and out of your stupid pants and encouraging your hips up until you were stood and he was stood behind you.

Cock still firmly stood against your ass, he walked you all the way to his bedroom, hands on your hips the entire time, memorising the sway of your walk.

“Strip and get on the bed, please, Y/N,” he said, finally peeling himself away from you as you nodded quickly and listened to him immediately. You weren't sure what to expect, so you hesitated, laying down, crawling up until your head hit the pillows. You were almost disappointed when you finally looked back at Spencer and he was still fully clothed, so sure that he was going to fuck you to your climax.

Instead, he approached the bed, gently slid his arms around your thighs, opened your legs wider, knelt on the floor and brought your cunt to his face.

The first touch of his to guess to your clit had you almost beside yourself with lust. You'd been sexually active for a handful of years, and this - THIS - was the first time you'd experienced such acute pleasure.

Your hips were unable to stop, thrusting up into his face as you willed his tongue to engulf you, to be a tool in your pleasure.

Again your phone rang, but he grabbed it quickly, pausing only a second to silence it and discard it on the bed beside you, sitting it further up the bed where it would no longer be a distraction to him.

He dove right back in, and you rewarded him with wave after wave of fierce moan, your writhing body only restricted by a hand snaked up onto his stomach. You still pushed against his face, practically fucking it as he flattened out his to guess and let you chase your high.

“Spencer!” You gasped and moaned, voice dripping with lust and desperation, mouth not even properly forming words now you were so close.

You propped yourself up slightly, looking down as Spencer's eye caught your own, his chin slick with your juices, his eyes dripping with lust. You grabbed a handful of his hair and jumped that little bit faster as you felt that long forgotten whisper of pleasure, that all-encompassing explosion of satisfaction, and you came apart on Spencer's tongue.

“Thank you, thank you, Spencer, shit, thank you,” you whimpered, falling back again into the bed as you rode out the high. When you managed to open your bleary eyes again, Spencer was propped up above you, but instead of paying you attention, he'd grabbed your phone and bought it to his ear.

“You heard that? Good. I'm sure you're aware now that she won't be returning your calls tonight. Goodbye.”

His voice, his words, were like a cold bucket of water to your brain as you sat up, reaching for him and finding him as his hips circled your waist.

“Was that-?” He cut you off with a kiss a sweet, soft one.

“Yes.” He kissed you again and you melted into his touch as he pulled you into his lap again.

“H-He-”

“He knows now what a real orgasm sounds like. He knows you're not interested anymore. He knows you're mine now.”

You shivered at the words, your lust addled brain flooding your senses, and your cunt as you reacted to the possessiveness of his words, his tone. Part of you was turned on by the exhibitionism as well. You'd had to walk in on your ex boyfriend completely exposed, and there was satisfaction in kicking him to the curb with a similar fuck you. A fuck you that you'd enjoyed a lot.

You pressed your lips against Spencer's and rocked your hips against him again, tasting yourself on his tongue as he laid you down once more. His cock twitched against your leg as he propped you up on the pillows, and your hands trailed down to show it some attention as your sighed into his kiss.

He eagerly shed his clothes, first his top, sitting up and pulling it over his head, giving you a deliriously enticing shot of his chest and soft stomach before dropping down to cover your body again. You let your hand find the sprinkling of hair on his lower stomach, though, following it down as you encouraged his pants off. His cock was thick and heavy in your hand, and you gladly stroked it as he kissed the plains of your body again. He found the side of your neck that he'd neglected earlier, licking and sucking until it was almost as loved as the first side, before pulling your hand away from his cock.

You pouted and began to protest when he quickly lined his cock up with your cunt, and slid in deep and soft before you could.

“Needed to be in you,” he whispered in your ear, gripping your hips and sliding your legs up and around him as he pushed that little bit deeper. “Keep them nice and wide for me,” he said, dropping one last kiss to your lips, before his chest rose, and his hips pulled away again.

When they snapped back into you, you let out a generous scream of pleasure that almost had you wishing you'd never hung up. He set a quick pace, a furious pace as he too moaned into the contact of your cunt and his cock, two desperate people searching for release.

“So tight, Y/N, you're so tight,” he moaned, flesh hitting flesh as you dug your nails into his arms, already so wet again, you could feel the sheets under you growing damp. His hand left its perch on your hip and found its way to your clit once again, and you knew that you weren't going to be able to keep to this pace without cumming a second time.

“Keep moaning for me baby, show me how much you want it,” his voice begged, almost a rumble with how lustful he sounded. You let your voice carry, each moan a little bit more unrestricted than the last.

“Louder, Y/N, please. I want to hear how much you're enjoying this, you don't know how much I enjoy hearing your pleasure.”

His prayers were answered when he lowered his head back down and took one of your nipples into his mouth, gently grazing it with his teeth between licks and sucks. You practically screamed his name, pressing your chest up to grant him better access.

You liquefied beneath him, pressure building and building until you felt him rock, lifting his chest as you came. He pulled his cock out, teasing it through your folds as you stuttered around him, your arousal squirting across his cock and sheets as you fell back to the bed, gasping in pleasure. Your hips stuttered against him, and he soothed you gently, still working his cock through your folds gently as your clit went from overwhelmed to calm to quickly overstimulated.

“Spencer,” you whimpered, almost unable to take all the pleasure he was offering you. “Spencer, it-it hurts.”

“Don't you want me to stop?” He asked, stopping his movements for a second as you deliberated your answer. The lack of movement was answer alone, and you shook your head no wanting to feel his cock against you, inside you, one more time.

“Louder, Y/N, tell me what you want.”

“I want to keep going,” you said, as he began slowly rocking his cock against you again, sticky from your cum.

“What do you want me to do?” He asked, teasing a nipple with his hand as your eyes fluttered shut.

“Please fill me up again, please I want to cum again.”

“One more time?” He asked.

“Mhmmm… one more… one more, please.”

You were cum drunk, so horny that you couldn't fathom stopping there. He pressed another kiss to your lips and encouraged you to flip over, propping a pillow under your stomach as he pulled your legs into the right position.

You snuggled into the pillows at your head, pushing your ass up for him slightly as he nudged his cock against your entrance once more.

“Where should I cum Y/N?” He asked, reaching under you to slowly circle your clit again.

“H-hmmm…” you said, eyes shut, focused more on the pleasure than the question. You didn't care anymore. You didn't care where he came, just as long as he let you do it, too.

“Y/N, I expect an answer. Where should I put my cum?”

“Anywhere,” you pouted, pressing your hips back into his cock in the hopes that he'd just fuck you again already.

“That's not an answer,” he said, gently slapping your ass as he pulled his cock away.

“On your back?” He asked, fingers still working your clit underneath, but trailing lower until they found your cunt, two entering you to keep you wet and stretched for him.

“You'd need to shower before you could pass out, but I'm happy to help clean you off. They have communal showers in prison, so I'm not shy.” You moaned at the suggestion but couldn't answer further.

“On your stomach? Again we'd have to shower off, but I would love to see your boobs decorated all nicely.” Your moans were whimpers now as he edged you with his fingers, his words gentle in your ear but dripping with so much lust and promise you couldn't stand it. You didn't want to make decisions anymore.

“On your face?”

“Not on my face,” you snapped quickly, and he nodded and stroked your hair, hooking a strand behind your ear as he agreed.

“Okay. Where, Y/N? Be a good girl and tell me.”

“I-Inside. Cum inside me. Please.”

“Of course. Good job.”

He pulled his hand free gently, and quickly replaced it with his thick cock, and you moaned again at the weight of it against your walls, the familiar stretch of it. In this position, he reached deeper somehow, his thrusts slower, more precise as he drew out his own orgasm as long as possible, maximising his ability to pleasure you.

“Good girl,” he muttered against your skin, dropping a kiss to your back. “Good girl.”

“Wanted to do this for so long, Y/N,” he confessed with each thrust. “Look at how pretty this pussy is, how wet it is for me. I wish your boyfriend could see it. I wish he could see how well-behaved you are for me. How nicely you take my cock.”

His deep, slow strokes, his words, the kisses he pressed against any inch of your skin he could reach combined to push you over the edge a third and final time. This one wasn't loud. It wasn't dramatic. It was a steady shudder of pleasure from your hips and a quiet, satisfied sigh.

You didn't say anything but Spencer knew, he felt it, and he came moments after, cock deep inside as he filled you with his cum.

“You're on birth control, right?”

“IUD. Pill. Yeah.” You say between breathy sighs of contentment.

Muttering something behind you, he pulled out finally, leaving for a minute to grab a washcloth and clean himself off before returning to help you as well.

“What did you mumble?” You asked, as he crawled back into your arms, looking up at him.

“What?” He asked, ears turning slightly pink as you stared at him intently.

“Just now. I told you I was on birth control, and you mumbled something.”

He looked away, refusing to meet your gaze before dropping to kiss you sweetly once again.

“Tell me,” you said, and he kissed you again.

“Spencer, tell me,” you pouted, and he kissed the pout away.

You almost asked again, but he kissed you too quickly, too deeply and you lost your breath again.

“I said,” he started, leaving you panting under him again. “It was good you're on birth control, because I like the sight of my cum dripping out of you.”

The remaining breath left your body as you gasped, your face growing hot. You burrowed your face in his chest and let him hold you as you drifted into sleep, wrapped up in each other.

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brunchable · 5 months ago

Text

𝗠𝘆 𝗡𝗲𝗶𝗴𝗵𝗯𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗶𝘀 𝗮 𝗣𝗼𝗿𝗻𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗿

Pairings: PornStar!Bucky Barnes x f!Reader Themes: Sexual Innuendo/humour,Guy next door, situational comedy? If you're not up for a few second-hand embarrassment sit this one out lol. Summary: Your coworker peer pressured you to look up SergeantBarnes in Pornhub, reason? Because apparently you're missing out. A/N: This would make a good mini series. . .but we'll see. I had a dream. . .that he was a guy next door, just wanted to-of course-add a twist to it asdfghjkl.

It was all Amy’s fault. And Trish’s. And okay, maybe you shared a little bit of the blame for caving to the intense peer pressure at work. But still.

You’d been minding your own business in the break room, scrolling through lunch menus, when Amy had sidled up, leaned in with that conspiratorial look on her face, and whispered, “Have you seen him yet?”

“Seen who?” your eyebrows creased as you asked, confused.

Trish popped up out of nowhere, clutching her latte in her hand. “Girl, SeargentBarnes. The guy is legendary—I mean, a literal internet icon.”

You shrugged, feigning indifference while they exchanged a look that practically screamed, amateur. They started talking all at once, dropping cryptic phrases like “too hot to handle,” “you’re gonna die,” and, “you’ll never look at men the same way again.”

So there you were that night, alone with your laptop, curled up in bed and biting your lip as you debated whether to type it in. It’s just curiosity, you reasoned. Research purposes.

Your eyes widened as the screen filled with… well, humanity, in all its naked, unfiltered glory. Your face heated up so fast you could’ve sworn it was the same shade as your throw pillow. Videos lined up like some weird buffet, titles more scandalous than anything you’d ever whispered in confession, and… was that a whole category devoted to delivery men? You slapped a hand over your mouth to stop from yelping, mortified at the intensity of it all.

“I need to go to church after this,” you muttered, squinting like that would somehow censor the thorough dedication people were showing in their, uh, procreation endeavors.

“SergeantBarnes,” you muttered to yourself as you typed, fingers hovering uncertainly over the Enter key. Then, with a sigh, you hit search, and… oh.

You nearly choked on oxygen. Because there he was, in HD glory, right on Pornhub, with that cocky grin and those blue eyes that looked like they’d been crafted in a lab. And he wasn’t just standing there looking smug—oh, no, he was on a mission, shirtless, flexing, and smirking at the camera like he was the world’s best-kept secret. The scene panned to him sitting on the edge of a bed, peeling off his belt with one hand, a glint in his eyes that seemed to say, this is what you came for.

“Oh my god,” you muttered, equal parts horrified and morbidly fascinated, as he proceeded to… well, get very familiar with his costar. SergeantBarnes was apparently an expert at multitasking, using every muscle, every inch of his well-equipped arsenal. And the way he was delivering lines? He was clearly treating the camera like it was his soulmate.

By minute two, your jaw had dropped. By minute five, you’d set the laptop on your nightstand to “watch responsibly.” By minute ten, you were convinced Amy and Trish had permanently ruined your life.

And the costar—she was practically putting on an Oscar-worthy performance, her reactions so intense you half expected her to start speaking in tongues. Every time SergeantBarnes’s… rod of justice plunges deep inside, she gasps like she was witnessing a miracle. You scoffed, rolling your eyes. Come on, is that really necessary?

As you watched, he gave a low, rumbling sound—half growl, half sigh—that sent an involuntary shiver down your spine. His gaze burned through the screen with a confidence that was practically magnetic, and suddenly, you understood exactly why the costar was gasping. A new, unbidden heat pooled between your legs, making you shift uncomfortably, instinctively pressing your thighs together as if that could somehow stop the flush creeping up your face. Oh no, now I wish I were her, you thought, immediately cringing at yourself.

With a mix of half-laughter and half-horror, you reached over and slammed the laptop shut so fast it was like you were trying to save yourself from spontaneous combustion.

“Holy—oh, wow,” you whispered, pressing a hand to your face. “Okay. That was a one-time thing.”

Or so you thought.

Except now, every time you even glanced at your laptop, SergeantBarnes was right there in your mind, reminding you exactly why he was internet-famous. It was becoming a bit of a problem.

× × × ×

The next morning, you stumbled out of your apartment, looking like something that had been left out in the rain and dragged through a blender, mentally cursing last night’s “research” session. The world had no right to be this bright, and your regret levels were at an all-time high as you lugged the world’s heaviest box down the hallway.

You were so absorbed in avoiding a complete breakdown that you barely registered the deep, too-familiar voice beside you.

“Need help with that?”

“Thanks, but I got it,” you muttered automatically, barely sparing him a glance.

Except...then you did.

You looked up, squinting in confusion. Because, standing in front of you, in the perfectly mundane hallway of your perfectly mundane building, was him.

You froze, your brain spinning like a buffering screen. Okay, this guy’s insanely handsome. Tall, broad-shouldered, stubbled jaw, eyes so blue they should have a health warning on them. You stared, mentally cataloging each feature, when—wait a minute... WAIT. A. MINUTE.

Your eyes narrowed, suspicion prickling as your brain finally fired up. Is that…? No, it can’t be.

But it was. Oh, it absolutely was.

SergeantBarnes, the very star of last night’s “educational” viewing, right here in the flesh. And suddenly, like a tractor beam had locked onto you, your gaze dropped right to his crotch, where you’d witnessed things you could never un-see.

This, of course, did not go unnoticed. His brows shot up as he followed your very obvious, very treacherous line of sight, glancing down at his jeans before looking back up at you with an infuriatingly smug grin.

“Uh… nice shoes?” you blurted out, your face feeling like it was on fire. You vaguely gestured to his boots, wishing you could vanish right into the walls.

“Thanks,” he replied smoothly, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “They’re pretty sturdy. But, you know…” He paused, his voice dropping just a hair. “I don’t think they’re what you were looking at.”

Your heart sank as you forced yourself to look up, his amused blue eyes practically laughing at you. Abort. Abort mission. Oh God, we are way past mission failure.

“Uh—no, I just… um…” You floundered, desperately trying to think of something, anything, that might save you from the hole you’d dug. But no words came. Not even the faintest semblance of a coherent thought. Just one long, silent scream echoing in your brain.

“Bucky,” he offered helpfully, sticking out his hand like he wasn’t SergeantBarnes from Pornhub, but just some guy offering to help with a box. “New neighbor, by the way.”

You stared at his hand like it was a booby trap, your brain short-circuiting as it reminded you exactly where those fingers had been. That hand had gripped… things. It had been places you’d only dreamed of, doing things you’d probably need a core workout just to survive. You could practically see the “viewer discretion advised” warning flashing in your head as you hesitated, still staring at his hand as if it might explode.

But, against your better judgment—and every shred of dignity—you slowly reached out and shook it, feeling your own fingers betray you by sweating as they made contact with his very… experienced ones.

“Uh… hi… I’m… yep.” you blurted, mentally cringing.

“‘Yep’? That’s a good name,” he said, smirking as he let go. “You sure you don’t need help? You seem… a little flustered.”

Flustered? Understatement of the century. If your dignity had been a cup, it was empty, bone-dry, and cracked. You forced yourself to focus, eyes straight forward, pointedly ignoring the very tempting crotch-level view.

“I’m fine! Totally fine!” you squeaked, cringing at your own voice. Oh God, calm down!

But he just chuckled, that same dangerously cocky smile from last night plastered all over his face. “Alright, Yep. Guess I’ll see you around.”

As he turned to leave, you stood there in the hallway, clutching the box like it was a life raft, heart racing a mile a minute. You’d just had a very public staring incident with SergeantBarnes, your new neighbor, and all you’d managed to say was nice shoes.

I’m gonna need new coworkers, you thought, practically burying your face in the box as you scurried to your apartment.

The door slammed shut with a bang that could probably be heard across state lines. You dropped the box unceremoniously, ignoring the loud thunk as it hit the floor, and whipped your phone out, fingers flying across the screen like you were composing a manifesto.

Guys, you’re NEVER gonna guess who my neighbor is—

You paused, staring at the screen as the rest of the text formed in your mind: THE SergeantBarnes. LIVE. IN. THE. FLESH.

But then another thought stopped you dead in your tracks. Oh no.

You could already picture it: Amy and Trish showing up like rabid fangirls in their “I Heart SergeantBarnes” merch, carrying suspiciously flimsy plates of brownies. Trish would have binoculars. Amy would be taking notes, probably trying to “accidentally” leave her phone number under his door. You shuddered, imagining them cornering him by the mailboxes, all of them acting like they were definitely not the type of women who had his entire catalog bookmarked on their phones.

A horrible realization hit you. If I tell them, this man’s gonna be living a nightmare right next door to me. Not just a nightmare, a Trish-and-Amy-sponsored fan club nightmare, where they might even break into song—probably chanting, “SergeantBarnes! SergeantBarnes!” while he tries to get his groceries.

You looked back at your unsent message and deleted it in one go, feeling weirdly proud of yourself. Yeah, no. I’m not letting them anywhere near him.

Totally altruistic, of course. It had nothing to do with keeping the eye candy to yourself.

You took a deep breath, looking around your empty apartment like you were expecting the FBI to burst through the door at any second. Sure, you’d just been in the hallway with the actual SergeantBarnes, but maybe… maybe you were imagining things. It had been a long day. Moving was stressful. Stranger things had happened, right?

With a surge of resolve (and denial), you dashed to your bedroom, practically sliding across the floor as you went. Your laptop was waiting innocently on the nightstand, and with a quick glance over your shoulder to ensure you were still alone, you opened it up, clicked incognito mode like you were hiding state secrets, and went straight to the website you’d sworn off only hours ago.

“Alright… just to confirm,” you muttered to yourself, feeling your cheeks burn as you typed SergeantBarnes into the search bar, mentally bracing yourself for the flood of results.

And there he was. The whole page filled with him, in various… positions. You swallowed, scrolling until one video caught your eye: “Sergeant Disciplines the Bratty Recruit.”

You snorted, almost slamming the laptop shut. “Oh, for heaven’s sake…”

But curiosity was a dangerous beast, and before you could talk yourself out of it, your finger had already clicked play.

The video started, with SergeantBarnes in all his glory, wearing what looked like the world’s tightest military uniform. His face was as smug as ever, that telltale glint of mischief in his eyes as he muttered something absurd like, “Think you can handle me, recruit?”

“Oh my god,” you whispered, cringing as you half-covered your eyes but peeked through your fingers anyway.

But there was no denying it—the face, the voice, the ridiculous, smoldering look into the camera. There was no escaping it now. It was 100% him. The same guy who was now living approximately ten feet away from your own front door.

As the video continued, your disbelief only grew. This man… this man is next door, could eating cereal right now, you thought, torn between horrified fascination and the urge to laugh. Because there he was, in full “disciplinary action” mode, doing things you could barely process, and here you were, watching it again, just to make sure it was really him.

“Oh, I’m doomed,” you muttered, slapping the laptop shut. You weren’t even sure if you were embarrassed, impressed, or maybe just a little terrified of your own neighbor.

× × × ×

Over the next few days, it was like living in a twisted sitcom. Everywhere you went, he was there, lurking like some kind of sexy, mildly inconvenient specter. It was uncanny. You’d turn a corner, and bam—there he’d be, giving you that polite nod and a smirk that clearly said, I know exactly what you’ve seen.

It started small. You’d step into the elevator, praying for a peaceful ride, and ding! in he’d stroll, flashing that devastating grin. Instantly, you’d stiffen, gluing yourself to the opposite wall, practically trying to meld with the buttons, heart pounding like you were about to pass out. You couldn’t even look him in the eye without flashes of his, uh, “filmography” playing in your mind. Every single time, without fail, you found yourself studying the very clean floor of the elevator as he leaned casually against the wall, the corners of his mouth tugging up.

“Nice day, isn’t it?” he’d ask, all smooth, innocent charm. Meanwhile, you were there like, Oh, totally, perfect day to run into my favorite Pornhub star.

You were in the laundry room, blissfully alone, humming to yourself as you separated your clothes like a responsible adult. Whites here, colors there, delicates—well, you were kind of just tossing them wherever at this point. Then, suddenly, you felt it: a shift in the air, a presence. You froze, the hair on the back of your neck standing up, a sock suspended mid-toss in your hand. Why do I feel like the music should be getting dramatic right about now?

Slowly, as if sensing his approach, you turned. And there he was—Bucky, striding in with a laundry basket filled with a suspiciously pristine pile of perfectly folded, incredibly manly clothing. It was as if he’d just stepped out of some kind of… laundry commercial. Or worse… one of his own videos.

You blinked, eyes widening as a thousand clichés suddenly flashed through your mind. Oh no, why does this feel like the start of a porn? you thought, biting your lip as you realized the two of you were, in fact, very alone, surrounded by washing machines and suspiciously warm lighting. You mentally kicked yourself. Snap out of it! This is laundry. Regular, boring laundry.

Bucky caught your eye, giving you an amused once-over. “Doing some laundry?” he asked, his voice low and casual, but somehow it felt like the most suggestive question in the world.

You opened your mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “Uh-huh,” you managed, trying to sound like a normal human being. “Just, uh… laundry.”

Your face felt like it was on fire as you realized half of your load was underwear, strewn everywhere. Panties, bras, socks—they were all there in their mismatched glory, practically screaming, We’re personal items! Pay extra attention! You yanked your gaze away from the pile, mortified, and flung the sock into the washer like you were trying to disarm a bomb.

You slammed the washer lid down, feeling like you’d just revealed way too much. But Bucky only grinned, strolling over with that maddening swagger. He tossed a shirt into the washer beside you, leaning against it with a smirk.

“Nice sorting skills,” he commented, eyes flicking down to the very obvious pile of bras and lace that you’d tried to hide. “Very… thorough.”

“Yep!” you squeaked, feeling like you might explode. You fumbled with the detergent bottle, struggling to open it as your brain went into full-blown panic mode. Why does this feel like one of those videos? Don’t look at him. Just don’t look. Pretend you’re alone. Pretend this is fine.

But of course, he wasn’t making it any easier. He folded his arms, watching you with a raised brow, the picture of calm while you were desperately trying to load underwear without dying of embarrassment.

“You know,” he said, clearly holding back a laugh, “usually people try to separate colors from whites.”

“Oh, I do! I mean, I… it’s a system,” you stammered, feeling like you were caught in a lie by the laundry police. “Sometimes it’s… it’s an artistic choice.”

He chuckled, his eyes twinkling with that insufferable amusement. “Artistic laundry, huh? Didn’t take you for the experimental type.”

“Yep,” you said, forcing a laugh as you stuffed in the last sock, your hands moving at lightning speed, desperate to finish and escape.

But as you turned to leave, he held up a stray bra that had somehow escaped your grasp, dangling it between two fingers with a raised eyebrow.

“You forgot this,” he said, voice dripping with that same mischievous humor.

You stared at the bra in horror, feeling your face go molten.

“Uh… thanks,” you mumbled, practically ripping it out of his hand and stuffing it into the washer, slamming the lid down one last time before you spun on your heel and speed-walked out of there.

Behind you, you heard him chuckle softly, his voice echoing in the hallway. “See you around, neighbor.”

Yep, you thought, already halfway down the hall, never doing laundry again.

By day three, it got ridiculous. You’d ducked into the mailroom, hoping he was out doing normal human things—maybe mowing a lawn or whatever. But no, as soon as you opened your mailbox, there he was, standing by his own, sorting through a stack of letters. You froze, briefly considering whether you could just flee and come back later for your electric bill.

And then… the grocery bag incident.

You were in the hallway, arms overloaded with bags because, naturally, you’d ignored the cart right by the entrance and had instead decided to carry it all in one go. You were so close to your door when you heard footsteps behind you.

“Need help?” he asked, that voice making you nearly fumble every bag in your arms.

You turned, scrambling to say, “No, I’m good,” but of course, in your panic, one of your bags tipped, and a lone, horrifying item fell out and hit the floor. You watched, paralyzed, as the little bottle of lube rolled out with an audible clatter, spinning lazily to a stop right in front of him.

You could practically feel the heat exploding from your cheeks. No. Oh no. Not like this.

You looked up, meeting his amused, slightly raised eyebrows as his lips twitched, clearly fighting a smile.

“Uh,” you choked out, unable to form a single coherent sentence. Think fast, make it sound normal, you told yourself, even though every possible explanation was racing out of your head.

He bent down, picking up the bottle with a glint of pure mischief in his eyes, inspecting it like he’d just found evidence of some grand crime.

“Hey, everyone’s got needs,” he said, deadpan, but that twinkle in his eye was anything but innocent. “Don’t worry.” He tossed you a wink, handing the bottle back like it was no big deal.

Your mouth opened, then closed, then opened again as your brain scrambled to form a sentence. Finally, the words tumbled out like a train wreck, your dignity left somewhere back at the grocery store.

“It’s… it’s for my friend,” you squeaked, clutching the lube bottle with both hands like it was a sacred artifact. He raised an eyebrow, looking entirely too entertained for your liking. “She’s, uh, she’s constipated.”

A moment of silence.

“She needs it to… you know, help with a suppository.” You forced a grin that you were sure looked more like a grimace. “She, uh… can’t get things moving. Really jammed up in there.”

Bucky’s face twisted in barely suppressed laughter, and his shoulders shook as he struggled to keep a straight face.

“Right,” he drawled, nodding with an expression that was one part pity and two parts are you for real? “That’s… thoughtful of you.”

You felt like you were overheating, a human furnace on the verge of combustion.

“She’s desperate!” you blurted, doubling down on your ridiculous story, even though every fiber of your being was screaming to stop talking. “I’m just being a good friend, you know? Supportive. I mean, she’s the one who’s backed up.”

He nodded again, still fighting a smile, the look in his eyes a mix of amusement and something else that made your pulse race.

“Sure,” he said, “nothing like helping a friend in need.” He paused, that wicked smile growing as he added, “In my experience, though, there are plenty of other uses for it.”

Your soul left your body.

He held out his hands in mock innocence, chuckling as your eyes widened to saucers.

“Just saying,” he winked. “Versatile stuff.”

And with that, he turned, strolling down the hall with a casual wave, leaving you frozen and mortified, clutching the bottle to your chest like a lifeline.

“Gotta… go,” you managed, voice barely a whisper, stumbling the last few steps to your door as you fumbled with the keys, practically falling inside.

The second the door shut behind you, you pressed your back against it, staring at the ceiling and whispering, “I’m never leaving my apartment again.”

Just as you were about to bury your face in your hands and live in the sweet, silent embrace of shame, your phone buzzed. You pulled it out, still reeling from the lube disaster, and saw a text from your friend, Clara.

Clara: Hey!! Did you get the lube?? Need it ASAP, things are… not moving over here, if you catch my drift.

You groaned, staring at the message, letting it sink in that yes, this entire disaster had been real.

You: Yes. Got it. Never speaking of this again.

Clara: Bless you, you lifesaver. My digestive system owes you a standing ovation.

You rolled your eyes, still red-faced. Clara had no idea you’d just had to explain the entire situation to your painfully attractive neighbor—who now likely thought you were a walking sitcom.

× × × ×

It started subtly—just a little teasing, or so you thought. But it quickly spiraled into a game you could only describe as Bucky Barnes: Merciless Teasing—Extended Cut. Every time you crossed paths, he managed to twist the knife just a little deeper, making you sweat, stumble, and practically choke on your own words.

The first time it happened, you were hauling a huge box out of your car, trying to look capable and independent, when he strolled up beside you, leaning against the car with a smirk.

“You act like I’m a celebrity,” he said, eyebrow cocked. “Every time you see me, you look ready to run.”

You fumbled, nearly dropping the box.

“Nope! I’m just…uh, busy!” you squeaked, scrambling to walk away at top speed, box clutched to your chest like a shield. But you caught his laugh as you rushed off, making you want to evaporate on the spot.

The next time, you were in the stairwell, headphones in, desperately trying to avoid any more awkward run-ins. Naturally, the moment you looked up, there he was, lounging at the landing like some kind of paid actor in a commercial. You froze mid-step as he raised a brow.

“Look at that,” he said, giving you the once-over, “you look like you’ve seen a ghost every time you see me. Is it something I did?”

You stammered, turning pink.

“No! Just, uh… headphones! Music! Loud music!” you blurted, before speed-walking up the stairs, praying he didn’t hear the Spice Girls song you’d been blasting. Behind you, his chuckle echoed up the stairwell like the final taunt of a villain.

But the absolute worst came at the coffee shop.

You were in line, looking at your phone, hoping you could just breeze in and out. The moment you placed your order and turned to leave, there he was, standing right behind you, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

“Hey, neighbor,” he drawled, eyeing your coffee cup like it was some incriminating evidence. “Funny running into you here. Or… do you keep running into me?”

Your face flushed, and you tried to think of something clever, but it was like all your brain cells had gone on vacation.

“Nope! Definitely just getting coffee! I don’t even… live near here!” you babbled, immediately regretting everything.

“Oh, interesting,” he replied, his grin widening. “Because I could swear you live right next door. But hey, if you want to keep pretending you don’t know me, I’ll go along with it.” He handed you your coffee with a wink. “See you around… or not.”

But things took a turn for the mortifying when, one evening, you were pacing the hallway on the phone with Clara, trying to vent without actually collapsing in a pile of awkwardness.

“It’s him, Clara!” you hissed, oblivious to the fact that you were pacing right outside Bucky’s door. “I’m living next door to SergeantBarnes! Can you believe this? I’ve seen everything he has to offer! I’ve practically studied him!”

Clara was howling with laughter, but you were too wrapped up in your frustration to care.

“And he knows, Clara! He keeps showing up everywhere, saying stuff like, ‘You seem nervous’ and ‘You keep looking at me like you know something I don’t.’ I swear, he’s doing it on purpose!” You paused, sighing dramatically. “The man is basically torturing me!”

“Yeah?” Clara snorted. “And what are you gonna do about it?”

“Nothing! I’m gonna hide in my apartment forever! I mean, the guy is—” You froze mid-sentence, sensing a presence that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Please, for the love of all that is holy, no.

You slowly turned, and there he was. Bucky. Leaning against his door, arms crossed, looking like he’d just won the freaking lottery.

“Oh… my god…” you whispered, feeling your soul leave your body. He was watching you with an expression of pure, unfiltered amusement, one eyebrow quirked, lips pulled into that infuriating, knowing smirk.

“Well,” he said, voice laced with mischief. “That makes one of us.” His eyes glinted with barely-contained laughter. “And here I thought you were just a fan of my boots.”

You could practically feel your brain cells going up in smoke.

“I… uh… well… I…” you stammered, cheeks burning. “Boots… are great,” you managed, wanting to sink into the earth.

“Yeah? Because I seem to remember you looking… elsewhere last time,” he teased, stepping a little closer, enjoying every second of your embarrassment.

“Oh, no! Just… boots!” you squeaked, backing up, practically tripping over yourself. “I really should go… water my… uh… plants!”

He chuckled, savoring every second of your panic. “Good luck with that,” he said, throwing in one last wink as he slipped back into his apartment, leaving you in the hallway, feeling like you’d just gone through a slow-motion car crash.

Back in your apartment, you slid down the door, hands over your face as Clara’s laughter erupted over the phone.

“Boots?” she howled. “THAT’S what you went with? Boots?”

You groaned, banging your head back against the door. “Shut up, Clara.”

× × × ×

Determined to reclaim a shred of your dignity, you strode into the local coffee shop, praying for a quiet morning with zero embarrassing encounters. But, as if on cue, the universe had other plans.

There, right at the counter, was Bucky. He spotted you instantly, his face lighting up with that all-too-familiar grin that had haunted your dreams. There was no escape.

He waved you over, and before you could even think of pretending you hadn’t seen him, he was calling out, “Morning, neighbor! What’s your coffee order again?” His voice was loud enough that half the shop turned to look.

“Oh, um… it’s…” you stammered, but he’d already waved to the barista.

“Got it covered,” he said, leaning casually against the counter, eyes twinkling with mischief. “I’ve got a feeling you like it with extra cream.”

You choked on your own saliva, feeling your face turn crimson as he handed you the cup with a wink.

“Unless I’m wrong?” he added with a smirk, feigning innocence.

“N-Nope, that’s right!” you managed, grabbing the cup like it was a shield. “Extra cream… perfect.”

He chuckled, gesturing to an empty booth in the corner. “Great. Then you won’t mind sitting down with me for breakfast.”

“Oh no, really, I should—”

He raised an eyebrow. “What, got somewhere better to be?”

You froze, helplessly aware that the entire coffee shop was listening in. You managed a nervous laugh, mumbling, “Well… no, I guess not…”

Before you knew it, you were sitting across from him, desperately trying to keep your eyes anywhere but his face, your cheeks burning as he sipped his coffee and watched you with a smug smile.

“So,” he said, leaning forward, “what’s a girl like you doing watching a guy like me online, anyway?”

Your jaw dropped, coffee cup halfway to your mouth. “I—I wasn’t watching—It was research!” you spluttered, already kicking yourself for falling right into his trap.

He chuckled, clearly reveling in your embarrassment.

“Oh, sure, ‘research,’” he said, nodding like he totally believed you. “I get it. You know, it’s important to be informed.”

You practically shrank into your seat, glancing around to see if anyone else had heard. “Could you not say that so loudly?”

He smirked, taking a long, deliberate sip of his coffee.

“Relax, I’m just curious,” he said, leaning in close enough that you could smell his aftershave. “Gotta say, it’s a little flattering to have a fan right next door.”

Your brain completely short-circuited. “Fan? I—no! I mean, not like that… I… I barely even…” You could feel the lie crumbling in your throat as his smirk deepened.

“Uh-huh. Then why did you look like you were about to sprint every time you saw me?” He tilted his head, studying you, eyes twinkling. “And I swear you turned pink the second you walked in here.”

Your hands shot up, covering your cheeks. “I did not! You’re imagining things.”

“Am I?” he said, leaning back with a satisfied grin. “Because it’s like clockwork. Every time I’m around, you look like you’ve been caught red-handed. I don’t mind, you know,” he added, shrugging nonchalantly. “I’ve got nothing to hide.”

You let out a strangled laugh, ready to crawl under the table.

“That’s… obvious,” you muttered, feeling as though you might combust at any second.

“Okay, so since we’re having breakfast together, how about you tell me: any favorite scenes?” He laughed, looking entirely too amused as he stirred his coffee.

You practically choked on your coffee, face flaming as you tried to hide behind your cup.

“I—I can’t believe you just asked that!” you squeaked, horrified and unable to meet his gaze.

“Oh, come on,” he grinned, clearly enjoying every second. “It’s just small talk. I mean, who better to ask than a neighbor?”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Can we please pretend this conversation never happened?”

“Nope. Can’t do that,” he replied, laughing. “I think it’s a little late for that.”

Just as you were starting to pray for an earthquake to swallow you whole, you glanced up at him, cheeks still flaming.

“Did you… did you know I recognized you this whole time?”

He leaned back, a satisfied smile spreading across his face.

“Of course I did,” he said, laughing. “Figured it out the second I saw that look on your face. I just wanted to see if you’d ever bring it up.”

“Oh my god,” you muttered, feeling mortification seep into your very bones. “And you kept messing with me?”

“Of course,” he said, raising an eyebrow with a wicked grin. “I was just waiting to see how long it would take for you to crack. Guess now the ice is broken, huh?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “You’re the worst.”

He winked, finishing his coffee. “Yeah, but I make breakfast interesting, don’t I?”

You laughed, feeling the last traces of embarrassment fade away—well, at least enough to breathe normally again. But just as you started to feel almost… comfortable, Bucky tilted his head, giving you a curious look.

“So, neighbor,” he said, smirking, “I’ve gotta ask… what’s your name?”

You blinked, realizing with a jolt that you’d never actually told him. In all your attempts to dodge, deflect, and survive the relentless teasing, you hadn’t even bothered to introduce yourself.

“Oh… right,” you mumbled, feeling your cheeks heat up again. “I, uh, guess I never actually said.”

“Nope,” he replied, leaning in with a grin. “I just assumed you wanted to keep a little mystery between us.”

You rolled your eyes, though a smile tugged at your lips. “Trust me, I’m not that mysterious.”

“Really?” he replied, eyebrows raised. “Because all this time I’ve been calling you ‘Yep.’”

Your face went red as you remembered the first time you’d stammered a barely coherent “yep” instead of an introduction. “Oh my god. You haven’t been calling me that in your head this whole time, have you?”

He shrugged, smirking. “It’s kind of cute. Suits you, actually.”

You groaned, but laughed despite yourself, finally holding out your hand across the table. “Alright. I’m Y/N. Officially.”

“Y/N,” he repeated, taking your hand, his grip warm and firm. His smirk softened into something a little more genuine. “Good to meet you, Y/N. Officially.”

His hand lingered in yours for a beat longer than necessary, and for a moment, there was no teasing, no innuendos—just the two of you, sitting across the table, smiling like two normal people who’d just met under… semi-normal circumstances.

Then, just as you were starting to think maybe, just maybe, you could get used to this weirdly charming neighbor situation, he leaned back, that mischievous glint creeping back into his eyes.

“Now that we’re on a first-name basis,” he said, winking, “you can tell me all about your favorite scenes. You know, for professional feedback.”

You burst out laughing, face in your hands as he watched you with a triumphant grin. Yep, you thought, already regretting nothing and everything.

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