#but on the other hand....he just seems so cruel so often here | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jjk4isen · 5 months ago

Text

ꗃ 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐏 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃, 𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐏𝐒 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊 .

❝ answer me. did you think of her when you're in bed with me? when you're kissing me and holding me— was she the one on your mind? ❞

summary: it's hard knowing you aren't really the person in toji's heart but loving him was something you still did regardless. as for toji, he thinks he's ready to give you his all.

desc: 2.8k words, f!reader (referred to as ‘mama’), canon compliant i think, takes place after mamaguro's death and before toji’s, age gap (early 20s reader, early 30s toji), baby gumi ahhhhh, sfw, angst to fluff to angst again lol, intended lowercase, think you're tsumiki’s mom but without tsumiki bc the relations would be too complicated and also the second wife erasure in the canon storyline?? yeah it's reserved specifically for this fic, not proof read i fear but pls read it's really interesting i can swear by it lmaoqhdhns

dating a widowed man with a son wasn't easy especially when the said man is still in love with his former wife, or rather, his wife who had died.

love is often beautiful but sometimes it's unfair. it can also be cruel. what other reason would make you still stay despite knowing you'll never measure upto the person who had been here before you?

and you've heard stories about her. she was sweet, so beautiful— not just in her appearance but her entire being was beautiful. there always was an ache in your heart upon just the mention of her name.

so how much more would it have ached for toji?

“mama” the spiky haired boy, barely two years old calls you and you realise the silence in the room. “not mama, i’m nana okay?” sick.

nana. not mama but close enough. it doesn't matter anyway, n and m are just letters and next to each other so how much difference would that make? you're the one that's here after all, are you not?

if there's a lump in your throat and your eyes are burning with unshed tears, you force yourself to ignore.

“okay nana” megumi nuzzles his face into your chest, slowly drifting away to sleep. the boy always liked cuddling with you and it melts your heart immensely.

your hands strand through his dark hair. people always said he's the carbon copy of his dad but you'd like to differ. megumi has his mother's eyes and his hair resembled hers more than it did his dad's.

the thought sends another ache in your chest but you push it away– as you always have.

you recall the last time toji had heard megumi call you “mama”. you had never seen toji that livid. he was never a gentle man to begin with but that night, there was nothing else you've been more scared of.

was he like that to his wife? maybe not.

does that matter though? it's not like toji treats you badly. he's decent and loves you an enough amount. you weren't crazy enough to stay when you're not wanted so that must mean you were something to him right?

you also recall the whispers of pity and condemnation thrown at you for just being with toji. him being a brute is one thing but the difference in age is what people seem to have a problem with. you're so much younger than him and have your whole life ahead of you so why are you entrapping yourself this way?

you disagree though. love doesn't know any age and you definitely aren't naive to be head over heels over a guy just because he's relatively older. no, this was real and genuine.

a faint knock disrupts your train of thoughts. “he sleepin’?” toji nods towards the small boy in your arms and you nod back in return.

taking care not to wake the sleeping kid, you slowly pry his hands away from you and pull over a blanket to cover his small body.

when you make your way towards toji, he wastes no time in pulling you closer “missed you” he mumbles, placing a kiss onto your forehead and suddenly all thoughts plaguing your mind disappears. that's all you could ask for, even if it was just for a moment.

“i missed you more” you whisper back, he only huffs out an amused chuckle.

“got bad news though” a frown finds itself on his lips, decorated by a single scar next to it.

“did you lose all your money again?” toji was a gambling addict, another thing you forced yourself to tolerate just for him.

“sorry, doll. thought i’d win this time” he rubs small circles on your back comfortingly and it makes you a bit uneasy to know that he has his way with you so easily.

“it's alright. i’ll just find another part time job”

“so good to me” toji pulls you into his chest and you let out a sigh— of exhaustion? relief? you couldn't really tell but that's not important, toji had you in his arms.

“i’ll try and think of something too. don't worry your pretty little head too much” he lifts you up with ease. while you're in his arms, you feel the safest.

toji really felt bad this time. he was confident he would win but that stupid horse had to trip and lose its lead, ending up last of all places. he knows luck never favoured him but that's didn't stop him from trying again and again and again.

he also knows how you didn't say anything more than necessary about it but he isn't that much of an idiot either. he sees how your expression falters and your shoulders slump a little more when he comes home with another news of his gambling loss.

this is also why he tries, or rather, tried to quit — one too many times, unbeknownst to you. however, old habits die hard and most of the time (everytime) toji gives into his urge and loses yet again. the cycle keeps happening.

maybe this isn't just about gambling.

with the way you're asleep so soundly next to him after putting his son to sleep and taking care of him too, he is overcomed with yet another feeling to be better for you and megumi alike.

toji isn't a gentle man; everyone knows that, you do too — even more than anybody else but he can't help the familiar pool of warm feelings surging through him the longer he stares at your peaceful state.

he remembers the last time he felt it, with another person. it felt like a lifetime ago.

he also remembers how painful it was when he lost it — the person, the feeling altogether. his hands that were making their way to caress your face stops mid air.

toji knows you deserve so much better. you've been nothing but patient to him, so amazing, so perfect to him. still, he just can't do it yet, just not yet.

he will eventually, he hopes you stay until then.

toji wakes up to an empty bed and his heart sinks a little but the creases and wrinkles on the sheets serve as a reminder that you were really here.

he makes his way towards the kitchen, only finding megumi sitting on a chair next to the dining table.

“hey kid, where's your mama?”

toji freezes. it came out so naturally he didn't realise he said it himself and almost thinks he didn't but megumi's wide eyes prove that he actually did.

“m…mama?” megumi says hesitantly and toji nods this time. “yes, your mama”.

“potty potty!” megumi points to the bathroom and giggles, toji follows suit. the man crouches to his son's eye level and pats his head.

“you love your mama, kid?” toji sees megumi's eyes sparkle as the boy nods enthusiastically “very very much!!”

“yeah? i love your mama too.”

toji smiles to himself, he can't wait to tell that to you.

the next time toji got his pay, he finds himself hesitating. instead of heading towards the race tracks, his feet takes him to a jewellery store.

instead of picking out a slot and testing his luck, he picks out a ring. it's not fancy by any means but he thinks it would be the most beautiful band of metal to exist if it slides into your ring finger.

the tiny ring carries all the heavy feelings he has for you.

──

it was one particular evening when you saw an old man lingering by the front gate. its particular because the warm sunset and the soft cool breeze contrasted the ground breaking truth you find out.

“can i help you?” you ask the old man who looks at you up and down, not making an attempt to hide his distaste of your sight.

“is this where toji zenin lives?” he stares down at you with his scrutinising gaze; it makes you feel small.

“zenin?” you ask, confused. is he referring to toji? but his last name is fushiguro is it not?

“yes toji zenin. i heard he has a son as well. you're not the mother are you?”

is it that obvious? you wonder how the old man figured it out. regardless, you're not about to give him his answers so you stood your ground.

“i’m sorry i don't know what you're talking about.” you turn around, about to head inside when his words make you stop short.

“are you fushiguro?”

that's toji’s last name isn't it? not zenin or whatever he called it. so why is he asking you that? is he implying that you're married to toji?

“no. you have the wrong person.”

“why? did he say not to get involved with anyone from his clan?” the old man draws closer, chucking to himself. you're just there unmoving, trying to comprehend the situation and the words coming from his mouth.

“or did he not tell you that either? did he tell you anything at all?” he stands tall in front of you, tearing away bits of yourself with every word he says.

“when he returns, tell him the clan wants to propose him an offer. you can do that much at least won't you?”

…

and when toji comes home that night with the ring cluched tightly in his fist and inside the pocket of his white pants, the world stills.

he finds you in a state he has never seen you before. you look completely and utterly defeated.

“hey, what's wrong?” his hands come to caress your face so effortlessly, the ring and prior nervousness long forgotten.

“talk to me what's going on?” he looks around and the house seems emptier than usual. your laundry that were usually hanging with his were gone.

your small trinkets you placed around the house to “make it more lively” were nowhere to be found.

and there's a bag in the corner of the room which toji prays and hopes he isn't what he thinks it is.

your hands push away his own that were cupping your face. you're not even looking at him.

“say something damn it!”

you flinch and toji takes a step back. he recalls the last time you trembled in fear — when he got mad megumi called you his mom. he punishes himself for it.

“im sorry. please talk to me.” he isn't touching you now but he wants to. he wants to reach out and pull you close, as he always had done. but now there's an unbearable silence and the small distance between you both felt like lightyears away.

“who's zenin” your voice was meek, barely a whisper but toji's eyes widen. how did you find out about that?

no fuck that, he was supposed to be the one telling you. in his own time.

“i can explain” was all that came out of him. he's nervous, he doesn't know where to start. there's a lot of information to unpack and he's not sure how to do it without hurting you too much.

when he doesn't elaborate, you ask another “who's fushiguro then?” your voice falters a bit and toji curses himself for it.

but he's done running away and keeping things from you. “my… my late wife” he says wryly.

your eyes close and a shaky breath leaves your body, as if he just confirmed your worst suspicions. damn life is so funny isn't it? everything you thought you knew apparently wasn't what it seemed to be after all.

opening them again, your vision blurs and you realise tears were escaping your eyes. fuck you didn't want to cry now of all times but they won't stop.

and the way toji was looking at you, it makes you want to throw up.

“i must've been so stupid to you” you let out a humourless chuckle. “did you pretend im her?”

your gaze was sharp and so were your words. maybe all your bottled up feelings were resurfacing. it doesn't make you feel better about it but that doesn't stop you though.

“answer me. did you think of her when you're in bed with me? when you're kissing me and when you're holding me, was she the one on your mind??” your voice was loud now. you should be afraid of waking up megumi who you cradled to sleep just a few hours ago but no, your thoughts are too clouded right now.

toji sighs. he has no excuse.

“i used to” he actually looks ashamed as if he wasn't the one who did it purely out of his will.

your scoff makes him wince “but not anymore.”

his words fall on deaf ears “you know… i knew you did. but i stayed regardless because i thought there would be a chance that maybe one day, you could open up your heart to me. im not even asking for all of it, just a little… i thought you'd let me in.”

you're blabbering and honestly, so distraught.

“but not a moment was there when it was me isn't it? it was always her in the first place.”

now toji should have said something, anything but he stays there planted in place. and maybe that was your breaking point.

you turn around, grabbing your bag and brushing past him towards the door. instead of holding onto you and stopping you, toji clutches the small box containing the ring — your ring in his pocket, almost crushing it in the process, as he hears the door slam.

you think it's funny how toji did not reach out after what happened. it's poetic even. very fitting of him, till the very end, he did not give two shits about you.

so then, why were you back here?

it's been four long years since the trajectory of your life changed. you still don't know if it was for the better or for the worse.

saying it has been hard would be an understatement. it took you a long time just to get back onto your own feet but you did it regardless. however, you left a part of you here long ago and now, you're here to take it back.

that and you missed megumi dearly. perhaps it was an excuse too because you won't deny a part of you still missed toji, despite everything that happened.

standing a few feet away from the place you used to call home, you hesitate.

maybe this was a bad idea. oh this was definitely a bad idea. you'll see them, and then what? what comes after that?

closure? don't make yourself laugh. you’ll just be reminded of how you couldn't be that person for toji— how you'll always come second. and what if they moved?? there's no reason they'd still be here right?

forget this, you don't need to do this. why must you still be the one who put effort? to reach out? four long years passed and still no news means they clearly moved on... right?

you were convinced enough and was about to go back when you saw little megumi carrying a backpack on his back, seemingly coming home from school.

your feet wouldn't move and your eyes wouldn't blink. he grew up so well.

the world pauses as your gaze follows the kid you used to consider your own, now as good as a stranger.

“do you know that kid?” a voice at your back makes you whip your head around. life really is full of surprises and this time, the surprise was in the form of a tall man, no a tall kid with white hair, looking at you curiously through his round tinted glasses.

“... no i don't” well you weren't exactly lying. you don't know the megumi you see now. perhaps if he asked whether you raised him since he was a baby till he was two, then your answer would've been different.

“oh okay” the boy shrugs. “poor guy though”

“why? whats up with him?” you turn to look at megumi again who was minding his business walking home and your heart aches a little.

“I'm here to recruit him. his dad died you see so he's–”

“wait what was that??”

“his dad. he's dead” the amused boy in front of you chuckles and you stare at him, horrified.

“what happened to him?” your voice was shaky and doesn't sound like your own. he leans down to meet your eye level and smirks “why? i thought you don't know that kid. why does that matter to you?”

your stomach churns as you stare at him, not even knowing what to say— the smug expression on his face only widens.

“so you do know him.”

'know' would be a weak word to use when it comes to toji. you knew of his habits, the simple things he does and also of the more complex ones — like the exact place his scar decorated his lips and how it felt to kiss it.

then again, you don't really know anything about him and maybe you never will.

and maybe that's really, the closure you needed.

4K notes · View notes

preqwells · 6 months ago

Text

imagining simon with a reader that's extremely awkward since it's their first serious relationship.

simon was practically yearning for your touch, ready to burst at the seams and teeter over while you hesitantly refrained. you two had been dating for at least eight months and had known each other for longer around this point, so he was well-adjusted and within his comfort zone with you; he trusts you. you’ve had flings here and there, all of which lasted more than a month if you were lucky— not your fault these assholes did a complete 180 once you officially put a title on things. for a long time, you convinced yourself that it was your fault since the only common factor in all of those relationships was you until simon was practically desperate to prove you wrong— although his poker face and lack of flowery words would ever allow him to do so.

every time simon would try to get closer to you at night? you didn’t know what to do. cheek kisses? you’d just press your lips into a tight-lipped smile, managing a small “thanks” and averted your gaze. if simon tried to hold your hand? it was almost like you’d find a way to wiggle out of it. it was almost like you weren’t used to affection— how could you of all people not be used to affection, he wondered.

he started to eventually get discouraged at one point. he wasn’t one for affection often, but you didn’t seem to want to get closer to him— why didn’t you want to get closer to him? he’d try to brush it off, but he wasn’t good with words and touch was all he had left.

it was abruptly brought up when you two were seated on the couch, his eyes mindlessly mapping out how your hair framed the side of your face, assuming it began to tickle you from the way you raised your hand and began to gently scratch the softness of your cheek. “why do you move away from me when i try to touch you?” he suddenly asked, his voice vibrating in his chest. he caught onto the way your jaw undulated at the question which only fueled his curiosity. were you aware you had been doing this to him? were you dangling your affection above his head? what a cruel game if you were, honestly. “um…” you began, a silence ensuing between you two. you didn’t know what to say— what could you say? your reasoning felt silly the more you thought about it— you didn’t want to push simon away of all people.

“i don’t know what to do or where to put my hands… and im afraid i’ll get clingy. its not that i dont like it… i do…. i just…” you mumbled, your eyes flickering between his and the tv.

…that was it?

you didn’t know where to put your hands and you thought you’d be clingy just after giving him a small hug? small kiss? he stifled a laugh which you caught onto, prompting a small pout to form on your plush lips. “why’re you laughing? i’m being serious!” you groaned, slightly frustrated at the feeling of simon not taking this seriously. simon took your frustration in stride, the roughness of his hands grazing across your cheeks as he gingerly cupped the sides of your face. “s’nothin— nothin a’ all…” he mumbled, secretly on cloud nine as he silenced you with a kiss, feeling you tense up to which he elicited a throaty chuckle. “it’s not— s’not funny!” you attempted to reprimand him which failed, seeing as how you were holding back your laugh at simon’s smile and at how ridiculous the situation was now that you thought about it.

“you’re right. i’m afraid you’ll be like a leech if you get used to me.” he mumbled against your lips. he was pleasantly surprised at the feeling of your hands returning the gesture and cupping his face, your thumbs grazing the stubble which pricked and prodded needles into the soft pads of your fingers. “shut up.” you mumbled back, pulling him down onto the couch with you as he landed on your chest. he tried to ignore the rapid beating of your heart and how it hammered in your chest, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t think it was cute.

if you weren’t used to affection, he’d have to change that.

#call of duty #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #simon riley fluff #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley #ghost x reader #ghost cod #simon ghost riley x reader #fluff #ghost call of duty #simon riley x y/n #simon riley x you

4K notes · View notes

malavera · 6 months ago

Text

Peaches: “Would you be so kind in lending a hand?” (18+) — Logan Howlett

summary: the friendly old man neighbor of yours is helping you with your wash day

warning: the setting of this one-shot is AU no correlation to Wolverine & Deadpool, SMUT! MDNI, fingering, female oral receiving, age gap (legal), no use of Y/N, the use of pet name peach, sir kink, squirting

wc: 3.5k (well it's a full shot not a drabble ehe)

creds: i forgot where the divider is from, creds to the creator!

dedicating this one to my favorite authors!

@velvrei @wolverinesleftclaw @stark-ironman @lovelybucky1 @cyber333angel @dollverine @joelsgoldrush

peaches masterlist

The day had finally come when you decided enough was enough. The laundry had been sitting there for three days, staring at you from the corner of your room like a silent accusation. Today was the day you would conquer it. Armed with your resolve, you hauled the overflowing basket to the laundry room. But as fate would have it, the universe had other plans.

The washing machine, that steadfast appliance you’d trusted for years, chose this very moment to betray you. The once familiar hum was replaced by a groan, a sputter, and then—nothing. You stared at it, disbelief turning to frustration as you realized the mountain of clothes in your arms was going nowhere. Your favorite pair of undies, buried somewhere in the pile, would have to wait.

You let out a long sigh, leaning back against the machine, its cool surface doing little to soothe your annoyance. Arms crossed, you dialed your father’s number, hoping for some semblance of a solution.

“Dad, the washing machine broke,” you said, half hoping he’d have a quick fix, half dreading his response.

There was a pause before he spoke, his voice calm, almost too calm. “Ask Logan for help, he’s pretty handy with stuff. I won’t be back until 8 PM tonight, buttercup.”

You nearly dropped the phone. Logan. Of course, it had to be him. The very thought of knocking on his door, asking him for help, sent a thrill of anxiety coursing through you. Why did it have to be him?

Logan Howlett—the man who occupied your thoughts far too often, the man who was the face of your wildest dreams. Just the mention of his name made your heart race. And now, you were supposed to ask him for help? The universe certainly had a twisted sense of humor.

You ended the call, staring at the washing machine like it was some cruel joke. The burnt toast theory, they called it. Sometimes, when things went wrong, it was the universe’s way of steering you toward something better. But as you stood there, contemplating the inevitable encounter with Logan, you couldn’t help but wonder if this was a blessing in disguise—or a test you weren’t sure you could pass.

Logan Howlett had been a fixture in your mind for five long months, ever since he moved into the neighborhood. It wasn’t just his rugged good looks or the way he carried himself with that effortless confidence; it was the way he seemed to have slipped so seamlessly into your life. Your dad, always quick to befriend a fellow drinker, had taken to him immediately. They were practically inseparable, sharing beers on the front porch, watching games in the living room, and even lingering over meals in the dining room.

And there you were, sneaking glances every time Logan was around, feeling that unmistakable flutter in your chest whenever he caught your eye.

Today, though, was different. Somehow, you found yourself standing on his porch, heart pounding as your fist hovered in mid-air. What were you thinking? Asking Logan for help—it felt too forward, too direct. But here you were, ignoring every ounce of self-doubt, raising your hand to knock on his door.

You barely had time to second-guess yourself before the door swung open. And there he was, the embodiment of everything that had been haunting your thoughts for months: tall, effortlessly sexy, his dark hair tousled just right. He was wearing a white shirt that clung to his broad chest and shoulders, tucked into denim jeans that fit him perfectly. You couldn’t help but notice how the summer sun cast a warm glow on his skin, making the moment feel almost surreal.

“Hey,” Logan’s voice broke through your reverie, casual yet deep enough to send a shiver down your spine. He squinted against the sunlight, his expression shifting into one of familiarity. “I was about to come over. Your dad called and asked me to check on something.”

You swallowed, trying to keep your voice steady as your mind raced. “Yeah, the washing machine broke. Dad said you could help… Would you be so kind in lending a hand?”

You could hear your own voice, slightly strained as you tried to strike the perfect balance. Not too high-pitched, not too low. Not too eager, not too aloof. But before you could overthink it any further, Logan flashed you a small smile, one that made your heart do a little flip.

“Yeah, sure, Peach.”

And there it was—that damn nickname that never failed to turn your insides into mush. It started innocently enough, the day your dad brought home a bag full of peaches and peach-flavored drinks. Logan had been there, chuckling at the sight, and ever since, he’d called you “Peach” with that easy, teasing tone. Now, every time he said it, you couldn’t help but melt a little, even if you tried to play it cool.

As you turned to lead him to your house through the backyard, you couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this was the universe’s way of pushing you closer to the man who had taken up residence in your thoughts.

“It made a really loud noise and it was shaking really bad, the sound was a bit scary,” you admitted, your voice tinged with worry. “And also, can you check if my clothes are alright? Did it tear them off or something?”

Logan nodded thoughtfully, a low hum of consideration escaping him as he surveyed the situation. “Where did your dad put his tools?” he asked, his gaze already scanning the room.

“Oh, it’s right there,” you said, pointing towards the shelf against the wall. Determined to be helpful, you stood on your tippy toes, stretching to reach the toolbox. But before you could grasp it, Logan moved past you with ease, his hand already closing around the handle.

“Careful, Peach. It’s pretty heavy,” he murmured from behind you, his voice close enough to send a subtle shiver down your spine. His presence loomed over you as he reached up effortlessly, the scent of his cologne mingling with the warm summer air.

You stepped back, feeling a mix of flustered and grateful as he handled the heavy toolbox with ease, making you feel small and protected all at once.

“O-okay.” The stutter slipped out before you could stop it. Seriously? Get a grip, you scolded yourself internally. Trying to regain some composure, you quickly added, “I’m just—gonna… fix you something to drink.” You gestured awkwardly towards the kitchen, hoping to retreat before you embarrassed yourself further.

Logan nodded absentmindedly, his focus entirely on the washing machine that seemed to be on its last legs. He didn’t even glance your way, which was both a relief and a disappointment. You took a nervous step back, then another, finally turning and heading to the kitchen, hoping a moment away would help you steady your nerves.

Leaving his presence created an unfamiliar ache in your chest, a tug of reluctance you hadn’t anticipated. It was as if some part of you didn’t want to leave his side, didn’t want to be apart from the quiet strength that Logan exuded. The thought of retreating to the kitchen, of putting physical distance between you and him, felt wrong, almost unnatural.

You wanted to stay. You wanted to watch him work on the broken machine, to see those skilled hands in action, to listen to the steady, assured way he moved and spoke. But at the same time, you knew you couldn’t trust yourself around him. Not when your heart raced at every little interaction, not when just being near him made you feel so unsteady.

You didn’t have the confidence to be casual, to act like you weren’t hanging on his every word and gesture. And you certainly didn’t have the strength to face the feelings that threatened to overwhelm you every time you were close to him. So instead, you sought refuge in the kitchen, hoping the distance would help calm the storm inside you, even as it left you aching for more.

Twisting the faucet, you watched as the water streamed out, the steady flow almost hypnotic in its simplicity. The kitchen was quiet, the only sound the gentle rush of water hitting the sink. You leaned forward, letting the coolness soothe your heated skin, and splashed your face with the cold water, hoping it would bring some clarity to your muddled thoughts.

For a moment, the shock of the cold jolted you back to reality, away from the overwhelming thoughts of Logan that had been swirling in your mind. You closed your eyes, letting the droplets drip down your face, trying to steady your breathing and collect yourself. It was just a broken washing machine, just a neighbor doing a favor.

You swung open the fridge, your hand instinctively reaching for your favorite peach-flavored soda. The cool metal of the can felt reassuring against your palm as you pulled it from its place. With a satisfying hiss, you cracked it open, the sweet, fruity scent immediately filling the air.

Reaching for a tall glass, you filled it with ice, the cubes clinking softly as they settled. Then, you poured the bubbly soda over them, watching as the fizzy drink cascaded down, swirling and dancing around the ice. After inserting a straw into the glass, you carefully picked it up, the cool condensation forming on the outside of the glass. You took a deep breath, steadying yourself, and made your way back to where Logan was.

"Here you go," you announced, placing the glass on the nearby table. Logan turned his attention from the washing machine to you, his eyes briefly darting to the drink you’d set down. A smile curved on his lips, the warmth in his gaze making your heart skip a beat. “Thanks, Peach.”

“Ehe…” You offered a nervous smile in return, your cheeks heating up at the casual endearment. Trying to steady your fluttering nerves, you grabbed the straw and shoved it into your mouth with a little more force than intended. It was your way of silencing the awkwardness bubbling inside you, a desperate attempt to keep any embarrassing sounds from escaping.

“So, your dad’s going on a date later today, huh?” Logan’s voice was light, but he noticed the nervousness you were trying to mask. His intention was to ease the tension with casual conversation.

“Y-yeah, he’s working now, but that’s what I’ve heard,” you replied, nervously fiddling with the straw. You decided to sit on the edge of the table where Logan’s drink was, adjusting it carefully to avoid spills.

Logan glanced at you, then back at the washing machine, his smirk widening. “You okay with that?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” you responded, a bit defensively.

Logan chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling with curiosity. “From what I’ve heard, you’ve never been too thrilled about him dating. Is there something you’re not telling me?”

You hesitated for a moment, the weight of Logan’s question pressing on you. Taking a deep breath, you decided to let your guard down. “Well, it’s just… I’ve always felt like I have to compete for his attention. It’s silly, I know, but it’s hard when you’re used to being the center of someone’s world.”

Logan’s expression softened, and he gave you an understanding nod. The moment of connection hung between you as Logan turned his attention back to the washing machine. He worked with focused precision, his hands moving deftly as he made the final adjustments. The clinks and whirs of the machine were soon replaced by a steady, rhythmic hum.

“There we go,” Logan said with a satisfied grin, stepping back to admire his handiwork. The washing machine was back in action, its gentle whirl now a reassuring sound.

You let out a relieved sigh, watching the machine function smoothly. “Thank you so much, Mister Howlett. I really appreciate it.” you said, your gratitude sincere as you adjusted from your sitting position to stand up. You set down your now-empty glass on the table, the slight clink of the glass breaking the brief silence.

Hearing you address him as "Mister Howlett" sparked something within Logan—an unfamiliar, yet undeniable feeling. It was a sentiment he had been trying to avoid, one that stirred within him despite his best efforts to keep his distance. The formal address seemed to intensify the feelings he had been wrestling with, making them more pronounced.

You're not the only one who has a crush, he does too.

From the moment Logan had closed the trunk of his truck while moving into the neighborhood, you had been on his mind. He remembered the day vividly—watching you step out of your car in a beautiful white sundress that hugged your upper body and flowed gracefully. The way the dress accentuated your figure, combined with the ease of your movements, had captured his attention in a way he hadn’t anticipated. As you came knocking on his door with your dad beside you to welcome him into the neighborhood, those peach-flavored pie you brought had been lingering in his mind ever since. He wondered if you smell as good as that pie where he devoured in one full bite that night. And here you are, wearing the same white sundress that's gotten him obsessed with.

As Logan took a step forward, you instinctively stepped back, forgetting about the table behind you. Your hips brushed against it gently, causing a small jolt. Logan had intended to reach for the glass of your beverage, but his proximity brought him uncomfortably close.

With a casual yet deliberate movement, Logan took the glass from behind you, his body nearly brushing against yours. He lifted the glass in front of you, tilting his head slightly with a smirk. “Thanks, Peach,” he said, his voice low and warm.

Without breaking eye contact, he chugged down the drink, his gaze locked onto yours. The act was both confident and intimate, making the moment feel charged with unspoken tension. The shared space between you seemed to crackle with a newfound energy as you both stood there, the air thick with the lingering effects of the brief but intense connection.

You cleared your throat, feeling a flush of heat spread across your cheeks as you managed to wiggle your way out from the proximity of Logan. You made your way toward the washing machine, watching it work through the glass as your laundry tumbled inside.

“Tell me, Peach,” Logan’s voice came from behind, smooth and deliberate. “Is your taste as good as this peach soda?”

Your breath hitched, and your mind raced. Am I hearing this right? Is this a dream? You thought, trying to process his words. Despite the possibility of it being a dream, you couldn't bring yourself to face him. Instead, you leaned against the washing machine, the rhythmic vibrations grounding you.

“Um—W-what do you mean, s-sir?” you managed to stammer, your voice barely more than a whisper.

You could feel Logan’s presence closing in behind you, the air growing warmer and thicker as he approached. The vibrations from the washing machine seemed to pulse more intensely against your torso, amplifying the sensation of his proximity. Each step he took made your heartbeat quicken, your senses acutely aware of the space between you shrinking.

Logan’s shadow fell over you, and you could almost feel the heat radiating from his body. His breath, though not yet touching your skin, was close enough that you could sense its warmth.

“You wanna know what ‘m thinking, Peach?” He mumbles behind your ear. You wished he didn’t hear your shuddered breath and the swallowed saliva down your throat from the way he makes you nervous.

“I don’t think so, Mister Howlett.” you managed to reply, your voice trembling slightly as you tried to maintain your composure.

“Naw, why? Afraid you might like it?” You could feel the smirk slowly forming in his face.

“I-”

“I’m thinking of bending you against this washing machine, lift up your very short sundress and get on my knees. Slowly taking my time smelling that scent… of arousal from your pussy, where I know, she’s dying to be touched, to be fingered, to be fucked, by me.” You gasp once you feel the bulge from his rough jeans, teasingly grinding against your ass earning a chuckle from him as he continues,

“Oh yes I know, Peach. I know how much you want to feel this cock inside you. Should’ve known better to close your blinds at night when your delicate… fingers desperately trying to reach that high, because I’m always watching you, Peach. Even though you’re such a pain in the ass with that, Peach flavored pie, and that fucking beautiful smile. I wanna turn those smiles into tears… Tears of pleasure from me, fucking this cunt.” You gasped loudly as Logan roughly thrust his bulge against your ass, hitting you against the washing machine.

“L-Logan,” you stammered, your voice trembling with a mix of nervousness and anticipation.

“Call me, Sir,” Logan’s tone was laced with full authority, each word deliberate and commanding. You choked back a swallow before you corrected yourself.

"Sir, I don't know what you're talking about." You stood on your ground.

"Yeah? Let me remind you how it feels then, this time, with me." Logan grunted in your ears before you felt a rush of cold air blowing against your damped panties resulted from Logan lifting your skirt up. You whimpered once you feel his fingers grazing against your soaking wet cunt, earning a mocking tut from Logan.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk... Your cunt says otherwise, Peach." He rubs you through the panties before ripping them off of you, the sound piercing through the room.

Logan crouched on his knees, proving his promise to you the one where he'd like to take his time smelling you from down your legs up to your thighs, dragging his warm tongue on your delicate skin upwards earning a moan from you. Logan hummed once he connected his lips to your glistening pussy lips, his tongue swirling and lapping your gushing juices.

You feel like god had just granted you your wishes into doing this sinful things. You finally can experience the feeling of his tongue against your throbbing cunt that keeps on gushing. Logan moaned, while he laps your juices up like a dog. "You taste just as I imagined, peach-flavored cunt." He murmured against your pussy.

A rosy hue crept across your cheeks hearing his statement. "Come on, Peach. Gimme more." Logan breathed out, his two hands that were gripping your thighs pushed and lifted you upward attempting you to bend over more over the top of the washing machine. Spreading your legs wide, you moaned out loud once you feel his tongue crazily lap your pussy like a dog in thirst.

"S-sir.." You squeaked, feeling yourself close.

"Hmm, yeah, give it to me, Peach." Logan grunted, burying his face even more.

"Ngh, I'm gonna-" Before you could finish that sentence, you froze as you heard your dad's voice calls out to you.

"Buttercup! I'm home, have you managed with the laundry yet?" He hollers from the other room. You gasped while Logan didn't even budge, he kept resuming his action.

"Y-yes, Dad! Everything's good now!" You holler back, holding yourself back from moaning.

"Do you need any help, darling?" You heard the sound of footstep, your eyes widened and hurriedly answer, "No- No, Dad! Everything's good, I'll be coming in a second." Logan smirked.

"Okay darling, I'm gonna get some rest." Your dad holler back as his footsteps fading away. You sighed in relief before you gasped when you feel Logan entering two fingers inside your cunt.

"What a naughty little girl, she needs to make herself cum before she gets back to being the dotting daughter huh?" You whimper to his words.

"Please, sir. Don't stop, it feels so good.."

"Yeah? Wait till you feel my cock." Logan vowed. He curled his fingers inside you, effortlessly flicking your g-spot before he stood back up on his feet, leaning against your back. He gently guide you to stand on your feet even though it's impossible for you as you're still in daze from his fingers still working their magic.

Logan whispered all kinds of filthy things in your head to get you to reach your high. "Is this just like what you imagined, peach?" — "Feels so good yeah?" — "Yes it does. Are you gonna cum for me?" — "Yeah come on, almost there, I know," — "Make a mess on my fingers, baby."

As you choked a loud moan, Logan's other hand went to silenced you while you came gushing down on his fingers. Your whole body shook while Logan holds you in place as you're coming down your high.

"There you go, good girl." You panted once you've gained your strength to stand on your own, you turned around and to find him smirking, a notable wet droplet covered some parts of his jeans as you now just learned, that you squirted on him a little.

He brought his fingers up to his mouth, his gaze never leaving yours as he tasted what's remained of you on his fingers.

"Hmm, taste just like a peach."

let me know if you want me to start the journey for Logan & Peach 😉

#Malavera #Logan and Peach #Logan howlett smut #logan howlett smut oneshot #logan howlett series #logan howlett fic #logan howlett x female reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett imagine #deadpool x wolverine #wolverine smut #wolverine #hugh jackman #hugh jackman smut

3K notes · View notes

dyingswanpavlova · 20 days ago

Text

"Your girl" - Part 4 | The Salesman x Reader

Summary: Are you really his girl? He needs to test you to find out. All the while you're slowly slipping deeper into your trauma and his world.

Warnings: dead dove do not eat, kidnapping, mentions of sexual abuse and other traumatic events in the past, numbness, helplessness, violence, mentions of murder and rape, threatening, choking, body issues, trauma talk, stockholm syndrome, hinting at depression, manipulation, mentions of sexual activities and desires, gun usage, not beta-read, if I've missed any please tell me! 18+!

"Your girl" - The Salesman x Reader Masterlist

Something was really fucking wrong with him, but what was far worse, something was really fucking wrong with you.

Obviously you had known that and you could tell, it wasn't all your fault. Your mother had played a great part in messing with your mind, your character, your self-perception. Then there was the man whose hands you still felt sliding up your waist.

God, you hated when someone touched your waist.

And then there was the bane of your existence. The nameless motherfucker with the soulless eyes and the briefcase.

You weren't particularly angry, like he was.

You weren't especially cruel, like she was.

Most of the time you were simply afraid.

Sometimes it were small tasks that ended up overwhelming you. Saying hello to a cashier or putting gas in your car. Getting up to brush your teeth. Eating. On some days, all these things felt entirely impossible.

On other days, you gathered your belongings, sat down in the aisle seat of a plane and flew all the way to South Korea. Just like that. Like it was nothing.

So you never really understood how your mind worked and how someone could be so broken, yet still function in some way. After all, you went to work, earned money, got at least a few things done.

The thing you hated about yourself the most was your constant fear of everything. But the thing you were most ashamed about was that other thing.

His calm voice forced your thoughts away.

"How did you sleep?"

You slowly looked up, your expression guarded as you thought about the question.

How did you sleep?

After your dramatic, almost romantic declaration that you belonged to him, he did nothing. No torturous experiments, no water bowls on the ground, no apology cakes. He simply got up, wished you a good night and went to sleep.

You lied awake all night, expecting at least some kind of reaction. Of course you didn't expect him to believe your words. So far he hadn't. Why would he now?

"I didn't sleep." You said truthfully.

He hummed softly while he poured a cup of white tea and handed it over to you. You held the cup so tightly that your palms burned against the heat of it.

"That explains why you look the way you look."

How charming.

He smiled, almost teasingly. He seemed so awfully...content.

"Can we talk about yesterday?" You murmured.

"What was yesterday?"

You felt your own expression darken, something that didn't happen often, especially not in his presence. But somehow you couldn't help yourself. You felt like he was making fun of you.

"Well, I..."

What was yesterday? How were you supposed to answer that question?

You looked down at the tea cup in your hands and stayed silent. Maybe your mind was playing tricks on you again and nothing had indeed happened yesterday.

You slowly looked up and saw the shards of the shattered vase on the floor. The sight made you frown.

"I want you to do something for me today." He said matter-of-factly, while he adjusted his tie.

You looked up at him, your expression questioning. Then you slowly set the cup down on the coffee table.

"I want you to call your work and tell them you moved back home. To England.”

You froze. He couldn't mean that.

"I...What?"

"You heard me." And with that, you were forced to catch the phone he tossed your way. It was your phone. Your fucking phone. Had it been here all along?

"I can't do that." You gasped out.

Instead of answering, he slowly pulled out the gun he kept with him and looked down at it. The sight made your heart clench.

Maybe something did change. Maybe today was your last day on earth.

"I can't hear you dialing." He said calmly, as he played with the gun in his hands.

You looked down at the phone in your hands. They were shaking as you carefully unlocked it. Three messages, all from work. Just like expected.

You swallowed thickly. If you did this now, there was absolutely no hope left for you. Your life - or whatever you might want to call it - was over. He'd have his alibi and you'd be gone. Buried under a pile of dirt in some Korean forest, so many miles away from where you were actually home.

Tears stung your eyes and you slowly looked up at him, but he still wasn't looking at you.

You knew if you didn't call, you'd die anyways.

Any way.

You'd die anyways.

You choked back the sob that threatened to escape and dialed the number of your workplace. After a few seconds, you heard the voice of your boss pick up. "Hello?"

You took a shaky breath. If you just screamed your name, gun, gun, he's pointing a gun at me, maybe then at least your death wouldn't be so pointless. Maybe it would be investigated further and maybe, with all the little hope you had left, he'd get caught. You had to hope. It was all you could do. He’d get caught.

And fucking executed.

But before you could say anything, you felt his weight press you down into the couch. His weight on top of you and his gun pressed against your temple.

It cost you all your strength not to gasp. Your phone was still tightly pressed against your ear, with the difference that your hands were sweaty now.

"Hello? Who's this?" You heard your boss's impatient voice ask.

He pressed the gun harder against you, his expression furious.

"Me." You croaked out. "It's me."

After a tense silence, then the voice finally snapped: "What on earth is going on with you? Where are you, girl? Do you think you just get to stay away like that? Don't you know the goddamn rules?"

You choked back another sob while he slowly slid the barrel of the gun down along your jawline, pointing it up at your head.

"I went back home." You whispered. "I'm back in England. And I quit."

After another long, confused silence you heard your boss's voice again, but before you could make out what he was saying, he snatched your phone back and hung up.

"Good girl." He purred, before he pushed the phone into the cup with searing hot tea.

"No!"

The moment your lips parted in a desperate plea, you suddenly felt the cold metal of the gun press against your lips, demanding entrance. Your eyes widened and your chest heaved in rapid breaths.

"Keep being a good girl. Open up for me." He whispered.

When you still hesitated, he pushed the gun forward even harder.

"Don't make me say it again. You won't like what will happen then." He said between gritted teeth.

Hot tears streamed down your face as you slowly parted your lips and teeth. God, this was it. You had made a mistake, a grave one. Maybe the fact that you pushed him away last night. Maybe he was still angry about your outburst the other day. Whatever it was, now you were going to pay the price for it and the price was your life.

A quiet sob escaped your lips when you felt the gun push forward into your mouth. It felt cold against your skin, making cold sweat break out on your back. You tried to push it back using your tongue, but he only ever pushed harder. So hard, until you ended up gagging against it. That was when he stopped and held it still.

"Are you still my girl?" He hissed.

You tried to swallow, but the gun in your mouth made it impossible. Only then you realized how hard you were shaking. And all the while you never took your eyes off him. Tried to memorize him. Maybe, if you were lucky and got to Heaven after you died, maybe you could tell them who he was and what he looked like. Maybe you could beg them not to let him in.

"Are you?!" He nearly yelled and bruised your throat with the gun when he gave a rough push forward.

You coughed up another sob and nodded. A frantic movement.

He kept staring down at you, his eyes wide and crazed.

He would pull the trigger. He would kill you.

But instead he did something else.

You had no idea what was going on, all you felt was how you could suddenly move your jaw and tongue again, but instead you felt your fingers curl around something. The gun. He pressed the gun down into your hand and pulled it up against his temple. His expression was even more crazed than before and all you managed to do was watch in a mixture of indescribable fear and something like horrified fascination.

"Kill me." He hissed.

You stared at him, your eyes wide, frozen in fear.

"I told you to fucking kill me!" He yelled. "You will never get out of here, never and if you don't shoot me, I'm going to break every fucking bone in your body, before I kill you myself!"

Your fingers clenched around the gun, but nothing else changed. Your index finger, shaking like a leaf, didn't even come close to the trigger.

He growled in fury and wrapped a hand around your throat, squeezing hard. Hard enough for you to immediately gasp out in horror.

"I will make your life a living hell." He growled lowly. "You will spend every waking moment wishing you were dead. I'll fuck you so hard, you'll never stand up straight again, I'll punch you so bad, your organs will give up at once, I'll break everything there is to break and before all that I'll cut your fucking tongue out, so you can't even scream! Kill me!"

Every word made your chest tighten more. You could already see it. Already feel it. You could tell he was capable of these things. You knew something just wasn't right in his mind. You knew. But something still held you back.

Was it the fear that you wouldn't get out, even after you killed him? That maybe you needed a code oto leave? Was it the fear of what would happen if you got out? That people wouldn't believe you and you'd end up in Korean prison? Or even worse, back home?

Whatever it was, you lowered the gun.

With a frustrated growl, he yanked the gun back and pressed it against his temple. He gritted his teeth. And pulled the trigger.

"No!" You screamed in such a desperate manner, that your voice cracked and your body gave in. He might as well have shot you. The pain that struck your body was the same.

But, oh God, it wasn't loaded. It wasn't loaded.

Your body was shaking and you were covered in sweat, your eyes glistening with tears and sobs dying on your tongue. You held your breath. And he stared down at you with a look that almost mirrored your own.

After the insane, tense silence stretched out above your heads for what felt like eternity, he finally lowered the gun. With a soft thud it landed on the carpet. His hand shot out and he held your cheek. His touch wasn't cruel. It was a soft caress. The gentlest touch you had ever felt.

"Don't cry." He breathed.

Were you crying? You couldn't tell.

In your mind, you were dead. Unable to process that you were indeed alive and...no, probably not all too well.

"God." He whispered. His brows furrowed in thought and he slowly, carefully trailed his fingertips down until they met your neck. Soft red marks covered it where his fingers had tightly squeezed before, cutting off your air supply. You had hardly even registered them, until you felt his gaze and fingers following the marks in quiet contemplation.

"It was a test?"

Your voice didn't sound like your own. Not even human. Just a soft breath of the wind, barely audible, if there had been anything louder than your breaths mingling in the air.

"Yes." He whispered. "I needed to know."

God, you wanted to be angry. You were angry. You wanted to fight him, punch his godforsaken, pretty face, beat him to a pulp. You wanted to hit him with the gun and make him swallow a bullet. Or ten.

But all you really did was release a soft, shuddery sob.

He seemed just as exhausted as you were, because he collapsed on top of you. His harsh breaths fanned over your neck, while he buried his face in your hair, his body on top of yours pulling the remaining air from your lungs. But that wasn't what you felt.

What you felt was his body on top of you, warm and almost comforting. What you felt was his skin against yours, a mixture of salty sweat and perfume and also something that was uniquely him.

You wanted to scream. Shriek. In anger, frustration, fear and disappointment.

But what you did instead was even worse.

Your hands, soft and careful, moved to his back and remained there. Your arms, weak and exhausted, wrapped around his form and embraced him. You didn't care that you could hardly breathe. You felt him.

You hugged him.

And you felt him stiffen on top of you. Of course, you were sure, had you hit him, his body wouldn't have gone as tense.

But that didn't make you stop.

Instead you simply tightened your arms around him and buried your face in his chest, breathing in his scent and trying to calm your nerves. And to your great surprise, he let you.

"The rules are simple."

Of course there were rules.

"When you're outside, you don't talk to other men. You don't even look at them. If I catch you doing that, I'll cut off your hair."

You nearly scoffed. As if you would ever come back to him, if you ever made it out on your own.

He seemed to read your thoughts, because he narrowed his eyes and smiled slowly.

"Don't worry, sweet girl. You won't go out until you're ready. And when you are, you'll come back to me. You'll always come back."

You tried to school your expression, but the unease was obvious.

He leaned closer and whispered: "And if I find out you're deceiving me or betraying me, I'll cut off far more than your hair."

A shiver ran down your spine and not the good kind. You nodded.

"Anything else?" You whispered.

He hummed softly.

"The foundation of our relationship stays the same, my sweet, darling girl." He murmured as he gently played with a strand of your hair. "You'll get punished when you step out of line and rewarded when you're good for me."

Of course. What else did you expect?

"As for the physical part..."

You stopped breathing. And you were sure you could hear your own heart, pounding in your chest like it was begging you to stop it from beating. To rip it out.

He hummed again and ran his fingers down to your shoulder, where he absentmindedly fidgeted with the straps of your dress.

"I have needs, sweet girl. Many of them. And they're not easily satisfied."

You stared at him.

When he didn't continue, you forced yourself to whisper: "What kind of needs?"

That made his lips curve up into a predatory grin, baring his teeth in the process. One of them was slightly crooked, you suddenly realized. Not much and it didn't do anything to his attractiveness. He was still the most handsome, soulless monster you had ever met. But something about that tiny little imperfection comforted you.

Reminded you that he was still human, instead of the devil, trapped in human form.

"You can't tell?" He purred and you shook your head.

Then he sighed softly and leaned close enough that you felt his hot breath against your ear.

"I think our needs match quite well, yours and mine."

That made your face flush in a deep crimson. No. He wouldn't use that against you, would he? Not even he could be that cruel.

He had used every mind game he played with you to find out more about that shameful thing you hated so much about yourself.

Of course he was pushy about it.

But at some point, whenever he tended to get ahead of himself, he suddenly stopped and the game was over. And he always called you a good girl afterwards. Something that made your insides tingle in a way that was pleasant and unpleasant all the same.

"Don't look at me like that." He said calmly and took a sip of his whiskey. "Did you think I wouldn't catch on that, huh?"

You averted your gaze. Yes, he was cruel like that. You didn't know why you expected him not to be. Especially after he used every opportunity to prove to you how twisted he really was.

He wasn't capable of feeling. You knew that. Except for maybe anger. And satisfaction. But that was it. No sympathy, no love, no compassion.

Pure malice.

"What I need to know though, why does a sweet girl like you have such twisted fantasies?"

You nearly choked on your water. You hadn't told him about your fantasies. Not per say. All he knew was...

"Being used."

"Used for one's pleasure."

"Not caring about my own."

Was that enough for him to know what the hell was so messed up in your head? And if he knew, could he maybe explain it to you?

It was your deepest, darkest secret.

Yes, you had mentioned it to the psychiatrist once and he had half-heartedly told you that you weren't the only one.

He had also given the tiniest hint of an explanation, why you were the way you were. But you had shut him off, before he could finish.

You quickly pushed the thoughts away. You couldn't think about that.

That had never happened. It wasn't reality. Your mind agreed with you, which was why it suppressed all the memories from back then.

"I don't want to talk about it." You nearly hissed out. That earned an amused look from him and he held up his hands in surrender.

"Calm down. And don't forget your place again. Did you forget what happened last time?”

You sighed deeply. "Will I always have to fear for my life when I speak up my mind?"

He regarded you with a long, thoughtful look.

"It depends." He said calmly. "Some things you say will merely annoy me and I can try to keep myself from punishing you for your sake. And the sake of your pretty face. I do tend to get ahead of myself sometimes. Other words could get you killed, sweet girl. So, try not to gamble too much."

You swallowed thickly. Sometimes you'd forget who he was, what this was and that you had no rights here. That you were no one, except for maybe his little pet, his toy, his...his girl.

"Okay." You whispered.

"Now, now. Don't be so timid. There's no fun in that." He raised a brow and smirked.

You took a long, shaky breath. Maybe the conversation could end here and you'd finally call it a day and-

"Were you abused?"

You froze. It felt like the worst, the lowest hit he'd ever thrown at you. You didn't feel uneasy, you felt straight up nauseous.

"What?" You whispered quietly.

He nodded. "Did someone touch you? Against your will? Except the little fucker at the train station."

"Aside from you?" You clenched your jaw.

He rolled his eyes. "I didn't ask if somehow hurt or hit you before. I know that your bitch mother did. I'm asking if someone touched you."

As much as you wanted to scream at him or jump out of the window - It's locked, honey. Don't bother. - all you could do was sit in silence and feel as the ability to move and speak left you.

He sighed. "That explains your desires. I should have known."

He took a breath and took another sip of his drink, blissfully unaware of the way your body slowly froze solid. The way you couldn't breathe. Just enough to keep you alive. But not enough to live.

After a moment he seemed to realize that something was off, because he did something that he normally didn't. He frowned.

"Are you well?"

Your throat felt tight. Suddenly you realized, while he was choking you, you could still breathe easier than whenever this feeling came up. This chokehold. The way it pulled you under the cold water surface. The way the hand slowly slid up your bare waist and...

You gasped for air and wrapped your arms around your torso, trying to keep yourself from falling apart.

"What the-"

You hardly even recognized him or the way he gripped your arms tightly, trying to shake you back to your senses. You were slowly drowning. The light was fading. All you saw was that one spot on the wall. You couldn't look away. It was your safe haven. Your lighthouse, your beacon. You couldn't cast your gaze away, even after he cupped your face in his hands and spoke to you.

His frown was deep. He seemed genuinely confused. Confused. Was that the right word? He was in a frenzy, almost desperate to bring you back. Get through to you.

"Look at me, goddamn it, look at me." He hissed and grasped your chin tightly. He considered slapping you, but for some reason he seemed to fear that would only make you dissolve deeper into yourself. So, instead he did something else, Something that was so not at all like him, it was nearly ridiculous. It was hard to believe. It was...

"Please." He whispered. His palms gently caressed your cheeks. "Please. Come back to me."

You blinked slowly. You were still under water, but instead of the wall, you could make out his face. Under lots and lots of pain and disgust, resentment and hate for yourself, there was his face. And his eyes were soft. So much water and you still saw it. His eyes were soft as he looked at you.

"It's okay." He whispered again and nodded.

The tightness in your throat slowly gave way to a few, slow breaths.

In. And out. In. And out.

And least you could breathe again.

You briefly closed your eyes. Everything came back to you very slowly. The train station, the handsome stranger. The way his eyes darkened. And suddenly they were soft.

After a minute or so, you slowly blinked your eyes open and the sight before you was confusing as hell. He looked...so...

Concerned.

But no, that couldn't be.

It were your mind games again.

You wished so badly for someone to love you, to care about you, to be kind to you for once, that you started making up scenarios.

As if on cue, he quickly forced his gaze away and cleared his throat.

"Here. Drink." He held your water glass to your lips and slowly tilted it up until you felt the wetness of the water wash over your dried-out mouth.

You were sure. You had imagined it.

You tried to focus on your breathing and that's why you missed that he didn't look at you again. The whole evening, his eyes avoided yours like a pest.

At least you could breathe again.

Tags: @ayieayee @eviebuggg @fictionalmen-dilflover

If anyone else wants to be tagged in Part 5, let me know 🤍

912 notes · View notes

sixosix · 8 months ago

Text

religion's in your lips

third year to timeskip!hinata x fem!reader, a tad suggestive

It’s Shoyo’s fault.

You don’t join Shoyo’s outings often; most of them are volleyball-related anyway, and you didn’t want to get in the way. But right now, it’s just the third years, and Shoyo had begged so sweetly with round eyes that you would be cruel to even think about denying him.

Kageyama sits on your other side, stiff and polite, jostled here and there by Shoyo pressing up against you. Tsukishima, Yamaguchi, and Yachi sit on the other side of the table. Conversation is light and comfortable. They don’t exclude you even when talking about practice matches and lineups—Yamaguchi asks you about your own club ever so often, too.

Yamaguchi claps his hand, forcing everyone’s attention on him. Except Shoyo, who’s busy tracing stars on your hand. “Do you guys want to watch a movie this weekend? I heard they’re releasing a sequel of the one we watched back in first year.”

Yachi emits a wordless sound of excitement, easily agreeing. Kageyama and Tsukishima begrudgingly agree at the same time, then sneer at each other. Then they all turn to you and Shoyo.

Shoyo grins. “Sorry, I got plans already.”

“You get a girlfriend, and suddenly you forget about us,” Yamaguchi mourns. Shoyo laughs while you get flustered and assure them that you’re not keeping your boyfriend hostage. Kageyama says that they know Hinata is the one doing it.

“You’re going to watch our match next week, though, right?” Shoyo asks you in a low whisper, as the other three dutifully settle in their own world.

“You don’t even need to ask, Shoyo,” you tell him. “Of course.”

Shoyo’s eyes brighten impossibly, face split into a grin. He looks like he wants to push you down onto the floor to kiss you in front of his friends, but he doesn’t. You knew he wouldn’t.

It’s Shoyo’s fault.

Really. Seriously this time. Specifically, Hinata Shoyo from third year. He’s changed from first year, gained more confidence, but he’s still shy and soft-spoken with you, which you expected from someone as sweet as him. It set your expectations for him and what your relationship would look like in the years and years that you’ll spend with him: bearing that first love kind of shyness.

It takes about two years to prove you wrong.

When Shoyo came back from Brazil, the first thing he did was kiss you breathless in front of everyone in the airport.

His strong arms around your waist, pulling you up—which you had to think ‘thank God’ for because your knees have definitely buckled. You don’t think too much about it, because he’s been gone for two years—two!!—and you’ve missed each other too much.

But when Hinata’s mouth descends to your jaw, you have to push him by the chest and exclaim (albeit weakly), “Shoyo—there are still people behind us!”

Shoyo blinks and pulls off, his eyes fogged over with heat that makes you have to look away, having to remind yourself that you’re in public and you do not want to beg for him to continue. Thankfully, his friends yelling his name seems to have snapped him out of it.

But his palm never left your side, splayed over your hip like a mark.

It gets worse at his homecoming party thrown by his teammates back at Karasuno. You’re familiar with them, and they’re familiar with you, so of course, it wasn’t a problem when Shoyo was pulled away to greet everyone. You made friendly conversation with Sugawara-san, caught up with Nishinoya, and joked around all night with Yamaguchi and Tsukishima.

“You called each other every night?” Yamaguchi’s brows have shot up all the way to his hairline.

You smile. “I mean—isn’t it normal for people in a relationship?”

Tsukishima shrugs. “Hinata loves you as much as he loves volleyball, I’m not surprised.”

Yamaguchi considers it. “Hmm, I guess.”

“Hinata’s waiting for you,” Kageyama mutters from behind you, appearing out of nowhere. His brows are stitched together, and his mouth is pulled in his ever-permanent Kageyama pout. “His staring is pissing me off. Can you go get him?”

“He’s not a dog, Tobio,” you chide lightly but grin all the same when you turn to your side and see Hinata Shoyo’s eyes drilling holes into your head.

He’s not mouthing anything. Shoyo stays seated on the loveseat, looking entirely isolated from the crowd around him. His eyes say it all: come here.

Helpless to his whims, you obey.

“Shoyo,” you murmur as soon as you reach him.

He pulls you to his lap. “Baby.”

You freeze. He’s never called you that before—his expression isn’t shy at all, too, just expectant. Heat crawls down your body as he tugs your back to his chest, resting his chin on your shoulder. Shoyo’s own warmth is a burning sensation. You feel lightheaded.

“Ah—well, um.” You pinch your arm. “Are you feeling okay? Did you drink?”

“There’s no alcohol here.”

“I’m pretty sure I saw Sugawara-san holding a bottle.”

“Ah, well. Sugawara-san.”

You understand. What you don’t understand is what happened in those two years to have Shoyo’s hand crawling on your thigh, a scorching mark on only that part of your skin. To have Shoyo’s breath on the nape of your neck without him flushing and flinching away. To have Shoyo have this air of confidence around him that’s usually in volleyball suddenly translate to you.

“Did you miss me this much?”

“You have no idea, don’t you?” The implications are clear: I could show you how much, if you want.

Still, this development is very sudden. You squirm on his lap, but Shoyo doesn’t relent. He keeps you there, a puddle in his hands. Nobody is watching—or maybe they’re just being respectful, but you feel flustered facing this side of Shoyo in public.

“Shoyo,” you warn. “Not here.”

It’s Heitor’s fault.

Ever since Hinata had met Heitor and Nice and witnessed how unapologetically intimate they were with each other, Hinata became envious. He wanted that, too. He wanted that with you.

“Well, why wouldn’t you?” Heitor asked when Hinata lamented to him.

Hinata made a pitiful noise, like a deflating balloon. “I don’t know. I think she just thinks I’m too cute to take that seriously.”

Heitor laughs. “Shoyo. Trust me. You’ll drive your girl crazy if you’re confident with it.”

It’s Heitor’s fault, and Hinata is eternally grateful for it, seeing your wide-eyed face beneath him like this. He loves it when he surprises people, but yours might be a different kind of thrill that he’s already addicted to.

#haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x reader #hinata shouyou x reader #hinata shoyo imagine #shoyo hinata x reader #hinata shoyo x reader #hinata shoyo x you

2K notes · View notes

little-miss-dilf-lover · 6 months ago

Text

OFFERING A HAND. (L.H)

logan howlett x gn!reader

word count. 1369

summary. requested here. logan overhears you crying one night. though the dynamics of your relationship have never been established, he can’t quite leave you alone. and so, he knocks on your door. doing what he can to comfort you

It was a bad day. Another bad day at the end of a bad week. Another bad week.��

You didn’t even know what it was that you were feeling, what had got you feeling this way. All you did know, is that your head hurt, the pressure building behind your eyes as you try your best not to actualise your sadness. Purposefully distracting yourself as a way to manage it.

You’re in your room at the mansion, earphones plugged in with your door shut – minimal light from the moon creeping through your window. You lay in bed on your side, legs comfortably tucked up as you listen to your music, the volume high enough to drown out everything else.

It was loud, so much so that you’re unaware of the knocks at your door – the presence of Logan on the other side. The smell and sounds of your sobs catching his attention from the room over.

He knew it wasn’t his responsibility, wasn’t his duty to check on you —the confusing dynamics of your unspoken relationship often making things difficult— though he’s not heartless. He’s not cruel. He couldn’t let you be alone, knowing you were crying in your room.

His knocks go unheard, though he knew you were in there. The smell of your salty tears just as fragrant as before – maybe even more so now up close.

You see a crack of light illuminate around your room as the door ever so slowly opens, Logan lingering between the small gap in the doorframe. You whip your neck around to follow the silhouette, your hands immediately reaching to wipe your eyes when you spot him.

“Everything okay in here?” he asks, speaking tentatively. His footing hesitant.

You unplug your earphones and give your eyes another quick wipe, hastily brushing the wet from under them.

“Mhm-hm,” you hum, afraid of what your voice may sound like.

“You sure?” he questions, slowly eyeing around your dim room. “It uh— it doesn’t sound like it.”

You briefly drop your head into your hands and clear your throat, adjusting yourself more comfortably on the bed. Sitting up, you cross your legs and plop a plushie atop – your comfort plushie. Awkwardly playing with the ears as a way of distracting yourself.

“I’m good,” you shrug, weakly laughing as if to lighten the mood – make it seem like no big deal.

His eyes hone in on your fidgeting hands, a slight warmness spreading in them once he realises what you’re doing. He looks back out into the hallway like he was weighing his options, until he glances back at you sitting sadly on your bed, bottom lip practically wobbling.

He exhales as he scratches the back of his neck, clearly unsure of what to do.

“Seriously,” you clear your throat once more. “I’m good. I’m good,” you say, the tone changing by the second repeat – speaking like it was you who needed convincing.

He shakes his head and steps further into your room, closing the door behind himself as he walks over to you. “Can I sit?” he questions, and once he’s met with a nod from you, he takes a seat at the edge just beside you.

“I don’t know why I’m sad,” you murmur, eyes focused on your lap. Your hands still fiddling with the fluff of your stuffed animal. “I don’t know,” you shrug, suddenly feeling embarrassed by all this vulnerability.

He nods faintly, the act showing that he’s listening to you. It’s like he’s uncertain of what to say, scared of saying the wrong thing.

“Sorry,” you shake your head, softly scoffing to yourself.

“No,” he mirrors your head movement. “Don’t be.”

Logan hesitates, his hand slowly reaching for yours. He clasps around it, his fingers interlocking with yours before giving you a slight squeeze. “It’s okay,” he nods, reaffirming his words.

The contact alone of his hand in yours is enough to reopen those feelings you tried ever so desperately to contain. New tears slowly forming in your eyes from his simple act of warmth.

He keeps his eyes on the side of you, watching you softly while you do everything you can not to meet his gaze – forcefully keeping them on your interlocked hands.

And with your spare hand, you bring it up to your face, elbow resting on your knee to cover your eyes, not wanting him to see you cry.

But it was too late, he saw it and his heart hurt for you. He pulses your hand, his fingers soothingly skimming over the back of it. He couldn’t bear to see you like this. And though the logistics of your relationship have never been solidified, that didn’t mean he didn’t care for you, didn’t like you.

You cry quietly into your hand, the pads of your fingers briskly wiping away every tear that fell.

“Come on,” he mutters, voice soft as he adjusts on the bed, turning inward to you beside him. “Let me take care of you.”

Without a second to debate it, you repeat after him – twisting in to face him. You let go of his hand and wrap both arms around him, hands tight on his back as you bury your face into his shoulder. Head tucked in the crook of his neck.

His arms follow after you in the same way, hands grasped tight on your back as he soothes you – a palm brushing up the length of it, calming you. The warmth and softness of him only deepen your sobs.

He coos faintly, the sound like he was trying to further the comfort. His large, manish hands running up the expanse of your spine until one situates behind your head, cradling it carefully. Holding it closer to him.

You mutter something into him, the incohesive words muffling against his neck.

And before you have to repeat yourself, he’s pulling away to look down at you. The hand on your back moving to the side of your face, his thumb gliding under your eye to swipe away a tear bead. He keeps his eyes focused on you, gaze purely soft as he flickers over your face.

“One more time, sweet thing,” he prompts, referring to your prior, indistinct sentence a moment.

“Thank you,” you repeat, a slight waver in your voice. “I mean it, thank you,” you nod and give his back a brief squeeze before parting.

His hand still cupping your face. “I know,” he says, words gentle.

He leans in, pressing a kiss to your cheek, his lips lingering for a moment before he pulls away. You hold his eye contact, smiling sadly at him as you do so. He can be so sweet.

“Um,” you start, unsure of what’s about to come from your mouth. “Can you stay with me for a bit?”

He pauses, his features forcefully stiffening —hiding a grin— before he nods, silently agreeing.

You smile at him again, this time it's far sweeter, the reasoning far sweeter. You resume your original lying position, only this time it’s facing inwards, leaving space for Logan to lay in front.

He follows your lead, moving across the bed to lie in the same way you do – his body facing yours. You scoot closer and wrap an arm around him, forgetting all prior complications and complexities in your confusing relationship. It all felt right and how it should, just like you always wanted. Like what he always wanted.

He pulls you closer, his own arm cradling you like he did just moments before. He looks down at you tucked against his chest, his eyes never seeming to pull away from how soft and sweet you looked. How at peace you looked with him.

And as he watches your eyes flicker closed —presumed exhaustion taking over— he makes a silent promise to you both. Telling himself that he’ll always be there for you when you feel this way again.

But he can’t tell you that, especially now as you’re finally starting to doze off. So instead he holds you just a bit tighter, pressing a kiss into your hairline as he relaxes into your touch – making himself comfortable to spend the night in your room. A night with you.

you guys have comfort teddies too right?

#logan howlett #logan howlett comfort #logan howlett fluff #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett x gn reader #logan howlett xmen #logan howlett fanfiction #logan x reader #logan xmen #wolverine x reader #wolverine fluff #wolverine fanfiction #deadpool and wolverine

1K notes · View notes

ahqkas · 2 months ago

Text

“HE MOVES MOUNTAINS AND POUNDS THEM TO GROUND AGAIN — bruce wayne.

PAIRING! bruce wayne 𝒙 fem!reader SYNOPSIS! bruce likes to spoil you, especially during christmas WORD COUNT! 3.4k WARNINGS / TAGS! fluff, bruce ‘let me spoil my girl’ wayne + lmk if more! NOTES! wanna be spoiled by a rich guy sb , header bellow belongs to @/v6que © ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

THE STREETS OF GOTHAM, OFTEN SO COLD AND CRUEL WERE CHANGED UNDER THE FIRST TRUE SNOWFALL OF THE SEASON. Blankets of pristine white coated the rooftops, softening the jagged skyline into something almost whimsical. The sidewalks were a patchwork of footprints and slush, as bustling crowds meandered through the early morning chill. Each breath of air carried the scent of roasted chestnuts from a nearby stand, mingling with the crisp bite of snow.

Children’s laughter rang out in bursts, slicing through the muffled quiet that came with the falling flakes. A group of them had gathered at the corner of Robinson Park, throwing handfuls of powdery snow at one another while some tilted their heads back, tongues outstretched, hoping to catch a flake or two. Their squeals of delight painted the city in a light Gotham rarely allowed itself to wear.

Storefronts glowed with soft, twinkling lights, festive decorations hanging from doorways and window displays dressed in shimmering reds and golds. Every shop seemed to beckon, promising warm escapes and holiday cheer, from tiny mom-and-pop bookstores to designer boutiques with mannequins posed elegantly in the latest winter fashion. Salvation Army bells jingled near donation buckets, blending with the soft hum of carolers just off the main avenue.

The energy was infectious—families strolled arm in arm, couples leaned into one another for warmth, and even the loneliest passerby seemed to walk with a lighter step.

Christmas was approaching.

That was how you found yourself walking arm in arm with Bruce, the world narrowing to the warmth of his presence beside you despite the winter chill. His grip on your arm was steady and sure, his hand a comforting weight where it rested over yours. Even through your gloves, you could feel the faintest trace of his warmth, a contrast to the icy air that kissed you cheeks.

He guided you effortlessly through the busy crowd of people, and his towering frame acted as an anchor amidst the chaos. You noticed the way heads turned, how people instinctively parted to let him through—not just because he was Bruce Wayne, the name that commanded attention, but because he carried himself with a quiet, natural authority. Still, his touch on your arm was gentle, not hurried, as though he had no place to be except here with you.

“Do you think it’s going to stick?” you asked, nodding toward the layer of snow coating the rooftops and trees. Your breath slipped through your lips in visible puffs.

Bruce glanced skyward, his eyes softening in the glow of string lights overhead. “It’s Gotham,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching into a faint smile. “The snow never lasts long. But that doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy it while it’s here.”

There was something so rare about seeing him like this—relaxed, his usual sharp focus softened by the holiday atmosphere. His other hand reached up briefly, brushing a stray snowflake from her your before it could melt, his touch so natural it made your heart stutter. “You’ll let me know if you’re getting cold, won’t you?” he added, his gaze flickering down to you, concern laced in his words.

You tilted your head, a playful smirk curving your lips as you glanced up at him. “I’m fine, Bruce. I’ve survived Gotham winters before.”

The words were teasing, but when he looked down at you with that gentle, pointed expression—his brow slightly furrowed, lips tight with that quiet intensity—you felt the weight of it, as always. It was as if he could see through you, straight into your heart, expecting an answer more than just your usual wit. He always wanted to hear it. A simple reassurance, whether you were okay in his arms after a quality night with him or sharing a quiet moment in the middle of the city’s frenzy.

Your smile softened as you met his gaze, the teasing edge fading into something more genuine. “I’m okay,” you assured him quietly, words a whisper that seemed to linger in the cold air between the two of you. “Really.”

Bruce’s expression softened, but there was still that hint of concern in his eyes, the faintest crease in his brow. His lips parted for a moment, as if weighing his words carefully. “I know you are,” he admitted. “But I like hearing it anyway.”

Your heart fluttered, and you gave him a soft, affectionate smile before he shifted his attention. Bruce pulled his phone from the pocket of his coat, the sleek device easily fitting in his hand, and he flicked through it with practiced ease. The light from the screen cast a subtle glow across his sharp features, revealing the concentration as he scanned his list.

“Alright,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. “Alfred’s gifts—need to pick up something special for him . . . then there’s Damian, Dick . . . Jason . . . oh, and Tim.” He paused, scrolling through the notes app, his brow furrowing just a little as he went over his meticulous list of people to buy for. “It’s harder than it sounds—every one of them has something they’ll really like.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly at the contrast between his usual effortless decisiveness and the almost comical way he planned out every detail. It was such a Bruce thing to do, and yet it was endearing in its own right. “It’s just shopping, Bruce,” you teased. “You’ve got enough money to buy Gotham if you really wanted. Just get them whatever’s shiny and expensive.”

He shot you a glance, lips quirking into a barely-there smile. “Not for them,” he replied, voice thoughtful. “They’re not impressed by the shiny stuff. I want to get something meaningful, even if they act like they don’t care.”

Your teasing smile faded into something softer, touched by the sincerity in his words. He was always thoughtful, always careful, and it was something you’d grown to admire more than anything else. But you still had to comment, your voice light again to keep things from becoming too serious.

“Alright then,” you said with the twinkle in your eyes Bruce adored to see, “just don’t forget the part where you buy me something too. You know, for the ‘special girl’ in your life?”

The man gave you a look, not quite amused but not entirely serious either, his fingers scrolling on his phone as he half-listened. “Of course. You’re on the list, don’t worry.”

The way he said it, though, with that glimmer of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, let you know he was absolutely serious with it. And you knew, in his own quiet, understated way, Bruce would spoil you just as much—if not more—than anyone else.

As you continued in your stroll down the street, the quiet chatter of the crowd around thr two of you felt like distant noise, a soft hum that blurred into the background as your gaze drifted to one of the storefront windows. Nestled in the corner of the display was a delicate bracelet—its silver links shimmering beneath the soft glow of the shop’s warm lights. Each facet of the small diamonds glistened, catching the light just right, creating a mesmerizing sparkle that seemed to draw you in without you even realizing it.

Your heart skipped a beat as you took a step closer, breath caught in your throat as you admired the elegance of the piece. It was everything you loved—simple, yet exquisite, with just the right amount of subtle luxury. You could already imagine it on your wrist, the way it would catch the light, how it would complement the delicate necklace you wore around your neck. But, of course, you couldn’t be too obvious.

You quickly forced your feet to move, pulling your gaze away with an almost guilty glance toward Bruce. You could feel the warmth of his presence beside you, and you tried your best not to linger too long, not wanting him to see the longing in your eyes. It wasn’t like you wanted him to buy it for you—you weren’t the type to ask for extravagant things—but the thought of having something so beautiful . . . well, it made your heart ache just a little.

But of course, Bruce noticed.

He always did.

Without skipping a beat, he slowed his pace to match yours, his sharp eyes flicking toward the window where you had just stopped. He said nothing at first, but his gaze was keen, taking in the way your attention had been captured by the bracelet. It didn’t take much to read the silent longing in your eyes, and though he didn’t say a word, his lips twitched upward in that knowing, almost amused way he often did when he could see through you better than you could see yourself.

“Something catched your eye?”

You turned to face him, offering a quick, almost embarrassed smile. “Oh, it’s nothing, really,” you waved a hand dismissively, though you couldn’t quite hide the faint blush creeping up your cheeks. “Just . . . admiring.”

Bruce tilted his head slightly, as if debating whether to push you further or let it slide, but his gaze never left yours for a moment. “You know,” he started, his voice low, with a hint of amusement. He was enjoying the moment. “I’m pretty sure I could arrange for that bracelet to be . . . yours, if you really like it.”

Your heart skipped again, and you couldn’t help but laugh, though the sound was breathless. “Bruce, you don’t—”

“Don’t what?” he interrupted, his gaze flicking back to the bracelet. “You deserve something beautiful.”

You met his eyes, a warmth blossoming in your chest at the way he spoke so naturally, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. You didn’t need to ask. He’d already thought it through, already seen something you hadn’t even let yourself admit.

Bruce, as always, seemed to be one step ahead of her.

Before you could protest, he gave your hand a gentle but firm tug, guiding you toward the shop entrance with a determined stride. Your protests, half-hearted as they were, barely made it past your lips before you found yourself caught in his wake.

“I don’t think I need anything,” you started, but the words felt flimsy as he nudged open the door for you to enter first, the warm air from inside the shop spilling out like an invitation. The shop was just as elegant as the bracelet itself, filled with gleaming displays of luxury and an array of fine jewelry that made your eyes sparkle. Even the air smelled faintly of polished wood and expensive perfumes, and you couldn’t help but feel slightly out of place in your cozy winter coat compared to the sleek interior.

Bruce, however, seemed perfectly at home.

He was already scanning the shelves with the kind of focus he reserved for planning an important mission, his eyes darting between the glimmering items like a child in a candy store. “What do you think of this?” he asked, pointing to a necklace encrusted with gorgeous diamonds, its center stone a vivid shade of sapphire. “Or this?” His finger then hovered over a ring so opulent it seemed to catch the light from every angle, a stunning emerald set in platinum, polished to perfection. “I’m sure you’d look incredible in this one.”

You had to laugh, despite yourself. “Bruce, they’re beautiful, but I don’t need anything like that,” you said, trying your best to steer him toward a less extravagant choice. You couldn’t help but feel a little overwhelmed by how effortless he made it look—like money was a toy for him, to be spent and discarded without a second thought. But you weren’t that girl. You didn’t need diamonds and gold to know he cared.

Bruce merely glanced at you, a smile pulling at the corner of his lips. “I’m not saying you need it,” he explained with a knowing glance, “but you deserve it. Every piece in here, and more.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, but couldn’t deny the warmth spreading through you at his words. “I’m really fine with just looking.”

Yet, his hand never wavered as he pointed again—this time toward the stunning bracelet you eyed earlier, a sleek chain with delicate diamonds set into its links, glistening under the shop’s overhead lights. “What about this one?” he asked, voice smooth and persuasive, as though he knew exactly you would choose this one. “It would go so well with the necklace you already wear.”

Oh, he knew you so well.

Your breath caught for a moment. There it was—the same bracelet you’d seen outside, now glowing with the same captivating brilliance up close. You felt your resolve falter, but you quickly steadied yourself. “Bruce, it’s beautiful, but—”

He cut you off, his voice warm but insistent. “I know what you’re thinking, but I can tell you right now, it’s not too much. Not for you.” His gaze softened as he met your eyes, almost pleading with a subtle intensity that you couldn’t ignore. “Let me spoil you, sweet girl, just a little. You’ve earned it.”

You swallowed, your cheeks warming up with emotion at the sincerity in his words. It wasn’t the extravagant pieces he had pointed to earlier that made your heart swell; it was the thought behind it all. He was offering what you had always dreamed of—the luxury, the feeling of being cared for so much that it made you almost melt.

“Bruce, really,” you tried again, voice softer, more vulnerable now. “I don’t need any of this.”

But his eyes, dark and unwavering, held yours, and you knew—he was determined. And deep down, you knew there was no way to say no.

Your words hung in the air for a moment as you smiled sheepishly, trying to ease the tension you could feel building between them. “I was just window shopping. I wasn’t planning on buying anything. It’s just . . . pretty to look at, that’s all.”

But when Bruce’s expression shifted—eyes narrowing ever so slightly, lips pressing into a thin line—you instantly knew you had made a mistake. His posture straightened, his gaze hardening in that way you knew too well. It wasn’t anger, exactly, but something else—something deeper, like he’d just been presented with an insult he hadn’t expected.

“You were just window shopping?” His voice was soft, but there was a steel edge to it now, one that told you he wasn’t pleased with the idea of you limiting yourself to just looking. “With me?”

For a moment, you were silent, surprised by the strength of his reaction. It almost felt like he’d been wounded, as if the idea of you standing in front of something so beautiful—something you deserved—without actually taking it, was too much for him to bear. The hint of disappointment in his voice caught you off guard, a realization dawning on you that you’d underestimated him again.

“Bruce,” you started, your tone softer now, trying to piece together the right words. “It’s not that I didn’t want it . . . I just didn’t want you to—”

He shook his head, cutting you off gently. “No. You don’t just window shop when you’re with me, sweetheart. Not for things like this. You see something you like, you take it. And I’ll make sure you get it.”

You opened your mouth to protest again, but the gentle cut-off from him stilled the words before they could escape. And before you could even process the shift, his fingers were already moving—sliding his sleek black card from his wallet with an ease you had come to expect, but it still made your heart flutter every time he did it.

The sound of the card swiping against the boutique’s terminal felt like a soft crack of thunder in the quiet of the shop, and the realization you her all at once—he wasn’t just offering to buy you the bracelet. He was already doing it.

The cashier smiled warmly, already taking the sleek black card and ringing up the bracelet. The sparkle of the diamonds under the soft shop lighting seemed to mock your hesitation, making the choice you had avoided all along suddenly seem inevitable. Your gaze flicked from the bracelet to the man who liked spoiling you a little too much, then back again, your chest tightening with a swirl of emotions.

Bruce caught your eye, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “I don’t take no for an answer when it comes to you,” he murmured quietly, his words soft but sure, as though the decision had been made the moment he saw you admiring the piece. “You deserve to have everything you want.”

“I . . . I didn’t want to feel like I was asking too much,” you admitted softly to him, fingers lightly brushing the delicate fabric of your scarf.

He stepped closer and his voice lowered just for you, the softness of it carrying a weight that made your cheeks warm up. “Sweetheart, you’re not asking for anything. You’re not asking too much. You never have to. Let me spoil you, let me take care of you.”

Before you could give him a response, the cashier handed him the small box containing the bracelet, wrapped with a care that only seemed to make it more precious.

“Enjoy the holidays, sir.”

“Thank you.”

Bruce turned to you then, the box resting in his hand, his dark eyes fixed on you with an almost expectant look.

“Go ahead,” he urged, his voice soft but firm, “Try it on. It’s yours just like I said it would be.”

Your fingers hovered over the delicate box, the weight of Bruce’s words lingering in the air like a soft promise. You opened it slowly, almost reverently, and your breath caught in your throat as you saw the bracelet in its full brilliance for the first time up close. The diamonds caught the light, glinting like tiny stars, each one reflecting a different facet of the warmth you felt deep inside. It was beautiful, in a way that made you feel a little lightheaded, and as you slipped it onto your wrist, you couldn’t help but glance up at Bruce, who was watching you with an almost proud smile.

“It’s perfect.”

Bruce’s eyes softened with something close to satisfaction, but the teasing smirk tugging at his lips was unmistakable. “I told you it would be,” he said, his voice rich with affection—and something else, something playful that you knew all too well.

You smiled, reaching up to adjust the bracelet slightly, the delicate metal cool against your skin. “I wasn’t expecting you to actually buy it, though,” you admitted, still a little embarrassed by the extravagance of it all. “You could’ve just let me keep window shopping.”

“Window shopping, huh?” He chuckled lightly, shaking his head. “You’re with me now. Window shopping isn’t a thing, sweetheart. Not for you. You deserve more than that.”

You laughed, shaking your head, but before you could say anything else, Bruce’s voice turned more teasing, that mischievous edge creeping back in. “Although,” he began, his tone light but with an undercurrent of something more, “now that you have that beautiful bracelet, I wonder what else you might need. I’m sure there are plenty of other lovely things out there for you. More necklaces? Maybe some earrings? Or,” he paused dramatically, looking you up and down with a grin, “how about a whole set?”

You rolled her eyes, half-amused and half-embarrassed by the thought of being so utterly spoiled. “Bruce, I don’t need a whole set.”

“Oh, but I insist,” he teased, his smile widening. “There’s no such thing as ‘too much’ when it comes to you. I’d spoil you rotten if I could.”

You could hear the amusement in his voice, but there was a layer of genuine affection beneath it all. It was the way he looked at you, the way he spoke—like you were the most precious thing in the world to him, and nothing was too much to give.

For a moment, you let yourself bask in the warmth of that feeling, your new bracelet gleaming against your wrist, a symbol not just of his generosity but of something much deeper—the connection the two of you shared. “You’re impossible,” you laughed softly, but there was no real heat in your words. Only affection, and the quiet joy of being loved in a way you’d never quite expected.

Bruce’s smile softened, and he leaned in just a little closer, his voice low and sincere. “I’m not impossible, sweetheart. I’m just getting started.”

577 notes · View notes

stylesispunk · 4 months ago

Text

"Shadows of the love under the laurel"

Marcus Acacius x fem!reader

Summary: In the shadows of the Roman Empire, you, a devoted servant, discover love with the honorable General Marcus Acacius. You both navigate the treacherous current of social expectations when a looming marriage comes to risk everything.

w.c: 13k.

warnings: themes of slavery and servitude, forbidden love, mentions of anxiety, mentions of blood, angst, fluff, poorly written smut, no proofreading.

a/n: I don't know what to write in here, but this one was a request by @negrita2345 i hope I did it justice and I hope you all enjoy it and share your thoughts with me because I really love to read your comments and thoughts. They make my day, so thank you in advance! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated 💌 happy reading 💌✨

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

The sound of the iron gate clanged shut behind you, a cold finality to another day of servitude. You knew that sound well, it was the only sound you had known since you were born, clamoring as a death knell, just reminder of your place in the world. You didn’t even own your freedom, yet you belonged to everyone who had put their hands on your skin or had thrown daggers at you. As a servant, your life was nothing but an endless circle of command shouted from faces that never bothered to learn your name. They simply called you “girl.”

In your twenty-three years, you had learned to endure the sting of insults, the cruel hands that shoved you from one task to another, and the stares that stripped all your dignity. Respect was something that didn’t exist for someone like you, born in the shadows of Rome’s grandeur. You were a property, a tool to serve, to scrub, to clean, and to remain unseen.

And today was no different. You had been sold again.

The place you now found yourself in was the biggest you’d seen. The walls were taller than the marble floors polished to a gleaming white that made your hesitant to step across them. A legion of other servants moved like silent specters, each one avoiding you gaze as you were ushered through the grand halls. It was as though no one acknowledged the arrival of new blood. In their world, new servants were as replaceable as the jugs of wine they carried.

As you moved through the villa, you hear whispers-murmurs of the man who ruled this place. General Marcus Acacius, a name that belonged to a man who had gained respect and admiration. He was no ordinary master, it seemed. He was a warrior, a man who had earned his position through conquest and battle. A man who stood close to the Emperor himself.

Your stomach knotted at the thought. Men of power, you had learned, were often the cruelest. The more they gained, the more they needed to remind those beneath them how little they mattered. You could only hope that Marcus would be indifferent—that he would not notice you at all.

“Girl, this way.”

A sharp voice broke your thoughts. One of the older housekeepers, her face lined with age and wear, beckoned you down a side corridor. It was darker here, the sunlight from the Roman skies barely reaching the shadowed walls. The keeper’s voice softened as you walked.

“You’ll serve General Acacious directly,” she said. “He’s… not like the others.”

You glanced up, surprised by the odd tone in her voice. You weren’t sure if the keeper meant it as a warning or a reassurance, but you nodded nonetheless, keeping your eyes lowered. You approached a set of heavy doors, carved with intricate symbols and flanked by tall, stoic guards. The keeper gestured toward them.

“The general is inside. Speak only when spoken to. He does not tolerate foolishness.”

With a final nod, the keeper disappeared down the corridor, leaving you alone. You stood for a moment, the weight of the moment pressing down on your chest. There was no telling what awaited you on the other side of those doors. You swallowed hard, brushing a strand of dark hair from your face before you stepped forward.

The guards opened the doors without a word, and you found yourself in a large, open room filled with the smell of burning incense and leather. It was dimly lit, the sunlight creeping through narrow windows high above, casting long shadows on the ground. Your gaze lifted, and then you saw him.

Marcus.

General Marcus Acacius stood by a table, bent over a map with a furrowed brow. His armor was still strapped across his broad shoulders, and the crimson cloak draped over his back gave him the appearance of a man who had just come from battle. He was taller than you had imagined, his presence commanding without a single word. His dark hair was cropped close, and his sharp features bore the marks of someone who had lived a life of discipline and war.

For a long moment, he did not acknowledge your presence. You stood still, your heart pounding as you waited for his command, for the words that would decide the course of your life here.

Finally, he looked up, his dark eyes locking onto yours. There was something in his gaze that startled you, not precisely cruelty, but something else. Something you couldn't quite name.

"You are the new servant?" His voice was low, measured. He didn’t shout like the others.

"Yes, General," you replied softly, lowering your eyes to the floor as was expected.

He watched you for a moment longer, and you could feel his gaze lingering on you, almost burning. It was as though he was seeing something in you that others had never cared to look for.

"Good," he said at last, turning back to his maps. "You will serve me directly. Be quick. Be silent. That is all."

His words were not cruel, nor were they kind. They were simple, matter-of-fact. You let out a quiet breath, your heart still pounding in your chest. You turned to leave, but something held you in place, a curiosity that stirred within you, a question you did not dare ask aloud.

What kind of man was General Marcus Acacious?

As you left the room, the weight of your life as a servant settled back onto your shoulders, but there was something different now, something you had not expected. It was faint, a flicker of warmth in the cold corridors of your mind.

In the days that followed, you learned what it meant to serve Marcus Acacius. His world was orderly, precise, and unyielding. He expected his servants to move with quiet efficiency, anticipating his needs before he voiced them. There was no room for error, but unlike you previous masters, there was also no room for cruelty. Mistakes were met with silence, not blows. It was a strange sort of mercy, one that left you both relieved and on edge.

You were tasked with attending to the general’s quarters, a task that placed you in close proximity to him every day. You polished his armor, prepared his baths, and ensured that the scrolls and maps he studied late into the night were neatly arranged. He rarely spoke to you, and when he did, it was brief and to the point. Yet, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he noticed you in a way no one else had.

It was in the quiet moments between orders that you caught fleeting glimpses of the man behind the title.

One afternoon, as you were cleaning his quarters, you heard a faint groan of pain. Startled, you looked up to see Marcus standing by the window, his hand gripping his side. His face was tight with discomfort, though he said nothing.

You hesitated, unsure if you should speak. “General… are you hurt?”

His eyes flicked toward you, the sharpness in them softening just slightly. For a moment, you thought he might ignore your question, but then he spoke.

“It’s nothing,” he said, his voice strained. “An old wound. It… flares up from time to time.”

He didn’t offer more, and you knew better than to pry. Yet, something in his tone—a vulnerability you hadn’t heard before made you want to help.

Without thinking, you set aside your cleaning cloth and moved toward him. “I could bring you something… some herbs. For the pain.”

Marcus raised an eyebrow, surprised by your boldness. “You know of such things?”

“My mother… she was a healer,” Your replied quietly, your eyes downcast. “Before…” You trailed off, not needing to finish the sentence. The silence filled in the gaps—before you were taken, before you became a servant.

He watched you for a long moment, as if weighing your words. Finally, he nodded. “Very well. Bring it.”

You hurried to the kitchens, your heart pounding. It was the first time Marcus had allowed you to do anything beyond your usual duties. As you gathered the herbs your mother had once shown you, the ones that could ease any pain and swelling, you thought of the strange connection you had felt in that moment. It wasn’t just your desire to help him. It was something deeper, something unspoken that passed between them.

When you returned to his quarters, Marcus was seated at the edge of his bed, the tension in his shoulders evident. You approached cautiously, mixing the herbs into a small vial of oil, then holding it out to him.

“You need to apply it to the wound,” you explained, your voice barely above a whisper. “It should ease the pain.”

Marcus took the vial from you, his fingers brushing yours for the briefest moment. His touch was warm, surprising you. Your eyes met, and in that fleeting second, you felt an unfamiliar flutter in your chest—a burn you quickly buried.

“Thank you,” he said, his tone sincere. It was a small word, but coming from a man like Marcus, it carried weight.

You bowed your head, stepping back as he stood and moved to apply the oil himself. You returned to your work, quietly cleaning the room, but your mind was elsewhere. You had never thought much of men, especially men of power. To you, they were all the same: cruel, indifferent, obsessed with their own glory. Yet, Marcus was different. He was distant, yes, and bound by duty, but he was also… something else. There was a complexity to him, a quiet pain that you couldn’t quite understand.

As the days passed, you found yourself watching him more closely. You noticed the way he carried the weight of command, his posture rigid, his eyes always alert. He was a man constantly at war, not just with the enemies of Rome, but with himself. You saw it in the way he would stare out the window late into the night, lost in thought, his fingers drumming against the hilt of his sword as though preparing for a battle that had not yet come.

And then, one evening, everything changed.

It was late, the rest of the household quiet, and you were tidying the general’s quarters as he sat by the hearth, reviewing maps of distant lands. The flicker of firelight cast shadows on his face, making him appear both weary and resolute. You were just about to leave when he spoke, his voice low and thoughtful.

“Tell me,”He said, following by the use of your name for the first time. “How did you come to be here? In this life?”

Your breath caught. No one had ever asked you that before. No one had ever cared to. You hesitated, unsure if you should answer, but the look in his eyes was not one of command. It was curiosity. Genuine, quiet curiosity.

“I was born into it,” you replied softly. “My mother… she was a healer in a small village outside of the city. But when the soldiers came, they took us. I was just a child then. I don’t remember much before it.”

Marcus’s gaze lingered on you; his expression unreadable. “And your mother?”

“She didn’t survive long after that. She grew sick, and no one would help her.”

There was a long silence after that, the crackling of the fire the only sound in the room. You stood there, your hands clasped in front of you, waiting for him to dismiss you. But he didn’t. Instead, he sighed, a sound so faint you might have missed it had you not been standing so close.

“Life in Rome is rarely kind,” he said, his voice distant. “Even for those who believe themselves fortunate.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. You simply stood there, watching as the general seemed to wrestle with thoughts he could not or would not speak aloud. Finally, he shook his head, as if clearing his mind, and looked at you once more.

“You may go,” he said, his tone once again that of a man in command. But there was a softness to it now, something that hadn’t been there before.

You bowed and left the room, your heart pounding. As you walked down the dark corridors of the villa, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted between you, that the lines separating servant and master had blurred, if only for a moment.

Weeks passed, and Your role in Marcus’s household became routine, yet far from ordinary. You had served many masters before, but none like him. There was a strange rhythm to your interactions now, a wordless understanding that passed between you in brief glances and moments too fleeting for anyone else to notice. Marcus was still the general, the powerful, untouchable figure, but there were cracks in his armor that only you seemed to see.

The changes were small at first. A few words exchanged at the end of the day, a subtle shift in the way his eyes lingered on you when you thought he wasn’t looking. It was during one such moment, late in the evening, that your quiet bond deepened.

You were clearing away the remains of his evening meal, the room lit only by the soft glow of a single oil lamp. Marcus sat at his desk, writing a letter, his brow furrowed in concentration. You moved silently, careful not to disturb him. But as you turned to leave, your hand brushed the corner of the table, knocking over a small cup.

The sound echoed in the stillness.

Your heart leaped into your throat. You had been so careful, always careful. You froze, waiting for the rebuke, the sharp words you had heard from other masters a hundred times before.

But instead of anger, Marcus’s voice came, calm and even. “It’s alright. Leave it.”

You paused, your fingers trembling as you stooped to pick up the cup, determined not to disobey. But as you did, Marcus spoke again, his tone softer this time.

“Do you always expect punishment so quickly?”

You straightened slowly, unsure how to answer. “It’s what happens when mistakes are made, General,” you replied quietly, your eyes still downcast.

Marcus stood, his towering frame casting long shadows in the flickering lamplight. He approached you slowly, the silence between you thick with unspoken words.

“Not here,” he said, his voice low. “You don’t have to fear that here.”

His words, though simple, carried a weight that you weren’t prepared for. For a moment, you dared to look up at him, meeting his eyes. There was something in his gaze—a gentleness that you had never expected to find in a man like him. It made your chest tighten, and you quickly dropped your gaze again.

Marcus sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. “I don’t know what kind of men you served before, Mea Columba, but cruelty… it does not make a man stronger. It only makes him feared.”

He was quiet for a long time after that, standing just a breath away from you. You could feel the heat of his presence, the nearness of him unsettling but not unpleasant. You could sense the tension in the air, something unspoken hanging between you like a thread stretched too tight.

“You deserve better than that,” he said finally, his voice almost too soft for you to hear.

Your heart raced, your thoughts a tangled mess. How could he say such a thing? You were nothing more than a servant, a slave, how could someone like him believe you deserved anything at all? But in his words, you heard the truth of what he felt, and it terrified you as much as it filled you with something dangerously close to hope.

Before you could reply, before you could make sense of the moment, the door creaked open, and a soldier entered the room, interrupting them. Marcus immediately stepped back, his expression shifting into the impassive mask of the general once more.

“General Acacius,” the soldier said, bowing. “The emperor has requested your presence tomorrow. Urgent matters to discuss.”

Marcus’s jaw tightened. “Very well. Inform the Emperor I’ll be there.”

The soldier bowed again and left the room, leaving you and Marcus standing in the silence. The air between you had changed, something fragile, something delicate had passed between you, but neither dared acknowledge it.

“You may go” Marcus said, his voice once again composed, though you could sense the tension beneath it. “Get some rest.”

You bowed quickly and left the room; you heart still pounding in your chest. As you walked back through the dim corridors, you replayed his words in your mind

“You deserve better”

and wondered how dangerous it was to believe them.

You hadn’t expected him to say your name, less to hear a name with such affection from him It startled you, but in a way that made you feel seen, in a way that sent warmth through you despite the cool evening air.

“It’s all I’ve known,” you whispered, barely able to speak the words.

Days passed in a quiet blur, and the memory of that evening lingered between you, heavy and unspoken. Marcus was the same outwardly, maintaining his stoic demeanor in front of his soldiers, the senators, and his household. Yet, when he looked at you, when your eyes met across the room during your brief encounters, you could feel the shift in him, the way his guarded exterior faltered for just a moment.

It was in these fleeting moments that you began to understand the gravity of what was growing between you. You had never been close to a man before, not like this. Your world had always been one of shadows, of quiet obedience. But now, Marcus’s presence lingered in your thoughts, his words echoing in the stillness of your nights.

"You deserve better."

You couldn’t stop hearing it. And it frightened you. How could someone like him, someone with power, command, and the loyalty of an empire, care about someone like you, a servant who had spent her life in the background? The idea felt dangerous, as though it could upend everything you knew, yet it was there, undeniable.

The tension between you simmered, growing with each passing day. You never spoke of that moment again, but it hovered between you, thickening the air whenever you were alone.

One afternoon, you were attending to the general’s chambers when he returned earlier than expected from the training grounds. His tunic was damp with sweat, the edges of his dark hair clinging to his forehead, and a fresh bruise marked his arm.

He entered the room quietly, not saying a word at first, watching as you busied yourself, you’re your work. You tried to remain calm, to focus on your duties as you had always done, but the awareness of his gaze unsettled you. Finally, Marcus broke the silence.

he said your name, almost sounding hesitant.

You turned to face him, your heart quickening at the sound of your name. He had been saying it more often lately, and each time it carried a weight that made your pulse race. “Yes, General?”

For a moment, Marcus seemed to struggle with himself, his expression hard to read. He took a step closer, the air between you humming with tension. “You’ve been quiet lately,” he said, though the statement felt more like a question. “Are you… well?”

You blinked, surprised by the question. “I am, General. I—” You hesitated, unsure how to respond. The truth was, you had been keeping your distance, afraid of what might happen if you let yourself grow any closer to him. “I’ve just been… busy with my tasks.”

His eyes searched yours, as though he could see past your words to the truth beneath them. “You don’t have to keep your distance, mea columba,” he said quietly. “Not from me.”

The words sent a shiver through you. You wanted to step back, to remind yourself of your place, but something in his gaze held you still. There was a tenderness there, a vulnerability that you hadn’t expected to see in him.

“I’m only a servant,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “You… you don’t have to concern yourself with me.”

Marcus’s jaw tightened, and he took another step toward you, closing the distance between you. “You’re more than that,” he said, his voice firm but soft. “You’re more than what this life has made you.”

Your breath caught. You didn’t know what to say, how to respond to the depth of his words. You had spent your whole life believing that your worth was measured by your service, by how invisible you could make yourself. But Marcus… he saw you. And it terrified you as much as it filled you with warmth.

“You deserve more than this life, mea columba” Marcus continued, his hand lifting ever so slightly as if he wanted to reach for you but stopped himself. “More than this… than the way others have treated you.”

Tears burned at the edges of your eyes, but you blinked them away, refusing to let them fall. You couldn’t let herself believe in what he was saying. It was impossible. He was a general, bound by duty and honor to Rome. And you were, no, you had to be nothing to him. Anything else was too dangerous to even imagine.

“Please,” you said, almost pleading, “don’t say such things. I can’t…” You trailed off, your words caught in your throat.

Marcus’s eyes softened, the hard edges of his face relaxing just slightly. “I know,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I know we can’t… but it doesn’t change how I feel.”

The admission hung in the air between you, raw and real. Your heart pounded, your mind reeling from the weight of his confession. You wanted to step forward, to reach out and touch him, to tell him that you felt the same—that his kindness, his quiet strength, had stirred something in you that you had never thought possible.

But she couldn’t. The world wouldn’t allow it. He was a man of power, and you were a servant. Their lives were too different, their paths too far apart.

And yet, standing there in the quiet of the room, with only the soft flicker of candlelight between you, it felt as though the rest of the world had disappeared, leaving only the two of you in the stillness.

Marcus reached up, his hand trembling ever so slightly as it brushed against your cheek. You gasped at the touch, your skin tingling under his fingertips. It was the first time he had touched you like this, softly, tenderly, as though you were something fragile and precious.

“I wish things were different,” he murmured, his thumb gently caressing the curve of your jaw.

You closed your eyes, leaning into the warmth of his hand despite yourself. You knew you shouldn’t, knew that this moment could only lead to heartache, but you couldn’t stop herself. “So do I,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

For a long moment, you stood there, suspended in the silence, the weight of your unspoken feelings pressing down on you. But then, just as quickly as it had begun, Marcus pulled away, his hand falling to his side. The mask of the general slipped back into place, his expression once again composed, though his eyes still burned with the emotions he couldn’t voice.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, stepping back. “I shouldn’t have—”

You shook your head. “No, it’s… it’s alright.”

But it wasn’t. You both knew it.

“You should go,” Marcus said, his voice rough with regret. “We… we can’t.”

You nodded, though your heart ached. “Goodnight, General.”

You turned and left the room, your heart heavy with the weight of what had just happened.

The days that followed were unbearable. You tried to go about your duties as usual, but you couldn’t shake the weight of Marcus’s words, the feel of his hand against your cheek, the unspoken desire that lingered between you. It haunted you in the quiet moments, in the stillness of night when you were alone with your thoughts.

And you could see it in him, too.

Every glance you shared, every brief exchange, held a tension that had not been there before. Marcus’s eyes lingered on you longer than they should, his gaze filled with something he dared not speak aloud. You could feel the conflict within him, the struggle between his duty and what lay deep in his heart.

One afternoon, as you were preparing the general’s chambers for the evening, you heard footsteps behind you. You didn’t need to turn to know who it was. You could feel his presence, the energy in the room shifting the moment he entered.

“Columba” he said softly, his voice different from the tone he used with anyone else. There was no command in it, no expectation—just a quiet plea.

You turned to face him, your heart already racing at the sound of your nickname on his lips. He stood in the doorway, his posture rigid, yet his eyes betrayed him. They were filled with the same turmoil that had been building between you for weeks.

“General,” you said, your voice steady though your heart was anything but.

He stepped forward, closing the door behind him with a quiet click. “Marcus,” he corrected, his gaze fixed on yours. “When we’re alone, please… call me Marcus.”

The intimacy of his request made your chest tighten. You had spent your life addressing him with titles, always reminding herself of the distance between you, but now… now he was asking you to cross that distance, to meet him as something more than a servant.

“Marcus,” you repeated softly, the word feeling foreign yet familiar on your tongue.

A small smile touched his lips, but it was strained. He walked slowly toward you, his movements careful, as though he was afraid to shatter the fragile space between you. When he stopped just a step away from you, you felt the air grow thick, the unspoken emotions pressing down on you both.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” Marcus said, his voice low and rough with honesty. “I’ve tried… I’ve tried to bury it, to remind myself of who I am, of what’s expected of me. But every time I see you, every time I hear your voice… it’s like I can’t breathe.”

Your breath hitched in your throat. You had never imagined a man like Marcus, a man of such power and command, could feel this way about you. You had always been invisible, always kept in the shadows. But with him, you felt seen. And that terrified you.

“Marcus, we can’t…” You shook your head, your voice trembling. “You know we can’t. You’re a general. You serve Rome. I’m nothing more than a servant.”

“You are not nothing,” Marcus said sharply, his eyes flashing with a rare intensity. He reached out and gently grasped your wrist, his touch sending a jolt through you. “Don’t ever say that. You are everything I—” He stopped himself, his jaw tightening as if he were trying to restrain words he couldn’t say.

Your heart pounded in your chest. You could feel the heat of his hand on your skin, the warmth of his breath as he stood so close. Every instinct told you to pull away, to remind him of the impossibility of this, but you couldn’t. You couldn’t deny the pull between you, the feelings that had been growing in your heart, no matter how forbidden they were.

“Why me?” you whispered, your voice fragile as your heart. “Why would you care for someone like me, when you could have anyone?”

Marcus’s gaze softened, his grip on your wrist loosening but not letting go. He lifted your hand slowly, his thumb brushing over your palm in a gesture so gentle it made you ache. “Because you see me,” he murmured. “Not the general, not the man who leads armies or answers to the emperor. You see me.”

His words made your chest tighten painfully. You had always tried to stay invisible, to keep your head down and avoid the eyes of those who held power over you. But with Marcus, it was different. You saw the man beneath the armor, the one who carried the weight of duty and responsibility on his shoulders but longed for something more—something real.

“I can’t stop what I feel for you,” Marcus continued, his voice filled with raw honesty. “Even though I know it’s wrong, even though I know what the world would think if they knew… I can’t stop.”

You felt your resolve crumbling. You wanted to tell him that you felt the same, that his kindness, his gentleness, had woven its way into your heart. But the fear of what could come from this, the danger of their impossible love, held you back.

“I feel it too,” you admitted softly, you voice barely above a whisper. “But we have no future, Marcus. You know that. You’ll be expected to marry—”

“I know,” he interrupted, his voice tight. “I know I’m bound by duty. I’ve spent my whole life doing what Rome asks of me. But for once, Livia, I want something for myself.”

His words hung in the air, thick with longing and pain. Your heart ached for him, for the man who had given so much of himself to an empire that would never give him the freedom to love who he chose. And yet, even as you felt the weight of his confession, you knew the truth.

“Even if we want this,” you whispered, “Rome will never let it happen.”

Marcus’s face tightened with frustration, his hand still holding yours as though he couldn’t bear to let go.

You stood in silence for a long moment, the weight of your love pressing down on them. Your heart pounded in your chest, torn between the desire to give in to the feelings you had tried so hard to suppress and the reality of the world they lived in.

Finally, Marcus spoke again, his voice heavy with resignation. “I don’t know what the future holds,” he said softly. “But I know that for now… I need you here. By my side. Even if that’s all we can have.”

You swallowed hard, tears burning at the edges of your eyes. You knew he was right. Your love, if it could even be called that, would never be allowed to flourish in the light. But in the shadows, in the quiet moments you shared, it was real. And maybe, for now, that had to be enough.

You nodded, your voice barely audible as you whispered, “I’ll stay.”

Marcus’s shoulders seemed to relax, and for the briefest moment, a small, sad smile crossed his face. He gently released your hand, stepping back, the distance between you once again restored. But the bond you shared remained.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, his voice filled with emotion. “For staying.”

It was a few days later, and the weight of your shared confession still lingered in the air. The nights had grown heavier with unspoken feelings, and each day, the tension between you and Marcus became harder to ignore. You told yourself to be content with what little time you could have by his side, though it tore at you, knowing that it would never be enough.

That evening, you were cleaning his quarters, your movements methodical, when the door creaked open behind you. You turned and saw Marcus step in, but this time he wasn’t the composed general you had grown used to. His tunic was torn at the shoulder, a dark patch of blood staining the fabric. His brow was furrowed, his jaw set in pain. He tried to stand tall, but there was no hiding the wince as he moved.

"Marcus," you gasped, forgetting all formality in the moment, rushing toward him. Your heart hammered in your chest, worry washing over you at the sight of him.

“It’s nothing,” he said gruffly, waving off your concern, though the tightness in his voice betrayed him. “Just a training injury.”

You moved closer, eyes searching his. You had seen him injured before—he was a soldier, after all—but this felt different. There was a vulnerability in the way he looked at you, as though he had allowed himself to come to you in a moment of weakness.

“You should sit,” you said softly, trying to keep the tremor out of your voice. “Let me prepare a bath for you.”

He hesitated for a moment, then nodded, walking slowly toward the bed and sitting on its edge, his movements stiff and labored. His dark eyes followed you as you quickly went to work, preparing the bath with warm water and fragrant oils to ease his wounds and the tension in his body.

When you returned, you found Marcus removing his tunic, the fabric peeling away from the gash on his shoulder. His skin was marred with bruises, old and new, the marks of a warrior who had seen countless battles. But it was the fresh wound that made your heart ache, the sight of him in pain stirring something deep within you.

“Let me help you,” you whispered, kneeling beside him. He met your eyes, his expression unreadable, and then he nodded, allowing you to step closer. With trembling hands, you gently unfastened the remaining clasps of his armor, your fingers brushing against his skin. You tried to keep your touch professional, but each time your skin met his, a jolt of electricity shot through you.

Once he was bare to the waist, you guided him to the bath. He lowered himself into the warm water with a sigh, his muscles relaxing as the heat enveloped him. You sat on the stool beside the tub, gathering a soft cloth in your hands. You hesitated for a moment, the intimacy of what you were about to do settling heavily in your chest.

When you began to gently scrub his skin, the water rippling with each movement, Marcus closed his eyes, leaning back slightly. His breath came in slow, deep draws, and for a moment, it was as though the world outside the room no longer existed. There was just you, him, and the quiet sound of water.

Your hands moved carefully over his skin, your touch tender and cautious, tracing the contours of his shoulders, his back, the lines of his strong arms. You could feel the tension in his body slowly easing, though your own pulse raced with each moment that passed. The intimacy of the act was overwhelming, but Marcus made no move to stop you.

As you worked, you couldn't help but steal glances at his face, at the way the flickering candlelight danced across his strong jaw and the softness in his expression that he only ever showed when you were alone.

He opened his eyes after a long silence, catching your gaze. “You don’t have to do this,” he murmured, his voice husky from the warmth of the bath or perhaps something more.

“I want to,” you whispered, barely able to meet his eyes. “Let me take care of you.”

The vulnerability in your voice, in the gesture of your care, seemed to affect him deeply. Marcus’s eyes softened, and he reached out, his fingers brushing against your wrist in a silent gesture of thanks. The warmth of his touch lingered on your skin long after he pulled away.

For a long while, you continued in silence, the only sound the gentle splashing of water as you washed away the blood, the dirt, and the exhaustion from his body. Each stroke of the cloth felt like a confession, a quiet way of telling him what you couldn’t say aloud. That you cared for him. That you wanted to protect him in whatever small way you could, even though you knew you couldn’t keep him from the dangers of the world beyond these walls.

When you reached the wound on his shoulder, you were as delicate as possible, your touch light and careful. Marcus winced slightly, but he didn’t pull away. His eyes remained on you, dark and intense, watching every movement of your hands as though you were something precious.

“You’re always so careful,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Why?”

You paused, your heart tightening at the question. How could you explain it? How could you put into words the way your heart ached for him, the way you wished to offer him comfort in a world that demanded so much of him?

“Because you’ve given me more kindness than I’ve ever known,” you whispered, barely able to say the words. “I want to give some of it back.”

Marcus’s gaze softened even more, and for a moment, it seemed as though he might say something, something that would change everything between you. But instead, he closed his eyes, leaning back into the water, his hand slipping beneath the surface and resting on the edge of the tub.

You continued to wash him in silence, your heart heavy with the knowledge that these moments, these stolen moments in the shadows, were all you would ever have. And yet, they felt so real, so profound, that you couldn’t bring yourself to regret them.

When the bath was finished, you helped Marcus stand, wrapping a towel around his broad shoulders. He stood before you, his body strong but weary, the weight of his duties ever present in his posture. You couldn’t help but reach out, your hand brushing lightly against the wound on his shoulder.

“Does it hurt?” you asked softly.

He shook his head, but his eyes told a different story. “Not as much as other wounds,” he said quietly, his gaze meeting yours. “Not as much as the ones I can’t show.”

Your heart clenched at his words. You understood. The wounds of battle were visible, but the wounds of the heart—the ones inflicted by duty, by honor, by a world that wouldn’t allow him to follow his desires—were far deeper.

Marcus’s hand reached out, his fingers gently curling around yours, and for a moment, he held on as though you were the only thing keeping him grounded. His eyes searched yours, filled with emotions too complex to name

Marcus’s fingers curled around yours, and in that moment, the air between you seemed to shift. The world outside his chambers fell away, leaving only the two of you, standing so close, bound by an unspoken connection that had been building since the moment you first laid eyes on him. The intensity in his gaze sent a shiver through you, and you felt your breath catch in your throat as his thumb gently brushed over the back of your hand, a simple touch that carried a weight neither of you could ignore.

His hand lingered, holding yours as if it was the only anchor he had left. His eyes were darker now, filled with emotions too complex to name—longing, conflict, something deeper that neither of you had dared to speak aloud. The space between you felt fragile, like a thread stretched too tight, and yet neither of you could pull away.

“Mea columba” he murmured, his voice rough, barely more than a whisper. The way he said your name sent warmth coursing through your veins, and you felt yourself trembling beneath the intensity of his gaze.

You opened your mouth to speak, to say something—anything—to break the silence, but the words wouldn’t come. You didn’t need them. Everything was in his eyes, the way they searched yours, as though he were trying to find an answer to a question he hadn’t yet asked.

Slowly, cautiously, Marcus took a step closer, his hand still holding yours. Your heart pounded wildly in your chest, the pulse in your ears deafening as the space between you closed. His breath was warm on your skin, mingling with your own as he stood so close that the air felt charged, thick with something unspoken.

He reached up with his free hand, his fingers trembling slightly as they brushed a strand of hair from your face. The touch was so tender, so careful, that it made your heart ache. His thumb lingered on your cheek, his palm cradling the side of your face, as though he were afraid to break the moment, afraid to shatter the delicate connection you shared.

“I’ve tried to fight this,” he whispered, his voice filled with a quiet desperation. “I’ve tried to remind myself of what’s right, of my duty, of all the reasons why I can’t—”

He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to. You already knew. You knew the weight of the world that rested on his shoulders, the impossible choice he faced between the life he was bound to and the feelings that had grown between you.

But in that moment, as you stood in the dim light of his chambers, none of it seemed to matter. It was just the two of you, and the pull between you was too strong to deny.

“Marcus,” you breathed, your voice trembling as his name passed your lips, a quiet plea for something you both knew couldn’t be undone.

He hesitated for just a moment, his gaze searching yours one last time, as if waiting for a sign, for permission to take that final, forbidden step. And then, with a soft, broken sigh, Marcus leaned in.

His lips brushed yours, so softly at first that it felt like a whisper, a question, a promise. The world seemed to still around you, the moment suspended in time as he kissed you with a tenderness that made your heart ache. His hand tightened around yours, holding you close, as though he were afraid to let go, afraid that this fragile moment would slip away if he loosened his grip.

And then, slowly, the kiss deepened. His lips pressed more firmly against yours, and all the emotions that had been building between you, longing, desire, love, poured into that single, desperate kiss. It was as though every unspoken word, every hidden glance, every touch that had lingered too long was finally allowed to come to life.

You kissed him back, your hand finding its way to his bare chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heart beneath your fingers. It beat in time with yours, fast and hard, as if it, too, was caught up in the storm of emotions swirling between you. His other hand moved to your waist, pulling you closer, his body warm and solid against yours.

For a moment, nothing else mattered. Not the rules, not the expectations, not the world outside these walls. There was only Marcus, his lips on yours, his hands holding you like you were something precious, something he had longed for but never thought he could have.

“I don’t know how we’ll keep this secret… but gods, I can’t stop myself. I don’t want to stop.”

You felt the same. You didn’t know how you would hide this, how you would keep it from the eyes of the world, but in that moment, you didn’t care. You had already crossed a line, and there was no going back.

“I don’t want to stop either,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “But we’ll find a way… we have to.”

Marcus’s hand slipped from your waist to your cheek once more, his fingers brushing softly against your skin. He leaned in again, his lips pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, lingering there for a moment as though he were trying to hold on to the peace you had found in each other, but as soon as your eyes connected in unspoken pleas, his lips found yours again, this time his kiss screamed desire for you.

The way his right hand slipped down your arm, his touch soft but filled with purpose, sent a shiver through you. His fingers trailed along the curve of your waist, pulling you closer as his lips remained firmly attached to yours, deepening the kiss with a slow, deliberate intensity that made your head spin.

His body pressed against yours, strong and warm, as if he were trying to merge your very beings into one. The world around you seemed to melt away, your senses consumed by the feel of him, the taste of him, the warmth of his breath mingling with yours. Each moment felt suspended in time, the quiet intimacy of the moment holding you both captive.

You could feel the heat radiating off his body, his chest rising and falling in time with yours as the kiss grew more passionate, more desperate. His hand at your waist tightened, pulling you flush against him, as though he needed to feel every part of you, to confirm that this wasn’t a dream.

Your own hands, trembling with the weight of the moment, slid up his arms, feeling the strength beneath his skin, the tension coiled in his muscles. You had never been this close before, never allowed yourself to imagine being this close to him. And now, here you were, pressed against him in a way that defied everything you had been told about your place in the world, everything you had believed about what you deserved.

His lips moved against yours with a hunger that matched the fire burning in your chest. It wasn’t just desire, there was something deeper, something raw and unspoken that neither of you had been able to express until now. Every kiss, every touch, was a release of all the feelings you had kept locked away for so long.

As his lips parted from yours for just a moment, his breath hot against your skin, Marcus whispered your name again—so soft, so reverent that it felt like a prayer. His forehead rested against yours, his eyes half-closed, his voice thick with emotion.

“I can’t…” he whispered, his hand still resting firmly at your waist, holding you close as though he couldn’t bear to let go. “I can’t stop this.”

Neither could you. You didn’t want to. You were lost in him, in the warmth of his touch, in the way he held you like you were the only thing that mattered. You could feel the conflict within him, the weight of his duties and the forbidden nature of what was blossoming between you, but none of that mattered in this moment.

His lips found yours again, this time slower, more tender, as though he were savoring every second, memorizing the feel of you in his arms. His hand slid up your back, pulling you even closer, as if he needed to feel the beat of your heart against his own. You melted into him, your own hands finding their way into his hair, threading through the dark strands as you kissed him with a longing you had kept buried for far too long.

No long after, his fingertips caressed your shoulders, slipping the strips of your dress down your arms. None of you stopped locking your gazes as you felt you dress slipping down your body. You were completely bare in front of the man who had made your heart race like never before.

You had never felt like this before, and the fire in the pit of your stomach was a new sensation for you. There was fire everywhere.

Marcus swept his eyes down your body, clearly reacting to the sight in front of him. The dim light of the moon danced across your skin. Marcus couldn’t believe it. You were the most beautiful woman he laid his eyes on, and under his stare he could swear God had made you just for him to find you, to find love in your eyes and in the way they looked at him now.

He placed his right hand on your neck, before trailing the path down to your neck, your breasts, your stomach as if you were the most delicate map he had ever touched in his life.

Goosebumps arise on your skin as you gasped under his touch. The way he unbraided your hair and swept it, looking at you with adoration. He wasted no time to devour your lips with his, stealing the moaning sounds out of your mouth, when his fingers slipped into your entrance. He worked his was in and out, your mouths attached, and his tongue caressed your swollen lips.

Your hands made their way to his back, his chest, his stomach. A groan came out of his throat when your fingers found his cock. Before you could even react, he carefully laid you on your back, his eyes bored into yours. Your lips were parted by the surprise of his sudden movement, and yet you looked beautiful under his stare, and you could feel beautiful too. It felt like a dream, to had found love in someone like him.

Marcus reached out and cupped your breasts. Your nipples hardened at the touch, and he duck down taking one in his mouth. You whispered his name making his cock throb at the sound of you pleading him, clearly enjoying the was your stomach trembled under his body. He then spread your legs to find the place where you needed him the most.

“Marcus” you whispered; voice weak “please.”

He grumbled and buried his entire face on your cunt. Your legs tightened in surprise, but he kept them open by draping one over his shoulder. He'd done this before, but with you, it seemed different. This time, he couldn't contain his thrill at the thought of making you pleased. He wanted you not only for this reason, but also because you cared for him and he for you, and he desired to prove thar by making love to you and waking up next to you for the rest of his life.

He continued sucking on your clit until you gasped for air. You felt hot under his tongue, and the flavor of you drove him crazy.

“You’re so beautiful mea columba” he whispered, pushing your thighs further apart and took his cock to press the head into your cunt, pushing it with pressure. You both moaned. He dropped his head to your shoulder, inhaling your exquisite scent.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, voice trembling at the thought. You were tight. He knew for the way your eyes looked that you never had done this before, so he tried to be as careful as he could.

“Marcus” you moaned, whimpering. He was all the way inside you. He felt embarred as how weak he seemed because of you. He tried not to come so fast, while glancing between you every second to make sure he wasn’t hurting you.

When he felt himself getting close, he tried to lift your back, holding onto your waist, his chest against yours, lips devouring each other.

“I’m in love with you, mea columba” he whispered, while pounding into you with a steady but delicate force it made you squirm.

your lips and bodies moving in perfect harmony, the rest of the world slipping away as you both gave in to the feelings you could no longer deny. The weight of the consequences lingered at the edges of your mind, but in that moment, nothing seemed as important as this. As him. As the way his hand cradled your waist, the way he kissed you like he had been waiting for this his entire life.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathless, your foreheads still resting together. The silence that followed was heavy, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was filled with the quiet understanding that you had both crossed a line, and there was no turning back now.

Marcus’s eyes flickered open, his gaze locking with yours, the intensity of his emotions shining clearly in the dim light of the room. His thumb brushed lightly against your waist, a touch so gentle, yet filled with a quiet urgency that made your breath catch in your throat.

“I meant it,” he whispered, his voice low and rough with emotion. “I’m in love with you.”

His words hung in the air, thick and heavy with a truth neither of you could deny anymore. And then, without hesitation, he leaned in and pressed his lips to your forehead, the kiss soft and lingering, filled with a tenderness that made your heart swell.

You felt a rush of warmth flood through your body, his confession sinking deep into your chest. You had heard it in his voice before, seen it in his eyes, but hearing those words—words you never thought someone of his stature would say to you—made everything feel real. His love was dangerous, forbidden, but it was also undeniable.

Tears burned at the edges of your eyes, not out of sorrow, but from the overwhelming emotions that surged through you—relief, joy, and the painful knowledge that this love, as real as it was, lived in the shadows.

“I…” your voice faltered, barely above a whisper. “I never thought I’d hear you say those words.”

His forehead rested against yours, his breath mingling with yours as he closed his eyes, his hand tightening around your waist, pulling you even closer. “I’ve tried to fight it,” he murmured, his voice filled with quiet anguish. “I’ve tried so hard to push it away, to tell myself it can’t be. But I can’t… I don’t want to fight it anymore.”

You felt the trembling in his voice, the vulnerability in his words, and it mirrored the storm of feelings inside you. You had spent so long burying your own emotions, convinced that someone like Marcus could never see you as more than a servant, more than someone beneath him. But here he was, his love laid bare, his heart in your hands.

A tear slipped down your cheek, and before you could speak, Marcus lifted his hand to your face, his thumb brushing the tear away with the same care he had shown you so many times before. His eyes were filled with something so raw, so real, that it made your chest ache.

“I love you,” you whispered, the words escaping you before you could stop them, but you didn’t want to stop them. They were the truth, and in this moment, you had no reason to hide.

Marcus closed his eyes again, his lips parting in a quiet, shaky breath, as though the sound of your confession had taken away the last of his restraint. His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw with a tenderness that made you feel like you were the only person in the world.

“I’ll protect you,” he said softly, his voice filled with quiet resolve. “Whatever happens, whatever comes next… I won’t let anything take you away from me.”

His words were a promise, one that felt as fragile as it was powerful. You both knew the risks, knew the world wouldn’t accept this love, but in his arms, in this stolen moment, you believed him. You believed that somehow, against all odds, you might be able to hold on to each other.

As the night deepened, the warmth of Marcus's arms around you became a cocoon of safety and comfort, unlike anything you had ever known. The intensity of your shared confessions, the raw emotions lingering between you, began to soften into a quieter, more intimate connection. His hands, once rough with battle, now caressed your skin with the gentleness of a man who had found something worth protecting, something precious.

You remained in his embrace, the two of you sitting on the edge of his bed, the flickering candlelight casting soft, golden shadows across his quarters. Marcus's thumb traced slow circles against your back, his touch reassuring and grounding, as though he was afraid that letting go would make this moment slip away into a dream. His forehead still rested gently against yours, his breathing steady but deep, as if he, too, was caught in the weight of everything you had just shared.

“I never imagined feeling like this,” you whispered, your voice barely breaking the silence of the room. You weren’t sure if you were confessing to him or simply speaking aloud the truth of what was in your heart. “I never thought I’d ever know this kind of closeness, this… love.”

His grip on you tightened slightly, his lips brushing the top of your head. “Neither did I,” he murmured, his voice thick with sincerity. “Not like this. Not with you.”

For a while, neither of you said anything. The quiet sounds of the night outside his window drifted in—a soft wind, the distant murmur of soldiers on watch, the occasional flicker of torchlight from the corridors. But none of it touched the stillness that enveloped the two of you in this space. Here, with Marcus, the world felt far away.

You felt the exhaustion from the day, from the intensity of everything, slowly creeping into your limbs. Your eyelids grew heavy, and despite the swirl of emotions still lingering in your chest, a deep weariness began to settle over you.

Marcus must have sensed it too, because his hand moved to your cheek, lifting your face gently so that your eyes met his. His expression softened, the hardness of the general gone, replaced by the tenderness of a man who cared deeply for you.

“You’re tired,” he said quietly, his voice filled with concern. “You should rest.”

You opened your mouth to protest, not wanting to leave his embrace, not wanting to lose the warmth of his presence. But he only smiled, his thumb brushing across your cheek in a soothing motion. “Stay here. With me.”

It was more than just an invitation. It was a promise, a reassurance that you didn’t have to return to the cold solitude of your small, servant's quarters. Tonight, you could stay here, beside him, and find some peace in his arms.

You breathed in the scent of him, your heart finding a slow, steady rhythm against his, and in the safety of his embrace, you finally let go.

Marcus’s hand continued to stroke your hair, even as sleep pulled you under. You could feel his heartbeat beneath your palm, strong and sure, and it lulled you into the sweetest, most peaceful sleep you had known in years.

And just before the darkness of sleep claimed you completely, you felt him press one last kiss to your temple, his lips soft and warm against your skin.

“Goodnight, my love,” he whispered.

And with that, you fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, wrapped safely in his arms.

The days that followed were filled with an eerie calm, the quiet before the storm neither of you could ignore. You and Marcus fell into a rhythm of stolen moments—brushed hands when no one was looking, lingering glances that spoke more than words could ever say. In the dim light of dawn, in the safety of his quarters, your world shrank to just the two of you, the outside concerns held at bay for a little while longer.

But the world, especially one as ruthless as the Roman Empire, couldn’t be held back forever.

It began with hushed whispers from the servants, news of political maneuvering at the highest levels. You heard it first while fetching water from the well. Two women were gossiping, their voices low but clear enough for you to overhear.

“The Emperor’s orders,” one of them said, her tone almost gleeful. “General Acacius is to marry Lucilla, they say. It’s all but decided.”

Your stomach dropped, the bucket in your hand suddenly too heavy. You froze in place, the weight of those words sinking into you like a stone. Marcus is to marry. The Emperor’s will was absolute, and any personal desires, any feelings, would be swept away like dust in the wind.

You barely remember how you made it back to Marcus’s quarters, your mind a blur of emotions—dread, anger, helplessness. Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat echoing with the terrible reality you were trying to push away. By the time you arrived, your hands were trembling, your breath shallow as if the air itself had become too heavy to breathe.

When Marcus walked in later that evening, you could see it in his face before he even spoke. The weight of duty, the burden of decisions not his own, bore down on him like a heavy cloak. His eyes, once so full of warmth when they met yours, were shadowed with the knowledge of what was to come.

You tried to speak, to find the words to ask him if it was true, but they caught in your throat. Instead, you stood in silence, waiting for him to tell you.

“They’ve ordered it,” he said quietly, his voice strained. He didn’t meet your eyes as he spoke, as if doing so would make it all too real. “The Emperor has arranged a marriage.”

Your heart shattered at that moment, but you willed yourself not to show it. You had always known this was a possibility—he was a man of power and status, and the empire would always demand his obedience. Still, knowing didn’t soften the blow. You felt like the air had been knocked out of your chest.

Marcus took a step closer to you, his expression pained. “I didn’t want this,” he murmured. “I don’t want her.”

He reached for you, his hand hovering just above your arm as if unsure whether he still had the right to touch you. The distance between you felt insurmountable now, the shadow of his impending marriage looming over everything you had built together.

You pulled back, just enough to break the unspoken promise of his touch. “But you must,” you said, your voice trembling. “You have no choice.”

Marcus’s eyes finally met yours, and the anguish in them was more than you could bear. “I swore I would protect you, that I wouldn’t let anything take you from me.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, forcing yourself to stay strong even as the tears threatened to fall. “And I swore I would stay by your side, no matter what,” you whispered. “But Marcus, this… this is the world we live in…I can’t stay here just to watch you being married to a woman who is not me.”

“I can’t lose you,” he said, his voice breaking. “I can’t pretend this marriage means anything to me. It’s politics, nothing more. You are what I want.”

You felt your resolve crumbling, the enormity of what you were facing pulling you under. “But once you’re married…” The words felt like poison on your tongue. “Once you’re bound to her…”

He shook his head fiercely, stepping closer again, this time not hesitating as he took your hands in his. His touch was warm, familiar, but it couldn’t erase the reality pressing down on both of you. “I won’t let her come between us. I won’t.”

Tears filled your eyes despite your best efforts to hold them back. You couldn’t stop the ache in your chest, the knowledge that your love would now have to exist in the shadows of Marcus’s new life—hidden, secret, and forbidden.

“What kind of life is that for us?” you asked, your voice breaking. “A love hidden away, always in the dark?”

Marcus’s jaw clenched, his eyes blazing with desperation. “We’ll find a way,” he insisted. “Even if the world says we can’t… we’ll find a way.”

You wanted to believe him, you wanted to hold on to the love that had grown between you, but the cold reality was seeping into every corner of your heart. This marriage wasn’t just an obstacle—it was a wall that you couldn’t break through.

You stepped away, pulling your hands free from his grasp. The distance between you felt like a chasm now, one that neither of you could cross. “I don’t know if love is enough,” you whispered, the weight of the world pressing down on your chest. “I won’t have my heart broken every day of my life just for you to see me from afar.”

Your words hung heavy in the air, each one a dagger piercing both your hearts. Marcus's face fell, the determination in his eyes flickering like a candle in the wind. He reached out once more, but hesitated, his hand hovering between you as if unsure whether he still had the right to touch you.

"Mea columba, please," he pleaded, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Don't say that. Don't give up on what we have."

A tear slipped down your cheek, and you quickly brushed it away, straightening your spine to muster whatever strength you had left. "I'm not giving up," you replied softly. "But I can't live a life where I'm constantly in the shadows, hiding what I feel, watching you build a life with someone else."

He shook his head vehemently. "My marriage to Lucilla will be in name only. It means nothing compared to what I feel for you."

"But it changes everything," you insisted, your voice cracking under the weight of your emotions. "She will be your wife. She will stand beside you in public, share your home, perhaps even bear your children. Where does that leave me? Sneaking around in the dark, pretending I don't exist whenever others are near?"

Marcus's expression crumpled, pain etched into every line of his face. "I would never ask you to diminish yourself like that."

"But that's exactly what this would be," you said, stepping back further to put some distance between you. "I deserve more than to be a secret, Marcus. And deep down, you know that."

He opened his mouth to argue, but no words came out. The silence stretched between you, filled only by the distant sounds of the bustling city beyond the walls—a world that seemed determined to keep you apart.

Finally, he spoke, his voice hoarse. "What are you saying?"

You took a shaky breath, gathering the courage to face the truth you'd been avoiding. "I'm saying that perhaps it's time for me to leave."

His eyes widened in alarm. "Leave? No, you can't. I won't allow it."

A bitter smile tugged at your lips. "You can't keep me here, not like this. Not when staying would mean watching you live a life, I can never be a part of."

Desperation flashed across his face. "I can speak to the Emperor. I can refuse the marriage. There must be a way—"

"And risk everything you've worked for? Your honor, your position?" You shook your head sadly. "You and I both know that's not possible. The Emperor's command is absolute. Defying him would only bring ruin upon you."

"I would risk it for you," he insisted, taking a bold step forward. "For us."

"And that's precisely why I can't let you do that," you replied gently. "I won't be the cause of your downfall.” You inhaled “Because you would end up despising me for it.”

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in every movement. "So, what then? We part ways? Pretend none of this ever happened?"

You felt your heart break a little more at the pain in his voice. "I don't want to forget," you said softly. "I will cherish every moment we've shared. But sometimes, love isn't enough to overcome the obstacles before us."

Marcus's shoulders sagged, defeat washing over him. "I can't accept that."

"Neither can I," you admitted, tears welling up once more. "But it's the only way we can both move forward without destroying each other."

He looked at you with a profound sadness, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hope. "Where will you go?"

You offered a small, sad smile. "I'll find somewhere. Perhaps another household, or maybe I'll find a way to make a life for myself beyond these walls."

A tense silence settled between you. Finally, he spoke, his voice barely audible. "When?"

You swallowed hard. "Soon. Before the marriage takes place."

He closed his eyes briefly, as if trying to steady himself against the inevitable. "At least allow me to ensure you're safe. Let me arrange for you to be placed somewhere you'll be treated well."

You considered refusing but knew it would ease his mind. "Alright," you agreed quietly. "Thank you."

Marcus stepped closer once more, and this time you didn't pull away as he reached out to cup your face gently in his hands. "I love you," he whispered, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "That will never change."

A sob escaped your lips, and you placed your hand over his. "And I love you. More than you could ever know."

He leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours, and for a moment, the two of you stood there, memorizing every detail of each other's faces—the warmth of your breaths mingling, the softness of his touch, the sorrow in his eyes.

"Promise me something," he said softly.

"Anything."

"Promise me you'll find happiness," he murmured. "That you'll live the life you deserve."

You nodded slowly. "I promise."

A single tear rolled down his cheek, and he pulled you into a tight embrace, holding you as if it were the last time—as indeed it might be. You clung to him, wishing you could freeze time, keep this moment suspended forever.

After what felt like both an eternity and a mere heartbeat, you pulled away, knowing that if you didn't leave now, you might never find the strength again. "Goodbye, Marcus," you whispered.

He reached into the folds of his tunic and pulled out a small object—a simple silver pendant engraved with a laurel wreath. "Take this," he said, pressing it into your hand. "So you'll always have a part of me with you."

You looked down at the pendant, your vision blurred by tears. "I will treasure it always."

With a final, lingering glance, you turned and walked away, each step heavier than the last. As you left his chambers, the weight of your decision settled fully upon you, but beneath the pain, there was a quiet resolve. You were choosing your own path, difficult as it was.

Behind you, Marcus remained standing, watching you go until you disappeared from sight. The echo of your footsteps faded, leaving him alone with the emptiness of the room and the ache in his heart.

The days that followed were a blur. True to his word, Marcus arranged for you to be placed in the household of a kind widow on the outskirts of the city. The woman, Julia, welcomed you warmly, unaware of the depth of your connection to the general. To her, you were simply a skilled servant in need of a place, and she was grateful for the help.

Life in Julia's home was peaceful, a stark contrast to the turmoil of your emotions. Each day, you performed your duties diligently, but your thoughts often drifted back to Marcus—the sound of his voice, the warmth of his embrace, the intensity of his gaze as he declared his love for you.

News of his impending marriage reached you through whispers in the marketplace. The union was to be a grand affair, solidifying political alliances and elevating Marcus's standing even further. You tried to steel yourself against the pang of jealousy and sorrow that accompanied these rumors, reminding yourself that this was the path he was bound to follow.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of gold and crimson, you found yourself standing on a hill overlooking the city. The distant sounds of celebration drifted up to you—the marriage ceremony was taking place. Clutching the silver pendant around your neck, you closed your eyes and whispered a silent farewell.

"May you find happiness," you murmured into the evening breeze. "And may our paths cross again in another life."

As the first stars appeared in the sky, you took a deep breath and turned away from the city. There was a whole world beyond Rome's walls, and perhaps, in time, you would find your place in it—where you could heal and maybe even find joy once more.

Weeks passed, each one heavier than the last. You had settled into Julia’s villa , trying to find peace in the simplicity of your new life. But the ache in your heart remained, the thought of Marcus and his looming marriage never far from your mind. Each night, you clutched the silver pendant he had given you, hoping it might somehow tether your heart to his, even from a distance.

It had been months since you had last seen him, and you had resigned yourself to the reality that Marcus’s life had moved on, even if yours still felt frozen in time. But fate, it seemed, had other plans.

One late afternoon, as you were tending to the garden outside Julia’s villa, you heard the distant sound of horses approaching. You looked up, wiping your hands on your apron, and saw a group of soldiers in familiar Roman armor riding up the path. Your heart skipped a beat. Could it be?

When they came to a stop, your breath caught in your throat. There, dismounting from his horse, was Marcus—his eyes searching frantically until they landed on you.

Your heart raced, and before you could even process what was happening, Marcus was striding toward you, his face a mix of determination and relief.

"Marcus?" you whispered, barely able to believe your eyes.

Without hesitation, he pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly, as if he had been afraid you might vanish if he let go. His warmth surrounded you, and for the first time in months, you allowed yourself to hope again.

"I found you," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "I told you we'd find a way."

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him, confusion clouding your thoughts. "But… your marriage? Lucilla?"

Marcus shook his head, his gaze locked with yours. "It's over. The Emperor himself annulled it."

Your breath caught in your throat. "What? How? Why?"

A faint smile touched his lips, though his eyes were serious. "Lucilla… she didn’t want this marriage any more than I did. She petitioned to me, and together we spoke to the emperor. She’s in love with someone else, someone who she could never marry while bound to me." He paused, his thumb gently brushing your cheek. "And the Emperor, surprisingly, agreed to release both of us."

You stared at him, stunned, unable to fully comprehend what he was saying. "So, you’re free?"

He nodded. "I’m free, mea columba. I can choose my own path now. And I’ve come to ask you to walk it with me."

Tears welled in your eyes, but this time, they were tears of joy. "Marcus, I…" you stammered, overwhelmed by the sudden rush of emotions. "Is this real? Are you really here?"

He smiled then, the first genuine smile you’d seen from him in so long. "Yes, it's real. I love you. I don’t care what anyone else says or thinks. I want you by my side, not in the shadows. I want you to be with me—openly, proudly."

For a moment, the world seemed to stand still. Everything you had feared, all the obstacles that had once seemed insurmountable, had fallen away. And standing before you was the man you loved, offering you the life you had once thought was impossible.

You smiled through your tears, your heart bursting with happiness. "I love you, Marcus," you whispered. "And yes, I’ll walk that path with you. Wherever it leads."

With that, he leaned in and kissed you, a kiss full of promise and hope, sealing the future you would share. At that moment, everything felt right. The shadows of the past no longer held power over you, and the weight of uncertainty had lifted from your shoulders.

Marcus took your hand when he finally pulled away, lacing his fingers through yours. "Come," he said softly. "Let’s go. There’s a whole world waiting for us."

A few months later...

The soft morning light filtered through the open window of the villa, casting a golden glow over the room as you slowly stirred awake. The cool breeze carried the scent of wildflowers from the hills, filling the air with the promise of a new day. You lay in bed, nestled in Marcus's strong arms, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing.

For months now, you had known peace, a life far removed from the chaos and expectations of the Roman court. Marcus had retired from the military, choosing a quiet life with you in the countryside. The villa had become your sanctuary, a place where you could live freely, without the burden of secrecy or fear. No more hiding in the shadows—your love had found the light.

Gently, you shifted in Marcus’s embrace, your hand resting over your growing belly. A small, soft smile spread across your face as you felt the faint flutter of movement inside you. Marcus stirred beside you, his arms tightening around you instinctively, as though even in sleep, he wanted to protect you.

You gazed down at your hand, marveling at the life that grew within you—a symbol of the love you and Marcus had fought so hard to protect. This child, your child, was the future you had once feared might never come.

Marcus’s eyes slowly opened, and he smiled sleepily as his gaze met yours. "Good morning," he murmured, his voice deep and warm.

"Good morning," you whispered back, your hand still resting on your belly. His eyes followed the movement, and his expression softened as he reached out to place his hand gently over yours.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, his voice filled with tenderness.

"I'm well," you replied, your smile widening. "The baby’s been very active this morning."

Marcus’s face lit up, and he leaned in to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “And he will know freedom.”

His gaze lingered on you, filled with a deep, unwavering love. "I still can’t believe this is real," he said quietly, his thumb gently brushing your hand. "After everything, we’re here—together—and soon, we’ll have a family."

You felt tears prick your eyes, not of sorrow this time, but of pure happiness. "It’s everything I never thought I could have," you admitted softly. "But now, I can’t imagine life any other way."

Marcus leaned in, his lips brushing yours in a tender kiss, one that spoke of all the joy and gratitude you both felt. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, as if savoring the moment.

"I love you, Mea columba" he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "More than words can say."

"And I love you," you replied, your heart swelling with happiness. "For always."

Together, you lay there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the weight of your journey behind you and the promise of a bright future ahead. The child you carried was a testament to your love, a symbol of the life you had built together despite all the odds.

Outside, the world continued to turn, but here, in this quiet, peaceful place, you had everything you had ever dreamed of, Marcus, your love, and the family you would soon welcome into the world.

The future stretched out before you, filled with light, joy, and hope. And as the first rays of sunlight touched the horizon, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you and Marcus would face them together, stronger than ever, bound by a love that had defied the impossible.

Your love had triumphed. And now, the greatest adventure of all was about to begin, the creation of a family, born out of that love.

#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

792 notes · View notes

hisui-dreamer · 2 years ago

Text

he lives in you

Characters: Leona, Floyd, Jamil, Lilia

Synopsis: You shared a night of passion with your lover before you left for the other side of the mirror, but fate's cruel hands strike once again as you realise you have to raise his child alone in your original world. Thankfully, your child is incredibly drawn to magic, and they opened a portal...?

Tags: slight angst, fluffy end because im a sap, fem reader, reader gives birth to a child, reunions, bot proofread

Word count: 2.4k+

Notes: uh i was practicing Japanese and researching Japanese names before writing this, so all my name ideas ended up in japanese? if it makes you uncomfortable, you can imagine that reader is japanese hehe

right in time for mother's day, so here's to a celebration of the motherly figures in our lives, blood related or not, for being there for us<3

Part 2✧Part 3✧Part 4✧Masterlist

A few months passed as you settled back into your routine at home. Eventually, with the noticeable changes in your body, it dawned on you that you were with child—his child, your lover from the other side of the mirror whom you could no longer reach.

Days turned into weeks, and weeks turn into months. You had adapted to the trials and tribulations of parenthood. Juggling the responsibilities of work, childcare, and household chores was no easy feat, but you found solace in the small moments of your child's growth and development.

Your child was a true joy to behold, a mirror image of their father in many ways, and you often see the ghost of your past lover in them. Having inherited his magic, your child experimented with their powers, leaving you to support them with what limited knowledge of magic that remained from your NRC days.

On one such experiment, your environment started to shift as a wave of magical energy engulfed you. When you opened your eyes again, he was there, right in front of you—

Hina (日来) with 日 meaning "sun, day" and 来 meaning "coming, future"

Leona reminded you of a shining sun that radiated warmth and light in your life, of how the it would surely shine again no matter how dark the night seemed, and so you named your daughter after that image

your daughter has the clearest emerald eyes and flowing dark brown locks that you often braided in a similar style to her father's

she's very energetic, always curious and asking questions, eager to learn more about the world around her

she's an obedient child, although she's eager to seek your affection and may whine a bit when things don't go her way

if there was one thing that was similar to the Leona you knew, it's that she's extremely clingy and constantly seeks physical affection, hugging your legs and asking for you to carry them any chance she has

and also the fact that she enjoyed her naps a bit too much

her lion ears are a bit of an issue in our world, but you often hide them with hoods, clever hair styling, or simply saying it's a costume

when you told her about the brilliant man her father is, she grew really excited about the possibility of meeting him, and started playing around with magic more to be like the intelligent mage he is

and then it happened, just an ordinary afternoon practicing magic had the two of you transported back to twisted wonderland, face to face to Leona

somehow, he had grown even more handsome in the years you hadn't seen him, but instead of his lazy smile, he looked confident and powerful, like the leader he was always meant to be

A sudden gust of magic swept through the air behind him as he raised his staff in response, only to immediately drop it in shock as your figure came into sight, and beside you, a small child that he had never seen before.

"Herbivore..." he whispered.

Without a second thought, Leona rushed towards you, his heart beating wildly in his chest. He felt a lump forming in his throat as he reached out to embrace you tightly.

"This better not be a dream," he murmured into the crook of your neck as he inhaled your scent. "It's really you."

after a tearful reunion and introduction, Leona quickly excuses himself from his duties with a quick meeting with Falena, and helps you and Hina settle into the palace

since you left, Leona's been working hard to do what he can do as per your promise with him

he's now in charge of foreign affairs and on better terms with his brother after much needed communication

he showers you in affection, he's even clingier than before that it almost starts a rivalry with your daughter

he puts in a lot of effort to spend time with Hina, learning her likes and dislikes and bonding over magic

uncle jack and ruggie are always fun to be around and play with her

though it wasn't his fault, leona feels guilty you had to bare the responsibility on your own for so long, and he puts in a lot of effort to make amends for any mistakes work to build a strong relationship with you two

he has a family now, and you're damn sure he'll protect it with his life

Leona looked down at Hina, feeling a sense of pride and wonder at the little girl standing before him. "Hey there," he said, his voice gentle. "Nice to meet ya, kiddo."

Hina stared at him, her eyes searching his face. "Are you my dad?" she asked, her voice small and uncertain.

Leona's heart ached at the question, knowing that he had missed so much of her life. "Yeah, I'm your dad," he said, reaching out to take her hand.

Hina looked at him for a moment before a smile spread across her face. "Can you show me magic?" she asked, her eyes lighting up with excitement.

Leona felt a sense of joy at her words, feeling a connection with her that he had never felt before. "Of course I can," he said, standing up and taking her hand. "What do you wanna see?"

Sakura (桜) meaning "cherry blossoms"

your daughter has sleek teal hair that reminds you of the sea, a single strand of dark hair, and mismatched eyes in the same manner as Floyd

Floyd had lovingly given you the nickname "Shrimpy", and it only felt right for your daughter to be named Sakura, after the tiny sakura-shrimp

she's incredibly mischievous and there's not a moment of silence with her, she's spontaneous and playful and you've got your hands full

though she is very considerate of you and will listen to your words, she's uncontrollable when she's bored and in need of a spark of interest

she's also a squeezer, much like her father, and hugs you every time she sees you or anyone she likes, and you're thankful her strength hasn't developed too much yet

she enjoys biting you, albeit gently, and you find your arms littered with bite marks, but it's her unique way of showing affection

her eel form won't show unless she's been in the water for too long (thankfully), and she enjoys squeezing you in her eel form even more

ever so curious, she's asked about her father many times, and you've told her how carefree and easygoing her father is, and that he'd love her the moment she saw her

which leads you to her magic actually teleporting you to him, her spontaneous idea having manifested itself, and you found in a dimly lit room similar to the Mostro Lounge

Floyd looked matured, his hair sleeked back and his features sharpened, though his wry smile that you loved had stayed the same

Floyd's eyes widened with shock and disbelief, and his steps quickened as he rushes towards you, his long arms outstretched in a gesture of longing. As he got closer, he noticed the beautiful and curious-looking child standing close to you.

"Shrimpy?" he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "No way... It's really you!"

Floyd pulled you close, holding you tightly as if he never wanted to let go. "I missed ya so much, I wish I hadn't let ya go," he said, his voice choked with emotion as tears threatened to spill. "You're not allowed to leave again, okay?"

Floyd is so ecstatic he can't stand still, once he's calmed down a bit, be immediately carries Sakura and drags you to Jade and Azul

Azul and Jade are pleasantly surprised at your return, and it's a warm welcome back

the two of them are glad Floyd won't be moping any time soon

the trio have now expanded into a franchise and divulged into many businesses, though Floyd largely acts as Azul's right-hand man

Now that you're back, he refuses to be apart from you, always holding onto you tightly and afraid you might disappear just like how suddenly you appeared

he does get mood swings where he's upset or angry, not at you though, just at how unfair things were and how he couldn't be there for you

he's a good eel who does everything to make sure you and Sakura are happy and comfortable, often cooking meals for you two

he's so curious about Sakura and enjoys playing with her and lifting her high up in the air

don't worry, he's extremely careful, this precious gem is why you got back to him!

Jade is the best uncle and Sakura wants to marry him??? (honestly same)

poor Azul is getting pranked by the daughter- father duo, though Sakura does comfort him afterwards with squeezes and kissss

Floyd looked down at Sakura, and he saw her staring back at him with wide, curious eyes in the opposite colours of his eyes. Though she resembled him physically, there was an air about her that was so distinctly his Shrimpy.

"Heya," Floyd said, trying to sound friendly. "I'm your dad."

Sakura giggled and reached out to him, her tiny hands grasping at his hands. Floyd froze, not sure what to do, letting her yand his hand forward. But then, she opened her mouth and bit down on finger.

"Hey!" Floyd cried, pulling back in surprise.

Sakura just laughed, her eyes sparkling with mischief. Floyd couldn't help but laugh too, despite the pain in his finger.

"Yer a feisty one, aren't ya, Sakura-shrimpy?" he teased, grinning down at her as he ruffled her hair. "You know," he whispered, "you can't just go around biting people like that. But I like your style."

Isami (功己) 功 meaning "achievement, credit, honour, merits" and 己 meaning "self, serpent, snake."

your son has smooth ebony locks and sharp grey eyes that make him look slightly intimidating

Jamil had shown you how much he valued his achievements over his social status, so you chose a name the could embody him

he's a quiet child who's always attentive and careful

he's rather shy in front of other people, but when it's you he'll soak up all of your affection and stare at you with longing eyes seeking praise

he's a cute helper at home too! he always volunteers to help you with chores and cook in the kitchen, though you're careful he's not close to anything sharp or dangerous

he does have an inherent fear of bugs, something he's inherited from Jamil, but thankfully you've taught him to be less destructive than his father

do expect screams and for him to be crying as a little fly chases him around though

he's incredibly smart and talented at magic, easily grasping the concepts of magic you can only teach him theoretically

when you told him about his father, you've told him about the diligent man that his father is, and how would let his guard down around those he treasured

he had listened quietly without much of a change in his expression, but you could tell there was a bubbling excitement building up in his eyes

and no long after that, he managed to teleport the two of you to a warm, airy room of marble walls

Jamil's features had sharpened, he seemed more openly confident and comfortable with himself

Jamil's heart skipped a beat as he saw you. It had been five years since he bid your farewell at the mirror chamber and lost you forever. And yet here you were standing here in front of him with a child in tow, a child who resembled him so much.

"It can't be..." he murmurs.

Without hesitation, Jamil dropped all the papers and rushed towards you, his heart pounding furiously. His eyes locked with yours, and in that moment, time seemed to stand still. He could see the love and longing still shining in your eyes, and he knew deep down that he had never stopped loving you.

Jamil couldn't stop the tears that began streaming down his face. "I've missed you so much," he said, his voice raspy. "Letting you go is the worst decision I've ever made." He reached out and pulling you into a tight embrace, his arms shaking with emotions.

he's a bit overwhelmed but still so thankful you're back in his life

Kalim barges in at this time and exclaims in surprise at your return and ??? OMG JAMIL YOU HAVE A SON?!!

Jamil has half a mind to dissuade him from holding a banquet immediately to welcome you back, and instead take things slow to not overwhelm you or Isami

asks Kalim for some privacy and the second he's away, he melts into your embrace

he hasn't felt so at ease in so long

if he wakes up in the morning and you're not right there beside him, he's panicking and searching all over the place for some confirmation you're still here

he's very curious about Isami and asks him all sorts of questions to piece together his development and personality

they definitely have a rivalry over who's braver over bugs but it just ends up with the two hugging you for safety

he's a bit awkward with how careful he is with his emotions, so it takes Isami some time to fully trust him

but trust me, Jamil will go above and beyond for his family and there's no way Isami will have to endure what Jamil did in his childhood

Jamil's eyes widened in surprise and wonder. He couldn't believe that they had created a life together. He knelt down to the Isami' eye level and looked into his eyes. "Hello there," he said, his voice gentle and warm. "What's your name?"

Isami starred back at him, his eyes wide with distrust and caution before he buried his face in your legs. Jamil chuckled softly. "It's okay," he comforted. "You don't have to be shy around me. I'm your dad."

Isami looked up at him again, this time with a mix of curiosity and wonder. "Daddy?" they said, testing the word out.

Jamil smiled warmly as nodded, his heart swelling with love and joy. "Yes, daddy," he parroted. "And I promise I'm never going to leave you or your mommy again."

Yuri (百合) meaning "lily"

Lilia's name always reminded you for lily flowers, and what better name for your daughter to embody him?

your daughter has straight raven hair with some of the hair flipping upwards resembling two horns, angular fae ears, and bright crimson eyes

she's always up for pranks and mischief, it's rare to see her without a smile

she loves exploring places, if you keep your eyes off her for one second, she's letting her curiosity take her to whatever she wants

if you're serious and stern though, she will listen to you, she wouldn't dare make her mother upset!

she's friendly with everyone and isn't shy to say hi to neighbors or absolute strangers

she's not overly affectionate, but she definitely enjoys hugs and kisses from you

she has an odd habit of taking stray animals back home in an attempt to adopt them, so you have little adventures with her trying to find an owner

do not let her in the kitchen

she has surely inherited her father's cooking abilities, somehow, she can render even a piece of toast beyond human consumption

magic comes as second nature to her, and she's always standing on ceilings

gosh her eyes absolutely sparkled when you told her about the teasing and mischievous fae that is her father

and soon, the portal opened and you found yourself in a gothic castle lit up by green candles

He's a lot taller, his hair longer and reaching his waist, and more enchanting than ever

Lilia stood in shock as your family figure come into sight. In all his years of living, he had never been so utterly stunned. After all these years, you had finally returned to him.

"Beastie..." Lilia gasped, his voice catching in his throat.

With a surge of energy, Lilia broke free from the trance-like state and hurried towards you, his hair streaming behind him like a dark flag as he enveloped you tightly in his embrace. "After all these years, you've truly come back to me?"

Carefully, Lilia held you at arm's length, studying your matured features, etching them into his memory like a cherished work of art. His eyes traced the lines and contours of your face, memorizing every detail that time had etched upon you.

"My, how you've grown," Lilia murmured, a mix of pride and wistfulness coloring his words. "The years have shaped you into a remarkable individual."

it's family reunion time!!!

he immediately drags you to the throne room where malleus, silver and sebek are

malleus is now king with two incredibly reliable bodyguards, and Lilia's his most trusted advisor

malleus is so glad his dear human friend is back, silver is satisfied that his father will have someone to be with, and sebek is screaming about Yuri, though she enjoys his loudness

for a while, Lilia is extremely affectionate, trying to make up for all the years that had gone by

when you're sleeping together at night, he hugs you tightly and it's difficult to leave his embrace

he definitely tries to cook for you two, going on and on about how the two of you need to stay healthy and need lots of nutrients

you always volunteer your portion for Yuri, and she'll gladly eat whatever her father has cooked for her

silver is an older brother often on babysitting duty, and Yuri loves watching him spar with sebek and also wants to learn

Sebek is quite fond of Yuri, and he sees his half-fae self in her

Lilia is always trying to fun with Yuri, bouncing her high up in the air and teaching her to hang upside down and swing around

plans so many family vacations, he can't wait to be exploring places with his two darlings

"Is she... ours?" Lilia asked. At your nod, he reached out to caress Yuri's cheek, his touch gentle as if he were touching fragile porcelain.

"Well, I'll be damned," Lilia chuckled, his voice cracking with emotion. "I never thought I'd be a father again. But I'm glad to meet you, little one. What's your name?"

Yuri giggled and and beamed at his touch. "My name's Yuri," she said, her voice sweet as honey.

"Yuri," Lilia repeated, his heart swelling with emotion. "What a beautiful name for my beautiful girl," he reached up to fondle her hair. "You know, Yuri," Lilia said, his voice growing serious. "I may not have been there for you when you were born, but I promise I'll always be here for you from now on. No matter what happens, I'm your father, and I'll always love you darling."

Part 2✧Part 3✧Part 4✧Masterlist

if you liked this post, don't forget to reblog!

#twstnexus #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland leona #leona kingscholar x reader #leona kingsholar #twisted wonderland floyd #floyd leech x reader #floyd leech #twisted wonderland jamil #jamil viper #jamil viper x reader #twisted wonderland lilia #lilia vanrouge #lilia vanrouge x reader

6K notes · View notes

aardelea · 4 months ago

Text

How would they deepen your relationship?

Here’s another headcanon for you all! There’s nothing explicit, but you might catch a hint or two. The interpretation is entirely up to you. Enjoy! 💕

We all know those awkward situations when you're just starting out in a relationship and still can’t quite figure out the other person. Let’s hand the initiative over to the gentlemen this time: how would they create romantic situations to bring you closer?

Jin

It might take Jin a while to stop calling you by his old "nicknames." Don't take it too personally, but don't hesitate to remind him that you'd prefer a new title instead of "servant."

Even after you two start a relationship, Jin will still spend most of his time in his room, so your time together will mostly be within those four walls. Although, every now and then, he will take you out, often in the most luxurious way imaginable.

However, he’ll feel most comfortable alone with you in his room. Expect to get close pretty quickly, as Jin seems to be quite a physical person. He’ll respect your boundaries, but he’ll push them just enough to make you blush like never before. Despite his intimidating demeanor, he is incredibly gentle and sensitive beneath his iron mask.

In public, Jin will hold back on physical affection, except for casually keeping an arm around you to signal to others that you’re his. He may dislike the elite to which he belongs, but he won’t risk his status by showing too much in front of others. Some circles still value restraint.

Tohma

"Why be so formal", right? Tohma will quickly show you a side of himself that you’ve only caught glimpses of before—the side that’s tired of his duties and just wants to live again. This side will only make you fall for him even more.

To make sure you don’t get the wrong impression that he’s merely the king’s obedient servant, he’ll take you out of Darkwick whenever possible. He’ll spend time with you somewhere far from the city, in nature, or just anywhere quiet.

The version of Tohma you see in Frostheim is just one side of him. His mask is firmly in place, and he’s careful not to let it slip—although it already has a few times with you. In a relationship, though, he wants you to see the real him. He knows he can be himself with you, and that means everything to him.

Tohma will likely want to keep your relationship as secret as possible. Darkwick, especially Frostheim, can be cruel, and it only takes one wrong person getting wind of your relationship for something bad to happen. He’s already made a few enemies, and he’ll do anything to protect you from harm or malicious gossip. So, don’t expect public displays of affection or even hints that you’re together. But look forward to those moments when it’s just the two of you, because he’ll make up for every second of having to hide your love in ways you can only imagine.

Luca

Luca will be over the moon when you two start dating, but since he’s the cautious type, you’ll have to show him that you’re not made of glass. He might treat you too delicately at first.

Being the gentleman he is, Luca will never test your limits and will only go as far as you allow. But once you give him the green light to take the lead, he will. Luca isn’t shy, after all. It doesn’t matter where you are, either—he’ll go along with anything as long as it’s socially appropriate.

In public, he’s comfortable showing affection, like holding your hand or small gestures that make it clear you’re his girlfriend. He’ll be even happier if you initiate. To strengthen your bond, though, he’ll prioritize spending time alone with you, much to Kaito’s dismay. Instead of hanging out at the library, you’ll likely start borrowing books and studying together at either of your places. Expect gentle hand touches, soothing massages after long study sessions, and whatever else the two of you might explore together.

Although Luca would love to take you wherever you wish, he’ll never forget his commitment to his brother. He’ll focus on that while also trying to take on as many missions as possible, afraid of losing you too soon. You’ll need to remind him to take breaks, but don’t worry—he won’t be able to say no to you.

Kaito

Kaito will need time to process the fact that you’ve entered a relationship with him. At first, things might feel a bit awkward between you as neither of you really knows how to approach the other.

You’ll likely have to take the first step and assure him that you’re serious about him. Something as simple as holding his hand in public or when you’re studying together will go a long way.

Once Kaito feels more secure and convinced that you’re not just a dream, he’ll begin approaching you on his own. Since he lacks experience, there will be a lot of trial and error. How will you react if he reaches for your hand in public? Do you prefer a kiss as a greeting, or is a hug better? Your reactions will guide him on how far he can go.

To understand your relationship better, Kaito will focus on taking you on small, intimate dates, testing the waters. A casual arm around your shoulder during a movie, his hands around your waist when he gets closer—though all of this will happen in private. It’ll be a while before he does any of this in public, so be patient with him.

Alan

Alan is known for being a man of few words and minimalism. Don’t expect deep conversations even in a relationship. He’ll gradually open up more about his feelings, but it’ll take time.

To get to know you better, he’ll want to involve you in his activities, including joining him on missions—so long as they’re not too dangerous. He’ll also take you out into nature, where he spends most of his free time. After all, there’s no better place to truly understand someone.

He’ll continue giving you head pats, but over time, he’ll feel so comfortable with you that he’ll unconsciously seek your physical presence more often. If you reciprocate, he’ll become more confident and keep it up.

You’ll quickly notice when Alan wants to show affection because he’s naturally a very loving person, though he thinks too little of himself. Every time he tries, he’ll stop and apologize, worrying that he’s gone too far—though in reality, he never does. He’s far gentler than he gives himself credit for. If you want him to continue, you’ll have to encourage him because otherwise, he’ll fear hurting you.

Sho

Sho would remain as laid-back in a relationship as he usually is, quickly making you feel safe around him. No matter what’s bothering you, you can unload it on him without hesitation.

If you’re the type who enjoys public displays of affection, that’s not a problem. Sho will accommodate, at least up to a point where he still feels comfortable. He won’t initiate physical contact himself, preferring to take your lead. The exception is if you’re too shy to make the first move. He’ll pick up on that quickly and save you the trouble while savoring every moment of watching you blush.

Sho will take every opportunity to let you ride with him on his beloved Bonnie. You’re probably the only person he’d ever allow to drive her yourself, which is the ultimate expression of his affection. When you’re alone, he’ll act as he always does, but he’ll seek your company more directly, although slowly and without rushing.

Be prepared for Sho to start giving you cute nicknames very early on, whether people are around or not. He especially enjoys annoying Leo with his affection for you, and that’s one of the few times he’ll amp it up just to get on Leo’s nerves—if you’re okay with it, of course.

Leo

First off, respect for actually getting Leo into a relationship. That couldn’t have been easy. He’s extremely self-centered and, in turn, has unrealistically high standards for his girlfriend—standards you’ve clearly met. The path to that point was likely already uncomfortable enough for him, as he had to admit to himself that he could love someone other than his own reflection. But once he’s gotten over that hurdle, he’ll be able to fully commit to you.

Even though he has the natural personality of a mean little rat, and won’t be able to shake that even in a relationship, he can be very sweet when he wants to be. Expect any kind of affection or attention from him to come with the implication that you practically begged him for it, and he—being the nice guy that he is—decided to give in to his sweet girlfriend’s requests. If you’re hoping to get him to admit that he’s the one who desperately needs you: forget it. It would take force to make him say that.

He’ll be the same offline as he was online with you. He loves being near you and will demand your presence often. You’ll become his favorite pillow, one he enjoys keeping close as he falls asleep. He’ll also love showing you off in public, so expect lots of attention from him when you’re out together.

Talking about emotions won’t be his thing. Once you’re free to gou out again, you can expect him to want to take you clubbing. He won’t hold back when dancing and will want to push your boundaries. The further you’re willing to go, the more fun you’ll have together. Surprisingly, though, he’ll respect your limits once you’ve made them clear to him.

Haru

Haru is already an open person who’s unafraid of physical touch, so at the start of your relationship, he’ll put in a lot of effort to make you feel like you’re truly special to him. Expect a lot of attention from him, in every way, whenever he finds the time.

Affection comes naturally to Haru. Paired with the fact that he has very few inhibitions, a simple hug can quickly turn into something more if you don’t stop him. Of course, unless you want to take things further. In public, he’ll be more than happy to show that you’re his and his alone—not so much to mark his territory, but because touch is second nature to him, and he has to make a serious effort to hold back with you.

The last thing Haru wants is for you to feel uncomfortable. If he ever senses that one of his advances is too much, he’ll immediately apologize and stop. He can’t help it, though. You’re like his oasis in the middle of the desert that is Jabberwock. As much as he loves that desert, it drains him of all energy, and he needs a change of scenery. Preferably with you. Whatever you have in mind, he’ll want to do it with you, as long as it fits into the schedule and budget.

Since there will be plenty of days when you can’t spend time together, he’ll almost certainly suggest spending nights together at least. Talking about your day in bed, or goofing around until sleep takes you both—so long as you get to enjoy those rare moments of intimacy in each other’s arms.

Towa

Towa doesn’t care much for formalities or conventions, so he’ll start exploring you and your body fairly early on.

In the beginning, a lot of your dates will be outdoors. As you look into each other’s eyes under the stars, Towa will ask you all sorts of questions about yourself and your preferences. Not in a straightforward way, though, but through stories. “What’s the most beautiful love story you know, Dandelion? What do you like most about it? Do you see yourself in that story?”

Towa is the kind of person who knows exactly what he wants and expects the same from you. If something doesn’t sit well with you, or on the other hand, if something really pleases you, he wants you to tell him directly so that he knows how best to act around you, ensuring you enjoy his closeness as much as he enjoys yours.

While most of your early dates will be private, he’ll probably come off as possessive in public without even realizing it. He’ll hug you whenever he sees you, and potential rivals will be scared off long before they can even form a thought that involves you. If this behavior makes you uncomfortable, it’s best to communicate that early on and show him that he’s the only one for you—no one will ever come between your love.

Ren

Ren will only be able to deepen your relationship in small steps because he first has to come to terms with how much he enjoys your company and touch. Even if you’ve managed to get him into a committed relationship, there are still plenty of things he needs to learn about himself.

Your movie or raid nights, which you established during your friendship, will, of course, continue joyfully. Over time, he’ll try to get closer to you, testing how far he can go with you and how far his own comfort zone can stretch. If you’re the one to take the initiative, you’ll lift a huge weight off his shoulders, sparing him a few awkward moments.

Once Ren warms up to you, though, there’s no going back. He’ll take every opportunity to snuggle up with you under warm blankets, framing it as though you’re the one who needs his touch the most. And he might not be entirely wrong. By that point, it won’t be about the movies you’re watching anymore.

Ren will likely want to keep your relationship low-key, avoiding any potential conflict. The last thing he wants is to be the target of jealous people who wish they had you—and there are surely a few on campus. It would take an extraordinary amount of stress to push him to make a public claim, but if he does, he’ll act like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Sneaking up from behind, he’ll wrap his arm around your waist and kiss your cheek. “Oh, and could you grab some snacks later?”

Romeo

Romeo is a confident man who knows exactly what he wants and what doesn’t suit him at all. Therefore, you can expect him to communicate this right from the beginning of your relationship. Conversely, he will demand the same from you.

The interesting thing about Romeo, however, is that he will likely not stick to his own rules. While he initially insists that you both behave completely professionally at work, sooner or later, he will be overwhelmed by his own longing and seek your closeness himself. Suddenly, he’ll sit down next to you, wrap his arm around your waist, and before you know it, you’ll be in his lap. This is still completely professional, understood?

Since Romeo also knows that a relationship must be built and requires effort, he will reluctantly make the effort to invite you over after work to discuss the successes and failures of the day. More or less subtly, he will try to create physical closeness during these discussions. Depending on how far he’s allowed to go with you, the evening discussions may sometimes take a little longer.

In public, on the other hand, Romeo wants to maintain professionalism. No holding hands or any other form of affection is allowed. But woe betide him if he sees you standing (in his opinion) too close to another man or being looked at too intensely (again, in his opinion). He will quickly mark his territory (you) by casually coming over, wrapping his arm around your waist, and giving you a kiss on the forehead. The (supposed) admirer will soon know his place.

Taiga

By the time you can claim you're in a relationship, you'll probably have already reached the point where Taiga remembers your name. Even if it's just remembering that you're his kitty.

With Taiga, some things will move faster than with the other ghouls since he's the only one who has absolutely no inhibitions. This means that deepening your relationship will primarily happen on an emotional level, as all uncertainties regarding physical affection will already have been cleared up. By then, you'll likely have already gone quite far.

Naturally, you're his little lucky charm that he shows off everywhere and lets sit on his lap, but now it's up to you to get him used to the fact that a relationship requires much more than physical affection (or his equivalent of it). Interestingly, he'll be quite a tough nut to crack because he keeps deeper feelings locked away and will initially brush off your time together as just fun. Not that he doesn't have deeper feelings, but he doesn't seem like the type who would communicate them easily.

Push him into deeper conversations and whisper declarations of love into his ear until he finally realizes that you're much more to him than just a fun adventure you have committed to. That you appreciate all sides of him and stand by his side out of conviction. He might not be the type to want to talk about this stuff, but if things are going to work, he has to learn to understand you too—and accept that he's lovable as well.

Ritsu

Since Ritsu is a highly organized person, he'll probably create some sort of checklist to figure out what works for both of you in a relationship, point by point. Each point will be discussed in detail, with its pros and cons. To your surprise, he has no inhibitions about this, and his list won’t leave anything out. If any point goes too far for you, it's best to communicate that early before he acts on it.

Since he's not really the type to talk about feelings, he'll stick to showing his affection through actions. Bringing you flowers after work, giving you a massage in the evening, or a tender kiss exactly where he knows you like it the most.

Whether or not he'll show his affection publicly will depend very much on the results of your checklist. In principle, he wouldn’t mind doing so outside of work hours, though he generally isn't the type for public displays of affection. However, if he notices that his attention makes you happy in some form or another, he'll gladly make an exception.

He'll mainly try to deepen your relationship by involving you in all his cases, allowing you to become part of his daily life. However, distractions are absolutely unacceptable. Whatever you’d like to do with him has to wait until after work. That said, some breaks can definitely be put to good use.

Haku

Haku is quite a confident guy who has already observed and questioned you enough before you got together, so he already has a pretty good idea of who you are and what you like.

Of course, a serious relationship is something entirely different from a purely platonic, though close, friendship, so he's well aware that he needs to make some effort to keep the spark alive and ensure that you completely fall for him.

Since he’s absolutely the type for public displays of affection, he’ll try to initiate them pretty quickly. If you're not into that, he’ll respect it, but be prepared for him to test all boundaries unless you stop him. He just finds you too adorable, and the shyer you react, the more fun he has with it.

To give you both the best chance to adjust to each other, he’ll want to spend as much time with you as possible—late into the night. Whether at your place or his dorm, he’ll make time to fully enjoy your time together. Whether it's watching a movie, discussing past missions, studying for your courses, or simply relaxing and watching funny videos on the internet. He'll also want to explore you. How far that goes is entirely up to you.

Subaru

Subaru is a rather shy man who, much like Alan, doesn’t have much confidence in himself when it comes to dealing with people, let alone with you. So, it’s safe to assume that any progress in your relationship will take time.

However, Subaru does have a sense of romance, and he will come closer to you step by step if you allow it. What starts as regular tea or meal dates will turn into sweet, long nights where you share stories with each other. Whether they’re fairy tales or legends you’ve heard or made-up stories that reflect parts of your own experiences, Subaru will gradually reveal more about himself and eagerly absorb everything you tell him about yourself.

As a result, getting physically closer will happen almost automatically. First, very slowly, as he unconsciously reduces the distance between you, until you eventually find yourself in his arms, enjoying the peaceful night together. He’ll always make sure that his touch is comfortable for you before continuing. Hopefully, by that point, you’ll have already told him everything that makes you uncomfortable because, if not, he’ll soon figure it out.

Subaru’s love is pure and genuine. You’ll feel that with every touch of his hands on your skin and with every initially shy kiss he gives you. Even if enough time has passed for you to be comfortable with each other, every touch from him will still sweep you off your feet, and you'll lose yourself completely in him. As he gains confidence from realizing the effect he has on you, he’ll never take advantage of it but will savor it fully because it shows him that you’re just as smitten with him as he is with you.

Zenji

Before your relationship even begins, you and Zenji will have already spent a lot of time together, as it would take quite a bit to convince him to enter into a relationship despite his condition. As a result, you’ll have already learned how to make the most of your time together.

You’re Zenji's muse (and maybe he’s yours too?), and your mere presence constantly inspires him to write new lyrics and compose the most beautiful music just for you. The difference now is that it will often be about love and performed under the romantic light of the moon.

Zenji follows you wherever you want to go, and with a little persuasion and practice, you’ll reach a point where you can simulate touches like holding hands so convincingly that both of you could swear you can feel each other's warmth. Over time, it will become one of your favorite activities to "touch" each other—pressing your palms together, brushing your hands over each other's cheeks, pressing your lips together longingly until it almost feels real.

Instead of losing yourselves in the pain of longing, this practice brings you both a sense of fulfillment, so much so that you wouldn’t want to stop it, even though you both dream of truly being able to feel each other one day. If Zenji has taught you anything, it’s that hope can be found everywhere. Being with Zenji makes you feel more alive than ever before, and the same goes for him.

Rui

Let’s assume this scenario features the Rui we’ve encountered so far—the one cursed to be distanced from practically any form of human closeness. He is absolutely cautious, and it was already quite challenging to convince him that a relationship between you could work. Now, it’s really up to you to show him what a relationship without touch and the fear of… well, death… can look like.

The only way to show him your feelings at first is through spoken words. He will gladly lie down next to you at night, albeit at a healthy distance, and listen to your words. He will also go along with any date ideas you have as long as they don’t involve too many people. Even though he absorbs every declaration of love from you like a sponge and reciprocates every tender feeling, it still torments him that he can’t fully express it.

He will only start to take your relationship more seriously in the sense that he sees it as more realistic when it becomes somewhat visible on the outside. Even if it’s through excessive flirting at the bar, where you can’t take your eyes off him, it will make him happier than anything if you also want to outwardly show that you are irrevocably taken. It would be wise not to get too close to any other man during your relationship, even without any intentions and absolutely unintentionally, so that Rui doesn’t get the idea that you’re longing for touches too much.

The last logical step would be a solution for the all-too-human needs that only a partner could fulfill. At this point, he will fortunately come toward you, especially if you’re too shy to make the appropriate hints or even advances. You can indeed explore each other superficially without touching. Show him that this is enough for you, and he will have no more doubts.

Ed is another man without reservations. He takes what he wants, and with his innate charm, which he has perfected over the centuries, he can quickly wrap you around his finger if you’re not careful. With enough self-confidence—which he will find very attractive—you will soon be able to fall completely for him, just as he likely already has for you.

Since Ed is very limited in his movements, your time together will unfortunately have to be confined to Obscuary, where he will summon you at every opportunity. Even though he will want to create the impression that he has full power over you—which is also related to his actual strength—you will increasingly realize in your ongoing conversations that he is only trying to mask the fact that he is completely under your spell. Whether you want to leave him in his illusion or begin to push your influence over him is entirely up to you.

He will reveal a lot of personal information about himself without even realizing it or being able to explain why he is so open with you. Without directly saying it, you will quickly notice how much you mean to him. Whether you play along with his game in which he holds the reins is up to you. In public (or what can be interpreted as public within the confines of Rui’s bar), he certainly won’t hesitate to mark you as his prey. You will not lack for physical affection. Ed may not get jealous easily, but he does value everyone knowing their place. And yours is, after all, by his side.

Physical affection will come quickly at the beginning of your relationship, and not just a little. Like all other ghouls, he will never do anything that makes you uncomfortable. However, where exactly he gives you his attention in Obscuary is completely irrelevant to him. Even if he prefers to spend time with you in his room, best arm in arm while watching some ominous YouTube videos, he will get your attention anywhere else if he lacks physical affection, as long as you allow it.

Lyca

Lyca knows neither boundaries nor social conventions particularly well, which means it’s up to you how quickly you want to deepen your relationship. A “no” to one thing or another will likely be difficult for him to understand, but he will respect your wishes.

Since he is practically exploring life anew with you, a relationship is no exception. Aside from copying what he observes here and there to test if it works for both of you, he won’t hesitate to express his own needs. Just come to bed with him and cuddle. Why should that be something forbidden?

He will also enjoy smelling you and sending chills down your spine with his breath on your neck. Aside from that, he will sooner or later want to explore every inch of you. He will want to absorb every scent and sensation on his skin.

Lyca is a bundle of energy and literally up for anything. Whatever you want to do to get to know him better and gauge him, he will gladly join in. But be prepared for some situations that might be uncomfortable for you, as he simply doesn’t know boundaries. Although girls may intimidate him, he will warm up to you extremely quickly, and inhibitions will naturally fall.

Yuri

Oh dear, the poor man has already agreed to enter into a relationship with you, and now he’s supposed to invest time to keep the relationship alive? Have a little mercy and take some work off his hands. His mind is so full of brilliant ideas that it’s a bit difficult for him to settle into a completely foreign situation and let go.

Since he spends most of his time in the lab, you will have to do the same. However, he will meet you halfway by sending Jiro home early while samples are being analyzed. You will even be surprised to find his office occasionally adorned with candles.

He will initially be very stiff because he doesn’t really know how to behave toward you now. If you can’t tolerate awkward advances in an otherwise lovingly furnished environment, feel free to meet him halfway and take control. In this case, he will gladly allow it. Show him that you are his and that he is irrevocably yours. Although he may appear arrogant and self-absorbed outwardly—something you might agree with to some extent—that doesn’t mean he can’t be completely smitten with a partner.

Once you’ve warmed up to each other even a little, he will quickly regain his confidence and take you out, dancing closely by candlelight to silent music, and taking romantic walks with you. Once you’re at that point, frequent (doctor's) visits to your dorm won’t take long to follow.

Jiro

In a relationship, Jiro will be just as playful as he is during a simple friendship. So prepare yourself for the fact that he will delight in testing your boundaries until you give him the signal that he has gone too far. You just look too cute when you’re embarrassed.

Since he loves to see you blush, he won’t hold back with physical affection and will do whatever comes to mind that he thinks will elicit the sweetest reaction from you. But it’s not just your reaction that he enjoys; he also simply loves feeling your skin against his, something he would openly communicate if you asked him.

Jiro has no qualms about presenting you as his in public. If that makes you uncomfortable in any way, you’ll need to communicate it to him clearly. He will respect all your decisions.

He won’t explicitly ask you to, but he also won’t stop you from following him everywhere during his daily life. When he’s not working, he’ll try to spend every free moment with you because he enjoys your company more than anything. Due to everything he has experienced and still must go through, he is emotionally scarred. He will want to savor this uniquely warm feeling he experiences during your time together, especially during any exchange of affection.

411 notes · View notes

pellucid-constellations · 1 year ago

Text

If It All Fell (2)

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: If it all fell apart—if you forgot who you were—would you love him again? Would the bond guide you back? Azriel doesn't know if that uncertainty is one he can bear.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: Angst!! (poor Az :/)

a/n: I hope you enjoyy!! :) More to come obvi <3 This is gonna be a long one.

Part 1 ♡, Part 3 ☾

Series Masterlist

Did the small wooden box on the top shelf of the closet have meaning?

Was it significant?

From the bed centered in the middle of the room, you let your eyes take you along the delicate carvings in the wood. They looped and curved, dropping off in the pattern of a star, and then a moon, and then a misshapen cloud.

You knocked your head to the side, ignoring the deep pain lingering there, and glanced at the empty spot on the dresser by the door. It was the exact size of the box. And the box—in its new, seemingly hidden location—looked haphazardly placed.

Did they move it for a reason?

Did they think you wouldn’t notice?

Was this even your bedroom?

You figured it must be. Clothes that looked to be your size were hanging in the closet. A vanity sat by the window with products on it that might compliment your complexion. There were paintings you found yourself enjoying hanging on the walls.

So this must be your bedroom… but there was something missing.

And it looked as if nothing was in the right place, but you had no frame of reference for where it was all supposed to be.

You just knew that that wooden box didn’t belong under a knit sweater in the closet.

The creak of the door drew your attention away from the apparent inaccuracy of the room. Two people entered, and it was a small mercy that you found some recognition in their faces. Majda and Mor slinked into the room, the latter with a sheepish, shy smile on her face, and clicked the door shut with a muted click.

“Hi,” Mor greeted, as Majda set an absurdly large bag on the bedside table. The blonde shifted her weight between her feet. “My name is Mor. We met in the forest, do you remember?”

Do you remember?

It was unintentionally cruel.

You nodded your head, not trusting your voice when it was so unfamiliar.

Mor’s smile brightened a touch. “I was hoping you would. Although, with everything that happened I wasn’t going to put too much pressure on you.” She winked, and you were left feeling like an outsider in your own conversation.

Majda bustled around your bed, asking permission before touching your head and your neck. You granted it to her, if only because she was the only person in the room not attempting to drive an uncomfortable conversation. Mor seemed very sweet, but she was hovering over you and glancing your way as if you were going to explode.

Maybe you were going to explode.

It’s not like you would know if that was a common occurrence for you.

“I know you’ve woken up a few times since returning ho—here,” Mor quickly corrected, playing with her fingers and shifting onto her toes. “You were confused for a while before you fell back to sleep. Do you remember that?”

Do you remember that?

You shook your head. Majda’s hands glowed and warmed against your skull.

Mor pursed her lips. “Hm, I suppose that’s to be expected. It was all a bit disorienting.”

There were a few moments of silence. Mor dropped herself into the chair that had been pulled up beside the bed, fidgeting every so often. The old healer continued her assessment of you as you stared blankly out the window and tried to pretend there weren’t a pair of brown eyes burning a hole into the side of your face. You could hear footsteps beyond your door.

They would pace one way, and then the other.

“No change.” Majda’s voice startled you out of your stupor. She gave you kind eyes and a pat on your cheek. “This is above my abilities. I’m sorry. You are in good health, otherwise.”

“My head,” you croaked out. Gods, how long had you been asleep? “It hurts. Hasn’t stopped.”

The healer hummed. “I can give you some tonics, but until the source of this amnesia is sorted out, there will be no definitive fix.”

A few glass vials clinked against the side table as Majda placed them there and slung her bag over her shoulder. She shared a few hushed words with Mor and then went to the door, swinging it wide as she stepped through it. You caught the tip of a wing in the doorframe, saw those same shadows from before curve around the hinges and pull towards you.

They were ushered back just as quickly, and then the door shut as well, hiding the hints of your visitor.

You hadn’t noticed you’d craned your neck to catch a glimpse until you righted it. When you heard more voices in the hall, you looked down at your fingers, blinking back tears you didn’t understand the origins of.

“Sometimes, you like to read,” Mor said, breaking the silence. “You were in the middle of this book.”

She placed the thick novel on the blanket beside your legs. Glancing up at Mor’s encouraging smile, you picked it up, feeling its weight in your hand instead of giving in to the one in your chest. You thumbed along the spine and then at the edges of the pages, stopping when your fingers caught on a sharp edge at the top.

A bookmark—a place where you’d left off. You flipped it open but couldn’t follow a bit of it.

More tears left your throat feeling thick.

“What happens now?” you quietly asked, trying desperately not to cry in front of this woman that you didn’t know.

“Now—” Mor began, clearing her own throat, her voice just as raw as yours. When she sat by your legs, you let some of the glossiness in your eyes show. “—we take things slow. Majda said we shouldn’t rush things until we find a source. Rhys—Rhysand… the one with the pointed ears and a pompous attitude—is in contact with other courts to try and get some help. There are other people in our Inner Circle that might be able to help as well.”

You bit into your bottom lip until it hurt. “I’m part of this circle?”

Mor’s smile was sad. “You are.”

You shifted in front of the mirror, uncomfortable despite being alone. It had been three days since you woke up, and each of those three days had been spent in your bedroom. Your bedroom, you had confirmed with Mor.

The only two people you had been in contact with were Mor and Majda. You could hear other voices in the hall, sometimes see a shadow pass by your balcony at night, but you only ever spoke to Mor. Majda didn’t say much when she came in to check your head and drop off more vials.

“We don’t want to overwhelm you,” Mor had said, but there was something else, too. You weren’t comfortable enough to pry. She looked disappointed that you accepted her reasoning so easily.

The three days were spent mostly alone, which you hadn’t minded, but the time spent with Mor was filled with stories about you. Where you grew up, how long you studied, all of your favorite things; she was in the business of introducing you to yourself, and she was definitely qualified for the job.

You had asked her who she was to you, and you received a simple answer at that.

“I’m your family,” she had said, and then she began talking about you again.

She always got quiet when you spoke of your connection to others.

Which was why you had suggested a lunch.

You spent the better part of the last three days panicking, and then moping, and then aimlessly searching your bedroom for any hints of the life you led before this. All avenues either left you with a headache or emotional exhaustion.

You remembered the three other men from that day—Rhysand, Azriel, and the one with the longer hair—Cassian, Mor had called him. You wanted to meet them properly… introduce yourself? A ridiculous notion; according to Mor, you’d known everyone for the past 300 years.

But you didn’t know them, not really.

And Azriel’s shadows—you wanted to see them the most. You’d been searching for the calm they offered you since the day you woke up, but couldn’t find it in their absence.

“Are you ready?” Mor asked, a soft knock on the other side of the door.

“I think so,” you called back. You’d grown more accustomed to the sound of your voice. It was still strange to hear the sound echo back in your head, but as long as you didn’t scream or yell, it was tolerable.

Mor opened the door, took in your choice of clothes—a purple dress with sleeves that flowed past the wrists—and tried to hide the flutter of her lashes.

Embarrassment immediately found you. “Was I not supposed to wear this? It was in the back of the closet so I thought—”

“You look lovely,” Mor assured, linking your arm with hers. Touch was another thing you were growing accustomed to. It was easy with Mor. “You just haven’t worn that in a while. I was surprised to see it.”

As she walked you down halls you had never seen before, you huffed out a dry laugh. “Well, this is the first time I’m seeing it.”

Your joke fell flat. Mor smiled back at you, but it was the same smile you always saw. Sad, pained, bittersweet.

“Who did you say was attending?” you asked, attempting to steer the conversation away from her sad smiles.

“Just me, Azriel, and Cassian. There are a few more people we typically see on a daily basis, but we wanted to start out small.”

“To not overwhelm me.”

“Precisely.”

Your steps were silent on the marble floor, the silk slippers you chose allowing some of the chill to seep into your toes. “So, why did they choose you?”

Mor blinked and turned a confused expression your way. “What do you mean?”

“Why did they choose you as the one person that speaks to me? Are you the least overwhelming of the bunch?”

“Well that title certainly wouldn’t go to Cassian,” Mor grumbled out. She guided you to a large wooden door and offered you a shrug of her shoulders that looked far too nonchalant. “I was just the best fit for the job. I love you, but… I could handle this.”

“Handle this? Am I really so terrible?” you asked, trying your hand at another joke.

Mor’s smile looked more genuine this time as she shook her head. “No. No, you are absolutely wonderful. And that’s the problem.”

You took a moment to try and decipher her words. Did you mean that much to these people? Did they care so deeply about your memories that only one person could stand to be around you now that they were gone?

It was difficult not to fall into the immense vat of guilt you now found yourself teetering on the edge of. It was difficult to pretend Mor wasn't looking at you as if you had stolen something from her.

That was the truth that was missing before—you would be too overwhelming to everyone else. Not the other way around.

Mor gave your hand a fond squeeze as if she could hear your thoughts, and then opened the door. The hinges squeaked and the sheer size of it caused a rather loud echo in the room, but neither of those sounds drowned out the sharp intake of breath from the dining room table. Your eyes immediately shot to the blue glow and the shadows twisting around wide wings.

Azriel.

He looked back at you, unblinking, mouth parted. His hair was clean cut and cared for, but something about it looked frazzled and untamed. It didn’t suit the stiffness with which he sat, nor the white-knuckled grip on his fork that he maintained.

Black wisps slinked across the floor, stopping at your slippers and twisting around your ankles. You broke your stare from Azriel in favor of watching them swirl up your legs. True to your memory—which wasn’t a testament to much these days—their cool presence eased some of the pain in your head.

A throat cleared.

You snapped your head up.

“Uh, I’m Cassian. I don’t know if you remember me from the other day—”

“I do,” you softly interrupted.

Azriel choked out a shuddering breath. Your eyes lingered on the side of his face before returning to Cassian as he continued with, “Good. That’s good. New memories and all that. Very nice.”

“Cauldron, Cassian,” Mor admonished. “She’s not an invalid.”

He threw his hands up in a placating gesture. “I didn’t say she was! I was being encouraging.”

“Great, I’m sure we all feel very encouraged. Come, y/n.”

You followed Mor blindly until a chair was pressed to your back and a plate was ushered in front of you. There were a few moments of silence, just the clinking of plates and forks, before the panic began to build in your chest. It was a familiar feeling for you, one of the only you could draw memories from.

You should say something.

Azriel and Cassian, they were doing this for you—taking time away from whatever it was they were supposed to be doing to have a silly lunch. In a normal world, you wouldn’t need to have lunch as a way to reintroduce yourself to your family.

Were they still your family?

You knew nothing about them, could reciprocate nothing.

There had been no news about the witch that did this to you and no one told you if Rhysand found anyone to help.

What if you were stuck like this?

What if they grew tired of you wasting away in your room and forcing them into lunches and—

“That dish is your favorite.”

Azriel’s deep voice rasped at the end of his sentence and sent every thought shooting away from your brain. You came back to present, catching yourself taking quick, shallow breaths and staring down at the table with no clear target.

“You eat it every other week. I—We picked it up from a restaurant along the Sidra, a river in town,” Azriel explained.

You brought your gaze up from staring a hole into the wood to find Azriel directly across from you, his posture more relaxed than before. His expression was patient, kind, and you nodded back at him.

“Thank you,” you whispered. But that was odd—whispering during a meal. “Thank you,” you tried again, clearer this time. “I appreciate that—”

“Azriel,” he filled in, not allowing you the possibility of a mistake. “My name is Azriel.”

You knew that. You knew all of their names as well as their faces. There were a few paintings shoved into the back of your closet that you had taken the time to study.

Did they shove them back there on purpose?

“It’s nice to meet you, Azriel.”

Azriel’s jaw quivered, his lashes fluttered.

He took a bite of salad.

“I don’t know if you’d be interested,” Cassian began, clearing his throat again. “But we used to—well, no, we currently have a weekly arrangement where you drag me to the theater and make me watch a show and I pretend I hate it but I actually have a great time.”

The lingering joy on his face made a small smile creep up onto your own.

“Sound fun to you? Might be nice to get out of that room.”

You took a deep breath, biting the inside of your cheek. This was a good sign, him wanting to spend time with you… him wanting to be in your presence and not break down into tears or anger or distaste.

“I would love to,” you said. “Although, I don’t know much about theater.”

Cassian dropped a heavy hand on your shoulder. “Wouldn’t expect you to know much about anything, sweetheart.”

Mor snorted the water she was drinking back into her glass, you let out a surprised, scoff-like laugh, and Cassian grinned from beside you, all teeth and snark and playfulness.

But Azriel.

Azriel stood up, his chair screeching as it pushed out abruptly. His napkin was clenched tightly in his hand and the rigidness from before was back and in full-swing. The shadows that had stayed with you for the duration of lunch zoomed back to their master, displacing the material of your dress as they went.

He had a bleak, hard look in his eye as he stared at no one.

“Azriel?” you asked, and it was the first time you’d started any semblance of a conversation on your own. Even when you spoke to Mor, she was the one prompting you to speak.

At the sound of your voice, Azriel quickly turned his gaze toward you, his eyes softening immediately. But just as quickly, his shoulders slumped, his napkin fell to the floor, and his hand came up to cover his mouth. “I—I’m incredibly sorry. I can’t do this.”

And then he was gone.

Part 3 ☾

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel fanfic #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel acotar #acotar fanfiction #azriel angst #acotar

2K notes · View notes

targaryenrealnessdarling · 1 year ago

Text

Quid Pro Quo | Michael Gavey x fem!reader

Summary: After being ditched by her friend at the Trinity College Christmas Party, she finds herself enthralled with learning the language of Michael Gavey | Word Count: 3.8k~ | Warnings below the cut!

Part Two: Carpe Diem Part Three: Veni, Vidi, Vici

warnings: virgin michael, semi-public sexual conduct, oral sex (m receiving), heavy petting

If she has to listen to Professor Wardon swoon over Ancient Greek and how it ‘drove him to pursue his dreams in extending his passion to other students’, she thinks she might actually fall asleep.

She's in a good spot to do so, nestled between two other students, the one on her right seemingly just as bored as her, and conveniently hidden behind a tall, lanky first year, who sits straight, with his head perfectly obscuring hers as he fixes his posture regularly.

Several times throughout, she's checked her watch, and yet the second hand never seems to move an inch.

Professor Wardon is just about to go on a lovesick spiel about Homeric Greek when the lecture concludes with a heaved sigh from every student as they sling their hefty bags over their shoulders.

“Remember I want 2,500 words on Les Liaisons dangereuses in my pigeon hole by next Thursday, before your Christmas parties!”

“Oh joy,” she sighs with a grin to the girl walking shoulder to shoulder beside her as they leave, feeling noticeably lighter knowing that that's their last lecture before Christmas break.

“Christ, you're telling me. I can't be arsed to even right my own name at the moment, nevermind read 18th century fucking French.”

She gives a snort in reply, “Merry Christmas to us, eh? Should do what the French do and have a revolution or something.”

“Yeah, eat our lecturers or something.”

“Alright, I wouldn't go that far.”

“Anyway, I'm off to T Library, see ya, have a good Christmas and don't do anything I wouldn't!”

She waves her off as her friend disappears, the cold air of the outside nipping at her skin that manages to sneak beneath her coat.

Oxford University is not what she imagined at all. She came here very much feeling like an outsider, like there'd been some sort of paperwork mistake and it was supposed to be someone else in her place.

The imposter syndrome seemed difficult to shift, but she'd at least managed to make a couple of friends since starting in September.

Languages had always found her well, and seemingly the only thing she managed to actually understand. People were inconsistent, cruel and fickle. Languages, though they shifted and changed, were firmly rooted in reason and understanding.

As sad as it sounded, conjugating verbs, vowel shifts and rare dialects were the one thing she found herself itching to discover more about. The idea that there was more to uncover seemed exciting and scary at the same time.

And Oxford University was the best place she could be to do that.

All that said, her eagerness to get involved with her studies had left her social life with much to be desired.

In the first two weeks of university alone, she'd gained one friend and lost a boyfriend. And while they were drifting apart anyway, it was still a relatively large blow to her self-esteem and her confidence to actually get out there, socialise and make the most of her first year of freedom.

The only friends she'd made were those on her course. Priya, who'd just abandoned her to stick her nose in books about the Great Vowel Shift, and Anya, who…to be honest, rarely left her room. Seeming more like a ghost than anything else.

It was a wonder she was still a student, with how often she missed classes.

What Anya does do best, is manage to somehow rise out of her pit to drag her to Christmas parties that aren't even run by their college.

Which is why she finds herself somehow at Trinity College campus, where she eyes several scantily clad women wearing revealing Santa costumes adorned with itchy tinsel.

Anya is the sort of girl who, well, every girl kind of wants to be. So much so she sort of wonders why she hangs around with her. She's pretty, fit and fucking clever. Her only downfall is her taste in men, so often being Oxford pretty boys.

So it is absolutely no surprise at all, when two jägerbombs in, Anya has somehow slipped into the arms of one aforementioned Oxford pretty boy, seeming in every way a clone of the previous, with the exception of the way he pairs his Ayia Nappa top with his low rise jeans and the only effort to conform to theme, is a pair of plastic reindeer antlers on his head bobbling side to side.

She grimaces as she watches them suck each other's faces off in a dark corner of the room, ‘Stay Another Day’ by East 17 blaring with a cheap crackle through the speakers as she makes her way through the bodies to somewhere quiet.

She sighs, nursing the rum and coke Anya had sloppily poured her in one hand as she closes the door behind her, shutting out the drunken squeals and cheers for the peace of a quiet common room.

It's still decorated, she notes, but empty. Maybe she could lurk here until Anya is done, if she ever will be.

The deep clack of a pool ball being sucked into a socket makes her jump, realising perhaps that she was not actually alone, as she'd previously thought.

The cool light hung above the battered pool table illuminates his deep red jumper, and the first thing she sees is the way he leans on one leg, standing straight as if he was imitating the rigid pool cue leant before him. The yellow lined detailing around the cuffs highlights his small wrists and big hands that stretch from it as he rubs blue chalk onto the tip.

Her eyes trail up the back of his neck, past the lazy waves of dark blonde hair, clearly due a trim at some point, and to his face, even from this angle able to see how his features sit. With a sharp nose and jawline, and black skinny glasses perched above his cheekbones.

She almost laughs at the way he's almost as tall as the light that illuminates the table, half-thinking that she might never have seen such a strange and yet interesting looking guy.

“Didn't fancy the party?” she finally says, alerting him to her presence.

She doesn't quite expect the way the light bounces off his sharp features, sinking his blue eyes in shadow as his head turns to her with an expression of boredom.

“Not particularly, no.”

His voice is lighter than she thought it would be and part of her wonders if he's putting it on. He presses his glasses further up his nose before assessing his next shot, stalking around the table.

“Why's that?”

This time, when he answers, he doesn't look at her. He simply leans down, and aims.

“Not. Fucking. Invited,” he replies bitterly, missing a yellow, “that's why.”

Her fingertips moisten against the glass as the ice begins to melt, but she pays it no mind.

“So you're lurking about in here instead.”

He plays with the cue in one hand, barely sparing a second glance, a bitter, quiet laugh escaping him.

He misses another red before he heaves a sigh, straightening to look at her again.

“You here alone as well?” he asks dispassionately.

She smiles lazily and shrugs.

“My mate is…a bit preoccupied, if you know what I mean,” she replies, taking an awkward sip of the now watered down drink, “like you, I don't really think these are my thing either.”

He seems to consider her statement for a moment.

“Why come then?”

She shrugs again, “trying to be sociable.”

“With those vapid cunts? Good luck getting any intelligent conversation out of them.”

She watches as he picks up the blue chalk again, applying more when he doesn't even need it in sort of a nervous gesture, his blue eyes averted and pretending to assess his next move.

There's something about him. How judgemental he is and how he forms his words. Perhaps she hadn't expected this sort of guy to be so outwardly honest with his opinions, and for the most part, she can't say she disagrees with the message, just the way in which he said it.

“Can I play?” She asks, leaning over to put her drink down.

“What are you reading?” He asks so suddenly, and out of context, that she does a double take.

She raises her eyebrows, smiling, “Does my answer depend on if I get to play or not?”

There's no answer from him. Shocker of the century.

“Modern Languages.”

“Fucking hell,” he groans.

She's a bit too happy and dizzy on rum to get defensive.

“Is that one of those subjects that sounds way less interesting than it actually ends up being?”

She gives a breathy laugh, “just like languages.”

He hums, as if the answer didn't impress him, “more of a science and numbers man myself, obviously.”

For a moment, it's lost on her why it's obvious.

He takes a sip of his, no doubt, stale beer, wetting his lips after, “Your name is?”

She narrows her eyes teasingly, smiling as she leans against the table, “quid pro quo.”

She enjoys the brief confusion on his face, before he realises what she's said.

“Okay, okay, Michael.”

She smiles, “See? You know what that meant. Who says you're not a languages man?”

It's the first time he seems to duck his head, hiding a blush she's barely able to see.

“I don’t think the Ancient Roman idea of fair exchange warrants the title of ‘languages man’.”

The blue chalk comes off on his hands as he fiddles nervously with it.

“So, am I bestowed the privilege of playing?”

He raises his head, and she can tell he's trying his damndest to not let a little beer-induced smile pass his lips.

“I suppose I could allow you to embarrass yourself in front of me for a bit, if you insist. We'll have to share a cue though.”

She doesn't have the heart to tell him her uncle was a pool player, and so by extension, has played pool for most of her upbringing. Rather, he finds out himself when she pots three yellows in a row.

It's either the alcohol or pity that kicks in when she misses the fourth, holding the cue for him to take.

“You being good at pool wasn't on my bingo card,” he mutters with some nervous teasing in his voice.

They go back and forth for a bit, missing some, potting some, with interspersed conversation between.

“Thought you might have been a Norman-no -mates, like me,” he says quietly as he watches her assess her next shot. Bending to aim.

“You're not far off,” she replies, “first fortnight I was down a boyfriend. Since then, I've only been up two friends and one of them is in the other room having ditched me for the shag of a lifetime.”

She doesn't see it until after she takes the shot, the way his eyes flit back to hers quickly as she rights herself to stand.

Was he checking me out?

As if he was lagging, he only laughs now at what she's said.

“What about you?” She asks, “no girls, or boys, on the scene?”

He blushes a lot when she asks that. And she can't help the fluttering in her chest she feels that someone might find her attractive.

“Can’t say there is.”

She stands close, passing the cue to him, electricity warming her fingertips as she grazes his.

“And why not?”

He scoffs bitterly, “have you seen me?” he mutters, wandering around the table, suddenly unable to shake the feeling of her gaze, “Not too many girls out there looking for the stereotypical nerdy math boy, really.”

“Hm,” she hums, “how unfortunate for them.”

He sinks a red, picking at his red jumper.

“Yeah, they're clearly missing out, huh?”

The bitter and self-deprecating tone of his voice makes her heart sink a bit. He's not a bad looking guy, she thinks. His style, glasses, hair, she would almost say look actually quite cute.

Maybe that's the thing he doesn't like.

“No interest? Or is maths the only one for you?”

He misses the next shot and sighs, holding the cue for her to take, “clearly, the only one I need.”

She steps close to retrieve, taking her time, looking up at him as she does. At this proximity, Michael sucks in a breath quietly, his lips, which she can't say she'd noticed until right this moment, parting and his Adam's apple bobbing as his eyes flit rapidly down her.

A warmth swirls in her gut at that.

She circles the table, “what about in the past?”

He leans against the other side, his hand on the cushion, long fingers splayed on the green fabric. She has to shake her head to break her own trance.

“Can’t say my love life has exactly been a roaring success, honestly.”

The way he says it.

She wouldn't be surprised if he was…

Oh.

“So what? You're focussed on your studies?”

She misses. Too set on the conversation rather than the game.

He gives a mirthless laugh, “Sure.”

She rounds the table, holding the cue for him to take, but when he reaches for it, she pulls back with a smirk.

“So we've established you're not one for languages,” she starts, and Michael furrows his brows in confusion, “have you ever really asked for what you want? Ever?”

He seems to miss what she's trying to say.

“Have you been with a girl?”

At that, his eyes widen slightly, a blush crawling up his neck to the tips of his ears, cheeks near matching his shirt.

She knows she has her answer.

“Well…I…no, I haven't…”

At chest height, she can see the way his breathing elevates.

“And, hypothetically, if a girl expressed interest. What would you say?”

His lips part for a good few seconds before he gives a reply, “I’d…I um…I guess it depends who…”

It's like he's afraid she'll make fun of him for it.

“What about, if it was me?” She asks, her voice lowering as she reaches out to pick some lint off his jumper, like it's the most normal thing in the world. His body goes all rigid as she does.

This isn't normal in his world.

Michael swallows thickly, “you're not taking the Mick out of me, are you?”

She shakes her head, “I just want you to feel comfortable asking for what you want.”

For someone who had so often thought about it, now when faced with the situation, he feels as if he doesn't know what to do or say.

She's still stood with the cue in one hand, close enough so that when she shifts her weight from foot to foot, her knee grazes his leg. It's interesting to watch him think so deeply about it. Convinced he's probably never thought of anything so much in his life.

“What if what I want is…you?”

The tension deepens like the tone and volume of his voice. And without effort, a smile finds its way to her face when she looks at his expression. He's frozen stiff, for once, not knowing what to say.

So nothing shocks her more when he grabs the pool cue as a means of pulling her to him, and he has to duck considerably to press his lips clumsily to hers. He's eager, that much is true, but it's clear he's inexperienced. But instead of causing discomfort, she thinks it's quite endearing.

The pool cue clangs to the floor as she braces her hands on his shoulders and chest, guiding his lips with her own in a slower, more careful movement. She feels the edge of the pool table bite into her lower back when he presses her against it, clearly excited, if the hardness that's flush to her stomach is anything to go by.

The hands she had been staring at not half an hour ago are bruising as they trace her waist and hips, with a grip tight enough to tell her exactly how much he's enjoying the experience.

For a moment, they're not in a common room alone, against a pool table, with ‘Cheetah-licious Christmas’ playing in the room over, the bass of which rumbles through the floor and into their chests.

The kiss lasts a long while, and she has a feeling he wants to savour it as if it's the last time he will ever be able to do it.

One of her hands snakes its way to the back of his head, fingers gripping at his hair to pull him closer as either of them tilt to aid more contact between them. And at the little amount of tugging, Michael whines into her mouth, prompting him to pull away.

He looks halfway between mortified and pleased, his glasses having skewed to one side with the eagerness of what they'd done. And she laughs a bit, reaching up to fix them, which seems to make the mortification fade somewhat from his face.

Michael looks down between them, where his obvious erection is pressed to her, and pulls away slightly with a scarlet blush.

“Shit - sorry-”

“It's fine,” she reassures, “no need to be embarrassed.”

The words alone would be enough, if her hand hadn't snaked between their bodies to brush her palm over him. And if it were possible, his flush spreads to his neck, words failing him once more.

Her eyes flicker up to his, their lips all kiss-bruised and swollen.

“If you don't want to-”

“No, no, I want to…” he says, immediately embarrassed about how quick it was.

She smiles, one hand palming him through his jeans and the other trailing up his chest, “Sit down.”

He backs up to sit on a nearby sofa, watching with a kind of adoration as she makes space between his legs, her eyes glimmering at him as she slowly undoes his belt.

“If at any time, you need to stop, tell me.”

He gives a nervous laugh, his stomach muscles tightening, wondering probably if this is really happening to him, “Not sure I will want to…”

She smiles reassuringly, watching as his lips part as she palms him through his boxers, trying to suppress how impressed she is with his size.

It's always the skinny white guys.

“Well, the offer's there.” She smirks, pulling him from his boxers, Michael gives a suffered breath, feeling her touch on him and also her breath so close. He almost feels dizzy. The thought of this happening in this situation, with a party going on next door, is dangerous and exciting in equal measure.

She knows he has very limited experience, so decides not to tease him too much.

Michael gasps softly as she licks at the base of him, drawing a wet line with her tongue along the vein underneath, all the way to the tip. She concentrates her efforts slightly on the sensitive spot there before closing her mouth over the head of his cock, sucking gently.

She feels the way his thighs tense, and the blue disappearing as he closes his eyes. His fists are tight beside him, knuckles white, like he doesn't know if he should touch her or not. All he knows right now is that this feeling is brand new, and the sensation is so much already.

She pulls herself from him to run her tongue over his length, one hand moving to his hand, to encourage him. His blue eyes crack open just a bit, to understand what she's trying to tell him.

And she fights the urge to smile as his longer fingers swipe across her temple into her hair, his touch tender, soft and unsure as he holds her by it.

Her lips wrap around him once more, pushing him further into her mouth, taking him steadily and slowly at first. Michael's hips move barely, chasing the friction that he's getting on his cock when she bobs her head on him and hollows her cheeks.

He watches with parted lips and warm cheeks, moving her hair away so he can watch himself disappear into her mouth over and over. Her hand massages the rest of him, giving him two unique sensations in one, something that earns her a deep, throaty moan.

When her eyes open to look at him, he thinks his heart stops in his chest for a split second. He closes his eyes, not able to bear the way she looks with his cock in her mouth if she looks right at him, feeling that if he did any longer he wouldn't last.

The sounds he emits don't stop there as she increases her pace on him, pressing her tongue to the underside of him and taking him deeper into her throat, humming around him at the heady scent of his skin.

It's only when she takes him as far as he will go, working hard to control her gag reflex that he gives the first genuine buck of his hips, tightening in her hair and a far-too-loud moan. If anyone in the next room were quiet and paying attention, they'd likely know exactly what was going on.

“Fuck-”

It only serves to spur her on as she pulls back, moving in a more steady, quick rhythm, that she is sure Michael is loving judging by the rate of his moans and the way he chokes out his words.

His stomach clenches and unclenches, his high creeping up on him as her mouth tightens around his length.

“Shit - you need to - I'm gonna -” he chokes, weakly tugging her hair in an effort to pull her mouth off him before he cums.

If she didn't have his cock in her mouth she'd smile.

Her hand squeezes the base of him, and Michael throws his head back slightly, a long shuddered and choked moan reverberating through his chest. She swears she feels his thighs shake as she stills, warm ropes of his cum taste musky at the back of her throat.

His loud moan is followed quickly by more softer ones as her throat contracts to swallow as much as she can, briefly increasing the tension and friction around his sensitive length.

When she pulls off him with a pleased sigh, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, Michael sits up slightly, having to gather his breath.

“Fucking hell…”

She takes it as a compliment and rises to her feet, her hands smoothing her skirt back down.

And she squeaks in delight as Michael quickly tucks himself away, barely doing up his jeans buttons before backing her up to the pool table again, kissing her fervently.

“What about you…do I…” he starts when he breaks away, panting softly. She smiles at the notion but shakes her head. This experience was for him alone.

“Not right now, don't feel inclined to,” she reassured, her hands on his chest, feeling the way his heart is beating rapidly beneath it.

“Right now?” he asks with a quiet, unsure tone, “does that mean…there's gonna be a next time?”

His tone is careful, and yet, she is able to detect something like desire there. An excitement for more, without seeming too eager so that he's not let down if she says no. Something that makes it clear he is 100% on board.

She bites back a grin.

“Quid Pro Quo, Michael.”

General Taglist: @aemondsfavouritebastard @bellstwd @blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch @castellomargot @hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy @mochi-rose @natty2017 @nenelysian @randomdragonfires @risefallrise @thelittleswanao3 @theoneeyedprince @thetrueblackheart @tsujifreya @urmomsgirlfriend1 @valeskafics @virtualsweetsqueen @watercolorsky @fan-goddess

#michael gavey #michael gavey x reader #michael gavey x you #michael gavey x y/n #michael gavey x oc #michael gavey fanfic #michael gabey fanfiction #michael gavey fic #michael gavey smut #michael gavey x female reader #michael gabey x fem!reader #saltburn fanfiction #ewan mitchell #ewan mitchell characters #saltburn fic #michael gavey saltburn

2K notes · View notes

klausysworld · 7 months ago

Note

I know it's a bit random, but I just had an idea for a Klaus story, which is that Reader goes on a long trip with Klaus and his siblings but they only have one car and Reader has to sit in Klaus lap due to space constraints. Reader and Klaus are kinda friends because she is Elena's little sister, but he often confidently flirts with her, but when she sits on his lap he unintentionally gets hard and that makes him super embarrassed. She notices and he apologizes quietly, trying to make sure his siblings don't notice + smut in the end

According To Plan

The mikaelson's originally ruined my life. They crash landed into an already chaotic town and destroyed it. First Elijah, then Klaus, then Rebekah, then Mikael, then Kol, Finn and finally Esther.

They put my sister, Elena, at risk all of the time and rarely cared about anyone but themselves. They didn't even care about each other...well I thought they didn't.

Klaus and Elijah scared me for a while and put me on edge because I knew I wasn't significant enough to keep alive but when Rebekah ended up out of her coffin and in town, she seemed to take a liking to me and that got be sucked into all of their family drama.

It started because I was the only girl in school that didn't just pretend she wasn't there. Despite her having a clear hatred toward Elena, she hadn't actually done anything harmful at that point so I didn't see why we were being cruel to her first.

I didn't expect to become her best and only friend in town after that day.

Rebekah hadn't ever laid a threatening hand on me, never spoke low of me or used me for information. She genuinely wanted a friend and I could feel that. I wasn't gonna turn her away because she was Klaus's sister, not until she did something that made her awful.

So I stuck about, helped her pick a homecoming dress which she didn't even get to go to which I was not happy about and neither was Klaus which he made abundantly clear when he accused me of hurting her.

I found her a while later in Damon's dumbass basement, knew I couldn't just wake her up without consequences so made a deal with Klaus. Bex's safety for Jeremy''s safety so I could justify it to Elena and her gang. He went with it and everything worked.

Until this stupid fuck decided to stick her back in a coffin and wait it out.

Shit went down when all the Mikaelsons were up and about. Bekah had me at the mansion the night after her siblings and mother were woken. Klaus and Kol were constantly bickering whilst Elijah looked paler than...well paler than usual and very anxious but Rebekah just shrugged it off. She was just happy to have her mother.

And also to throw a ball.

I was forced to get tailored and have a colour theory assessment to figure what colour, style and fabric my dress needed to be. Elena had always been my mother's focus, she was her miracle, her eldest. So Elena got to have her hair styled, nails done, dresses designed and I would sit at home with my hand-me-downs and Jeremy's toys that I'd steal. It was kinda nice to be dressed up and pretty. I had stared in the mirror for so long, picking every detail apart trying to decide if I loved it because it was me or loved it because it wasn't really me at all. That's when Klaus appeared in the doorway.

"Everyone's arriving, love. Rebekah's downstairs greeting people and waiting ever so eagerly for her dreary date but she wanted me to make sure you came down." He explained the situation and I nodded, taking a breath and heading out the room, brushing past him as I did. The door was pushed shut and he fell in step beside me. "You look gorgeous by the way." He muttered and I rolled my eyes.

"You practicing your lines for when Caroline gets here?" I asked and he let out a breath.

"No, I meant it." He argued and smirked to himself as he took my arm, pulling it to wrap around his own and 'helping' me down the staircase.

"Sure you did. But I wouldn't say 'gorgeous' to Caroline. She already knows she is, pick something a little less common." I muttered and his brows furrowed.

"Like what?" he questioned and I shrugged.

"I don't know...maybe like....ravishing" I whispered, dramatically and sarcastically as we got to the bottom and I let go of his arm, spotting Rebekah looking moody. "Good luck" I gave a thumbs up and he hummed.

"You too."

I won't lie, I did laugh when I overheard him actually call her ravishing. Rebekah didn't get it and just complained about how great Caroline looked, to which I just scoffed and told Bex to go look in the mirror and get a reality check.

The whole dance thing came around and I ended up starting with Kol which was way too funny, he would not stop. Klaus did not look amused when we swapped partners and I was spun into his arms next.

"Believe me, love, Kol is not that funny. You're over selling it and inflating his ego." He complained, a level of bitterness in his tone which I was not expecting.

"I'm sorry, have I offended you by laughing?" I asked, scoffing softly as he pulled my waist closer.

"You haven't offended me." He muttered and that was that.

Tense night guys, tense night. Not as tense as Bekah's though when she wound up in Damon's bed. Thankfully, I woke up in my own.

After that night, there was no way I was getting away from that family.

In a few months Rebekah was a better sister to me than Elena and a better friend than the ones I'd had since kindergarten.

So when everything went down with the cure, I wanted her to have it so that she could live the human life that she had always wanted.

I cried for Kol's life when I came home to his remains on my kitchen floor and Klaus trapped in my living room. Caroline and Tyler didn't say a word as I scraped his ashes into a box and in return I didn't give any argument when Klaus bit Caroline. Instead, I just sat on the sofa opposite Klaus, staring into space as I waited for my phone to light up with some good news from Rebekah, hoping she had the cure for herself after Klaus had revealed that there was only one dose.

Faintly I heard Caroline mumbling about Klaus being in love with her, that made me laugh and dying or not, she didn't like that.

"Oh come on...I mean, he's like a thousand years old Care. He wants to fuck you, he likes the chase because when he finally gets you it feels like a win. You think a dance and a date is the same as love? What's Tyler then? Your soulmate? Is Matt too?" I was taunting a reaction really. I was still mad about Kol, we had become pretty good friends and the others new that and didn't care in the slightest. So yeah, I wanted her to hurt. I wanted all of them to hurt but Caroline always made it clear that she was better than me so having the power in that moment felt especially good.

When Klaus finally gave her a drop of blood, she was storming out of my house and dragging Tyler. Klaus only gave me a look and head nod of some sort of understanding before he gestured to the seat beside him and I moved over. I stayed against him until the barrier dropped and he was able to sort his shit out.

Rebekah didn't get the cure, Silas went crazy on everyone and life fell to fuck again.

Just when things got a little better, Rebekah came bursting through the door.

"You will not believe what my twat of a brother has gone and done!" She yelled, eyes wide and borderline shocked.

"Klaus?"

"Obviously! You won't even believe- hybrids can reproduce!" She revealed and I choked on nothing.

"Woah- wait. What has he done now?" I asked and she nodded enthusiastically.

"He got some wolf girl pregnant! They're in New Orleans right now. Keeping the baby! Elijah's there too, convinced they'll be some happy family." She muttered and I stared, completely gobsmacked.

Took a week but eventually she agreed to go too and I was beyond curious as to how this was gonna play out so took my place and kept by them.

People were dying left right and centre, wolves and witches and vampires. It was a war zone 24/7 until the day Hope was born and pronounced dead only she wasn't dead. Never had I ever been so tired. It was like a never ending game of tennis, whacking problems back and forth non stop.

And yet, somehow, no matter who had just been slaughtered, Klaus would have a comment to throw at me. Whether it be as simple as "Who are we all dressed up today for?" on a random Tuesday or as vulgar as "Christ love, do you want the whole city tearing that dress off?" when Bex and I were heading out for a fun mnight.

Touching also became increasingly common. Hands on my shoulders when he's stood behind me or my hips to keep my still. Waist if I needed to be stuck at his side, like if there was a threat, and arm with his whenever there was a dance even when I wasn't his date.

Rebekah had made many comments, Hayley too but I was a firm denier. A very firm denier for years. Years.

Hope grew up to be a far to aware child. In fact she asked at least a dozen times if I was her second mommy because her daddy and I were in love. When I told her we weren't in love, she would raise both brows and say a very sarcastic "Okaaay, whatever you say." And leave me speechless every damn time.

Even Kol was laughing. Wasn't having it.

But that stupid trip was definitely a set up. Not just by Kol or Bekah or Hayley, every single last Mikaelson and their fuckers.

Hope wanted to see the grand canyon. Somehow it became an entire family holiday/trip/plan situation to go to Arizona for a week, maybe visit California and blah blah blah.

We had two five seater cars. And somehow eleven people were going.

The car situation needed to be considerate of how many hours we would be in the cars and how likely arguments were.

"I'm not being in a car with Kol for over twenty hours." Klaus protested immediately and Davina nodded.

"Please don't put me in a car with Klaus." She muttered whilst Kol just grinned.

"I wanna go with Auntie Bekah and Auntie Freya!" Hope chimmed in and both sisters laughed in agreement.

"I can drive one of the cars?" Keelin offered and they nodded.

"Woah, wait." Hayley shook her head. "If Rebekah's there, where's Marcel? He can't be with Klaus or Elijah if we want to make it there without screaming."

I just stared, there wasn't enough space and I technically wasn't family and I wasn't dating or married to anyone there so I was ready to just stay home.

"We can drive with you, Elijah and Klaus?" Keelin replied to Hayley, reffering to both her and Freya who nodded.

"Yeah, then Kol, Davina, Bex, Marcel and Hope can go together and Hope still gets Bex. We can swap around halfway? We'll need to stop and sleep at a hotel or something anyway." Freya summarised and everyone nodded before Rebekah's eyes fell on me, I just shook my head at her to tell her it was fine but once we started our silent conversation others began to take notice.

"Y/N, you'll be in the car with us" Hayley said as though it was obvious.

"Sure but there's no room. You, Elijah, Keelin, Freya and Klaus-"

"Why's my name last?" Klaus interjected and I rolled my eyes.

"-There's ten seats and eleven of us. It's fine, I can stay here and you know...water the plants and stuff." I muttered, glancing around at the neglected, very dead plants.

"Of course not, you have to come." Elijah argued and I was slightly surprised it was him to say anything first though we had gotten closer over the years.

They all started mumbling between themselves before Kol just piped up.

"Oh come on! Just sit in my lap darling, you know I wouldn't drop you" He winked and Davina smacked her lips before delivering a swift smack to the side of his head and relishing in his yelp.

That's when everyone's eyes darted to Klaus.

"Just...sit on Nik's lap." Rebekah shrugged and I was ready to slap this bitch.

"Really, I'll just stay here and see the pictures." I backed out and Klaus frowned.

"What's wrong with my lap, love? You didn't protest to Kol's. I'm a much better option and much safer than a seatbelt." He defended and I sighed.

"Klaus-"

"No, it's decided. You'll be with me."

And that was that. Nothing I said was even heard after that, by anyone I swear.

Which was how I ended up telling Klaus that I was not sitting on his hands.

"Oh don't act like you wouldn't love to feel my hands holding that tight-"

"Klaus. Finish that sentence and I'm gonna smack you before sitting on Elijah's lap." I warned and he shut his mouth with a cocky smirk on his face.

Keelin was driving, Freya in the passenger, Elijah at behind Freya, Hayley in the middle cuddled up to the suited original and Klaus sat behind Keelin with my begrudgingly on his lap. His arms were wrapped round my body acting the same as a seat belt and also forcing my back to be against his chest after I tried to just perch on his knee and he called me ridiculous.

I lasted fifteen minutes of him whispering teasing comments into my ear about other ways we could end up with me on his lap before I had my headphones on to block him out.

We planned to do a stop at the services after five hours, less if Hope needed to use the bathroom or got hungry for something other than the snacks.

I got comfy after the first hour, letting myself relax against him and enjoy the drive. Three hours in he got fidgety and I paused the song to try ask what he was doing but then I felt it.

I don't think he knew my music had stopped when he cussed quietly and tried to move his hips back a bit. I wasn't sure whether shifting would make it better or worse as his cock only seemed to be getting more prominent against my ass.

I glanced to the side, seeing Hayley and Elijah both with headphones in and watching a film on an ipad before glancing up front to Freya and Keelin who were singing along to the radio up front.

Slowly I reached and pulled my headphones down around my neck and cleared my throat softly. He tensed against me and sucked in a breath.

"You okay?" I whispered, making sure to keep quiet and he placed his hand against the side of the car, pushing himself up to sit straighter but it just felt lift he pressed against me more.

"Fuck- sorry" He muttered, his voice breaking a little and he sounded weirdly panicked.

I expected him to make a flirty comment like normal, maybe even get touchy but he was actually...embarrassed?

"It's...okay" I murmured and pulled myself forward so I wasn't touching his crotch. "It's not long till we stop now anyway" I told him as I glanced at the sat nav.

We stayed like that for a while before some cry pulled in front of us unexpectedly and Keelin had to slam the breaks. I felt my body go forward before Klaus's arms pulled my straight back against him before my face could hit the back of the seat in front. My hands grabbed onto his arms as my heart rate spiked with adrenaline and my breathing sped up.

"It's alright love." he whispered against my ear whilst Keelin called an apology back to us. We stayed pressed right against each other regardless of his hard-on.

By the time we got to the services Klaus had nearly thrust his hips at least six times.

He went straight for the bathroom when we got there while I headed for the McDonald’s queue with Hope and Kol.

By the time we were getting back in the car, Klaus looked rough,.

Face pink, eyes refusing to look anywhere other than straight and had most definitely not resolved his problem. That was clear when he sat back down in the car and grimaced to himself.

I sat back in his lap and bit down on my lip. The others hadn't gotten I yet, they were swapping Freya and Keelin for Rebekah and Marcel with high hopes for no tension before we got to a hotel.

"Is there anything I can do to-"

"Please don't offer anything right now." He whispered, his jaw clenching making me hold a laugh. I sighed and turned round in his lap to face him.

"It's not a big deal" I told him and he frowned.

"It's embarrassing and we still have hours." He muttered. Honestly this was the perfect opportunity to tease him like he does me usually but he was actually stressed.

"Klaus, I don't mind. It's flattering, really." I told him gently. "Besides you can't help it, I'm just great." I shrugged and he smiled.

"Mhm, you're irresistible love." he chuckled and I hummed.

"Exactly, anyone would get turned on with my tight ass on their lap." I tease, using his words from earlier to make him laugh but it also made his cock twitch beneath me. My eyes glanced down and it made him shift. "Did you try to uh...get rid of it?" I asked, referring to when he ran to the bathroom.

"I tried to." He mumbled and turned me around so my back was to him as the other doors opened and Rebekah slid in beside us, grinning brightly and leaning over to hug me.

We chatted for the majority of the second half, Bex complained that Kol wouldn't stop singing in the other car and so on. Klaus's hands would clench every now and then if I moved too much or the car jolted but that didn't happen very often with how sensibly Elijah drove.

We got to the chosen hotel a full thirty minutes later than the others because Elijah wouldn't drive a single mile faster than the speed limit.

When we arrived we were only handed three room keys. Kol had gotten himself and Davina a room, Keelin and Freya room, Bekah and Marcel, and then another double bed room and a family room. Hope wanted to be with her mom so she came out of Freyas to go with Hayley and Elijah to the family room and Klaus and I had to share.

It would have been a whole lot less awkward if he hadn't had his erection for the entire day pressed against me but we powered through. Rebekah could be heard giggling to Marcel when they closed their door, waving at me with cocky smiles.

Klaus went straight in the shower so I put the TV on to drown out whatever he was doing (we all know what he was doing). He came out over half an hour later, face still pink as he glanced at me. I couldn't help but look and much to my surprise his cock was still pressing against his sleep pants.

"Klaus-"

"I don't want to talk about it." He mumbled as he got in bed beside me and rolled to face the opposite direction. I sighed quietly and went to the bathroom to get into my travel pyjamas before laying down next to him. The bed was definitely only a queen, we were pretty much touching the whole time no matter how close to the edge I was. I stared up at the ceiling for ages. It was so dark that I could barely see anything but I could tell that he was awake too, especially when he moved round to face me. I turned my head to look at him, my eyes squinting to make out his face with the tiny bit of moonlight that slipped past the curtains.

The silence was loud when his forehead pressed to mine and his eyes closed.

Thoughts come much easier when it's late. All ideas seem like good ones.

So I didn't really consider what I was doing when my hand slipped down to his crotch. He grunted softly when I cupped his bulge through the cotton. I looked down, watching my hand slip under his his waistband.

"Love..." He whispered before a groan left his lips when my fingers wrapped around his cock. My teeth bit down on my own tongue as I took his thickness into consideration. It was so quiet beside his heavy breathing as I stroked him firmly, his arm went around me and pulled me right up against him and his face nuzzled the crook of my neck.

It definitely wasn't a position I thought I'd end up in when this trip was planned but I couldn't say I wasn't enjoying it a bit. I let go of his length and he made a sound that closely resembled a whimper. I licked my hand a few times, coating my skin in saliva before sliding it along his shaft.

"Oh bloody hell" He muttered as his hips jumped up into my hand. I felt my eyes widen slightly at the full feel of him from tip to base. I squeezed him in my hand, feeling a sense of pride at how hard I had gotten him from doing literally nothing.

I felt his hand on the back of my head, pulling me down until our lips pressed together. His skin was warm against min and the sheets ensured that as our mouths moved in sync. His body moved like a wave to thrust his cock back and forth in my grip but I could feel him getting frustrated as he nipped my bottom lip, drawing blood.

I pulled away with a strained moan and squeezed his dick again. "Klaus, you gotta slow down" I whispered but he shook his head.

"I'm close-" he panted, "I just..." his hips kept bucking but I could tell he was struggling.

I opened my hand, letting go of him making him let out an angry cry. I knew he wanted to question me but his words halted in his throat when I moved my lips to his jaw, slowly but surely kissing lower down his body.

He went tense when I reached his cock before both his hands scooped my hair into a makeshift ponytail and I took his head into my mouth. We both took deep breathes for different reasons as he pushed my head down, I could feel my saliva dripping down his length as his head stroked the back of my mouth and teased my throat. I pulled up and his arms relaxed, letting me bob my head along his cock but taking him deeper when he pushed down. My eyes kept closing as I forced myself not to gag. I could taste him getting closer, his tip leaked against my tongue as I rolled it over the top half. His hands tightened their hold on my hair and his thighs tensed either side of me.

He held me down when he came making me gag as warm fluid hit the back of my throat. His hands dug into my scalp and I could hear him groaning as I swallowed it down.

My head shot up with a gasp for air and a soft laugh as he laid back against the pillows taking slow breaths. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and sat up.

I laid back down beside him and silence fell back over us but it wasn't as bad this time.

We must've fallen asleep sometime after because when I opened my eyes it was light in the room and my head was using Klaus's chest as a pillow.

For a second I thought that what had happened was a dream but when I pulled myself up the memories flooded in quickly and I looked down at Klaus who looked all the more ready to fuck me quite simply. Pupils blown, lips parted as he eyed me up and down like a piece of meat.

"Oh fuck." I cursed, running my hand through my hair and getting out of bed. I ignored his presence entirely and went to wash my face and get changed before leaving the room with my travel bag and knocking repeatedly on Rebekah's door.

She finally answered looking disheveled and very clearly just stopped having sex with Marcel but I didn't care.

"Breakfast now." I demanded, grabbing her arm and dragging her.

I wouldn't tell her what happened but she knew something had happened especially when everyone else arrived and Klaus just stared at me. Bekah glanced back and forth three times before raising both brows and sipping her coffee.

He seemed annoyed when I continued to ignore him for the next section of the car ride. So when we got to the services and I headed for the starbucks line, he was ride behind me. His hands were on my hips and I could feel his chest just brushing my shoulder-blades as we stood not so patiently.

"You're acting as though I've murdered your family pet, love." He murmured against the back of my ear making me sigh; I miss when he was embarrassed and quiet. I didn't reply to him and he huffed. "You weren't this rude last night-"

I elbowed him straight in the stomach making him wince before chuckling as his hands slipped round my waist. I wish I could say it made me feel uncomfortable but it just felt right in the most infuriating way. I continued to ignore him as I got to the till and made the order for myself, Bex and Hayley. Klaus got his card in before I could even reach into my pocket and I just went over to the waiting line. He was back on me in a second and pretty much breathing down my neck.

"Why are you being so cold, love? I thought we had a moment...or a few moments." He trailed and I clenched my jaw. He was teasing and it wasn't funny to me. I shouldn't have even thought about touching him like I had. He was my best friends brother for christs sake and I had to see him everyday, he was the worst person to get complicated with.

"You thought wrong." I mumbled and his hand squeezed my hip.

"Don't tell me you help out all of your friends like last ni-"

"Klaus would you just shut up? Last night was really, really stupid." I muttered.

"It wasn't stupid when you had your mouth on my cock, love." He hissed into my ear and I felt my face flush with embarrassment. Hated how the tables had turned.

I didn't bother saying anything else to him as I grabbed the drinks and shoved past him.

Back in the car we were both silent, so was everyone else. The tension was built.

When we finally got to the luxury hotel we were staying in I was quick to go to my own room, refusing help with my case and just going to set up for the next few days.

I'd just had a shower and done my hair when my door knocked. I had a robe wrapped round my otherwise bare body when I unlocked the door and opened it only to push it shut again but Klaus's hand caught it and he forced his way inside. "We have a lot to discuss."

"We really don't Klaus." I sighed as I sat down at the vanity.

"First of all-" He stared and I groaned, "last night was a long time coming. Perhaps not the blow job-"

"Klaus!" I scolded, throwing my arms up knowing that everyone's rooms were just behind a couple thin walls.

"-but the whole snapping of...lets say tension. Lets just be honest love, it's not exactly a surprise that we're attracted to each other." He chuckled and I narrowed my eyes.

"Well hold on. You're attracted to me, you're the one who couldn't get rid of his boner for an entire day. If I hadn't gotten rid of it then I would have had to've dealt with it all day today too." I defended but we both knew it was bullshit.

"Oh? So you didn't kiss me? Didn't look me in the eye whilst you wrapped your lips-"

"Why have you always got to make everything a big deal?"

"It is a big deal. I didn't ask you to do that, I didn't even tease the idea. You wanted it, you did it." He was getting angrier and it was worse because I knew I was wrong but I'd gone too far to succumb to that now.

"You could've just gone to sleep but you turned over and gave me that stupid look!" I argued and he scoffed.

"What look?"

"You know exactly what look. Your eyes do that thing."

His eyes narrowed momentarily and he stepped closer. "Oh? Am I doing it now?" He asked and I rolled my eyes.

"No." I muttered but as I glanced back up at him I could feel his gaze intensifying and the blue of them storming over.

"No?" He tilted his head and reached his hand out to cup my face. I clenched my jaw and stared at him uneasily. His fingers stroked along my jaw gently but his grip was rough as he crouched down in front of me to be eye-level.

"Stop it." I whispered but I didn't really mean it and he knew that so when he got closer and pressed his mouth along the length of my neck my protests were almost nonexistent.

"You've been cruel to me all day." He muttered as his hands pushed the fabric of my robe down. "Cold...rude..." He mumbled as he kissed the skin of my cleavage whilst his hands untied the material round my waist so it fell open.

"Klaus" I uttered, slight resistance in my tone as I become exposed to his eyes. I pressed my thighs together so he couldn't see between them as his eyes dragged down my body. His kisses kept going to my breasts alongside his hands.

"Is this stupid too, love?" He chuckled as he glided his tongue over my left nipple making my nerves light up.

"You have to stop" I whispered and he nipped the flesh in his mouth causing my body to jolt and a gasp leaving my throat.

"Why?" He chuckled

"You're Bekah's brother." I muttered and he fully laughed.

"Don't behave as if I was every just Rebekah's brother." He grinned and pinched both my nipples between his fingers making this a whole lot harder. "That second I saw you, I knew I'd have you. From that ball where you looked gorgeous whether you believed it or not...to seeing you hold my child, feeling you wash the blood from my hands, feeding me your blood when I needed it. You've always been mine." As if to make his point he pressed a kiss to my lips and slid both hands to my knees before pushing my legs apart.

I wave of embarrassment hit me but I wasn't strong enough to close them with his hands there. "I don't feel...gorgeous" I whispered, wanting to hide my body from his view.

"Well you should." He uttered back, a firmness to his voice which held no nonsense before his mouth pressed a series of kisses down my stomach before I felt the heat of his lips on my core.

My eyes drooped slightly at the sensation and my fingers slid into his hair, curling around the soft curls as my gaze met his and his tongue slid out from his soft lips to stroke my clit. He licked at me so slowly, heating my body up more and more with each delicate touch. His hands slide under my thighs and guided my legs over his shoulders so I was barely sat on the chair as his face disappeared between my legs and his mouth clung onto my pussy. My grip on his hair tightened and a series of cries left me.

His actions gained speed and pressure whilst he went. I could feel my lower stomach twisting in pleasure, wanting nothing more than to feel the high I knew he could give me.

As my eyes closed, I knew now why Klaus was as cocky as he was. Any man with this much power over a woman would be as cocky as he. I'd never felt so utterly vulnerable and yet completely uncaring for the consequences at once. The knowledge of the fact that his siblings and our friends might hear fell right out of my head as I moaned his name as loud and as often as I could as my body and mind expressed it's raw emotion to his touch.

My body went back and I pressed my hand to the chair to keep myself up as he buried into my thighs and plunged his talented tongue in and out of me without slowing. Heat spilled from inside of me, rushing into his mouth and fuelling him to suck and slurp. The sound brought an unbelievable surge of want through me; my hips ground up against his face and I felt a deep chuckle leave him and vibrate through me in response before he pulled off of me. He licked his lips and swiped his sleeve over his chin before grabbing my thighs again and lifting me up before swinging me round and tossing me down.

I felt the air leave my lungs as my back hit the bed.

He was on me before I could take a breath and the robe was dragged completely from my body. His hands grabbed my wrists and my arms were pinned above my head. I could feel my chest moving up at down, the only sound I could hear was my breathing. His lips were moving but no sound was coming out until a loud banging sound broke my daze.

Within seconds I had a sheet wrapped right round me and Klaus had me gathered behind him.

"Oh for fucks sake- We're going out for dinner! You could have waited-" Rebekah's voice shrieked and I felt hot for different reasons.

"Would you get out- we're coming!" Klaus yelled and Rebekah gagged making him scoff.

I felt him turn to me but I was just staring at the closed door. His hand rubbed down the back of my body slowly before he leant down to kiss my lips firmly but shortly.

"We'll finish this after dinner, I promise you love." He muttered into my ear before wrapping his arms around me and pulling me off the bed and grabbing my suitcase. "Let's get you dressed and get out of here before I somehow lose my clothes too" He teased.

By the time we got out there everyone was stood waiting bar Hayley, Elijah and Hope. I went to ask but Rebekah just grabbed my hand and dragged me. Immediately I went to apologise but she started before I could. "Oh my god! I mean, I thought the car ride would build some tension but I wasn't expecting it to snap so easily- did you two have sex in the hotel yesterday!? Wait no don't tell me ew!" She exasperated.

"No! We didn't...have..sex." I muttered and I could feel her staring.

"I wanna ask but I really also don't..." She whispered and I nodded.

"Good shout." I mumbled and we kept walking ahead of the others. "Hope-?" I questioned.

"Hayley took her to the restaurant early to check she liked the menu, thank god."

"Oh shut up. This is your fault. You planned this." I muttered.

"Well...me and everyone else."

I love that you can just read my moodswings through this as I just didn’t know whether to make it completely fluffy, angsty or smutty. I really loved the request but I’m not really sure I did it justice

1K notes · View notes