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starkeysbunny · 2 months ago

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fashion killa

cause she a fashion killa, and i’m a trendy ….

pairing - drew x model!baddie!gf!reader

summary - when drew heads to coachella for the first time with his girl, who’d been many times due to her job. the it couple known for their fashion sense, dancing in tune to songs at the festival rials up both them, and the crowd.

warnings - sexual tension :p

⠀.ᐧ.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ೃ❀࿔˙ ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ೃ❀ᮬ࿔˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ೃ❀࿔˙ ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ೃ❀ᮬ࿔˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ॱ

the sun was beating down harshly, gusts of wind blowing dust all around. i felt drew’s arm pull me closer under his grasp. his strong bicep, wrapped around my shoulders.

“baby, ‘should pull the bandana up.” he says gently, his fingers reaching around by my neck to fiddle with the bandana wrapped around it.

“it’s too hot. i’ll get sweaty.” i mumble.

he sighs, his hand coming up to run through his hair. “but dust is gonna get all in your-“

“not happening.” i smile softly, turning my head to look up at him.

he chuckles, his hands lifting in mock surrender, his arm stays wrapped around my shoulder though. “alright, alright. i’ll stop.”

drew and i were at coachella. he’d never been before, and i go nearly every year. after the first two times, it wasn’t because i wanted to go anymore. it was because brands would hire me to go just so they could design my outfits for the three day festival in the palm springs dessert heat.

so naturally, drew and i being together for the past eight months, it was his turn to be dragged along to this event.

“i don’t get the hype. i mean, yeah, it’s fun, whatever. but like, why pay all this money to be severely dehydrated and covered in dust for three days?” he had told me earlier while we were ironically enough, in the encapsulated and air conditioned vip tent.

we were currently watching doja cat’s set. we stood in the vip section near the front, which was to the left side of the stage by the regular ga pit.

i was wearing a low rise denim skirt that barely held in my ass, a vintage chanel crop, paired with givenchy boots and my layers of gold jewelry. bangles on my wrists, a necklace, hoops, and many, many rings.

while drew, of course, wore his carhart brown work pants, and a loewe white tee, with a blue bandana wrapped around his head.

doja cat was currently playing, starting her song agora hills. i turn slightly to reach into my shoulder bag—which was on drew’s shoulder because why would i carry it when i had him? i grab a piece of gum, sticking it between my glossed lips.

i look up at drew to see him already grinning down at me. the slight scruff growing around his jaw and the mullet peeking out behind his neck making my stomach flutter. “want a piece?” i ask sweetly.

he shakes his head. “nah, thank you though, baby.”

i close up my purse and pat it gently as it rests comfortably, secure in drew’s bicep.

i turn back to face the stage, drew’s arm now fully wrapped around my chest, his hand grasping onto the opposite shoulder as he holds me close against his chest. i sway against him, my hips moving as i watch the performance. i chuckle when i hear a certain part of the song that i knew.

i look up at drew from my spot against his chest, a smug smile on my lips.

“rub it in their face,” i begin reciting the lyrics, my hand lightly tapping against his chest at each accent in the lyrics. “put a rock on her hand.” i raise my eyebrows, wiggling my left hand in his face teasingly.

he smirks, a small snicker escaping his lips. i turn back to the stage and i feel him lean down slightly, his lips snaking against my ear. “don’t worry, baby.” he whispers. “one day you’ll be walking down the runway with a rock on your hand. my little wifey.” he teases, gently biting down on my ear playfully.

i smile, feeling his arm pull me tighter into his chest. my manicured nails come up to hold onto his forearm against me. my eyes drift over to the ga side of the crowd, and see a huge majority of the audience’s phones no longer on doja—but pointed and zoomed in on drew and i’s interaction.

ever since drew and i started dating, the speculations and whispers were circling like wildfire. the it girl model with the new up and coming actor. who wouldn’t talk about it? but we had hoped to keep it private the first couple months—just us, no outside thoughts.

and we did, not officially confirming anything until about our fourth month in. even then, we didn’t actually confirm. our relationship is private, but not a secret. we don’t really post each other, maybe once or twice. but, drew and i couldn’t give two shits about any of it. we knew we were real, and that’s all that mattered.

“oh, they’re gonna eat that shit up, babe.” drew chuckles lowly, catching the same thing i saw.

i shrug. “let them. if all those girls that obsess over you think we’re married, maybe they’ll back off.” i joke with a smirk.

he scoffs. “you think those are your biggest problems? what about all the guys that have a subscription to vogue and cosmopolitan just to see you? i swear walkin’ in to this damn festival, why’d you think my hand was on your ass tryna hold down this little skirt, huh?”

i shake my head with a chuckle, smacking his chest playfully. “you love this skirt.” i turn slightly in his arms, my glossy lips pouting up at him.

he snuggly grins, his hands reaching around and squeezing my ass in the skirt, lifting me slightly with it to bring me closer to his lips. “hell yeah, i do, baby.”

it was now ten at night, the air simmering down to a much cooler temperature. drew and i were making our way back to the main stage for the headliner, asap rocky.

we were walking in tune, in the space between the barricade and the stage, security guiding us and trailing us. drew’s arm was lazily draped around my shoulders, my left hand holding his by neck. my bracelet jangle as we walk, my hips swaying in my skirt that had somehow gotten lower as the day went on. i think it was because drew kept pulling is down every chance he got…

my bandana was now wrapped around my head. as we were many drinks in at this point, earlier we were in the vip tent and i was slurring, all over drew as i rambled about how i wanted to match with him, so he helped me and tied my bandana around my head like his.

the crowd scrambled loudly when they noticed us walking by the barricade, screaming, clamoring, flashes from cameras. i grin, when i feel drew instinctively pull me closer into his side, my scantily clad body pulled tight into his warm frame.

“y/n! drew! oh my god!”

“y/n, give me a chance!”

“drew! drew! i love you!”

“you’re so hot, y/n!”

“marry me!”

i giggle under my breath and look up at drew, seeing him roll his eyes subtly at their comments. we finally make it over to the vip section. it was much more crowded now, and drew situated us so i was standing in front of him, pulled flush against his chest so i could watch the show and he could keep an eye on everything.

i hardly needed security when i had drew.

we waited patiently, quietly talking as we waited for the show to start

then, the lights went down, strobe lights flashing as the intro of fashion killa started.

i grin, turning in drew’s arms to face him. “it’s our song!”

he smiles. “it is,” he chuckles lowly.

my arms lace around his neck, his hands finding their home on my hips. i move to the music, a grin on my lips as i move my hips.

“cause she a fashion killa..” i giggle, my head plopping into drew’s chest.

“and i’m a trendy..” he trails off, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.

the song continues and i look up at him, my gold jewelry blinging in the lights. he smirks with a chuckle, singing along to the lyrics.

“my bitch a fashion killa, she be..” his hand comes to my ass, tapping it at each beat. “busy,” .. tap. “poppin,” .. tap. “tags.” .. tap.

“she got a lotta prada,” he grabs my hands, extending his arms as he swings me out, then pulls me back in close to him. “that dolce and gabbana,” he chuckles as he bops his head.

i giggle, burying my head in the crook of his neck. he grabs my arms again, his hands sliding up from my forearms to my wrists as he lifts them above my head. “wearin’ all the cartier frames..” he chuckles as he sings with asap.

we continue to dance and i turn around for a part of the song, my back against drew’s chest. i reach into my purse on drew’s shoulder, pulling out my camcorder. i record part of asap singing the song before drew snatches the camera from my hands, making me turn around.

he starts to film me to the song and i chuckle, my hands sliding down my waist to my hips, rolling them, my jewelry dancing with my movements. he groans, throwing his head back. he stops the recording and stuffs the camera back in my bag, his hands quickly coming to my hips and pulling me back into him.

“fuck, baby…” he says under his breath. his hands come up to my cheeks, holding my face close to his. “baby, you and me…” he sings.

“me and you.” i finish with a grin, he wraps his arms around me, pulling me into a tight hug against his chest.

the song continued, drew and i playfully dancing around, singing, hands all over each other. the night went on, drew taking videos of me on the camcorder, me stealing it back taking videos of him. my ass against his front as he rolled my hips against him, drinks making us a bit bolder in public.

almost everyone in the regular ga, somewhere throughout the set, lost their attention off asap, us captivating their gaze instead.

there would be millions of videos online tomorrow of us—but we didn’t care anymore. it wasn’t a secret. it was just private. just us.

what i imagine the camcorder looks like at the end of the night… 😝

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anana-modern-collection1 · 1 year ago

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Tia Diamond Bangles by Anana

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diamondjewellery · 1 year ago

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msrrjewellery · 2 years ago

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Round Pendend murti Shot

Its Gold Round murti Pendend mangasutra made of 22 k Gold.

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travel-living · 2 years ago

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youtube

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odarajwellery · 4 months ago

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Easy Ways to Protect your Gold Plated Jewellery

People who are looking for affordable gold jewelry can opt the gold-plated jewelry in which jeweler electroplates a thin layer of gold around the base metal of the jewelry piece. In such gold-plated jewelry electroplating is essential for bonding the molecules of the base metals to another metal in presence of electric current. Various metals on which jewelers plate gold over is sterling silver, surgical or regular stainless steel, copper, etc.

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Store Safely

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Conclusion

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preferredjewelers · 2 years ago

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suprimofashionbangles · 2 years ago

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meenakariartificialjewellery · 2 years ago

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pedgito · 4 months ago

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𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑 | Marcus Acacius x f!reader

summary | A female gladiator plucked from the arena by the most powerful general in Rome, convinced to serve under his command. You learn that his taste for blood might not be so different from your own.

author's note | the horny demons strike again. this has a little plot, thanks to the beautiful minds of @ovaryacted and @kedsandtubesocks who deal with my crazy so generously.

content warning | 18+ mdni, set pre-gladiator ii, description of war & mistreatment of women in roman society, female gladiator, dark-ish!acacius, reader has minimal backstory, but is revealed to be nameless (uses monikers given to her: medusa, fury, minerva), fighting, m*rder, blood tw, gore tw, sa warning (i have it annotated further below with content, but nothing graphic) acacius covered in someone elses blood as he fucks you, copious smut, biting as a little treat

word count — 8k

“How much?” Acacius inquires, tapping his finger against the iron bars holding you prisoner, staring back at the men. The ginger twins and a man—no, a general. Dressed in a toga of thick material, embroidered with intricate designs, gold bangles at his wrist, a telltale sign of high honor.

“Oh, she is…” The older one, Geta, teeth digging into his bottom lip as he shakes his head, “priceless—quite the fighter, too.”

“Does she have a name?”

Geta smirks to himself, “They call her Medusa. She favors beheading, it seems.” Geta waggles a finger through the bars and smirks, nose scrunching as he addresses you, “Correct?”

You ignore him, responding with a stare—much like your given moniker; if looks could kill.

“She’s bested them all,” Caracalla boasts from beside his brother, Dundus fiddling with his hair from where she was perched on his shoulder, “even our lion that we’ve had since kids.”

“It was a stupid idea, your fault,” Geta retorts, “but—again, she’s not for sale.”

“I’ll conquer India within the next few nightfalls, a handful of new gladiators fresh for the choosing, for your entertainment—how does that sound?”

Greedy as they were and entirely too incompetent, Caracalla agrees before his brother can open his mouth.

“Will you bring her back to visit?” Caracalla inquires with an underlying excitement—the poor brother was nothing but a dunce, erratic and impulsive, but all too easy to manipulate. “The others may miss her.”

“Indeed,” Another swift but convincing lie, Caracalla and Acacius shake hands on the deal before Geta can retort, fuming with rage as he stomps away.

He’d taken a liking to your fighting style despite his distaste for the arena. Strategic and skilled, brute strength and a drive that was built around pure survival but somehow all while maintaining the perfect amount of gracefulness that men did not. Constant calculation, finesse, it was like an art.

He’s gone through several guards over his rule, some from sacrifice but others out of pure ignorance. He needed a strong base, malleable but resistant. He could shape you into a leader, he thinks. He knows.

Your hard stare is like ice as the keys jingle into the lock, a defining click a resounding echo of freedom and General Acacius extends his palm.

A gesture of freedom, a new life, trepidation fills you despite your yearn for a way out of this prison. Here it was, served up on a platter covered in intricate facets of white and gold, stubble brushing his cheeks and soft brown eyes offering kindness.

This was not a man of sheer violence, not the tales they tell about him—this was a man of trouble, conflict, and an instinct to protect himself. And he’d chosen you.

Your hands slips into his, a similar roughness to match his own and scars that Acacius knew well enough of—you were a true fighter, a warrior.

The two boys—calling the men would be too easy, they often acted like spoiled children, were already off to their own chambers, and Acacius had only dropped his hard facade slightly, still under the watchful eye of Rome’s guards, he led you onto your new life.

“I cannot accept,” You argue, as respectful as you could manage, hands crossed firmly over your front, near your waist as you spoke to General Acacius in his private office at home, a place few have stepped foot into, but yet somehow, again, you were given a free pass.

“Are you refusing my order?” Acacius counters, there’s pillowyness to his tone, almost taunting.

“Sir—er, General,” It was all new to you, formalities, structure, rules, “I…am a woman.”

“I am not blind,” Acacius squints his eyes slightly, before leaning back in the creaky chair, “my men—they will not question my choices. They listen, they do their duties. They need strong leadership. Gladiator, I believe you can bestow that upon them.”

“I am a stranger to you, you know nothing of me,” You tell him, a full truth, “General, I fear you may have made the wrong decision, I am not what you think I—”

Silently, Acacius fingers curl around the handle to a drawer hidden behind his desk, pulling out a sharp knife with a handle carved of bone, twisting it in his grip before he’s rearing his arm back, throwing it in your direction.

It zips by with force, the tip of the knife snagging and burying itself deep into the wall behind you, your head whipping to the side to follow it, the sharp blade barely missing the skin of your ear.

Quick reflexes. You turn back to a smirking Acacius.

“I am positive, had I thrown that between your eyes you would have caught it without overthinking the consequences—most of my men would do the same,” Acacius lectures, standing with his brutish frame and walking toward the wall, the soft flow of a breeze kissing at your fists.

“Though, I have another proposition,” Acacius says lightly, twisting the knife in his hand, the pointing spinning against his fingertip as he circles around you, “—attack me.”

“Sir,” You argue, “that surely defeats the purpose of—”

His fist balls up tight and aims for your side. Acacius sees it, the anticipation as you block his hand. He chuckles underneath his breath, “Please, continue,” He teases, twisting out of your grip to pull another punch that you block with ease—he was going easy, you think.

Natural reaction takes hold and his test quickly turns into a full-out brawl, twisting and slipping underneath his grip until you have him pinned against a nearby wall, teeth bared with his forearm pressed against his throat, struggling to grip his free arm.

The real test is here, as Acacius bares the knife near your neck, an immediate reaction to protect yourself rather than go for the kill shot, knowing that anyone of normal skill would be too full of bloodlust to think of anything other than killing you. Protection and defense came first, taking the small nick of a cut to your own forearm before you’re knocking the knife out of his hand and wrestling him to the ground with a swift kick to his leg, rendering him helpless.

“Indeed, you are exactly what I think you are,” Acacius says with finality, “I want you to lead my personal guard. Whatever it is I must do to obtain that, my lady I will do—riches, bribery—”

You push away from him with a heavy exhale, standing and adjusting your clothes, brushing your hair away from your face, “No need, I will do it.”

Acacius rolls to his back, hand extending once more.

This time, it is you offering the help as he uses the leverage to rise to his feet before speaking to you with a triumphant tone.

“Commander,” He grins, “let us plan.”

–

He often asks of your lineage, your home. But, there is nothing to offer. A long conquered piece of land now under the rule of Rome and a home that was never a home. An orphan you had always been, nameless, taking greedily whatever name was bestowed upon you.

In the arena it was Medusa, the tale of a vicious woman with god-like power. Caracalla had told you of the story, the boys having taken a liking to you in different ways. Geta was fiendish, hungry, often seeking you out for his own pleasure to which you wouldn’t deny. Couldn’t. He could be rough, but he wasn’t.

He seemed lonely, the poor boy.

Carcalla was only searching for a friend despite his unruly, chaotic nature. When he wasn’t ruling with tyranny over Rome, terrorizing the townspeople, he was telling you stories.

Other times it was only she. Or her. Or just girl. The girl.

You were only what people assumed of you, expected you to be.

“Medusa, ay?” A greasy looking man confirms, one of the six men who were to be under your command, “The gladiator?”

“You will respect her,” General Acacius had warned them, “or an apology will be your dying breath.”

It had struck most of them with fear. Most of them.

And for many nights, countless, it seems—the transition of leadership was smooth. You had an unyielding grip on them, awaiting direction, following your orders. It was the kind of rush most would only dream of, and as a woman, it was an unforeseen privilege.

“They address you as Medusa, too,” Acacius notes during a roundtable session as the other men wander off for dinner, “do you wish for them to address you differently?”

“I have no name, General,” You admit, “I am whatever I must be. If they think of me as so, that is what I am. Though, I would love to turn a few of them into stone, given I was granted her powers.”

“I believe you could manage that feat without them,” Acacius jokes, “—but, nameless? Even at birth?”

“I know nothing of my birth parents. They told me I was found wrapped in cloth under the bridge that led into the town your army eventually turned to rubble,” A bittersweet feeling, speaking unusually out of term, facing him with the facts, “though, it does not matter. I enjoy the fear they have of me, keeps wandering hands at bay.”

Such an enigma, Acacius eyes you curiously. It was the most you’ve opened up to him since retrieving you from your cell, and even then, still forcing him to face the consequences of war.

The guilt followed him at every waking moment.

“Do you need anything further of me, General?” You ask politely, “You have spoiled my appetite as of late and your men are greedy with the stew.”

“You are dismissed,” He speaks distantly, turning over the thick, coarse paper with a drawn out map of the territory they were to invade soon, a lingering well wish leaving his lips, “sleep well, commander.”

Unfortunately, you’ve turned to sleeping with a knife under your bedroll—with a lingering ache of betrayal, you weren’t allowing yourself to lower your guard.

The attacks do not start at night. Rather during the day, when the General is off and away, scouting ahead further when half of his army while the other half sticks at camp, keeping claim.

That is when the insults come, the disbelief, the mockery.

Most of his men settled with the idea, having accepted your position even if it displeased them.

But, there was one. Like a bull—hardheaded and stocky, fists and arms like clubs, testosterone radiating from his body in crashing waves. He wants you to fear him, submit to him.

You feel it. You see it. And you’ve been through it before, other large and brutish gladiators thinking with their muscles rather than their brains. It wouldn’t take long for them to meet their demise, but this one was…different.

He approaches you with a smile than anyone could see right through, a finger brushing your cheek as he pushes a strand of hair behind your ear, leaning in to brush his lips against the shell of it.

“They are hungry,” He drips of vicious intention, “—I say, you give us a show. Entertain us, Medusa.”

Your eyes snap to him, staring him down.

“Pitiful Acacius isn’t here to save you,” He warns, “though, I have reason to believe he is as weak as most men—spread your legs and he’ll be begging for a taste, too.”

“I will gut you where you stand,” You warn, reaching for the thick machete at your waist, “you’re like a pig. Brainless and greedy for whatever you can get. Touch me, I dare you.”

The rest of the men are relatively quiet, but they do not stop him. Smirks and half-smiles hidden behind their cups, lounging on a log near their tents, enjoying the entertainment.

It was nightfall, the fire crackling between you and them, a towering presence at your backside.

And as he dares to, his hand slides up your waist.

Without hesitation you flip the weapon in your grip, grabbing at his wrist and slicing at his arm—a featherlight touch, it was merrily a glorified papercut, but his eyes widened in shock.

“Let us see how well you touch without fingers,” You threaten, flipping the machete until it is pointing in his face, death grip on the handle if he dared to take it, taunting him with the sharp end of your blade, “hands?”

That deep, rumbling sound of hooves approaches through the darkness, everyone slowly falling back into their paces as you welcome back your General with a forced smile.

Acacius hands off the reins to another rider, taking scope of the situation that seemed to be defusing in front of him, but still—he notices. His eyes trade glances between you both before he nods at you to follow him.

Speaking under his breath, “The others have coined you as fury,” He laughs softly at the pseudonym, “little fury, they tell me. Like the Furies. I cannot say I disagree with them. Has he been pestering you long?”

Your brow furrows at the reference, lost on your ill-informed mind.

“Long enough,” You answer honestly, “though, he was bestowed a parting gift this time.”

You raise your blade, his blood still painting the weapon.

He raises the curtain to his tent, allowing you to enter before him.

“Do you know nothing of the Furies?”

“I was not privy to bedtime tales, General.”

He nods, thoughtful as his lips pull together in a thin line, slowly removing his armor as he sits, directing for you to take a seat opposite of him, a few feet away on a decaying stump.

“Goddesses,” He states simply, “of vengeance, striking the wicked down. You have…fire, deep within you. Do not let them put it out, it is your weapon.”

You nod obediently, feeling the humidity stick to your skin, clothes glued to your body as you sit in the uncomfortable heat. There was no world in which you felt safe enough to strip down, quell your body of this unbearable summer weather. You would rather suffer, thick garb covering your body.

Acacius tilts his head, but does not comment.

“I require your protection tomorrow, we must scout an additional day and I fear danger is imminent—relay this to them,” He instructs, “and my lady, if you fear they will visit you at night, that they might strike when you’re vulnerable, you are welcome here.”

He already anticipates your response—he knows, but the gesture was an offer. A kindness.

“If they try, you will be searching for new men by sunrise, General.”

Acacius smirks in amusement, nodding to your words.

“It would not be difficult to replace them,” He notes, “though, little fury, you are irreplaceable.”

General Acacius wasn’t an easy man to protect, but you managed. Over the few weeks that you had taken point within his guard it has leant you plenty of opportunities to prove your worth, slaughtering opposing soldiers like cattle for the glory of Rome, his booming voice pronouncing vie victis as the dead are laid rest under fire and smoke.

But, conflict comes when you are faced with a decision as the camp was raided under complete, utter darkness. It was your shift to guard the General, perched outside of his tent with constant, roaming eyes. Eventually, you drift. It was peaceful, nature taking hold and pulling you under, awoken to the sound of blood curdling screams, the ground painted with the innards of both Acacius’ men and the others.

You were forced with a choice—defend the camp, something Acacius would have told you to do in a moment of desperation, a self-sacrificing man himself. Ironic, given your position, that you even think otherwise. Of course, your feet pull you toward him, whipping the flowing fabric of his tent door back.

There was a knife at his neck, a man towering over him. He’d snuck past—taken advantage of your exhaustion and your mistake was putting the General’s life at risk, his face stoic as he pushed back against the blade with his palm.

Without thinking, you rush toward the man, pulling back at his collar to plunge the knife pointed at Acacius into his own throat, a silent death through the notch of his neck, the blood flowing out like a river, tossing the lifeless man to the side before you’re reaching for your General.

“Do not worry,” He assures you as he rises, still groggy from sleep, “go—protect our camp.”

“But, General,” You plead, not realizing that your hand was grasping on his own, or that he had initiated the touch as a gentle push, a confirmation that he was truly alright, “it is my fault.”

His eyes peer behind you and to the man lying lifeless on the floor, blood pooling around his body.

“Though, it seems you have done your duty,” Acacius comments, head turned down as he stares at the body before his eyes peer up at you under his dark lashes, pensive, “now—kill them.”

You had lost a hundred or so men, nothing to the army of five thousand, but any loss was felt within General Acacius’ army—men of honor, with families or not, deserved a proper farewell.

Covered in the blood of many, some of your friends and some of strangers, hair matted and reeking of death, you approach General Acacius who was sending off a group of men to begin digging the mass grave to dispose of the bodies.

Your body ached, bruised and nicked from battle—you had killed at least five hundred men alone. Pure rage and fury, not a memory of it as you approached him now, a blank stare void of emotion that concerns Acacius, his hand reaching for your wrist as you begin to pass him, heading for your own tent to collapse in exhaustion.

“You did well,” He notes, catching your gaze as he turns his head to infiltrate your line of sight, “wash off before you turn in, you…reek. There’s a river beyond the bend—clean, warm.”

You nod despite only paying half-attention to his words, walking mindlessly toward the river before you are faced with the unfortunate crowd of men, undressed to their natural state, avoiding the watchful eyes and preying gazes, stripping your armor off down near the empty end of the river, pulling at your tangled hair, pulling off each remaining piece of clothing despite your body’s protest, screaming for relief.

It wasn’t unfamiliar, the looks—you bathed alongside all the men under the arena without a thought, knowing most of them were vying for freedom and wouldn’t dare risk it by allowing their cocks to work overtime, forgetting rational thought.

But, to them, you were a trophy. Someone—something, to be conquered.

The thin, flimsy undergarments come off last, stepping into the water and sinking down slowly. The blood washes away as you scrub, back turned as you dip your head into the water before committing entirely, plugging your nose as you dip underneath the water, finding peace in the silence.

“I had my doubts, Medusa,” A voice bellows from behind as you rise, your eyes peeling open with a quickly growing annoyance, “of you being a true woman, but—”

“Careful,” One of the men warned, a stable boy, “she will run to the general.”

It was the same man from many nights ago, big and brutish, always looking for a fight, even with the other men. He hadn’t learned his lesson, clearly.

“Acacius is busy,” He retorts, “so—what say you give us the show you owe us?”

You stand frozen in place, staring daggers at the man who seems only more amused as the anger in you builds, permeates.

(sa themes below: noncon touching, reader is naked in front of several men)

“Get out of the water,” He demands, “unless you prefer I come get you.”

You survey your choices, knowing that staying in the water wasn’t a safe option. They can and will wait you out. Your eyes track toward your clothes, further away than you had left them. Your eyes track the scar on his forearm and you smirk, teething peeking out behind your lips, “How beautiful,” You tell him, his eyes slowly following your own, “quite the scar, is it not? Fancy another?”

You spot the knife sheathed in his leather belt, taking your chances despite the vulnerability that remains with your naked frame on full display as you retreat from the water, he nods with confidence as you approach, a faint whistle in the distance that you’ve heard before. The oaf seems to ignore it, though. His large hand comes to your breast in an instant, body dripping wet and a sickness churning in your gut as the sticks of torch and fire approach amongst the murmuring crowd of men, less than subtle about the rowdiness that was ensuing.

He pulls you into his body with a greedy hunger as his opposite hands gropes at your backside, following the curve of your ass as your hand snakes toward the blade, but the voice that rips through the crowd is enough to wake the dead, silence falling over the area in an instant.

“Remove your hand,” Acacius voice travels, the same booming voice he uses to declare victory over a new territory, “or I will remove it myself.”

“General,” The man addressed in a drunkish manner, inviting, “she was offering—Medusa, tell him.”

Your silence is expected, his hand wandering toward your other breast, biting hard enough at the inside of your cheek that it draws blood—Acacius sees your hand wrapping around the blade and speaks again, approaches closer as the mud sticks to his boots, “I will tell you once more. Remove it.”

The man eyes you with disdain, dropping his hands away as you relinquish your hold of his weapon, allowing the breath caught in your chest to escape, but it doesn’t stop the touch that follows, taunting with its intention as his palm curls around the back of your head, tilting your head to the side as he squeezes, “I forget—you are the General’s property after all.”

(end of sa themes)

“Take him,” He orders the other lingering guards, men who’ve never shown you anything other than respect—they value their lives and limbs, as any sane person would, “and start the fire.”

Acacius looks around at the lingering eyes, “I suggest all of you return to camp. Now.”

That was all it took, most of them scrambling for their own clothes and armor as they retreated like scurrying mice or dogs with their tail between their legs, leaving you under Acacius' careful gaze. He reaches down to fetch you dirtied clothes, looking them over with disgust.

He removes the black cape around his shoulders without a word, opening it as an offering. Desperate to cover yourself, you slip your arms in the sleeves with his help, his eyes wandering no further than your face as you turn to him, tucking the cape around yourself. He reaches for the hood, pulling it down.

“Come,” He demands, “I would like you to witness.”

–

The screams are audible as you approach camp, a few feet behind Acacius as he rounds the fire and separates the crowd to create a path, approaching the man bound at his feet, one arm roped at his side and secured away, leaving him to fight the men that held him down.

“General, gen—general, I am sorry,” He pleads, “she—you do not understand, she taunts. She is poison, not a leader,” He continues, despite Acacius lack of response, making a motion with his hand to remove the man’s weapon and hand it to him, pulling it from it’s leather cover and examining the blade, he makes a soft sound to himself, “Acacius—you have known me for years. Do not let this woman trick you.”

“Gag him,” He ignores his pleading, leaning down to grip the hand of the man bound below, “your humility is amusing, but your greed is what is costing you. She has shown you mercy, but I will not.”

The cut isn’t a clean slice, either. It takes several swings before the limb detaches, blood spurting out of the appendage as the man screams in pain, dragged helplessly toward the fire before they’re cauterizing the wound—your body unreactive as you watch but silently stewing with frustration.

He had spared the man, sure. But, making a show of it? A mockery?

“Commander, with me,” General Acacius demands, waiting for you to snap back into reality, your eyes meeting his face, blood covering his armor and hands, somehow avoidant of most of the mess.

When you are alone, you don’t hold back.

“I would have handled him,” You tell him, “killed him myself.”

“This is not the arena, we do not go around slaughtering our men without reason,” Acacius retorts, “he will be demoted and replaced and be a reminder to the others that you—”

“I do not need you defending my honor, General.”

“Men will not change, this—society, it does not cater to your safety. To them, women are nothing but vanity and pleasure—”

“And property,” You remark, “lest you forget how you obtained me, General.”

Acacius approaches you near the table at the center of his tent, only a foot away as he removes his armor plate, pulling it over his head, “Had I not, you would have paid for your own freedom eventually. I needed a leader—strong, smart, powerful.”

“By punishing that man, you are sending the message that I need my battles fought for me,” You argue, “and as if these men did not already think I was the General’s plaything, what will they think now?”

Acacius sighs through his nose, pulling at the fabric of his tunic that bares his chest, “I believe they will behave,” He tells you, “because you will not be as kind when you take their heads. He was an example and a pain in my ass for years, he deserved more than that.”

“And what will they think of me now? I am naked under this cloak, your cloak. I must walk the path back to my tent surrounded by men deprived of the things your bestial minds crave.”

Acacius chuckles to himself, “I have been thinking,” He begins, “that you deserve a new name. Something indicative of all that you are. Some of the men award each other with monikers of war. Medusa seems to have become more of a taunt, in light of recent events.”

He unties the leather bands at his wrist, eyeing you with a mischievous gaze as he keeps you waiting, “Have you heard the tale of Minerva, my lady?”

It isn’t a surprise, but you shake your head.

“A goddess of many things—strategy, warfare, victory, and justice…but mostly importantly, wisdom. I have seen the way you command the battlefield, it is not lost on me.”

“You have…many stories, General.”

“My mother told me one every night as she tucked me, it seems they have stuck with me.”

Tell me more, the words linger in the back of your throat.

“I am barely standing, General. I must retire for the night.”

“Indeed,” He agrees, shamelessly stripping down to his undergarments to walk toward the clean bowl of water and wash away the drying blood, “and Minerva,” the name is completely foreign, but you respond with a hum, “your position is yours alone. You have earned it. Do not let them tell you otherwise.”

Like Medusa, the name sticks.

And thankfully, you were a few weeks away from a much-earned break from war, returning to Rome as a free woman for the first time, having finally fallen into a comfortable rhythm with the rest of his personal guards—a mutual respect that had been missing, men waiting for your command.

Long nights of planning spent in Acacius tent, surrounded by the other guards until they filter out one by one, growing curiosity and questions lead to many hours of conversation that you, for many months, had been deprived of in the arena.

“You did promise my return,” You remind him, “they will be expecting you to keep that.”

“They are young, fickle men,” Acacius berates with amusement, “I am sure they have moved on.”

“Do you fear them? The emperors?”

“They are spoiled brats,” Acacius responds, an answer in itself.

“They would visit me often,” You admit, “Caracalla seemed to be—it seems the syphilis in his loins was truly affecting his brains, often he would not even make sense. Or he would come to me, complaining of his brother.”

“You had built quite the rapor,” Acacius notes with a smile, sipping at the broth from his stew as he invites you to sit on his fancy, expensive bed cot. Much nicer than your own, cushioned and wrapped in velvet, “What of Geta?”

“He liked my breasts,” You begin bluntly, “and my—”

“He forced himself upon you?”

“I was property of Rome, Acacius,” You didn’t often say his name in such a relaxed way, blaming it on the full belly and exhaustion, “therefore I was his. I have suffered much worse than a lonely man searching for comfort.”

Acacius seems thoughtful, pensive as he stirs at his quickly diminishing stew. He does catch your lingering gaze on his face after a while, mesmerized by the scar underneath his eye, he encourages you.

“Ask, if you are so curious, my lady,” He places his bowl to the side, empty.

“Your scar,” You nod, pressing your finger in a mirroring way under your eye, “is there a story?”

“Nothing to be told with boast,” He chuckles, “a wound of battle, is all. Like many of the scars on my body,” He tells you, raising his naked forearm to display the various scars, noting the few that paint his clavicle, “and you, Minerva?”

It seems to have become a particular quirk of his, a lilt to his voice as he calls you by your given name—the others have become accustomed to it, too. But, with Acacius, it felt special. Treasured.

You raise your eyebrows at his question, quietly unlacing your top to pull it down your shoulder, sliding a hand over your breast to respect the dynamic between you both—him being your general and you, his subordinate. His eyes squint as he examines the jagged and staggered scar on the side of your breasts—not quite faded, healed but relatively fresh.

“He is a biter,” You warn him with amusement, “Geta.”

Only one scar, given by one of the emperors, somehow untouched from real battle. It was miraculous. You readjust your top, feeling the heat from your neck rise to your face at what you had just willingly offered over to Acacius. Unfortunately, he had a way of lowering your guard.

With that talk, it seemed like a true breakthrough in your partnership with Acacius.

He always allowed you to speak for yourself, never overstepping the boundary you had argued with him over, leading the charge with an iron fist and handling the younger, fresh faced soldiers who just seemed…lost.

It was hard to ignore the lingering glances over time, often during meetings as you spoke, not a look of attention but rather…ravishing. Hungry, but in a subdued manner. You weren’t sure where the lines had blurred, but they had.

Possibly somewhere within the long nights of conversation or the lingering touches that shouldn’t have been as charged as they were, handing over a piece of armor or blade and his calloused fingertips would circle your wrist, pause, before his brain would catch up to his actions.

“Go on,” He encourages after a final night of victory and triumph, many of the men howling and singing tunes around the fire, drinking from their cups and enjoying the pleasures of alcohol and comradery, “you are missing the fun,” He was unnaturally quiet, subdued to his quarters, leaning against the outside of his tent as he watched with amusement but subtle dismay.

A younger man approaches with his hand extended, a gleeful expression on his face, “Minerva, please—come, you must enjoy the party, too.”

The general gives you an expectant look as you let the young man lead you away, curling his fingers around your own and pulling you with vigor, cheering loudly to blend in with the energy of the men despite how you worry about the man several feet away, your eyes tracking his disappearing figure as he slips into his tent, eventually pulled away by another man, one of the guardsmen who adored you, asking for a dance.

You agree hesitantly as the crowd roars louder, eyes searching for the exact reason as you see a few men leading a line of women into camp, little clothing to allow them modesty, a less than subtle shushing come from the men as they lead them deeper into camp, and the fear in you tells you to run to the General.

“It is not what you think,” The young man tells you, “they are dancers—no harm will—”

You bypass him, straight toward the men leading the path, stopping them cold.

“They are not here against their will, my lady.” He assures you, though, that could be argued.

“Minerva, Acacius has made it clear that harming women, you—is far worse a crime than anything else. Truly, it is not what you believe it to be.”

“I am telling the General, informing him of their presence,” You admit, “so I suggest you and the rest of the cattle be on your best behavior?”

They both give crisp, curt nods.

As you make the direct line for Acacius’ tent, you are ignorant to his silent plea for privacy at the tied rope, intertwined with gold fabric, pushing apart the fabric doors without much of a thought, reality hitting you as you catch a glimpse of his naked frame, patting down his body with a clean cloth as he washed himself, other hand curved around his cock as he stretched his neck up and back, the water splashing as he dipped the towel into the basin, only aware of your present when you make a small, unrecognizable sound as a result of your own stupidity.

“I—General,” Your eyes widen as they take on a mind of their own, straight down the valley of his chest as he turns to you, quickly spinning on your heels, “I should have—I apologize, uh, the men…they are—”

“I was informed,” He assures, “and they have been warned, I assure you.”

“Yes, hm—um,” It was the only time Acacius had seen you flustered

“I assumed the rope was a clear message,” Acacius teases, “but—it is not your fault. I should have informed you of their…antics.”

He pulls the tight, fabric shorts over his hips, clearing his throat, peering over your shoulder you breathe a sigh of relief, “General, I would like to apologize for—” You swallow, watching as he turned barefoot on his heels, the fabric of the immodest undergarments curving around the stretch of his cock, half-hard under the fabric and the outline of thick head pushing against the linen.

You don’t realize how long you’re staring until he’s approaching with a tap of his finger on the underside of your chin, “There is no need for that,” He assures you, your nose scrunching up in confusion at the sudden touch, feeling the subtle shift as he reaches behind you for the clothes folded on the table at your backside, “surely you must return to the party,” He encourages, “celebrate a well-earned victory.”

“Why?” You counter, “When you will not.”

“Minerva,” He warns.

“You are distracted,” You note, watching as Acacius now avoids your gaze, “it is worrying me.”

He cannot admit the reason why. That it may be you.

“Acacius,” You call his name, hoping that will break through to him.

“Leave me,” He asks, rather than demanding, “I need to rest.”

It was a lie, but you do not fight him on it.

–

Silence blankets the camp in the early morning hours—the witching hours, as you’ve come to know them. Sleeping securely in your tent, bedroll tucked under your head as you drift. Unaware of the creeping men planning your untimely demise, assuring that the entire camp was asleep before they strike, arms and legs rendered useless as the third shoves a piece of cloth into your mouth and ties it around the back of your head, screams muffled behind the fabric, stripped of your weapons. Helpless, they think.

During the struggle, one of them grows frustrated, banging the hard rock against your skull and plunging you back into darkness.

When you come to, you are unclear of where you are, but it was outside, arms above your head against the thick limb, feet bound tight as well, a sting and a string of wetness running down the side of your face as your blurry vision becomes clear.

“Little Minerva,” the voice begins mockingly, all too familiar to your ears, “he has named you—you must feel special, ay?”

He kneels in front of you, the one hand he has left curling around the forearm of what was left of his other appendage, “And you expect to return back to Rome as a free woman,” He laughs, snorts wetly through his nose, “I assure you that will not happen. Rather, you will be a dead one.”

The other two lingering figures join in on the laughter.

“How did you say it?” He taunts, “I will gut you where you stand?”

“It took three of you to capture me,” You retort, “your confidence is lacking sorely.”

He clears the back of his throat, rearing up a ball of saliva in his mouth before he’s spitting at you.

“I will slaughter all of you with my hands,” You promise, “untie me, unless you are fearful.”

Driven by ego, it doesn’t take much for him to agree.

But, as he had underestimated you the first time, and the second, he would regret the third.

The two men come at you first, enough tussling and your teeth ripping into the ear of one of them, searching blindly for a thick, heavy and sharp edge branch that would handle the weight of piercing through skin and muscle, finding the right weapon at the perfect moment—the attacker rearing back as the other approached, driving the make-shift stake through his chest as the other tackled you to the ground, a poor miscalculation on his part as you get your legs around his neck, arms pinned at an painful, awkward ankle until his neck snaps from the force, the ox-like man awaiting in the shadows like a coward, blood spilling from your mouth as you scream.

The heavy hooves approach like roaring thunder and the instant your attacker catches on, his attempts to flee are ruined by the barricade of men at all angles, General Acacius at the head of the charge, a rageful expression on his face. Feral unlike you have ever seen.

He jumps off of his horse, ordering the men to capture the surviving man once again, looking around at the lifeless bodies beside you, assuring his men he would handle you and the mess, demanding they return to camp at once.

You look around aimlessly, blood staining your face as Acacius struggles to capture your attention, eventually resorting to a strong, demanding hold on your face, cradling your head with his hands.

“Are you wounded?” He asks, then notices the trail of blood from your scalp, pushing away the hair to reveal with gash from the rock they had attacked you with, grimacing as he runs his finger over the wound in worry.

Suddenly, you are stricken with a need, “Give me your sword,” You tell him, eyes flicking up to meet his own, “I need your sword.” His movements are too slow, still concerned with you that you reach for the weapon yourself.

Pulling away, you approach one of the dead men with the sword, swinging it up over your head and down with force, beheading him in one go, before switching to the other man, less finesse as you swing—again and again, until there is nothing but a pool of blood, bone, and brain—Acacius steps in eventually, tossing the sword away as he holds you arms in his fierce grip, letting the screams rip from your chest as he sways with you, eventually falling to your knees in exhaustion. He uses his bare hands to wipe the blood away from your neck, your face, feeling the soft shake of your body as you sob in silence, overcome with an emotion you so rarely let surface.

–

The public execution follows the next morning, everyone rousing from their tents to the loud, blaring horn from the ship just off shore—Acacius had assisted you back to camp on his horse, slumped against his back as you rode until the trampling finally stopped, sliding off the horse and into Acacius’ arms as he led you inside his tent.

He didn’t sleep the entire night, watching over you instead—he rarely blinked, staring off into nothingness as he tried to keep the vicious rage at bay, by morning, he was itching.

“You may stay,” He tells you, “your head—I cleaned it while you slept.”

You shove his hand away as he attempts to help you sit, slowly dressing yourself, eventually putting together the fact that Acacius had undressed and bathed you at some point throughout the night, not a speck of blood or spit remaining.

“Are you ordering me to stay?”

Acacius shakes his head, his hand still hovering close by.

“Then I will attend.”

He doesn’t argue against it and there is, despite your weariness to admit, a relief of your chest as Acacius rears back his blade, silencing the final scream the man lets out, pleading for his life. The blood sprays over his face, a strong grimace at the sheer strength it takes to behead the man, but the general manages it with one strike of his blade.

His speech follows, a deep and unsettling warning to all of his men. A final one.

Men, wide-eyed with fear, agree without resistance before he sends them off to ready the ship for departure and a meal before they begin their long trek back to Rome—he is less than gentle as he grabs your wrist without warning and pulls you alongside him, back to his tent.

–

He ties the rope with a stiff tug, before turning to you, stumbling on your feet as pull off his cape, having offered it to you for a second time, assuring that dressing in your usually armor wasn’t needed today, not as you began your travels, a flowing dress tied at your shoulder and waist that you were used to wearing during the showings back in Rome, parading you around like a prize.

“Acacius, perhaps you should sit,” You suggest, watching his hands curl into fists at his sides before he’s spinning on his heels and toward you, cradling your face like he had the night prior, but even this close, it felt like he was trying to keep you at a distance, “—I am sorry, if I did something—”

“I crave you,” Acacius admits, “you must know.”

Your lips part, gearing up the courage to speak, but falling short.

“Nights I have spent,” He breathes, shaking his head, the curls tickling your forehead as they meet, “thinking—wondering—”

“Acacius, why now?” You question him, “As we are homebound, back to your wife. Surely, she would have my head.”

Acacius shakes his head with a soft, but fond laugh.

“Our marriage is complex,” He explains, “Something I do not care to explain in great detail at this moment, you see—,” His hand curves around the side of your neck, tilting your head up, lips grazing against his own as he speaks, “I had no such intention for things to get like this, but you have proven to make things…difficult, for me,” He breathes out through his mouth, his eyes opening slowly to meet yours, “and I need you, should you have me.”

You could easily deny him, knowing he would back off in an instant. But, like this, clearly driven by adrenaline and instinct, riding the high of such a charged execution, he was craving something deeper than an outlet to release the built up tension.

He craved connection—through little moments of conversation and touches, someone at level-ground, an equal. You were his equal. He’d given you so much since, and you would be lying to yourself if you denied the thoughts that had riddled your mind too.

“I do not much prefer a soft touch,” You finally reply, “or gentle care.”

He silences you with a kiss, bruising and tense as he licks into your mouth, hungrily searching for more areas to taste and devour, licking along the column of your neck as the blood of another smeared into your skin, his fingers working quietly to undo your dress, in turn wrestling with his armor and clothes, nearly ripping the fabric of his shirt from his body as you claw at him.

Wet kisses and clashing tongues fill the silent room, a screeching sound as your back hits the roundtable before he’s lifting from the back of your thighs and scooting you onto the surface, naked and bare as he spreads your thighs apart to move between them, clearly restraining himself as he licks, teeth grazing carefully.

“I enjoy them,” You admit, “Do not hold back, Acacius. They are what I will keep with me, if this be the only time.”

Like a dog cut loose of his chain, his teeth sink into the breasts mirror the mark of the other, hissing as his teeth break through the skin just enough for the subtle trickling of blood to rise to the surface before he’s soothing the wound with his tongue, staring up at you through a half-lidded gaze, prowling for more. He dips lower, falling to his knees as he pulls you toward the end of the table, ass hanging near the edge as his teeth sink into your thigh, near the swell of your cunt as you moan, fingers digging into sweaty, matted curls.

“Acacius,” You plead breathily, “I want your mouth.”

Where—it did not matter. But, Acacius fulfills that need as he licks a broad strip through your cunt, nose buried in the coarse curls, still smelling of the fresh soap he had bathed you in, taking delicate care as he washed your body, letting you slump into him, soaking him in the process.

“Yes, that—” You respond airily, eyes fluttering shut as his tongue dips inside of you, swirling your slick around on his tongue and sucking harshly at your clit, staring up at you daringly from his position beneath you, unwavering, “oh, gods above…”

Acacius chuckles below you,the sound vibrating against your cunt as your moans increase rapidly, thick fingers dipping inside your pulsating core, “This high—it feels like—”

He rises to press a kiss against your stomach, climbing, tongue licking over your belly button and between your breasts, “—like…” He encourages, “come on, my lady, do not sell out on me now,”

“Like a battle high,” You admit with a faint laugh, “though, different, but….”

He understands, driven by unbridled need, uncapped adrenaline.

“Well, vae victis,” He taunts, “now—come here,” He squeezes at your hips and pulls you to him, his cock stiff, throbbing between your legs before he is twisting and spinning you around, feet planting against the ground as he bends you over, fisting himself tight as he rubs his thick cock head between your folds, watching as your wetness coats him, sinking into your fluttering hole with little resistance, a sweet cacophony of noises releasing from your throat as you grip onto nothing, hand curling into a fist as you moan, open-mouthed and shameless.

“Harder,” You beg, forcing the word out between thrusts, blunt fingernails clawing at your hips, attempting to pull you in closer despite your proximity, as if he could consume and even that wouldn’t be enough, “Acacius, please.”

It was like instinct, his hand sliding up the back of your thigh to lift your leg up, pinning it up—up, until you feel the ache in your sore muscles as he holds you in place with a fist between the bend of your knee, heaving breaths at your neck as he fucks you into the hard surface of the table.

It was a pain you would feel in your bones, that would carry with you into the morning, marks that would last for longer, a remnant of this moment, the mess of blood smearing on your own skin as he melts against you, forehead resting against your shoulder as his gaze follows the movement of his hips, slow but powered thrusts that drilled into you, clawing at his skin to leave your own bruises. The hand that brushes against your core is your ultimate demise, feeling breathless as your orgasm pulls you under, muffled sobs into your fist as you bite down, fearful that it might draw attention. Though, Acacius seems preoccupied, still.

His hand seeks your neck, digging in as he pulled you up, “To your knees,” He demands softly, your body moving out a memory, dropping to the floor—though, the sight is much more tantalizing, Acacius fisting his cock tight, feral as he teeth were bared, like a man fresh from the slaughter, he comes with a deep and guttural groan, your tongue sliding against the underside of his bulbous head, thick spurts coating your tongue, his body shaking as you pull away, swallowing all that he had offered with a steady, locked gaze. He assists you upright, steadying you.

“For a man who has such a distaste for unnecessary violence, you wear it well,” It wasn’t a compliment, rather an observation, his eyes tracking your naked frame, fingertips tracing the curves of your body in admiration.

“You are quite inspiring, Minerva,” He admits, gathering your thick dress and helping you redress in silence, tying the material around your body, “not everyone deserves mercy.”

Your smile is rare, but it is beautiful. And he wasn’t a man for such dramatics.

But, it could bring him to his knees, he thinks.

#general acacius #marcus acacius #marcus acacius x reader #marcus acacius x you #marcus acacius x y/n #general acacius x reader #general acacius x you #gladiator ii #gladiator ii fic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal smut #my writing

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hxlxnaaa · 3 months ago

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𝐫𝐚𝐟𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐥 ─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─ 𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞

★ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: a workaholic marine biologist discovers a new species that was only believed to exist within stories. while heavily focused on her new groundbreaking research, she tries to figure out her feelings for her shiny new toy.

★ 𝐜𝐰/𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: first-person pov, merman rafayel, a bit of angst towards the end but nothing too crazy

★ 𝐰𝐜: 3.7k

★ 𝐚/𝐧: as a former marine bio major, i got to nerd out ab fish and raf (yay!!), set in main storyline era, but reader is obviously a biologist and not a hunter (raf is also not the sea god in this). tried to stick to lemurian lore, but kinda threw my own stuff in too. sorry if the ending seems a bit rushed, i lowkey tapped out, but overall i'm pretty proud of this!!

It was moments like these that made me love what I do.

I was in the pool room of the facility, a dome with towering window walls, and a large circular pool in the middle that connected to the sea outside. It was mainly used by me, and I was fortunate enough to be the only one with access, as I was the only field expert in the facility. I worked hands-on with marine life, collecting samples that I would send to the lab upstairs.

In the early mornings like these, I could finally just take a breath before starting my day and watch the sunrise all around me. Watch the way it would slowly illuminate the room, reflecting off the water that rippled with the morning wind. I could feel the weight lift off my shoulders because sunny, clear mornings like this made the stress of work worthwhile.

Not that I’d rather be anywhere else.

I checked the pool, seeing what creature may have found its way in. To my dismay, it was just another handful of mackerel that had probably gotten lost from its school. That’s all it’s been lately, a few strays from the euphotic zone. The bottom of the pool was an open hatch leveled with the sea, since the lowest level of the facility sat directly in the water. When motion was detected, the floor of the pool would close off, trapping whatever got caught inside. If I were lucky, maybe it would be a cute sea turtle or a shark, but those days were rare.

Disgruntled, I opened the hatch that had closed, setting the mackerel free. Inwardly I prepared for another boring afternoon, praying for another field work day when I could actually go out to sea.

Coming back from grabbing coffee from the breakroom and a few more test tubes from the lab upstairs, I made my way back to the pool room. From inside, I heard a loud groaning.

“OWWWW.”

Frantically I key carded my way into the room, the doors sliding open to reveal a strange man in the pool.

I stood frozen in place, not sure what free diver could have possibly found his way in, and… Why was he shirtless?

“Are you just going to stand there or are you going to help me?” The man glared.

I learned from years of working in the sea to stay calm and assert dominance, so striding forward with as much grace as I could muster-

My jaw dropped.

The man had odd markings painted on his skin and face, in intricate beautiful designs. He was clad in golden jewelry, draped with a chiffon sash. Despite being fresh out of the water, his dusty purple hair was nearly dry, and I was sure he was the most beautiful man I had ever seen. There was something otherworldly about him, not like anyone I had seen before.

That was when I noticed the tail.

It was amazing, and I screeched with joy. The iridescent blue scales matched the ones on his cheeks and neck, and it had to be as long as I was tall.

The man leaned against the bars on the pool, narrowing his eyes at me. “Your stupid machine hurt me.”

I stared at him laughing with excitement, “What are you?”

“Did you hear me? I said I was hurt.”

My eyes traveled over him, he didn’t appear to be hurt or even in much pain. He held out his hand, adorned with gold bangles and painted nails, “It pinched my finger.”

I shook my head, “Sorry, sometimes it malfunctions. It’s supposed to have a safety mechanism so fish can’t get caught in the doors.”

“Yes, well, you need to fix it.”

Whatever this man was, he had an attitude problem.

“I’m going back to my first question,” I circled the pool like a predator with its prey. The man-fish thing followed me with his eyes, and I stopped back in front of him. “What the hell are you?”

He rolled his eyes, “I think that’s quite obvious. I know humans aren’t that stupid.”

Stunned, I continued to stare at him. Of course I knew what a mermaid was, everyone always told stories of the ancient Lemurians, but that’s all it was. A story.

Yet, here in front of me, was a man with a fish tail.

Excitement continued to bubble up inside me and I started clapping my hands with glee, “Oh my gosh this is perfect. You’re perfect.”

He raised an eyebrow at me, “If I’m so perfect can we get rid of these prison walls? What are these even for anyways-” As he started to rattle on the bars.

“They’re so the fish can’t beach themselves when I’m not here,” Opening the gate so I could sink down to his level, I took off my shoes so I could sit on the ledge. Grabbing his face in my hands, I turned it side to side, observing closely the glitter of his scales underneath my fingers, “Your skin is so cold, yet you have hair…But you have scales… Are you a mammal, or…”

He smirked at me, taking my grabby hands away from his skin, “Y’know you could at least take me out to dinner first.”

I frowned, bothered with the interruption of my observations. Standing back up, I moved away to start grabbing collection and testing kits, “Can you hop up where I was please? Or will you need assistance? I have a sling-”

“I can do it.”

Watching as he pulled himself up and out of the water, biceps flexing as he lifted himself, I wondered how a fish could possibly get that ripped.

I sat down beside him, “You have no obvious gills…”

The man scoffed, and I put on my stethoscope. I placed it over where, if he had them, his lungs would be.

“Deep breath in,” Watching as he took an inhale through his nose, and listened as his lungs took in a breath of air.

“Lungs.” Confirming my thoughts.

Placing the drum over his heart, I realized his heartbeat was racing.

“I don’t understand-” He started, before I placed my finger over his lips.

“Shush, no talking.”

We sat there like that for a minute, before I pulled away, “120/60, is your heart rate usually that fast?”

Glaring at me, he crossed his arms, “No, I just don’t usually have random girls assaulting me.”

As I pulled out different test tubes, I rambled out questions to him that were mostly just thoughts in my head.

“Where did you come from? How do you speak English? Where do you live?”

“First of all,” He shunned away at the sight of a needle, “my name is Rafayel. Since you haven’t even bothered to ask.”

“Secondly, I came from the sea, duh. Didn’t even mean to get caught in this stupid thing…” The man winced as I pricked his finger, and I laughed, “Well you sure are compliant for being ‘assaulted’ by a stranger.”

“I have no choice! You have all these weapons for poking and prodding! Anyways, I speak every language, it comes from being Lemurian-”

I stopped, “You’re Lemurian?”

He rolled his eyes, “I thought the tail would’ve given that away.”

Silently I continued to work, thinking less about the fact that a real Lemurian was in front of me, and more about how this would affect the studies of the sea and marine life as a whole. More than 80% of the sea is unexplored, and the idea of Lemuria being part of it opens up a whole new doorway to the future of research. Not only that, but the fact that Rafayel was relatively eager to comply.

He watched me with his galaxy colored eyes, that seemed almost as wide with wonder as mine were. We seemed fascinated with each other, and maybe that’s why he was so calm about all of this. It’s not every day you’d let a stranger go full blown crazy scientist on you.

“Am I going to learn anything about you?” His question startled me, and it hadn’t even crossed my mind he knew nothing about me. My only focus had been on discovering who and what this creature was.

“Oh, I’m sorry, that’s my bad.” I introduced myself, and told him about my work as a marine biologist. He let me gripe about the lack of interesting catches in the pool as of late, and how my passion lies with whales.

“I don’t get to go out into the field often,” I explained, “but when I do it’s always the best. Being able to dive, and being out at sea for a few weeks studying the bigger or deeper animals we can’t get in the pool.”

“What about when you’re here?” Rafayel looked around the room as if it was an interesting enough place to work. To him, this probably seemed more fun than exploring the place he’s lived his whole life.

I sighed, “I’m never not here; but I mean, it’s fine I guess, it’s just you can only collect so many samples of the same few creatures before you get bored.” Smiling at him, I ran my fingers through his hair…

“That’s why you, my dear, are my new muse.”

To my surprise, Rafayel came back after that. I half expected him to just disappear, deeming me crazy and warning his fellow Lemurians about ‘that one weird marine biologist’. I’d kiss goodbye the breakthrough of research he could’ve given me, and go back to slaving over the same boring fish every day.

The next morning, he was in the pool bright and early, his head sitting in his crossed arms on the ledge.

He smiled when he saw me waltz in, “You’re here early.”

“I always am,” I shrugged, “do Leumrians not sleep?”

“Sometimes.”

We quickly slipped into a routine. He’d show up in the early mornings, and stay with me until I went home that night. Even if I ran out of samples to collect, waiting for lab results, he’d perch himself up on the ledge with me and watch me read old textbooks about old Lemurian history, or anatomy books about different kinds of marine mammals.

Rafayel would snatch the Lemurian books out of my hands, “You know, I can tell you everything you need to know.”

“Yes, well, you’re an unreliable narrator.” I’d grab the book back.

Though he had a tendency to exaggerate, I really did enjoy all the stories he would tell me; his tail in my lap as I’d compare it to previous studies I had done on scales, he’d go on about Lemurian people, boasting about the beauty of the city and explaining their culture. I’d sit and nod, humming responses as I carefully analyzed him.

I believed Rafayel kept coming back because he simply loved being doted over. Some part of him got off on the attention, seeing the way my face would light up when I put pieces of the puzzle together, grabbing his face in my hands with excitement.

“Raf this is amazing news!” I’d laugh, squeezing his face with one hand, shaking lab results in the air with another.

“I don’t know what you’re on about…” He’d say through smushed cheeks, but his eyes would twinkle and defy his feigned annoyance.

Sometimes, if I ran out of things to do, he’d use his ‘magical Lemurian powers’ (his words, not mine) to lure in some different creatures, giving me extra stuff to send to the lab upstairs. One day I had been giving a bit too much attention to a stingray he had summoned, and Rafayel started sighing from the other side of the pool.

“What's wrong now?” I asked, not even looking up at him, focusing my attention on extracting the stringer from the stingray's tail.

He sighed loudly again.

This time, my eyes met his, and he flopped down onto his back, pouting dramatically. Once I had gathered everything I needed, and set the poor creature free, I walked over to where Rafayel was still laying on his back, displeased.

He looked up at me through his eyelashes, and quickly turned his head to the side, “If I’m your muse then why are you giving so much attention to these random fish!”

Crouching down by his head, I poked his cheek, “You’re the one who summons them for me.”

“Well if this is the case, then I’m not gonna help anymore!” Sticking out his lower lip, Rafayel side-eyed me.

“I’m ever so sorry for doing my job, I shall never give another fish attention again besides you.”

He smirked, satisfied with my response.

Rafayel was always like this, oddly infatuated with me and jealous. He seemed pleased I didn’t have much of a social life outside of work, as my only focus was him. Often, he had a habit of prying into my thoughts, asking a million questions about myself. Some were simple, like where I went to school and what kind of music I enjoyed. Others were questions I never even thought about.

“How do you see your future?”

I snapped my head up from my book to look at him, “I’m sorry?”

He stared right into my eyes, almost as if he was trying to read my mind, “What do you see yourself doing in the future?”

“I don’t know, working probably.” I tried to shrug off the question.

“Do you ever want a family?”

“I don’t think I’d have time.”

“Well, you seem to have plenty of time for me.”

After that, I noticed a lot more how his eyes would follow me. How he’d rest his hand on my waist as I’d bandage him up from blood collection. The prolonged eye contact, the longing smiles, how his cheeks and ears would turn pink when I’d call him my muse.

To quote Rafayel simply, “Humans aren’t that stupid.”

I knew. I mean, I’m a scientist, I had a fair amount of common sense. Even though I spent most of my time with fish doesn’t mean I don’t know when a man likes me.

It’s not like I wasn’t attracted to him either, it would be impossible not to be. Rafayel is beautiful, just like the world that surrounds him; he’s the sea, the absolute personification of my first love. He’s spunky and brave, sassy yet kind, and despite my immediate joy about him regarding the future of marine research, it’s gone so far beyond that. My care for him has ascended past study and data, into a place I was scared to approach.

What was I supposed to do? Keep him in my bathtub for the rest of my life? A swimming pool in my backyard? This was work, this was business, this is the future; nothing is going to get in the way of that. Not my stupid feelings, nor his.

In the evening, before I was getting ready to go home, I was taking one final look at Rafayels scales on his face and neck.

“They’re so beautiful…” I muttered under my breath, inches away from his face. His scales were what fascinated me the most, despite it being the least interesting fact I had discovered about this humanoid. Somehow, a mammal having scales like this was utterly enchanting. Tracing the way they were engraved into his skin, he opened one of his eyes to look at me.

“Do you want one?” Rafayel asked.

“I wouldn’t want just one, I’d need enough to make a necklace.” Softly smiling, I playfully picked at one of them.

“Have I told you the Lemurian tradition of giving up one of our scales?”

“Mm, briefly…”

He tilted his head forward, as if he were telling me top secret information, “When we give one of our scales to someone, it bonds us for life. An eternal love that traverses through anything, whole universes.” Both eyes open now, the look in them told me I already had been given thousands of his scales.

I pushed his head back with one of my fingers, “You’re already bonded to me for life, at least until I can figure you out.”

Rafayel leaned towards me again, and I grabbed his face,

“Hold still.”

He frowned.

“Rafayel~” Walking into the pool room I sang out to him like usual, only to find the pool empty.

After nearly a year of seeing him every single day, for the first time, he was nowhere to be seen.

My heart sank, was it because I had rejected him?

I sat by the pool, filled with mackerel, and just waited…

And waited…

I watched the sun begin to set through the large windows, covering the room in an orange glow. Rafayel always had a habit of complaining about the way the sun would shine in his eyes, but would quickly quiet down as he saw me stare out at the sea longingly; there was so much love in his eyes I thought it might suffocate him if he didn’t let it out.

I guess he finally had enough.

Tears threatened to pour as the sky turned dark, the room only lit up with the light of the moon.

Frustrated, I cursed him under my breath. How dare he ruin this for me? How could he let his own feelings get in the way of the bright future I had made for marine research? I wanted to hit him upside the head for giving me all of this information and data, just to up and leave, leaving my study on a cliffhanger.

How could he leave me?

The next day, for the first time in years, I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to get out of bed. Let alone go to work. I hated him for making me feel this way, for breaking down my walls so much that I was ready to give up the only thing I had going for me.

I went anyway.

Walking up to the doors of the pool room, I thought about just turning around and going home. I was going to waste my time with a school of fish that I had already collected hundreds of samples from, when I could just go back to my bed and rot, grieving the future of science and my broken heart.

Just as I was about to turn on my heel and leave, I heard soft singing from inside, a voice I recognized easily.

Practically breaking the doors open, I ran inside.

Sitting in a chair in the corner of the room, reading a textbook as if nothing was wrong, was the man I wanted to strangle with my bare hands.

He looked up at me, frowning, “You’re late.”

Once the adrenaline of seeing him wore off, I noticed where he was.

Outside of the pool, in a chair, with no help, with…

“Legs!” I screeched, exasperated.

“Yeah, okay, good to see you too I guess.” Rafayel scoffed, going back to the book. This time it was my turn to snatch it out of his hands.

“Rafayel, this changes everything! All of my studies!” I put my face in my hands, shaking my head.

“That's what you have to say about this? I don’t show up to try and play hard to get, and this is what I get?” He glared at me, “You didn’t even miss me!”

“Why didn’t you tell me you could grow legs!”

“I was trying to humor you!”

I threw my hands up in desperation, pacing back and forth. Rafayel started mumbling something in a language I didn’t understand, clearly mad.

“Is that all I am to you?” He spit out at me, like his words were acid, “Some science experiment?” I shot my head in his direction, narrowing my eyes, “You know as well as I do that’s not the case.”

“If that's not the case, then why are you doing this to me? Acting like you care and there’s something here, then putting your walls back up. Am I just being manipulated for your work?” Rafayel stood up, peering down at me, “Just some testing animal that you keep here in your tank?”

“Raf…No…Of course not.” I promised, seeing the look of hurt in his eyes made my heart squeeze in guilt. Tracing the painted marking on his cheek, I noticed the scales on his face and neck were nowhere to be seen.

His demeanor quickly switched at my touch, grabbing my hands in desperation, pulling them to his chest and clutching my fingers over his heart.

“I don’t care.” Rafayel stated.

“What?”

“I don’t care what you do. You can have me for life; study me, use me, publish me for the world to see, I don’t care. I just want you in return.”

He fell to his knees, holding his hands tightly on my waist. Looking up at me with a pleading look in his eyes, Rafayel started muttering what I could only make out to be a Lumerian prayer I had read in one of the textbooks, “Please.” He cried.

“Rafayel, just stand up.”

“Please.” He repeated.

I stared down at him, “Raf-”

“Please, no, just say you want me. Say you’ll have me. Open this door, I know you’re scared, but I’ll figure it out.”

“Rafayel.”

“Put your trust in me. I’ll give you all my scales, my blood, my life, please, be mine, I’m already yours; be mine.”

I fell to my knees with him, smashing my lips onto his. Tangling my hand in his hair, the other clutching onto his sash, I felt like I was trying to kiss the life out of him. I wanted to merge my soul with his, I wanted to be a part of him, climb into his skin, breathe his air into my lungs. He tasted like the salt of the sea, his lips warm compared to the cold of his skin.

My walls crumbled, and with his hands on my skin, I realized nothing mattered more than him. No more research, no more work, just him.

I loved him so much, I could cry.

‘How do you see your future?’ He had asked so long ago.

With you, Rafayel.

Just you.

#rafayel x reader #rafayel x you #rafayel x y/n #love and deepspace rafayel #rafayel #l&ds rafayel #lnds rafayel #lads rafayel #lads #lnds #lnds smut #lnds fluff #lnds angst #rafayel love and deepspace #rafayel fluff #rafayel x mc #love and deep space #hxlxnaaawrites

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